Long Flim Poems
Long Flim Poems. Below are the most popular long Flim by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flim poems by poem length and keyword.
What, Where, Who
If I where asked the what, where, who
That drives me to write poetry
I’d say that if I only knew
I’d leave right now this misery
But I’m afraid I’m not the sort
To answer in straight fashion
I have to offer my retort
With words of heartfelt passion
For just the other day I found
Encounter gave me food for thought
Soon the words they were outbound
Jumbled as they rushed and fought
Though ne’er the less inspired me
To battle on my way
Look toward the end and see
Which words I could display
Confess do I quite openly
That I am ignorant
Of poetry’s technology
Coz grasp it I just can’t
I wouldn’t know a what’s it called
From a what’s its name
In my mind won’t stay installed
Confusion is its game
But I somehow, find I can
Muddle through at best
Organise a crafty plan
And set my brain the test
For out there I see loneliness
Suffering and pain
A world in turmoil and distress
That cannot stake its claim
I look for every trait in man
Into the soul I stare
At his betrayal and flim-flam
Also the ladies fair
Dear love will always be there
And so will Demon war
And my thoughts on these I’ll share
Of that you can be sure
Laughter I would hope to bring
Sadness sometimes to the fore
Of natures forces I will sing
The list goes on galore
Yes I will write throughout the night
With hope to de-confuse
I’ll try to offer some insight
By giving up my muse
So now you know the what and where
But what about the who
Inspiring people are out there
Who knows - it could - be you
And what about that misery
I spoke of up above
Well, I gave that up for music
Of the poetrysoupers love x
My friends have already revealed that I'm in loved with you
That's why I don't know what to do nor to say.
And so am I confounded as to how should I evade this ballyhoo
With no regret when I wake up early in the day.
It seems to me that you are yet unaffected
By the reverberations whispering in your ears?...
But if you'll only knock the portal of my heart unwavered
You'll discover that my heart for you wait and sears.
Others say... I am not perfect for you.
Others say... I am not the man you're looking for.
They may be right for making such comments like these
Comments, however, are not always impeccable and therefore, subject to error.
I may be a fool to love someone who cares not for me.
I may be a fool to choose someone who's not probably meant for me.
God knows how much I love you why don't you look back and see?
For the shadow of a man with sincerity and urgent plea!...
I wish to end this flim-flam jive
Because I don't think the concerned is blind
Why don't you show me the feelings that you hide
And make thine eyes sparkle again with pride!
A strong cooperative offense
is our most competitive defense.
Avoiding RightRed fascism
totalitarianism
terrorism, dark secular raptures and/or terrified jihad,
fundamental Nature is sinful, negative yin repressed,
while Spirit is health invested love, positive yang,
long-term ego/eco-centric,
bilateral co-temporal,
evenly humored humanistic divinalism.
By choosing divining higher
and humanely deeper
GreenLeft/RedRight co-regenerativity
strengthening LeftBrain's historic secular case
for more cooperative climate cleansing
by divesting of RedRight's competing disassociating divestment
away from
Divine/Humane WinWin MultiCulturing Holy Spirit
cooperative matriarchal/patriarchal outflowing natural
ZeroZone soulful
bilateral 4-Dynamic Primal Seasons
PolyNomial-GreenLeft ecology
for PolyPathic multicultural RedMountain Yang
speaks YinSquared Divine NonViolent ValleyLeft
PolyPhonic
Red light of dawning memories
co-invite Earth's Green reforesting vocation
in 4D bilateral Left/Right positive energy
democratic-trusting frame
dynamically parallel bicamerality
with resilient fractal string-structures of humane DNA
and divine RNA theological Origin
and 4-ecological ZeroZone Seasons
with 4-theological nurturing Reasons
for romantic infatuation
with Eastern outside red dawns
of post-millennial inside climate warning
and
Western indigenous Earth and tree
and Sun and moon
and Extended sanctuary family
nature/spirit worshipers,
singers,
dancers,
historians,
improv and designing artists,
designing and implementing ecologists,
creation and degeneration processors,
deep learning ecotherapeutic theologians
story-tellers of legends
sweeping cooperative neighborhoods
greeting travelers,
sojourners,
fellow walking
and flying
and swimming
and crawling eco-pilgrims
Liberally green
and conservational red night lovers
cooperatively mentored delight
avoiding tomorrow's nationalistic
ego-theistic
utterly narcissistic
BoogyMan
planting anti-historical flim/flam stories
hoping to fool all people
through all competing ZeroSum mythical time.
This lovely poem is written in honor of my friend.
I will call her Diane, a friend dear to my heart.
It is not her name, but I am retaining her anonymity.
After her husband had an affair, it tore her apart.
This poem is actually in honor of him, the lying, snaking,
thieving flim-flam-flimity.
If I knew his name I would say it, loud and tall.
Both names and his city, outing him nicely, and easily, with femininity.
I have no loyalty or love for him after all.
Slap her, kick her, pinch her, beat her.
Slap her, whack her, kill her, cheater.
Get out of her life, once and for all.
If we friends catch you, you will surely bawl.
You’ve done more than your share, you horrible rounder, you waste of space.
Of hurting a whole family. Your darling children are crying.
Your in-laws pick up the pieces that you have thrown out of place.
She will do much better now, without your cheating and lying.
Flim flam artists con like hackers
From the digital underworld
Scammers. Modern Thieves
Taking advantage of not just
Little ol’ ladies, but Me!
And the vulnerable gullible glue
That holds our species together
Shame on you! I cast you, you know who you are
who entertain time with waste
With the spoils of others
Internet Idiocracy is not a democracy
You, gangsters of greed
With the shameless need
To make others bleed
For your sins
I'm a $1,000 in the hole, you poor soul
I cast you
Into a special spot, the Deepest Hole
In Hell
That only one spell can break
You free
Give up your riches
Give up your chaotic chores
Give in to Jesus
He is the only Door
For any redemption
You fools!
Not tHe ENd
Am I whacked out, or what?
To actually believe
And actually, have high hopes
That someday human beings
Will just FOCUS their attention
And unite under one Earth flag
To hold up high with human half-baked intentions
Even with a modicum of enlightenment
Accomplish the Unimaginable end
Peace it all together and
Free the human spirit not by the Bomb
But by giving, each person their voice
Acknowledge the uniqueness that spawns genius
Education is everything. Never stop learning ...
Be allowed to express, even darklike King’s
Freed to believe, to hope, even grope or cling
For a better future for our grandchildren
Will it be a legacy of Liberty, or loss?
Am I a whacked out global goliath?
Or what!?
Child of God
Damn right I stand up
With my brothers and sisters
Against oppression, tyranny
And fatalistic foes
Hand in hand, with the sWORD of Christ
His piece ploys me to reveal
Something whacky
So, come join me at the outer edges of the Greens
Where dandelions and roses grow
Side by side, row by row
Stitching the seams of the Universe together
Come gets some whacky Taffy while it lasts
Off to the whacked-out Lands for Peace
Keep on sippin’ some poetrysoup
Where my whacky wisdom
Is the latest scoop
If not mine, then yours, you nincompoop
Let's get whacky in a Whackyland!
Let’s gets soupy in a poetrysoup land!
Let’s be friendly in a Friendland!
So, Keep on Sharing!
even if it’s a little whacky ...
Dumbfoundedness still prevails three weeks later...
when held spellbound courtesy grifter
Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;
Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.
Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.
Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.
No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.
Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.
Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
Poem 18
Percival Jordan
1892 - 1912
I am where I am
Because of who I was.
I imbibed a million breaths
And observed the stars dotting the night skies
Like actors taking the stage for another eternal encore.
I am in the air
As I am in the ground.
And I know the truth now.
Life was an impossible possibility.
Born of pleasure and fear and desperation.
And I’m relieved the ridiculous race is over.
I spent most of my carefree days here in Clark Cemetery.
Helping Artilissa water the flowers.
And as a boy I played amidst the sunken graves.
I sat in silence like a scheming spider
Under the stretching shadows of the old tombstones.
I wrote poems to the dead
And read the Psalms aloud
With my many lady friends dressed in silk
Sitting scandalously close to me.
Under a darkening full moon shade one evening
I kissed Ethel Woodstock on the lips
And I released my emerging manhood
With a simmering sigh.
I felt strangely odd when Ethel died that night,
Enveloped in her mother’s helpless embrace.
I placed a rose bud upon her mahogany casket
And I cried as a light rain descended
Upon the drinking gorged ground around us..
Indeed I was the annoying little boy in the graveyard;
That flim-flaming rascal
With the cocky smirk of a broken gentleman.
With costumed enterprise,
I tricked many a passerby
With repeated low-moaning dirges
From behind the Hadley tombstone.
Their screams were hilarious but they never caught me.
God knows I had plans.
Plans to be a lawyer.
Plans to be an electrician.
Plans to be married and to find peace of mind.
But when I awoke one cold morning in 1912,
My bed was soaked in warm blood,
And all my plans were forever harvested by the Grim One.
I love Clark Cemetery in the autumn.
When the leaves turn dark and deadly.
When the rippling landscape illuminates the truth and finality of all things.
Life is just a fast-moving storm
And none of us has the time to notice the returning rainbow.
Oh, for a simple cup of coffee again!
I spit poems onto a page with increasing velocity
bam, wham, dram, cram, jamb, bam, flam!
Feeling like the flim-flam man that I am,
I do not wait for responses
Not caring about any opinions but my own
The seasoned poets invariably understand
throwing down their own missives at incredible speed
Breaking the limit and the barrier, engrossed and enthralled.
We are word players, imaginations on fire,
muses all aglow.
The words fall into jumbled piles, worrying us not.
Flowery missives wink their petals at us,
But we are in the zone, not paying attention.
The poems slide, twirl, whirl, and pirouette.
One of them stops to pinch my cheek and call me “Charlie”.
It is more than enough to keep me happy.
Lance was a drifter, a gypsy, a loner, a lone wolf. Proud of it.
Not a highway man, not a flim-flam man, but a man who had traveled and knew things.
He had never settled down.
Or so he thought.
Until he met Lucy.
He recognized her instantly.
A blue-eyed, dark-haired gal with a personality that preceded her into nightclubs.
She had the best laugh in six counties.
A girl with a song in her heart.
A woman who had no idea how startlingly pretty she was.
She captured him instantly.
When Lance turned and looked into her eyes,
He knew he had come home.
He would never be a happy drifter again.
He had met his world.
She did not realize.
Had no idea,
but he was determined and he pursued her recklessly.
It became annoying and disturbing.
She was fearful of him.
He became angry.
Another mean woman, teasing him, leading him on.
He never realized he was the problem.
He was given his eighth restraining order, and mad as hell about it.
Just another tease.
What is wrong with all of these women? He wondered.
Never recognizing his smothering, incessant, exasperating, ways frightened them.
Never seeing himself the way others saw him.
Lance, drifter, a gypsy, a loner, a lone wolf, meeting his true love in every bar nightly.
So, XYZ Company, after my five years of servitude and loyalty
you close the doors, you dissolve the department
with less than a day's notice, because, hey, that's all we deserve-
And it was no accident you announced right before Memorial Day
So you don't have to give us holiday pay
And of course you think that's fair
You would rather deny a dozen people their livlihood
Than deny yourself your vacation home in Hawaii
Or your Montana ranch, or your private plane
At least, you avoided the hyprocrisy
Of pretending to be sorry.
And what of our bonus, XYZ Company,
that you promised, oh so ardently!
Oh dear, so sorry, quarterly revenue goals
were missed by thatmuch
so whoops, can not pay bonus after all
And it would be super great if everyone
Could just develop group amnesia
that we ever said it was 'absolutely' on the way-
Oh, XYZ Company, you scammed us, you flim-flammed us
You lied and you know it and we know it
We were betrayed like an unfaithful lover
Burned like an untrue friend
But there is no illusion here of friendship, or respect, or trust
Or even professionlism
You have no future, XYZ Company, for you are dying
diseased, corrupt, and caving in,
squeezing pennies 'til the end
And I am glad to be long gone
When the collapse comes
When the avalanche of your ruin is complete
And you are done-
Submitted to 'The Gem that Slipped through the Cracks' contest on 2/09/21
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh