Long Flog Poems
Long Flog Poems. Below are the most popular long Flog by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flog poems by poem length and keyword.
This was the worst ship disaster, with the greatest loss of life at sea
A German ship that was overloaded, with over 10,600 war refugees
Sank on the 30 January 1945 by a Soviet submarine in the Baltic sea
By Soviet Naval Officer, Captain Alexander Marinesko, who died 1963
Stranger than be; he was actually facing a court martial due to drink
So did this up his rankings, when as the Wilhelm Gustloff he did sink
Not so, by Oct 1945 the same year he was dishonourably discharged
After being lower from a Captain to a Lieutenant so was not life hard
No message gave that it carried refugees as it crossed the Baltic Sea
No war crime committed, carrying soldiers from the German military
The first torpedo hit the bow, as putting crew members out of action
Next hit a drained swim pool that held 373 ladies with a bad reaction
Third hit the engine rooms for Wilhelm Gustloff there is now no hope
With all of this the ship starting to portside, as began to rapidly slope
The ship carried on it four Captains, it was Friedrich Petersen's choice
To sail the ship with its navigation lights on, as the others gave voice
it was to miss a German mine sweeper convoy, coming head on in fog
This grubby weather made the rescue work of the survivors, hard flog
Though; it should be mentioned all four Captains survived the sinking
No information was found as to why, that is left, to your own thinking
Be 44 minutes after, the Wilhelm Gustloff ship was dangerously listing
Another six minutes, the ship sank bow up, her metal soul unresisting
Out of all the unlucky 10.600 passengers only 1,252 of them survived
Most lost to the very icy cold waters of the Baltic Sea, none as revived
Alas, of the 9,400 victims who died, 5,000 of them were, but, children
All those refugees wishing for a new life, they were hoping on building
After the war was over, the Soviets, returned to strip her, as in looted
Signs of hand-made damage, and detonators scarring her undisputed
Not one bit of evidence of human life on that ship was found to remain
Hiding the evidence of their blame, did though, not lessen their shame
Demagogue not pedagogue
Aghast & agog
Perfidious insidious fog
Reeks of the past
Slog through the smog
Musk seeks to flog
Earth & its serfs
Downed & drowned
In his dystopian bog
Even starry nights
Elon’s neon satellites
Seedier media perch
Utter nutter besmirch
Thriving in the gutter
Conniving depriving church
Vex "X" & Tech T-Rex hex
Or next bogus Rogan
Bogan slogans prevails
Alpha male tales derails
Sod the planet’s scars
Cruise trips to Mars
Odd bod driverless cars
Spawn a fake Tarantino
Remake.."Musk till Dawn"
Devil may care lair..
Loads of lies..skies chock a block
With spies...all eyes on the prize
Everyone Everything Everywhere dies
Let's not parley with gnarly snarly
Musk...takes the mickey & the bicky
In the dock for running amok
Time guys he did finally own up
To being as grown up..
As a Farley’s Rusk (a British biscuit/bicky for a wee kiddy)
Golf backwards is flog; God backwards is dog
Eat backwards is tea; team backwards is meat
Pot backwards is top; top backwards is pot
~ And ton backwards is not!
Nap backwards is pan; nip backwards is pin
Raw backwards is war; Ron backwards is nor.
~ But 3 backwards is not 4!
There are so many of these where the
first and last consonant are the same, like
Bob, pop, top, mom, dad, bub, bib, did, dud
gag, Lil, mum, nun, pup, peep, sees, tot, wow ...
~ Tho heh is not for horses!
...Not to mention all the acronyms, like
ABA, AMA, ARA, CCC, LOL, SDS, SOS
~ And SSA is Mule!
Form:
An album once a year – a cushy job!
They toured to flog the disc. It’s called ‘promotion’.
From Paul McCartney’s Wings to Billy Ocean,
they did their vids to earn a couple of bob.
In those days, Stayin’ Alive was not a prob,
since every Aucklander, each Nova Scotian
aspired (was wired) to do the locomotion.
Though Patty Hearst could steal, she could not rob.
Today it all occurs on Spotify.
No videos are made now. People ‘stream’.
Epocs of plenty pass. The pendulum swings,
and groups who don’t play live are groups who die.
There are no Doobey Brothers, Canned Heat, Cream.
The truth? I’d rather hear the Gypsy Kings.
My pa’s a sap, so then – who is a boob,
drab as a fool, aloof as a bard?
Is it I? It is I! Oh, damn it, I’m mad;
in dog doo, good God, I’m Dr. Awkward.
Senile felines have more social graces
than I! At my birth, God saw I was a dog!
Into a party trap I fell last night,
replying, “Golf? No, sir, prefer prison-flog.”
I’m too hot to hoot! Speaking such nonsense,
I’m a pup, am I? Well, I bark what I say!
Please step on no pets. Just give me a pat.
Lastly, can you all yawn a more Roman way?
May 18, 2018 for 'Palindromes' Contest of Joseph May
Just me and mine shadow doth blog
passivity, the path of least resistance oh my dog,
an emphatic YES,
a legitimately valid reason and rhyme to flog
yours truly (figurative emasculation),
thee catchword to hog
immediate attention,
see above named poem title
the best idea to expound upon,
while attempting creative juices to jog
all mein kampf, I felt like a bump on a log
please... don't be hesitant
to identify me as a nog
one aging long haired pencil neck geek
never reached maturity forever a pollywog.
More clearly, plainly and succinctly
one sniveling poor excuse for masculinity,
I continually experience
unrepentant (unforgivable) humility,
hence lame justification
Matthew Scott sought adultery,
which unwise choice attempted
(pun intended) to fill a void
sexual propensity linkedin with precepts
attributed to Sigmund Freud,
though skepticism skirts
barenaked lady hardcore psychoanalysis
downplayed or Oedipus complex
shrugged off (heavier imposition
versus Atlas) fails to bridge any mettle alloyed
within me psyche.
Absent healthy teenage
dating experiences, think tryst
I yearned, trended then
regretted handy dandy wrist
took rat tick antics subsequently,
and compromised spawning prurient dalliances,
hence understandably missed
(until death do me part)
doting upon then young daughters,
rightfully thee eldest one
(born 12/22/1996) still pissed
at primal, gonadal, and brutal predilections
now... finding very little reason to exist
matter of fact I dreamt
(earlier today June twenty seventh
two thousand and twenty), the gist
regarding harming self
I hate me
More than any of you could
Still i am
The man who stood
Gravity couldn't pull me down
Looking through space
From the outside in
Taking each pain with a widening grin
Improbably Probable
normally curious
but curiously abnormal
Sliding down elongated giraffes necks
with glee stolen from innocence
Outwith so small to the vastness within
Take your best shot
I say with a grin
As my tears trickle down
i watch through them to see you all drown
Give up world
Take your own advice
The seconds between my first and last beat
Gods crushed between my fist
The amoebae grows a backbone
Your pains have found a home
Take this warning
as your staple food
Still i am
the man that stood
Strip me of time
and flog me with life
Rip me with lyrics
and blind me with sight
Push me down
with all that you might
Cause from this spot
i will stand
simply
because
i
can
Oppressed is he, a coward in his house,
A cringing serf, to the despotic spouse!
Without a voice unless she's not adverse;
His meagre wealth kept deep inside her purse;
When friends advise she will demand to know;
He fears her tongue more than a Stygian foe!
By misfortune were she to be my wife,
I'd quell her temper, stop her wanton life;
Then tempt her with the buckle on my shoe,
Kiss her soubrettes, then flog the wayward shrew.
The Tyrant Wife. By the poet Robert Burns
Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell!
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit, or i'd break her heart:
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse *****.
Top notch legal scholar Erin Go Braw
(less concerned about being fair versus
abominable, irrevocable, and execrable
unforgivable oversight most holy "M" & nonce)
cabinet of high priests,
sans spelling chieftains ready to claw
your person to bits,
and they presage remote clemency
which decision told, when Jeff Sessions
decides final punishment to draw
now, (see excerpted lines
visited with glaring flaw
"Benediction For Lord Apple Macintosh"
where ...bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks, required a secret char),...
intimates a "hee haw"
and rock'm n sock'm pull no punches
square at yar triangular jaw
YES, on account misspelling,
whence Grammarian Jude Law
at the least aims (to topple a prospective
title of eminence grise), banning access
to such undeserved
catbird seat, sans Rhetorical perch
laughing while ja plaintively call for maw
darn Oxford English Dictionary - but naw
can do, and hence paw
mister trumpeting
"FAKE" wordsmith raw
flesh will turn into....
unreadable print until closing text
that elaborates how holiness felt vexed.
To ye (a freshly minted scalawag),
these 20/20 eyes bulged agog
while steaming with invective
at what attempted
to pass as sacred poetic blog
when thee (Matthew Scott Harris),
now pronounced, an illiterate,
immoderate, and inveterate å!@#$%?
with a severe cerebral clog
(meaning prefrontal lobotomy
not out of the question),
you m~r mangy whelp of a she dog
(my humble apologies to canines),
less deserving than being
whipped near death's doorstep flog
after henchmen (strongly
resembling Alaskan BullWorms
guarding this royal hutch,
herein Cupertino, California.
When ignorance and mediocrity is on display,
fancy title and salaries become proof thereby.
The incompetence to deliver is the destruction,
implementation without visions is a foolish attraction.
What makes it very clear, when too many idiots pulling the plug,
the ship will sink, regardless the excuses by this pathetic flog.
Leadership has to proof itself by sincere integrity,
or democratic politics become anarchistic misery.
The chances are that everybody stops paying the electric bill,
and those self elected wasters running for the hill.
The parliament exchanges all day long so many honors like a sugar wand,
pushing responsibilities further and further to dumbfounded stand.
Legislated arrogance creates a memory tread,
when relativities bouncing of the empty head.
When politicians and its sheep’s hunt the savage dream,
prophecies of failure are the current in the stream.