Long Fork Poems
Long Fork Poems. Below are the most popular long Fork by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fork poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep in your mind, You will find
Things that ain't you, Things you shouldn't do
Unless you think you can, Try to be that man
Imagine how a soul can taste, Not a day to waste
Each one adds a flavor, In which you must savor
It's like a seasoning, Depends on your reasoning
Some seek power, Watch the ritual and the hour
Careful what you ask for, Remember there's no back door
Signed in blood, This deals no dud
What you want you'll get, Yep it'll be met
When payments due, You shoulda knew
The deal was bad, Hah! You've been had
Screams of pain and laughter, That's what their after
With the sounds of ripping skin, Let's begin
Skinned like a rabbit, All movements outa habit
Epidermis thrown into the fire, That taste little desire
Red meat that's the one, Now the feast has begun
You'll be kept awake, Keeps you fresh when you bake
Peels right off the bone, Pain of another zone
Random pieces are pulled, No don't be fooled
It's called long pork, Cooked right needs no fork
Consuming brings a surge, weakness faces purge
Not talking about a movie, Not cool, not groovy
Sights can't be unseen, Real nightmares I mean
The taste so sweet, So do you wanna meet
When you build a house you get to choose stuff
Light fixtures, countertops, outlet covers,
How many windows go in the living room.
We have built three houses, my husband and I.
Always a super challenge as
We notoriously argue about almost every little thing.
Do you like this? No. I hate it.
What about that?
Gag me with a fork.
It is a miracle when we agree on a counter top, or a sink.
I let him have a toilet he wanted once.
We build in baby steps.
More arguments, loud, ridiculous.
By the time we are finished, my husband is exhausted
And I am triumphant
Because I am the mean one.
Killing the future, where is the humane values in that
poor soul your hate has an unusual way of trying to get of subject
How sad you are and evilly branding a person unjustly
firstly falsely accusing, says an awful lot about you as a person
defending the right to kill attacking is all you know
a bully of the worst kind
Your surname is not Irish firstly get that straight
I am from the tribes of the north
a true gale that holds the shamrock
this is the island of my ancestors, nothing racist about the truth
A hetrophobic attack detesting a real man
for none other than standing up for the innocent blood spilled
speaking the truth correctly cast not this fiction garbage
your attacking human life and I am a father
God be merciful to your soul I pray
because there is not a racist bone in my body
turn it which ever way you want to suit
half Irish supporting killing, says it all to me
Ripping little babies to pieces
take a long hard look in the mirror,
your ancestors would turn in their graves
I pity you with your branding irons
you really have no brain in this
life begins in the womb knowledge
has a funny way of separating opinions
what has religion got to do with it, nothing,
your beating a dead horse people can see whom you support
The dark side so filled with hate towards another human being
calling names amounts to your kind saying it kindly
if the law where doing their job properly,
you should be arrested for hurling hate and abuse
Mentally challenged talking about bottles
every word you have written, is documented evidence
we see your kind everyday attacking peaceful people
Every single word you have written comes from the fork of your beliefs
do not make a mockery of others this foolish behaviour,
because in the end your knees will bend,
you should be reported for hate speech
freedom has different values for some
Disasters have plagued our planet since the dawn of time,
When primitive creatures rose from primordial slime,
And a comet came down to hit a dinosaur’s head,
Causing a headache so bad, he was better off dead.
So, he asked the plain question, “to be or not to be?”
And invented Tylenol with codeine, number three.
Before you know it, Mount Vesuvius exploded,
And many kilometers of magma unloaded.
Thousands were inundated - a woeful loss of life,
One man frozen stiff forever with his neighbor’s wife.
The Chicago Fire was equally terrible.
To be cooked alive is certainly unbearable.
As disasters go, this undoubtedly qualifies.
Mrs. O’Leary’s cow did publicly apologize.
When the South Fork Dam breached, to people’s worst fears,
The Johnstown Flood immersed folks here and there to their ears.
If you happened to be shorter than five foot-seven,
You saw a few fish, and then you went up to heaven.
This holiday season, some fun you may wish to poke
At me, as you might Scrooge or Grinch, but this ain’t no joke.
Prepare for a worse catastrophe, never seen before,
One you can’t ignore, which will knock you right to the floor,
Let me underscore, get ready, there’s food to store…for
The Great California Quake of Twenty-Twenty Four.
We are lucky enough to grow old
with the two of us still together,
but we’ve come to a fork in the road
that’s different from others we’ve weathered.
For this time there isn’t a choice
of a road that’s less traveled or more.
There are myriad branches ahead
and no signs to tell what is in store.
Can we purchase a ramp for our home
so we can remain living here?
Should we put our house on the market
while both of our minds are still clear?
Can one of us care for the other,
and how long can the caregiving last?
Is it time to give up independence,
To let go of events of our past?
As standing and walking is harder,
and need of assistance grows clear,
will we suffer or simply slow down
as our time of departing grows near?
We don’t want to live with the children -
they’re scattered all over the place.
They’ve kids of their own and grandkids
and none have accessible space.
Right now, do we need senior living
or assisted, or nursing or what?
What on earth will we do with our stuff
And all the mementoes we’ve got?
Which of the paths will we take,
and where will we journey from here?
As hard as I try I can’t answer,
for no simple direction comes clear.
I guess in the meantime I’d better
start shedding the “things” of life’s load
to prepare for whatever befalls
as we travel that last stretch of road.
I'm going to keep writing regardless of the outcome
I'm going to keep clicking my keys and my mind
I'm going to create from nothing what I need
I'm going to give it all I got, cuz its what I do !
I will share my thoughts whether you like it or not
I will give you the best of me, and you decide
I will not be a cower in face of gossip and quarrel
I will not fold just because you think I'm too much
I'm going to write like a true writer until it gets dark
I'm going to write in the sun like a bard of old and win
I'm going to share my light with others using only words
I'm going to be the girl I was born to be, tall tales are free
I'm going to entertain you with words and phrases from ?
I'm going to sparkle like bran new cutlery, be it fork or spoon
I'm going to serve it to you every day with a smile
I'm going to be a poet whether you like it or not
I'm going to keep writing regardless of the outcome
I'm going to brave it and write until the day is done.
Absolve me from these sins you have placed before my feet
I can never be free from the way you look at me
Were my deeds so atrocious
Will you never see beyond the past
For me it was a different lifetime
For you the allure of days gone by makes my every mistake
Seem like yesterday
Must I constantly need to assuage your delicate constitution
I must be free of these chains
Can you not see they are killing me
The allure of a lasting sleep is overwhelming
Come lay down next me
No my appetency for seeing things through
Will not allow room for this fantasy
We had an auspicious beginning to our journey together
But somewhere at one fork or another we took the wrong path
Now we have come too far to turn around
I have not given up on you
I will never give up on you
Please do not give up on me
10/17/2019
Crazy A's Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Bullseye, a faithful companion,
Met Woody at a fork in the road.
He's the ultimate horsey champion!
A child's heart is his abode.
The Prospector, Jessie and He
Were going to live forever on display.
Only through clear glass they'd see
Children every day.
What a sad existence!
Bullseye likes his adventures.
It's only through Woody's insistence
That Bullseye's now part of somebody's treasure.
Bullseye is clunky, funky and fun.
He prompts smiles from ear to ear.
He'll happily play in rain, hail and sun
If he knows it will bring cheer!
He's awakened so many imaginations!
Will he be a hero, this time, or a villain?
Will he feature as a talented singing sensation?
Will he drink Ribena by the pool whilst chillin'?
Bullseye can be whatever character you desire.
You can cherish him your whole life through.
He's a toy story that will continue to inspire.
Is he a notable horse to you?
Written 29th September 2021
For the " Notable Horse " contest
Sponsor - Robert James Liguori
late night cheery pie
his field of dreams
full of whip cream
on her cherry pie
as she lets out a cry
as he digs in
and looks to begin
he sees her table
like a sable
he takes his fork
soon to uncork
he takes his knife
forgetting his wife
he takes his spoon
to her croon
hands around plate
he shifts his weight
hands in air
he says a prayer
he moves his chair
to her stare
he stands up
for her cup
of honey
... he's money
to her eyes
and sighs
he thrust
her crust
with big bites
a quick snack this night
he had feast
now he goes to sleep
... in peace
connie pachecho
1/10/17
the sky above
is turning ashen gray;
it looks tired and worn out.
and the shadow begins to
e l o n g a t e;
it is whole,
solid,
and very heavy.
we're standing in the wreckage
of all that we wanted
to create;
held split shields
in two directions,
swords were dull
from the long time
they would not allow to pass.
no anthem plays in the dark.
a promise of a new day
doesn't bring with it
am immediate feeling
of being warm.
long before today,
the chances were determined.
written in the mud
below our boots.
however, we don't give up.
u n c o n c e r n e d
with the goal of fighting,
nor the sweet release
of being able to go back...
stay! It's that quiet,
persistent decision to protect
that one small flame.
in opposition to
the rising wind of the ocean.
may the night f
a
l
l
upon the earth below.
let the fork we took
to get here
be swallowed.
as long as there is breath
in the lungs,
as long as a single pulse
beats upon the darkness,
the last light
remains.