Long Four Poems
Long Four Poems. Below are the most popular long Four by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Four poems by poem length and keyword.
With The Dandy, The Beano
The Eagle and Dan Dare
Dick Barton on the radio
The Goon Show on air
Riders of the Range
Journey into space
We kids of the fifties
Had our special place
Glued to the wireless
No screens in sight
The Third Programme the
Home Service and the light
When Sunday night came
Waiting patiently about
For Radio Luxembourg
Fading in and out.
Carters little liver pills
Horace Bachelor’s tips
For winning the Pools
Fish and four of chips
Salt and vinegar Splash
Newspaper wrapping
Listenining to the music
Feet quietly tapping
Playing in the fields
Hours out in the wild
This was the life of
A fifties poor child.
No time to be miserable
Deprived or dull
With such a childhood
So active and full.
Dennis the Menace Desperate Dan
Biffo, Ace Detective Harris Tweed
From the Eagle Dandy and Beano
All those comics we used to read
9/11, 2001
Tuesday morning when it all began
Four Jet Airliners
Hi-jacked at will
To fly their mission
To kill, blood spill
Target chosen
New York City
No questions asked
No pity
Internal flight
Laid-en with fuel
Turned off course
To the Hi-jackers rule
Islamist, al-Qaeda is the name they claim
What honest faith
Would want this fame
To take these lives on this September day
It's not what religion should portray
Nineteen jackers, whats on their minds
To do their deed on their own mankind
No scriptures, books of the olden day
Would let any brother, be slain this way
What battle would be, without seeing your killers eyes
This nineteen, the world despise
Our modern world on camera caught
Jet Airliners flying the next so fraught
North Tower hit by flight 11
Then the South by flight 175
All aboard the planes, would not survive
Many compatriots would also die.
To this day i wonder why?
CNN and TV crew's
Capture, man's cruelty to man
It makes you spew
The cowards that commandeered these planes
Are not religious, plainly insane
To be on the ground and look above
Two Manhattan giants
New Yorkers grew to love
Taken down by evil beings
They can't believe what they are seeing
Two explosions in just under an hour
Office life is about to shower
Paper and life fall to the ground
Silenced grief makes no sound
To New York City, that never sleeps
In a state of mourning that will presently weep
We hear on the news, Washington's been hit
The Pentagon, yea that's it
One of the four, also has it's say
On this dark September day
In Pennsylvania
The fourth still in flight
Passengers on board
Try with all their might
Overcome the scum
Who hi-jacked their plane
The next hour would never be the same
Somerset County is where she fell
These brave civilians,
As calls will tell
To try and claim the plane that's theirs
So suppress those infidel curs>
An army of mites reside in our lashes
With mouths and tiny claws
Along the road to human evolution
This was surely a major flaw
Astronauts strangely can't burp in space
What useless dribble is that
Felines can have over one hundred kittens
Now that's one pooped out cat
Some atheists put up Christmas trees
An identity crisis for sure
A cow can poop up to four tons a year
That's sure a big batch of manure
A woman once had sixty-nine children
Talk about barefoot and pregnant
With a dirty big bunch of kiddies like that
She could hold her own beauty pageant
Nose prints are used to identify dogs
Imagine if they used those for humans
Especially during the influenza season... yuk!
There'd be snot all over the policeman
The salary of Toto in “The Wizard Of Oz”
Was a hundred twenty dollars a week
That's a hundred and twenty dollars more than me
Since retiring my new job is sleep
The tallest people in the world are the Dutch
Must duck underneath the windmills
While kissing, most tilt their head to the right
But there's some who rub noses still
© Jack Ellison 2012
I've tied my shoes, as I fold my hands to the completeness;
Of the common area, walking on coals of fire;
I combed my hair with every desire to refresh myself
And as I fix the flat tire;
Whose gonna mop the kitchen floor;
While locking the basement door;
Keeping out the old fish, who's cooking out of old ceramics;
I apologize as I wonder whose gonna dry my eyes as I cry;
I washed my feet with gasoline,
While the police officer treating me mean;
Wasted collard greens, someone place my silk handkerchief
in the washing machine ;
Watching the new today what am I to believe, how shall we receive;
Whose gonna mop the kitchen floor;
While locking the basement door;
Keeping out the old trout, as the elderly shout;
saying the youth the young today don't know what it's all about;
There is nothing more than two pair, nothing more than two doubles;
Add each scenario together and you have the number
4
Want more, one plus one plus one plus one is
4
so just relax, your limited max out don't pout
Want more, ten fingers minus two thumbs and fold the
remaining four fingers you show the remainder is
4
So you still want more then I suggest you go to,
the golf coarse place the ball on the ground prior to you hitting it holler;
4
IT IS ME
XXXXXXXX
With all the adversities in life, became a woman with an
open mind, a kind heart, a care free spirit and a teachable soul.
Oldest sister of six brothers and two sisters, strong willed mother
of four; two sons and two daughters, raising them all alone and
grandmother of seven; four boys and three girls.
Lover of nature’s beauty, the beauty of His creations,
like the glorious sunset, the colorful autumn leaves, the azure
sky, the splendor of the rose, the magnificent butterflies.
Lover of strong women and passionate people.
Feel profound happiness when dancing, feel great looking
good dressing up and feel excited learning something new.
Dislike snakes and digital stuff being from old school and
detest people living in lies, believing others, not themselves.
An aesthetic person appreciating beauty in art, music,
literature, photography, fashion and like to travel to learn
more about culture and explore the spectacular scenic views.
Resident of Golden State in the West Coast. XXXXX
8/1/21 This Is Who I Am Poetry
L. Milton Hankins
Roses, the Beauty and the Blood
By Curtis Johnson
Nearly four years ago, we sold our home where we had lived for nearly fifteens years. That was long enough to grow a nice garden of all kinds of flowers, including roses.
Unfortunately, I was saddened that we could not uproot and take them along with us. So much work had gone into caring for them, and of course, I never had to buy roses.
I must say that my wife had collected a number of different types of roses, and I was very dutiful at displaying such beautiful roses of all colors throughout our home.
These colorful roses, large and small, graced both the front and back of our home.
There were many years that flowers were the last item of beauty that I noticed. But that all changed when my life slowed down, as I entered my retirement years.
There was one item of note that my wife apparently knew, but such knowledge, though pleasantly, took me by surprise. I did not know there were thorn less roses.
The down side of the roses I had always known was that God seemed to have built a defensive barrier on the rose bush which said, “Don’t rush when you pick me; take time to discover and explore the essence of me”. The thorns never would allow me to take the roses for granted. It seems I can never enter and exit the “Rose Domain” without a gentle bleed.
Yes, we have new roses at our new abode; but we have none of the thorn less variety.
Still, any kind of rose is my favorite flower; even though they often make me bleed.
Cj12222015 fb12262915
Trump is Almost Gone
By Franklin Price
01/07/2020
Trump is almost gone
Just thirteen days away
The Swamp controls the government
Will make We the People pay
Four long years they've fought him
Even when he had done right
I pray to God to help us
Not let us go into the night
Yesterday he was most foolish
Encouraged quite a motley crew
To go up to the capital
What a foolish thing to do
The assumption all were Trumpers
May not or may be true
Some likely trouble makers
With nothing else to do
Could have been some city burners
Who led to break the windows out
If you look at the majority
Most of the crowd, just milled about
No matter, Trump was most at fault
Was there and led the way
Told the mob to go up to the hill
Though there was nothing left to say
Media, compares it to Pearl Harbor
Caused, by Trump, the foolish clown
Was not as if they helped to cause it
For four long years they've put him down
He tried every way to help them
To tweet and call his haters names
Not often presidential
Not how lifers play the games
When everything is said and done
Whether legally or not
Joe Biden our new president
Voted in to stir the pot
See the black cat run, jump, slink away, a shadow within shadows and a life force of mystery. A predator in composite, a compact killer, a butcher for life, the apex of its design, all built of little fur and bones, razors, a hunter in miniature.
A professional from birth. Cunning, slick, and sly. In the calculus of black cats that plot and destroy. Do they bring presents of dead mice, bird heads, and stranger things. Yes, they do! To there humans as tokens of respect and devotion…
But, all that fury and murder in a small cute four-legged form a furry little shadow within shadows, with big soulful eyes, they lay waste to your soul's ramparts and snuggle into a little furry ball of furies, as abyssal black stares back into your soul with twin pumpkin fire lights eyes of purrfect piercing design.
They express love without words. They slowly blink emerald eyes, a symbolism of that devotion, as a deep purr of a suttle silent little engine revs as you stroke the ferry beast as it is stretches and yaws, mouth of bright teeth, curls around feet down and hugs your hand as the little endless engine of furry fury cuddles and only just wants loves.
Such the duality of a thing and apex predator in a pint-sized puff ball. Of furry fury… A black cat is a shadow within a shadow running under your feet as you stumble to the restroom at midnight on Halloweens Eve.
They sit and watch the void above your head in the air of the unknown things best left unseen by humanity and only black cats can know. In correlation between black cats and their shadows, they know the unknown, unseen, and undreamed.
See the black cats run, jump, and slink away, a shadow within shadows and a life force of mystery. A predator in composite, a compact killer, a butcher of life, the apex of its design, all built of little bones, razors, and furry furies.
Cunning, slick, sly as it curls itself around your heart, wanting cuddles, treats with slowly blinking eyes of love, and devotion in the way only a black cat can!
The wind sweeps the clouds; bares a canvas painted blue.
The sun blazes and hides his face; the star winks and smiles
Away his age. The moon alone floats, lays bare her
Bumps and crags, unruffled by sun's glare.
Over half a century since we met; over four decades
Since we parted, the wind of joy and frown
Has grated on the once smooth faces,
Furrowed contours on a once plane land.
How I wish time revealed his tricks when I was young.
I would have fought, be a sunflower through to dusk;
And float like summer moon, swinging in purple dress.
Time etched the first line the day I was born,
And set my life in entropic flux. But death!
Oh, it wears no mask—ever bold, assaulting;
Wears down slowly what's dear in me.
Time! Oh time! My friend and foe!
© 2016
By Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Claustrophobic, saturated white walls constrict,
sucking the oxygen from every molecule of deprived blood.
Hypoxic cells circulate through an increasingly unstable body,
whilst rivulets of sweat flow from clammy palms.
Insomniac reality blurs with insidious shadows,
dancing upon the ceiling.
Naive faith keeps insanity just at bay,
but with each sunrise, hope is chipped away.
How much longer can a soul survive without respite
before it splits open—
spilling into the realms of delicious delusion?
Counting spots of dust in sunlight streams
now becomes the norm.
Two hundred yesterday—
is that two hundred and four today?
Slowly losing grip,
twisted nursery rhymes play out in a fracturing mind:
One, two, no one is going to save you.
Three, four, get ready for the relentless gore.
Five, six, they will play with your bones like sticks.
Seven, eight, for this occasion you better not be late.
Nine, ten, you are now in their sadistic den.
Praying for sleep, it never comes,
as reality dissolves
and this phantasmagorical nightmare commences.