Long Fred Poems
Long Fred Poems. Below are the most popular long Fred by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fred poems by poem length and keyword.
After finishing a seminar based on demand and supply,
I walked out to the street and hailed a taxi going by,
and as I sat down in the seat, the taxi driver said to me,
‘my, my, your timings perfect, you are just the same as Terry.’
I must admit he had me thinking, so of course I answered ‘Who?’
‘Terry Parker’ said the cabbie; a bloke it’s obvious he knew.
‘Yeah, anything that Terry did, he was right on every score,
he lived with perfect timing and Terry never had one flaw.’
I had never met a bloke like Terry, so I’m wary of the fact,
so I subtly gave me answer in a way most would react,
‘None of us are perfect mate,’ but the cabbie did insist
That Terry, he was faultless, and so few like him exist.
I heard that Terry was an athlete with the most amazing skills,
His golfing matched the pros, and his tennis playing simply thrills,
he could sing like Johnny Cash; and even better so I’m told,
he danced like Fred Astaire; his piano playing…simply gold.
I could only think he must be special, this Terry Parker bloke,
and the cabbie uttered ‘hang on,’ and once again he spoke,
‘there’s more to Terry yet, you see his memory never failed,
he remembered every birthday, and every one detailed.
‘He was a connoisseur on beer, and knew everything ‘bout wine,
He knew how to serve the finest foods; all simply pure divine.
And if anything needs fixing, then Terry was your shining light,
he was streets ahead of me, ‘cause I can’t do nothing right.
‘He could always read the traffic, and you’d never find him stuck,
not like me when I am driving, for I had none of Terry’s luck,
and I ought to mention women, and how he made them feel so good,
he was the ideal gentleman; he treated women how I should.
‘Terry would never answer back, even if the woman’s wrong,
he was a charming butler, and his charisma it was strong,
he kept his house immaculate, as no other person can…
no one could measure up; Terry Parker was the perfect man.’
When I reached my destination but before I stepped outside,
I paid the driver what was due, and then I thanked him for the ride,
but I thought it best I mention, at more or less a parting whim,
‘this Terry Parker is remarkable, how did you get to meet him?’
The driver took my money, and then he muttered deep and slow,
‘Actually I never met him, but I’m married to his widow.’
Impossible mission, nonetheless
eschatological, diabolical, critical...
dire straits betokens armageddon.
Come Tuesday, November 3, 2020
mandatory voting obligation to oust
horrible malevolent commander in chief.
Spanish and English writing on border wall
bespeaks impending apocalyptic windfall
weapons of mass destruction concomitant ashfall
brinkmanship ticks doomsday clock, hence the call
muster civilians and military troops coup to marshall
tuckered bands overthrowing pathological
megalomaniac haint your
homegrown garden variety apprenticed screwball,
Née commandeer of human abuses free world oh God
this exclamation ejaculated yours truly house atheist
runs ruinously, reprehensibly, rampantly roughshod
scaring out bejesus within winkin blinkin and nod
land of powdermilk biscuits and raw bits promises
to become ground zero predicated boneheaded clod.
Atrocious, cantankerous, egregious,
grievous, ignominious... dispensing
most every venerated, ushered, touted,
sacred, revered, pronouncing
progressive amendments dead
on arrival blithely shredding to tatters
hard won reforms since Fred
Flintstone days of yore shelving
codied, ratified, sanctified... shed
jeweled important legislation,
plus Russian musk cows to wed
Putin on the ritz.
Blasphemous, cantankerous, deleterious...
execrable folly... doth seed
subsequently begetting and breed
anarchy, chaos, hell, plus helps
foment pernicious, ominous,
noxious, malodorous... misdeed
pitting one against another creed
internecine warfare, where liveried
troops don and trumpet
(auld) alternative energy
fighting gear powering, i.e. ac/dc freed
one or more dirty deed
done dirt cheap reducing at lightspeed,
the hard fought/won democratic
inalienable rights purportedly guaranteed
by United States constitution,
(though oft times bias, i.e. reed
anti semitism, charade, facade...) heed
trample equality, morality, universality...
making mockery (attested bleed
courtesy flagrant historical extant bigotry,
chicanery, depravity... greed).
Hence, I step off figurative soapbox
dodging any lobbed missiles or rocks
no surprise bullied by same jocks,
who tormented me during high school
probably tattooed, pierced, and bald of locks
unlike yours truly, he sports self
as aging pencil neck geek
wearing non matching shoes and socks.
if zee al chemist trump doth win go hide in the bunker
to save your ass
brace yourself as this don holed
confabulates that gold iz brass
and conjures prestidigitation
like spinning false hoods in2 truth - crass
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
a synonym force head fabricator -
will threaten democracy, thus be afraid
as this pompous voice quotes
from hiz playbook, which = a charade
the hard core truths, he
(who i liken to the plague) doth evade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
and dreams up fault of Barack Obama
for extinction of dinosaurs,
crucifixion of Jesus Christ
down fall of the Roman Empire,
or far tethered Fred Flintsone ca fetching an escapade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
yea...this rip pub lick'n presidential contender
evinces a psyche that did brexit n got frayed
building and monopolizing castles in the sky -
nonexistent as a grade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
school fib - or donning role
as play ground bully teaming with ivan
the terrible to dominate the greensward
in the above fiction, but...man
that loose canon dressing his
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
"make america great again" gag line - whar i ran
and mid eastern countries will rise
as one cheering him as star of global hit parade
despite any raging oppositional pandaemonium
birth er ring a conflagration
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
kenya believe the world acquiesces
to thine projected masquerade
blocking im grate shunning crowds -
which number of people rival in size
taller (if stack one atop thee other)
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
than the trump tower casino or high rise
with his signature - hm...mebbe funds provided
by drug lords, the swedish house mafia
or terrorist ties???
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
whom security details silence by tossing a hand grenade
sham on you Potemkin village people for quaffing draughts
from elixir purportedly to transform visage with trademark
swept back, wavy and coiffed hirsute.
Form:
Louis Watson loved well made, toy ships, and had a fine collection,
Since father was a sailor himself. Like aged wind's novel directions.
Louis loved sailing toy ships on Crystal Pond, like gaiety filled youth.
He'd pretend they sailed on open seas, laden with candies and fruit!
His family lived on the edge of town, beneath pink-beige starlight,
Looming as evening warblers began singing, to scarlet Mars' delight.
Louis had fun with best friend, Fred. They had boat races, ofttimes.
Ships flew to the pond's far side and back, overseen by green pines.
Rain's tinkling footsteps had faded, into gold sunset's famed flames;
When family, of heart's familiarity came, like blossoms uncontained!
Louis lived in the house of endless motion, like eternal, teal waves,
Full of plans, murmurs, creeping and dashes, in butterscotch days.
Scandalous thunder left scarlet skies appalled, amidst fragrant dusk;
Over their street of songbird sonatas, and of lemon breezes, brusque.
Nights nuanced by northern lights, had neighbors arriving for visits;
Bypassing bittersweet nightshade, or scents riding gusts, like spirits!
'Silver vases' held their own flowers. The thirsty poured 'snake gourds.'
'Elephant apples' fed large appetites, as 'cannonball' blooms, warred.
'Zinderella' lilac got dressed for the ball, but 'Billy Button' was ready;
When 'starflowers lit up nights, and 'voyage champange,' felt heady.
Louis dreamt of owning a unique ship, for his birthday was coming;
Like colorful birds dream of nectar, when they are sweetly humming.
As his birthday dawned, pink and golden, his hopes were surpassed,
When he saw his dream ship, and its rhyme written by Father, at last!
Father had entered a toy shop, after seeing a rare ship in a faux pond;
And soon bought that pretty ship, like many marvels, du vaste monde!
I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea.
And, oh, but it was laden
With pretty things for thee!
There were comfits in the cabin,
And apples in the hold,
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were all of gold.
The four-and-twenty sailors,
That stood between the decks,
Were four-and-twenty white mice,
With chains about their necks.
The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back,
And when the ship began to move,
The captain said, "Quack! Quack!"
Donald trump = pathological psychopath
Fred Trump taught his sole son Donald
how to steal the leading way into more ass,
though no hint given, nor prediction forecast
in his growing up years, that would foretell,
thru base anaphylactic cronyism, egotistical
gall insidious kleptomania call, malodorous
Machiavellian offal obnoxious quintessential
skullduggery, unfair wicked yik yak zeal
to wield selfishness, a mean mogul with brass,
who would unstintingly live up to his surname,
and trump every law in the books of jurisprudence
and crass bend avast set of constitutional laws
to feed his ferocious fealty to the all mighty dollar
flaunting, fleecing, and flipping the welfare
of those (he deemed must serve him
his insatiable hunger) to connive, dictate,
and expedite his hell bent assiduity,
an empire fit for a King, who felt no aversion
to mollycoddle, peddle, and wheedle
any zealous contractual obligation
(immediately abrogated), and concoct fabrications
vis a vis, a visa versa MasterCard his
American Express shun re: the art of the raw
FitBit (if necessary browbeating, depriving,
forfeiting meting out legally obligated pay
whenever an inconvenient truth awoke
in his noggin reneging fiduciary promises
to the risk-taking, moon shining, toiling citizens
ala Indian giving per many an unfair deal
exuding crass with especial treatment
to withhold wages for his (held in check)
Polish laborers, who built his city on rock and rolling
stock – so a Starship emblazoned with
outsize ego of an exploiter with no pay
to his backbreaking Polish construction
motley crue nor even mucho grassy us
for erecting his empire now ranked in
billions of dollars unfairly pointing a finger
to berate, dictate and finagle foreigners
(illegal immigrants, he would now boot
out of this country) to carry out drudgery
with hungry stomachs growling at slave wages,
lamentably plodding since any other employer
might question their vlsa status, hence anger
boils within this generic human enraged
his wealth squeezed from every last drop
of said craftsman, now if still alive old and
broken men crushed by the mighty
self proclaimed dictator of the proletariat,
whose hollow being blind sides those
he stares down, yet beware all that glitters ain't gold!
The Plain Guy and the Beautiful Woman
“Now would you look at that” he said to his Pal at the bar as he nudged his shoulder. “Look
at that beautiful woman and who she's with”. His pal looked over his shoulder to see one of
the most elegant women he had ever seen, arm in arm with a man rather short, balding and
rather plain looking. “He's either got money or a big slong...who knows maybe both. How
does a guy as unattractive as he is get such a woman?” replied to his friend who nudged
him. “I don't know, I just don't know.”
Hey let's have some fun, come on, follow my lead.
Hi there, I'm Fred and this is my Pal Murray. We saw the two of you come in and well, we
just had ask you both a question.
The rather plain man spoke up. “Excuse me but we don't entertain strangers with answers
to questions we know nothing about. Your both rude and condescending. Now please
leave at once.”
Fred and Murray were not easily dismissed. Hey wait a minute pal. We have an important
question to ask the lady here.
The beautiful woman leaned to her husband and whispered into his ear....and smiled.
The rather plain man spoke up again. “I believe that I know what kind of question you are
going to ask. So let me guess and see if I am correct.”
Okay Pal...go right ahead.....the two men smiled at each other.
“Let's see, you see before you a beautiful woman, yes?”
“Yeah, we do.”
“And you wonder how a rather plain man like myself might attract and yes, even marry such
a stunning creature, Yes?”
Uh...yeah...that's right.
“And you think I must be very wealthy in order for her to be with someone like me. Which is
insulting to both me and my wife. Or you think that I might possess a manly tool or both,
Yes?”
“Hey, we're asking the questions around here.”
“So let me come to a conclusion for you both”. Said the rather plain man.
“I am a well published author, I am an accomplished concert pianist and I have a genius IQ.
I enjoy fine art and find beauty in everything I see. I adore my wife with all the love and
respect that I can bestow upon her. And most of all I get her......and she gets me. Now
leave before I kick your asses up around your shoulders.”
“Oh boys,” The beautiful woman finally spoke. “And he can do it to! He's a very manly
man.”
Fred has been working with an agency called Hunters for the Hungry for five years. During that time, his food bank has received thousands of pounds of venison to feed the poor. This year, however, when Fred received no call from the agency saying it was ready to deliver the meat, he called the organization himself.
The answering machine was full and Fred never got through. Finally, he called a state officer for the agency and to his dismay he found out what the problem was.
Fred learned that the state’s governor, in an effort to balance the budget, had stripped $100,000 from the allotment to Hunters for the Hungry. In past years, that money had allowed donors of deer meat to have it processed free of charge. The meat would be put in one lb. rolls to be given to non-profit groups that operate food banks.
Fred was told the state now requires hunters to pay for the processing costs as well as donate the meat. Many of the hunters are unwilling to pay for processing. The cost is not cheap.
The staff at Hunters for the Hungry is upset with this new rule as are the food banks that won’t get the meat. As a result, food pantries and soup kitchens across the state have a big problem this year they can do nothing about.
After all, as Fred says, if the goal of private enterprise is to make a profit, and it is, then the goal of government is to take care of people. And in many states, government does a good job of doing just that.
Balancing the budget is important but cuts should not be made, Fred says, to programs that help those already down on their luck.
Fred and others would like to know how the money allegedly saved by the governor’s action is being used. Roads in the state are still crumbling, schools are making drastic cuts and those in need remain in need at a basic level—food.
Meanwhile, the staff at Hunters for the Hungry is trying to locate other meat for Fred’s food bank. They know the demand for food is exploding among those with inadequate income.
The missing deer meat means charities all over the state must spend more for food. This money would normally be spent to help pay for utilities, medicine and other necessities for the needy.
Something’s not right with this cut in the budget, Fred says. What’s worse, he adds, the next election is a long way off.
Donal Mahoney
320 has a great bunch working there
They show a lot pride they really care
I personally don't consider any of this work, to me it's all fun
Sweat already pouring from the Warehouse heat and the morning sun
Daine and Nathaniel welcome to a great team
We cover one another on tasks in Warehouse 317
We have the mother of all mothers coming our way soon
Enough fun coming to make you wanna bark at the moon
I am looking forward to the thirty thousand guests
So let's wipe the sweat from our brows and make it look effortless
Monique is going to miss out on this great adventure, Zena is now the one caught in between
Local Purchase stop pulling your hair out, what a great place called Warehouse 317
There is Hezakiah handling the turn ins
He has to be careful and watch the NSN's
Glen handles the Turretts and parts to the shops
Without Wonda and Michael, the production stops
Gabrielle is the Goddess of the Hazmat
Shipping is now on cruise control with Doug there, but we all wear so many different hats
Jerry is the main director of this sometimes circus scene
Under our wonderful big top at Warehouse 317
A manager is only as good as her or his people allow them to be
I am thankful for all who I work with and my extended family
I love where I work and I am so happy to come there every day
All this fun and very good pay
DRMO is handled by Elsa and Fred
This is where all the useless parts are sent
The Carpenter Shop has Jason
That is where they do the packaging and craten'
Tom runs the show at Container Ops
David is in charge of the Turrett Shop
The mechanics have the vehicles coming in and going out at a tremendous rate
The Shop Clerks keep the ordering and parts requirements up to date
Vehicles to be shipped, Motor Pool is on the scene
But it all starts at my favorite place, Warehouse 317
I am sorry if I missed anyone such as Tammy at Safety, or Miss Lilly at PBO
Overall the operations are under the direction of Rick and Joe
The Front Office Personnel answer the phone
Without them, there would be nobody home
The shipboard stuff handled by Wholesale
Shop's parts handled by Retail
I personally want to thank everyone for all they do
This place could not do what it does without me or you
So I am not trying to be rude or mean
But I must end the saga now, come visit us at Warehouse 317
There’s a party tonight so I bouffe up my hair
Pamper and powder my sweet derrière,
Arrive at the door, all done up to impress.....
Oh man, I forgot! Invite said “fancy dress”!
Pete and Sue are here, seems their theme’s ‘Tarts and Vicars’,
Sue’s skirt’s microscopic! Look at her tiny knickers!
Pete’s in a nun’s habit; the image is scary,
I’ve not seen a nun with a chin that’s THAT hairy!
And there’s Spider-Man! (although I’m perfectly certain,
His cape is made out of his living room curtain),
His curve-hugging costume’s quite “cosy” in size,
I think our friend Spidey gobbled too many flies!
In the corner, a lady has come as Snow White,
Gee, her bosoms are out there, her corset’s so tight,
They look like two bald heads squeezed into a sack,
Glad my hubby’s not here - he’d have a heart attack!
In the hallway, a robot is looking well-oiled -
Her costume’s made out of three rolls of tin foil,
She looks more like a turkey at Christmas, so later,
I really hope no one is tempted to baste her!
By the buffet, Fred Flintstone is looking contrite,
I think he and Wilma are having a fight,
Behaving all “caveman” has got Fred in trouble -
He showed his big man-club to poor Betty Rubble!
There’s a massive man-baby dressed just in a nappy,
The “milk” in his bottle has made him quite happy,
He’s shaking his tooshie and sucking his dummy,
And asking a lady, “can I call you Mummy?”
On the sofa is Princess Fiona from Shrek,
Blimey, Count Dracula’s nibbling her neck,
I avert my eyes to avoid his rising passion,
In walks his wife, and his face turns quite ashen.
His irate wife’s dressed up as pop singer Cher,
In her see through outfit she looks almost bare,
Then she lays into Drac just like Rocky Balboa -
She’s drunk as I skunk, I’m relieved I don’t know her!
Suddenly, Batman bursts through the door,
In his skintight costume - my jaw hits the floor!
He’s so muscular - bulges in all the right places,
If I play my cards right, could be me he embraces!
Well sadly I haven’t a costume of course,
Til I spot a young chappie dressed up as a horse,
I leap on his back - I’m a great improviser -
Strip off and shout “Hey I’m Lady Godiva!”
Collaboration between Jan Allison and the amazing Nina Parmenter
3/17/18
Bizarre Man
I’m the bizarre man. I like to sleep in a river. I love the feeling of water flowing round my sleeping face. Don’t worry, I won’t drown. I can breathe underwater like a fish.
On my back is an upside down push bike. It belonged to the landlord of the Dog and Duck pub. I stole it along with his orange chequered brolly. The bike is a 1928 model worth sixteen grand.
It’s not for sale.
The wheels move in the wind, freewheeling. I keep my other clothes dry in an orange case that belonged to a copper. I liberated it from his car. No need for spare cuffs, CS gas, stun gun, bondage gear. I don’t wash my clothes. The running water cleans them. My yellow Fred Perry shirt has never looked fresher. And my PVC jeans are jet black gothic.
Do you think I’m bizarre?