Long Freeloaders Poems
Long Freeloaders Poems. Below are the most popular long Freeloaders by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Freeloaders poems by poem length and keyword.
Storms do not last
They happen very fast
But the damages stay
In the trays, in the hays, and lay
With us for a very long time
The memories are worth more than a dime
The souvenirs disappear
The bad judgments reappear
From time to time on the screen
Destroying heart and spleen
The happy times don’t last forever
But the humiliation, the deception
Will remain from generation to generation
God is good, God is fair; God, however,
Chased Adam and Eve
Because they messed-up big time
They committed the wrong crime
Bring me a bottle of Aleve
To erase and obliterate the bad memories
Bring a case of Vodka
For my friends, so we can enjoy the festivities
Play some Reggae, some Konpa,
Some Soukous, some Polka,
Some Calypso, some Samba,
And let forget the bad times,
And the ignorance of a few
Chase the party crashers and the mimes
Evict the audacious freeloaders
So we can enjoy a better life
Ignore the clowns and the actors
Do not bring the knife
Because security is tight
Bring the spotlight
After the nefarious storms
And stay away from the big bosoms
Spring brings flowers and fever
The happy times won’t last forever.
Copyright © April 2015, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Quitting my job today, and going to live in a tent.
Hey, man, it isn't so bad, I get State Aid and pay
no rent!
I get free medical care, free food and free meds,too.
In the USA, walk into any hospital ER and take full
advantage, they take care of all, it's true!
Those fools that go to work each day, I do smirk
as they walk by.
Such dummies feel sorry for me when my life is pie
in the sky.
Not work for me~ I hustle drugs, on a bike I stole,
I really make a fat bundle.
But I always play hopeless victim when panhandling,
I am master of the hustle and boy, can I play humble!
Forgot to mention the money I make as a paid protestor,
boy do I cash in!
We intend to crash businesses, ruin lives, because to us
America is a sin.
One day, we will all be equally poor with a Marxist leader.
I just cannot wait for that day to come.
After all, my tent needs an expensive, shiny free heater.
And no work for anyone, I say.
Just a land with freeloaders and cheaters.
August 26, 2020
8:30am
The powers that be, undefined, ruthless, opaque authority
Shapeless, bodiless, upstanding folk, coercing the majority
Overseeing applications, supplications, ensuring conformity
Specialists in quagmires, minefields, esoteric bureaucracy.
The powers that be, model citizens, high ranking royalty
Peerless above the law, protected from a droned society
Scratching each other’s back, freeloaders, freemasonry
Funny hand shakes, codes, wink wink nudge nudge faculty.
The powers that be, puppet masters, answering to nobody
Church going pagans, planted within god fearing laities
Penchants for young hookers, high class swinging orgies
Masters of the universe, demigods, self serving deities.
The powers that be, off the radar, shirking accountability
Magnates, judges, ministers, businessmen, your attorneys
The A listed, elite, endemic, prevalent, shrouded in mystery
Wrong side of these people, you’ll disappear no conspiracy
The powers that be, yet another victim, where’s Khashoggi,
Are his killers really in prison, more likely given new identity
Some ask too many questions, Maltese journalist Daphne,
Blown up in a car, getting too close, unsettling the fraternity
The powers that be, its not possible I’m losing it completely
Because I believe a certain ilk, walk amongst us with impunity
Live behind walled estates, big donations for political parties
In return, yes sir three bags full sir, here’s to your anonymity.
By
David kavanagh
In a small town in Nevada
lived a man named Joe McCoy,
he never touched a bottle,
never bothered or annoyed.
He was a dark-haired bean-pole,
rarely even shot the bull,
the only thing said about him
was that he was always moral.
In fact Joe was so square that
folks didn’t even use his name,
they all called him ‘Moral McCoy,’
born without hint of blame.
Moral tipped his hats to the ladies
whenever they passed by,
and whenever he talked to you
he always met your eye.
He did the work of two men,
had no trouble with the law,
always went to chapel on Sunday
to give his due to God.
Yes, he was a good man,
to all he was quite fair,
but one man hated Moral,
the hired gun ‘Spike’ Kildare.
Something about quiet Moral
always rubbed Spike the wrong way,
and his dislike came to a head
one dreary, April day.
Spike stormed into Carol’s restaurant
with the roar of an angry man,
said,”McCoy get your damn sheep
off Boss Taylor’s gazing lands”
Moral had finished eating
snd said,”I’d be glad too.”
but before he could get up,
a Bowie knife Kildare drew.
He advanced on Moral slowly,
menace cold in his words:
“This is the fourth time it’s happened,
I think now you need to learn.
“The boss don’t like freeloaders
grazing damn sheep in his yards,
you’ll remember that from now on
every time you see your scars.”
Spike continued forwards,
meaning to carve Moral red,
So Moral pulled his thirty-eight
and shot Spike through the head...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Wishing I had the strength
to lift a corner of this sweet-sweet land.
Shake out all these jugular-biting fire ants.
The disgruntled, ungrateful, chronic complainers.
Clawing and crying for more while giving less and less.
Sucking dry the breast of our sweet lady liberty.
Then spitting it back onto her weary chest.
Wishing I had the strength
to lift a corner of this sweet- sweet land
Shake out all the freeloaders and free riders
The socialists, communist backbiters.
The chronic criminal element and hellbenders.
The elementary indoctrinators and perverts.
Wishing I had the strength
Make me man as soon as my youngster
knowingly receives their very last coddle.
The unconditional love curdles from
your loving mother’s teat.
Make it matter despite what you moo to cattle.
Prod the brittle; the previously dilly-dallied say,
“Tagalongs, hogtied stowaway freeloaders with
the trade inside loading and shipping containers.”
Longtime division produced its remainders.
A cove far off the oceans cost.
A cove in a periwinkle sea,
frothing with a bacterial foam
whipping up these sweet
whipped creamed treats
and other delights.
A fondant atop it all
till the klutz ruination
curses cause clusters of
curse wordings together,
finding their bindings.
Shame soaks the rag that wiped away
a distressed and disastrous look upon face.
Words impact with a continuous compound fracture
under the masterful tongue's dismantling of the
peace talks upheld on the other hand.
Filling a Void
…..feelings like
disappointment or
fulfillment, mistreatment or
kindness, loved or
neglected
are clear moments that
teach me
to step back, cope with my story
……and sometimes,
life story is just terrifying limpid, and
some days, I
rather
collapse and back away
at that point, I
lean in
to this bold expedition….
withholding
my endowed giving character to
a few
freeloaders
Nothing
is insurmountable
bounce back from injustice
filling a void, shield my heart
simply
Cease-Giving
blindly
A Dying Plant
Feeding everyone lies
The drama never dies
Running away from the root of the problem
Too many excuses with no water
Always playing the victim under the sun
Falling away into a sinkhole
You had plenty of chances
To make good choices
You choose to rebel in dirt
A stubborn generation
You never listened
A dying plant
A heart full of regret
An ungrateful flower
Just freeloaders
A dying plant
I gave you guidance
You did everything your way
Flowers are fading
Bondege is braking
Blaming someone else is never ending
The root of the problem is burning
Angel?
Demon?
Faerie?
Witch?
Random labels
None apply.
We are all changelings
Pure and simple
Or complicated and unpure
Depending upon the mood, the moment, and our momentous events.
Divorce, death, cancer, car wrecks, they all take a toll on us.
Changing us completely in one second.
Giving us a perspective we never had before.
Showing us that our opinions are not the same now.
Sometimes switching to the opposite side in one second.
When we become the needy, we stop bad-mouthing the freeloaders.
When we realize how close we are to homeless, we maybe develop a little more empathy for them.
There are life-changing events happening every day.
We may go into some of them kicking and screaming,
But we still
Go into them
Changelings that we are.
Angel? Demon? Faerie? Crone? We’d best leave labels well and good alone.
Bowlegged belligerent bellowing Boxcar Betty
Rarely rose to the ripe, refreshed or ready
She always had an exasperatingly idiotic excuse
To cavort and converse on Charlie’s Chicken caboose
Eddie’s Enthusiastic Engine was trite and tired.
Of these two freeloaders, quarrelsomely quagmire.
He wanted both Betty and Charlie off his train.
For they both were a challenge, and a horrible strain.
Boxcar Betty dug in her claws, determined to stay.
She loved riding the rails with Charlie every day.
Eddie had to keep Charlie Chicken too of course.
A train’s caboose is imperative as legs on a horse.