Long Gazette Poems
Long Gazette Poems. Below are the most popular long Gazette by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gazette poems by poem length and keyword.
Fatima was always dressed up fittingly as any occasion called for
Today one might call her a performance artist but she was
A hippie and child of God always good for some drama though
Was not taken seriously in the reviews in the Paradise Gazette
All she wanted was to be seen as playful serene and sophisticated
First thing it were dates that started the show in the garden
And she had never performed in the nude let alone seduced
She played Hamlet and Noah Mephistopheles and Juliet
Let her hair down to climb down from Babylonian towers
Her repertoire was enormous and to her chagrin so was her bust
‘They always look at my bosom and never hear a word that I say
Fake voyeuristic news and when things go wrong I get the blame’
She was made for the stage in the Big Apple not dated palms’
Tried olives but they were too small and peaches far too symbolic
Bananas were phallic and there was no couch in the garden
‘Fatima at her best again a gorgeous woman with forbidden fruit
But she covers up and her sidekick Mohamed bears the cost
She must reveal more of her natural talent and not hide her loins’
Her mountain quivered in disgust of the lecherous media and
Pressed for fame she developed a different plot with a twist
‘Mohamed let’s be traditional and awaken the punters with apples
We could juggle and whenever we drop one we’ll take off some clothes
The last one with fancy knickers gets to skin the snake as a prize'
High into sensational air they went but could not catch the globes
It was not divine as such but they created the first nudist camp
Once all garments were ripped off the good Lord smiled as they pleased
History must not be falsified and the legend carried on for millennia
Evangelists spread the message and facebook has millions of hits
Finally the audience got a full un-redacted view of naked scripture
Fatima was a transgender man and the serpent had a pearl for an oyster
01st Agust 2019
Personal productivity measured courtesy...
Unspecified number of hours spent
many yesterdays ago since March 6th, 2021
reading (cover to cover) Pennsylvania Gazette
March/April 2021 issue.
Proud papa highly regards eldest daughter,
University of Pennsylvania alum
as academic whip smart high achiever,
she did (after quite a stretch of time
after graduating) become
self supporting earning hand over fist money
employed at the B Corp
(short for Certified B Corporation)
as yours truly
(her biological father) feels glum,
cuz I would qualify
mine impossible to quantify
existence as humdrum,
hence quite envious at well deserved income,
which exact dollar figure I will remain mum
yet if privy being financially,
what me worry would become obsolete
mine mental would find me comfortably numb
livingsocial in splendour
versus dwelling in slum
bring (think dirt poor -
according to long ago slight
courtesy youngest sister)
whereby financial shortcoming exacerbates
predilection toward anxiety
with distress squarely within tum.
Back during mine salad days
earlier within mein kampf
precious time squandered away
this doubting thomas
grabbing life by figurative horns,
his outlook toward future
did excel at procrastination,
a pointedly powerful stance did delay
ambivalence toward purposefulness
hit me courtesy metaphorical
ton of bricks, now at threescore earth orbits
around the sun absorb shock
while grizzled and gray
recognizing when sober
upon post drinking up lackadaisical indifference
feigning to care not a whit,
I allude to johnny come lately self actualization
analogous to confronting judgement-day
resigned to gather wilted, shriveled, matted
rosebuds while I may
experience e'en just fleeting aliveness,
thus yours truly doth pray
to dance (why I'll) while
these spindleshanks sashay
into Elysian Fields
exorcising atrophied muscles oy vey!
Mach my words, that time travel aye
foresee (rather than being
at a stand still, nee frozen
analogous to cry
oh ja hen nicks, or more particularly
going backwards)
this chap doth espy
great breakthroughs,
asper similar advances this guy
i.e. myself witnesses quantum leaps I
learn (reading The University Of Penn Gazette)
the Burmese doctoral
engineering student Kai
Sir Von Wilhelm Harris
made profound advances within
advanced combined research
laboratory of rocket surgery
and brain science set my
mouth ajar
(with rivulets of drool spilling forth)
constructing a simple
to assemble gizmo (avail able
common household materials
rendered unto YouTube), and/or Cable
Comcast, Fios, Infosys, et cetera
which accidental discovery
automatically codified feign
top secret "FAKE" news to enable
boot (simply for formality sake)
code named Clark Gable
yet in reality (a faux veil of secrecy)
to con Vince sing lee
foster an inimitable
mystique, button truth
for general public to unzip noble
no red bull) knowable
handy escape to past or future
and essentially unlocked laudable
simple "household solution"
to become the latest craze
(synonymous with an opiate - manageable
minus addiction, conviction,
and excruciation viz zit operable
via needle marks of the masses
within a fortnight necessary
supplies sans quantifiable
while Das Donald Trump
could enact legislation satisfiable
knowing majority being
totally tubularly oblivious unalterable
measures permanently infringing on inalienable
rights such as life, liberty
and the pursuit of winnable pacification.
Personal productivity measured courtesy...
Unspecified number of hours spent
yesterday March 6th, 2021
reading (cover to cover) Pennsylvania Gazette
March/April 2021 issue.
Proud papa highly regards eldest daughter,
University of Pennsylvania alum
as academic whip smart high achiever,
she did (after quite a stretch of time
after graduating) become
self supporting earning hand over fist money
as yours truly
(her biological father) feels glum,
cuz I would qualify
mine existence as humdrum
hence quite envious at well deserved income,
which exact dollar figure I will remain mum
yet if privy being financially,
what me worry would become obsolete
mine mental would find me comfortably numb
livingsocial in splendour
versus dwelling in slum
bring (think dirt poor -
according to youngest sister)
whereby financial shortcoming exacerbates
predilection toward anxiety
with distress squarely within tum.
Back during mine salad days
earlier within mein kampf
precious time squandered away
this doubting thomas
grabbing life by figurative horns,
his outlook toward future
did excel at procrastination,
a pointedly powerful stance did delay
ambivalence toward purposefulness
hit me courtesy metaphorical
ton of bricks, now at threescore earth orbits
around the sun absorb shock
while grizzled and gray
recognizing when sober
upon post drinking up lackadaisical indifference
feigning to care not a whit,
I allude to johnny come lately self actualization
analogous to confronting judgement-day
resigned to gather wilted, shriveled, matted
rosebuds while I may
experience e'en just fleeting aliveness,
thus yours truly doth pray
to dance (why I'll) while
these spindleshanks sashay
into Elysian Fields
exorcising atrophied muscles oy vey!
Broken tick-tock
Ghetto gazette news
Nobody’s fixing the clock
Alarm is stuck on snooze
A lot of people hearts dozed off in a bottle,
hoping a taste of liquid happiness
would make their troubles all go away
Temporarily it felt like it did
But hard booze and brew-skis
only sent their life on the skids,
a fatal downward slope
Using alcohol and dope equaled no hope
Last day of the week, life ain’t nothing but a party
First day of the week, bleary eyes now seeking relief
Row after row filled in the church pews
Trodden down souls
wanting to hear the good gospel news
Preacher tells them,
God’s gonna save everybody, including you
But he ain’t sermonizing the straight hard truth,
that things are gonna get worse before they get better
A lot of pain in store ... a lot of tribulation,
before you get that sweet sober taste of salvation
But for poor ghetto souls, this ain’t no breaking news:
We’ve always been given eight days worth of seven day blues
Now if preacher man is telling them that,
he’s speaking the gospel truth
Ghetto souls have always been given
eight days worth of seven day blues
Such a heavy burden has always been put on us, this ain’t nothing new
An extra helping of sabbath pain,
God’s trying to warn you to get close to Him again
Eight days worth of seven day blues,
such an oppressive burden heavily taxing you
Eight days worth of seven day blues,
that’s all that the Devil has in store for you
So get on your knees and start to pray,
then rise ... open your eyes and recognize:
The first day of the rest of your life is starting off okay
Eight days of heaviness ain’t got no more weight
No more seven day blues,
only the joyous sound of righteous news
Again the sun will rise and the moon will shine,
Again the night will shudder,again the night will whine.
Again the darkness will beseech, the sky will remorse for its stalemate,
Again her wail will lament in the hellish night, her body will be bruised and her soul will creamate.
Again the candles will burn in smoulder, again the cortège will walk,
Again the daily gazette will be flung with headlines and debates and talks,
Again the horde will scream for punishment and justice,
Again the social media will rise in protest, again the court will surfeit with another case.
Again another news will herald, another "she " will be torned apart,
Another imploring wail will groan in the sky, another predator will born with benignity full of wry.
Again another delicate soul will wane, another trust will be transformed in bane.
Again her eyes will open to witness the succour given to her,
Again her eyes will close to re-experience the horror she had to bear.
Marching, rallies and "online" protest will continue to stay, the vermin will continue to lacerate its prey,
To stop the beastly crime everyone must "stand" together, without any class barrier.
Covering the body is not important, to uncover the veiled thinking is more significant.
Not clothes but coarse glare is more ablest, for an impeccable child cannot lure the beast,
When the probity totters, even demon can be born in priest.
Woman are not for consumption, she is anyone's mother, daughter, sister or wife.
Do not pierce her soul and let her die, she can bless the world with a new life.
Let us not be the second one, but the first to secure,
Because once upon a time you may have heard "prevention is better than cure".
Had sorrow came back with a full army,
Crushing every piece of me in this broken heart?
I have now shaking hands,
Trembling in fear and praying
Praying for a soul which is standing
Standing on an edge of a deadly cliff.
This soul is afraid to choose a path,
Cause it had never decided its own destiny solely,
It is afraid.
It had promised and didn’t succeed to fulfill,
The soul made a pledge between Me and Myself:
“I will never be afraid again,
Not until I will be recognized”
Heal me I am lonely,
And hear the words I want to say.
To God and to his mightily power:
“I am somebody with a lonely soul,
Hanging on a cliff thinking of a sore,
A hardship of a fading face leaning against a family
That is waiting for an ending
In the deadly cliff”
I feel and I don’t dare to tell my inner thoughts,
“A gazette in the mouth of a lion”
The only description that fits me.
I long for an ear of understanding,
Cause I am tired from speaking to deaf people.
Who catch the shallow of the speech.
To a friend, a father, a mother, a brother or sister,
Why can’t you be there when I need?
My heart now is not just broken but it is full of regret.
I regret giving my trust to the ones who don’t deserve it,
And for letting myself being treated harshly.
And then I regret believing that this is what it should be when it shouldn’t be.
I left myself accumulating the hated of years
Until now.
Now I don’t know if I should be full of regret or full of sorrow.
It seems that I can’t even explain my own fear to myself.
I am left as usual alone .
On between an endless sea and a large desert.
And for sure now this mistreatment is an obligation
Upon a soul on the deadly cliff.
A haze…
Languorous oft in summer days
Where sundrops drip
From melting skies
Onto city grind
And parasols shade the cobbled grays
Across back alley lanes
Trains and trolleys tip toe by
As a fool in love forever waits
Among a noon bistro Paris crowd
For his girl, who is always fashionably late
Outside a sidewalk somewhere café cityscape
Young beauties amidst a mid-day stroll
Becomingly, become ever respectively
The flowers that line the picket way
Or some frilly prize ponies
Beneath carousels about avenues of Torrid place
A testament to this…
The carriage horses that turn their whiny heads
And then, when I turn mine
It’s to witness boots of cavalier instead
That step to one side
For moments languor has left
As my own prize has made red carpets rise
Those flutter lashes like shotguns glint blasts
And soon the white dove makes its notorious descent
Where the gentlemen, unbeknownst to them, become like minded ruffians
As they dive into madness for her precious handkerchief
“Oh” this women of mine, she has her perculiar ways
Just like all the silly rest
My damsel mademoiselle never enters into throes of distress
Longer lace invites mischievous about a button down dress
And her kisses offer smiles and arduent waves
With utter love contempt to them, but my hand is her biggest praise
I guess it’s the thrill of the game
And she’s the tigress and I her willful prey
Opening up the Gazette, coffee I incredulous sip and purposely hide my face
As my sweet flora strolls my way
And lands into her lover's arms
In a somewhere summer Paris afternoon café
As I was reading Nyasatimes
Gazette on line
On January 10th , 2024
I saw the name
of Yao Kingdom Foundation
Portrayed badly
As written," differences have emerged
in the once United
Yao tribe,
under Chiwanja Cha Yao ,
As a rebel
group has registered
a new tribal
organization Yao Kingdom Foundation."
Oh!
I became so excited
for their courage
to market us for free.
I did not mind
the blackmail
I clapped my hands
because it was a public excellent mail
To all the nations.
I say thank you to Nyasatimes
publishing news.
How if you meet us
and collect a peaceful mail?
Is it wrong to volunteer
to help marginalized people?
I am so happy because
there is no a Minister
of
Injustice in
the
Country.
We are not a religious trustee
Either tribal.
None of our objectives
concerns a promotion
of a certain religion.
Remember that we have members
from different religions and tribes.
We invited some journalists
of Nyasatimes at some venues
and they could witness
the presence of some Chewa and Yao chiefs.
as I am
one of the top members
of Yao Kingdom foundation
I am not a Muslim
Either a Muyao
And I work so comfortable with others.
This is meaning ,
we are not :
- Religious,
- Political,
- Tribal,
Either
- Rebel
As some jealous leaders
tried to label
Us.
Alfonso II Warally
Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
For nigh on thirty years since he and Ma had married,
Pa had a breakfast table routine that never, ever varied!
The menu was standard - bacon, fried eggs and gravy bread,
And no one dared bother him 'til the Daily Gazette he'd read!
The family bowed their heads as he offered a desultory grace,
Then he grasped the paper, thence, his clan seldom saw his face,
Except his eyes now and then glaring over the top of the paper,
If someone talked, sneezed or perpetrated some irksome caper!
From behind the paper came a cacophony of slurps and snorts,
And an occasional "dag nabbit" if an article put him out of sorts!
Ma was ready in an instant with more coffee - she knew the drill,
When Pa, never lowering the paper, rattled his cup for another fill!
Sundays were different - he hid behind the paper in his easy chair,
As Ma and the kids marched to church leaving him discomfitted there!
If the daily rag was not delivered or suffered some minor delay,
Pa's day was ruined - he didn't have very nice things to say!
The kids were excused, eyes glued to the paper he mumbled "goodbye".
They left scratching their heads wondering, "Who was that guy?"
Their conjecturing of who it might be was never quite complete,
Since they seldom saw the elusive face behind the printed sheet!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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