Long Gloats Poems
Long Gloats Poems. Below are the most popular long Gloats by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gloats poems by poem length and keyword.
What could have been more expected
from a system created on greed
Where the donors all make legislation
via Congress they constantly feed
When a country is poisoned by money
it no longer looks out for the small
It is owned and controlled by the richest
who’ve decided that they want it all
Our history, bloody and violent
was a preview of what we would be
Just because we can’t see all the bodies
doesn’t mean that their spirits are free
The obsession with money and power
are the perfect dictatorship blend
Void of love for the land or the people
who are merely a means to an end
They all file in the chamber like robots
and their leader looks on as he gloats
The decisions made by all their donors
turn into the Congressional votes
They say capitalism is wonderful
but who is it wonderful for
It is not for the factory worker
nor the people who mop up the floor
It is not for the ones who build buildings
or the secretaries or the clerks
It is not for the drivers of buses
or the ones who toil in public works
Capitalism is poisoned
it is not for the poor or the old
It is not for the cooks or the teachers
or the soldiers, as they have been told
The system is for corporate donors
who get rich on the taxes we pay
We all work to provide them the money
which they triple on stock market play
Stoked and stirred up, fire flares,
If provoked, cobra scares,
Hurt by loss of glory,
Startled, beasts show fury,
Goaded, ego gloats in thin airs.
_______________
Translation |11.01.2025| ego, self, fire, snake/cobra
Poet’s note: Sanskrit has thousands of verses of wisdom called Subhashhitam. Ego identifies with (lower) self--man, bird or beast. If hurt, it reacts. When stoked fire flares. If provoked, cobra tries to scare. So does human ego. The transliteration of the Sanskrit verse follows:
Jvalati chalite indhana agnih,
vi-prakrtah pannagah phanaam kurute |
Praayah sve mahimaanam kshobhaat
prati-padyanta jantavah || 218 ||
Militant anti immigrant riots by those who love foreign diets inspired by Patrick's (a Nairobi squire & Obi One Kenobi of Satire) "the Flavour Crisis" in the Guardian..
Our saviour from v(ice) some spice and flavour
For Blighty to finally be fancy free and mighty
We must stop dastardly.. bastardly behaviour
Bold in vogue rogues in brogues who're flighty
Britain ain’t as cold as the fold in Scandinavia
Savour cultural gold or it will be nighty nighty
Rascal perky castle floats in quirky murky moats
Nobody notes same gory story just Tory turncoats
Glory gloats as caning boats is still gaining votes
Knaves & slaves sent to their graves scapegoats
Nigel Farage tribal bible barrage sowing his oats
Baiting bigots hating spigots come on do us a favour
Have a go at a hijab then go have a kebab is a worry
Flurry of slurry raves at their quarry pivots craves curry
Shady reformer berk digs jerk go beserk at lady burkha
Has a go at Gurhka worker making his korma say sorry
Fears that it took 60 years to pick ethnic peers on Corrie
If only their morals like their palate whet was bit braver
Tease about it’s a breeze ease of Chinese if in a hurry
No takeaway waiver unless more a Quaver than raver
Don’t be hasty most things tasty the same wheeze
Places with traces of other races & faces do choose
No quips please about fish and chips is Portuguese
Although clues in London dish introduced by Jews
On our knees seeing trees not the wood our disease
Not just pasty views need other hues cultural engraver
Colour cascades with brood of shades or mood is duller
No blot of the don't give a jot lot be a melting pot bather
Britain’s future paver.. tutor & life saver could be FLAVA
Fondle fine flame
Nurture nice name
Speak sultry sway
Wise words work way
Feel fragrance free
Sanguine sight sees
Dream dizzy dance
Cheer crazy chance
Feisty form floats
Guilty gaze gloats
Niche naughty nice
Seize sizzling spice
Big blossoms blind
Know keepsakes kind
Watch wonder walk
Subtle sounds stalk
Think touching thoughts
Ply poignant plot
Chase curvy craze
Dance distant daze
Mind motions mull
Cream crafty cull
Looks lifting loft
Stillness sounds soft
Soul slumber sweeps
Daze dazzles deep
Dance deep delight
Sense sublime sights
Leon Enriquez
29 June 2016
Singapore
Sense true story in micro tale,
Set sights surely on profound sale.
Word signage cites how feelings move,
Draft in fond write strides sensuous grooves.
Thought winging here tells many things,
Deep fine thinking mellows warm fling.
Stop, start and grind and polish change,
Wear frame of mind with ample range.
Words come alive with clear meaning,
Sift as you strife to reap feeling.
Moments now moot that fragrance fine,
Word sculptures root as message lines.
The story sparks an inner boost,
A tale now marks a concrete roost.
Words now breathe life to journey quest,
To dare arrive stray echoes fest.
Jazzy feel floats upon these shores,
Poise of voice gloats to channel more.
Each rise and fall of vested words
Spill sweet and gall of poise and berth.
Tell in words brief of poignant fest,
Stitch joy and grief with precious quest.
Leon Enriquez
06 February 2017
Singapore
In lengthening slumberous reposes lies
Dickens' sterling pen under bluish skies;
And through them gloats deathless sun,
Taunting all that under his embers burn.
No more savoring of Oliver’s twisty trials
In doleful dints and extra-nuanced miles;
Nor shall of tested Nell all posterity hear,
Cooed in sweetly plaintive rhythms dear.
Nicholas Nickleby's adventures now
Must halt and take a somnolent bow,
And leave us at Muse’s orphan gate,
Slow to hug our stark bereaving fate.
Whence comes a defter pen to tell
Copperfield's youth and pupil spell,
By stingy virtue ridden through cry
And toil with dismal affection nigh?
Stung reader must content themselves
With ancient writs mute on dull shelves,
And with relish cherish and revive tales
Mid-voyage drowned by muffling gales.
Though your eyes may not see it
when you look at me;
I am a child at heart.
Into my Crayola box of colors
I dive and dance;
my crayons, my best buds, shout,
“Pick me…pick me!”
I can’t decide and close
my eyes and grab one;
how it haughtily gloats upon the
page I am coloring.
I get excited when I color;
my crayon shouts,
“Don’t squeeze me so hard!”
I nearly drop it; I wasn’t expecting that;
crayons don’t usually protest.
When I am finished, there’ll be
jealous crayons who weren’t picked but,
I tell them, another picture is for you;
and they calm down.
Coloring releases my muse to play.
Children laugh when I tell them about
my competitive crayons;
It inspires them to color-dance
along with us.
2-4-19
The Whos down in Who-ville have no reason to dread
The fake skinny Santa wearing a coat colored blood red.
They sleep soundly, delighting that tomorrow is Christmas Day.
One tiny Who, Cindy Lou, comes up to fake Santa to Say,
“What you doing? I need a drink, Mr. Santy Claus!
He jumps back in horror, putting up his Grinch-like claws.
He puts her to bed with a lovely pat on her head, fancy—free
Then he steals all their presents, and takes their beautiful tree.
He is angry at Christmas, for it humiliated him once upon a time.
He goes house to house, taking all he can get, stealing everyone blind.
His sack gets bigger and bigger, and he gloats as all through the night,
He takes all the ornaments and gifts from Who-ville, even their lights.
As he is starting up Mount Crumpit to dump all of their things
He hears the Who’s come to the town square, and all of them begin to sing!
His heart grows to three sizes, as he hears those happy sounding Whos.
With the strength of ten grinches, he grabs the sleigh he is about to lose.
With a flourish he and his reindeer-antlered dog, Max, decide to save the day.
They head down to Who-ville, and I mean right away.
To his delight, no one is singing “You’re mean one, Mr. Grinch.”
He stops the sleigh next to Sally O’Malley, her admiration a cinch.
Cindy Lou Who yells “There is Santy Claus Now!”
He is photographed with her; their shoot a big wow.
The town gives him a medal and brings in a band.
He is regaled a hero that day in Whoville-land.
A Badge and a Gun
A gun and a badge makes you macho and brave
A chain and a whip makes another a slave
The past can’t be forgotten as much as we try
Two hundred years on and people still cry
Ask yourself why you do, just what you do?
Punch the innocent who stand in front of you
Instead of being the person for what you are paid
You taunt and hurt and shoot and degrade
You have the badge and it gives you the right
To arrest the guilty and we understand your plight
But there’s bad apples in the barrel of every gun
And you stand and you aim, hoping they’ll run
Your allegiance is noted, the president smiles and gloats
Hides in his bunker, while a sycophant takes notes
In your ivory tower, with your thoughts and your tweets
While your mistakes and crimes, hide under white sheets.
David cox 05/06/20
Kate stared out the window as the snow fell,
singing “Frosty the Snowman” very well
She walked to the isthmus,
thinking about Christmas
Kate played “Jingle Bells” with a shiny bell.
She spotted a sled in wanted to ride,
nervous looking ahead as she down slide
“Winter Fairy land” heard playing,
with joy as she was slaying
She enjoyed the sled bells jingle with pride.
Her cousins came over with their new toys
Her mom trimming the Christmas tree with boys
Mom singing “ho ho ho” clear
We were like “no no no” dear
Everyone laughing loud echoes loud noise.
Kate feeling jealous of her cousins gifts
Wonders if Santa Claus got to her lists
Elves stood in her room with bags
Kate face showed the brags
Gloats gifts with joy, noticed in the mists.