Long Gong Poems
Long Gong Poems. Below are the most popular long Gong by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gong poems by poem length and keyword.
Can you hear the rhythm
The rhythm of a drum
It's easy to copy it
Tum Tum Tiddly, Tiddly Tum Tum
It is also easy
To imitate a bell
Tinkle Tinkle Tinkle
That goes very well
Also, you can Bang and Clang
Boom, Boom, Boom and Bong
That's not a bell of course
It sounds more like a Gong
A Flute is even easier
Just Toot, Toot, Toot, Toot
Everyone will cover their ears
And outside you'll have to scoot
A tambourine is boring
All you have to do with it is shake
You would soon get tired of that
As it would make your poor arms ache
There's a lot of other instruments
You pluck and strum and blow
It would take a long time
For you to choose one so
There are just too many
For you to understand
And have to take lessons
To start playing in a band
Or play in an orchestra
That would be super good
Where every type of instrument
Plays music like it should
The King of Rock n Roll
Met the King of kings
The Queen of Soul
Met the King of kings
The Prince of Pop
Met the King of kings
Tuff Gong
Met the King of kings
Road Test Ronnie
Met the King of kings
The Big Man
Met the King of kings
The Sky Dog
Met the King of king
The Mozart of Rock Guitar
Met the King of kings
The Hardest Working Man in Showbusiness
Met the King of kings
The Lizard King
Met the King of kings
Bonzo and the Ox
Met the King of kings
The Man in Black
Met the Kings of kings
Moon the Loon
Met the King of kings
The Professor
Met the King of kings
The Purple One
Met the King of kings
The Genuis
Met the King of kings
The Caruso of Rock
Met the King of kings
The Queen of Rock n Roll
Met the King of kings
The Gambler
Met the King of kings
The First lady of Country
Met the King of kings
The Prince of Darkness
Met the King of kings
One day I hope to meet
The King of kings
Ah King Kane.. you’ve done it again
Heavenly humility hums on a simply higher plane..
Angelic ability strums..curious necks studious crane
Classical charms forever waver but won’t wistfully wane
Professorial textbook tutorials..clever rhapsodies of restrain
Classy but never brassy..balletic lullabies of lyrical refrain
Dizzying dedication..insane..education.. epiphanies explain how to train
Eureka seeker...aurora explorer..yielded iconic pedagogic logic..
Willow wielded wonders sprinkled with sparkle…
Heroic champagne campaign shielded possible debacle..
Kane stoic no pretence…venerates poetic defence…purringly prophetic
Guiles..wiles.. bewitch…bamboozling composure..silky smooth aesthetic
Was it just a jest…Smithy did suggest …Kane’s last ever test
No more communions…timber timbre tickles..more highlights than Bucks Fizz reunions
Elan fans wish…our Lord of the Rings on the pitch across the ditch.. baggy green disdain
Stratospheric.. slayed & flayed by a Sorcerer’s blade
Precision magician…traditional technician
Mesmeric mercurial master…history made
The last post gong sounds like a love song
Ah Captain Kane you’ve only gone and done it again
The ‘wise one’ won the race, for, he thought,
Yet, what with a better-thinking bot,
Would man stay wise for long?
Or give up by the gong?
In a spot of two minds as he's caught,
In future, Descartes
Might say something like this:
AI bots, man’s no longer so hot.
_______________________________
Happenings |04.05.2023| humour
Poet’s note: Philosopher Rene Descartes said: Cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am). This set the *****Sapiens (literally, wise man) apart in the evolutionary race. But as of late, what with AIs taking over from him, doing all he could and better, would man still remain as the wise one? Or AI will prove to be the wiser one? This ditty apprehends.
Let's toot & salute
Folks our bespoke bloke
Having a hoot..
Bearing fruit loot
English cricketing oak
Celestial extra terrestrial Groot
Can't be snooty about tutti fruity
Rooty's booty on lions duty
As an Aussie would quip
You absolute beauty
Humble while records tumble..crumble
Can hear dear old Bumble..no quibble
Told from red rose fold across the Ribble
Saying for me..sold.. Rooty better
Run getter...record setter
Fetter even KP...cricketing gold
In the MCC heaven eleven
Story of forever glory
But never look at me
Only one with a magnificent
Seven on the adored
Boards at Lords
Top of the tree
Despite his fame...just the same
Puts on the gloves
Joy of a boy
Still really clearly dearly
Loves the game
No rebuke..no fluke
For our big grin
Thin White Duke..batting nuke
Believing his pedigree filigree
Web will keep weaving
Nervous laughter
Leaving Indians peeving
Not being cynical.. it's not cyclical...but clinical.
No retrieving the pinnacle.....puns almost biblical
Our glorious grafter...after runs to every rafter
Joe will nurdle...nudge
Scoreboard budge..purring
Dreamy silky creamy
Drives soul stirring
Lamps perverse reverse ramps whirring
By hook or crook
Snook past Cook with
Textbook look & grace
Took fifth place
In the record book race
Will beat all the elite
Breaking Rahul's wall
Shaking Kallis's Palace
Forsaking blunter punter
Ponting..bereft at the
Theft..left..wanting
En song hatching
Catching then snatching
Number one
Dispatching..after so long
Last post gong
Love song of
Dashing don..Sachin
Today I was born
My days were gone
I want to live a fresh life
In case of the day I will be gone
And to refresh my past leave
And to less be a lion
I am a goon
I have received gong
But those days were gone
I am now young
In my days of young
I aimed to be the most strong
So that whenever I am going
People on the pavement would be trembling
However, I am a graduate
With force I finished my SHS grade, but
Now, each day stream drip
My eyes are faint and deep
Those days of not aged
I imitate my fellow friends
Which make us
A congenial friends
8/8/15
This write based on a man who use his youth a thuggery, but latter in future he realized his mistake.
Today I was born: human will be born twice before they die; I mean when One is of aged or grown old
Pavement: road side
Please I need criticism on this!
She is a sop to insanity, a foreign minister that sounds off like a gong.' With such alien love
She is imbued, of all things strange.' And imported shoes..' all the time she's been around, we've watched living Aussies driven into the ground' hope assailed and
Men denigrated, women disenfranchised
My nerves; are by now raw grated, i've known cross-eyed mongrels, with a better view; of
Aussie values, ya-know? just things true blue..Like safe streets. And parks' like beaches and lakes, instead its
The chop-suey
Only; menu..Or an empty plate, I'll swear she trading noodles, for spaghetti sticks
As albo, creams of millions..
Its sick sick sick.' And things really won't
get better.' All the time this
Wong one, keeps.' Sending off; all
those loaded red letters.'
Generous praises offered by friends might mislead sometimes.
Confusing the core of friendship is beyond their thought list.
It's when, like a broken gong, the church bell faultily chimes.
Even the age-old concept of Angelus gets a twist.
The lake's surface remains dull until a pebble troubles
And evokes ripples that awaken awareness within.
My lethargic potential in snug zones found no ruffles.
Till your suns and showers of censures manured me to win
As gems between coal, within your curses, blessings, I find
Each stone you throw at me is my stepping stone to success.
In your pessimism, my possibilities are enshrined.
With the hurdle poles you plant, I row my boat and progress.
Within the axis of existence, each foe is a friend.
As the benefaction he or she bestows has no end
In the fading August sunset,
I walk out of my mud house
In my checkered colored kente,
And dazzling wooden slippers.
As the sounds of drums echo behind,
I dance to the tune of melodic songs.
Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!
The beats resound, whirling along
With the soothing tune of the pawpaw-stick flute.
I chant along with the crowds:
“Nana oo, Nana!”
In recognition of the kings
Of the Ashanti kingdom—
Royals worth their weight in gold,
As I am awed by a culture that never grows old.
I dine with the kings at the Adai Kesse festival,
An indigenous gathering beneath my feet,
In Kusmasi, where tradition thrives
And heritage dances in every heartbeat.
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong