Long Grovel Poems
Long Grovel Poems. Below are the most popular long Grovel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grovel poems by poem length and keyword.
Maybe a role reversal would be in order
And us guys could take it or leave it
Whatta mind-blowing experience that would be
The ladies simply couldn't conceive it
Exciting? You ain't just whistling Dixie
There's a stirring deep down in my loins
Sexual in nature maybe my jockeys are too tight
Sometimes I let out a few oinks
Sure would be great to see how that works out
To turn the tables on the ladies
I'd say, “I have a bad headache, maybe December
Right now I'm baking some pastries”
Can you just imagine the look on their faces
They'd start to grovel and whimper
“It's already August, not too long to wait
Before you know it, it'll be winter!”
See, my dear sweeties! How do you like it
To be at the other end of the dial
Can't tell you how much fun that would be
I'd never be able to wipe off the smile
America is freedom,
a lighthouse upon the sea,
showing there’s another way
then the storms of tyranny.
America is liberty,
written right into the laws,
it’s those who worship power
that people call out as flawed.
America is hard work,
stretching limits of what we do,
incentivized self-interest
builds things that we never new.
America is family,
bonds of love to last all time,
building a place where they can
live without actors malign.
America is knowledge,
the place where people say,”Hell yes!
Who the heck says it can't done?
Until it is we won’t rest!”
America is tempered strength,
we may be nice but we’re not weak,
live and let live, but if you don’t
we will make your future bleak.
America is striving
to be better than before,
slavery, discrimination
were once here but are no more.
America is forgiveness
to the misguided once war ends,
we once despised the Japanese,
now they are beloved friends.
America means we’re equal
in our opportunities,
none can guarantee outcomes,
it’s for us the day to seize.
America is history,
a proud past of lessons true,
that tell the tale of freedom,
what to do and not to do.
America is rule of law,
the secret of real success,
when you protect folk’s property,
they feel free to do their best.
America is moral trade,
nothing compelled, nothing forced,
both sides have to see benefits
or one will head for the door.
America is majesty,
a multitude of grand landscapes,
desert, forest, prairie, peaks,
beauty that makes the jaw gape.
America assimilates,
wants the best of all who come,
recognizes tribalism
is self-destructive and dumb.
America is open faith,
no matter what faith you prefer,
and setting off a worship space
that the state cannot disturb.
America is free speech,
free assemble, votes, and guns,
because when these things go away,
you can’t live as a real human.
America is greatness,
the best mankind has yet achieved,
where you can live your truest life,
and not grovel on your knees.
VII
There never was an army quite like Xerxes’.
Hyrcanians, Medes, Egyptians, Syrians, Scyths –
soon, Greece would grovel at its tender mercies –
a fate more gruesome than the grimmest myths.
It drank whole rivers dry. Took three days with
the crossing of the bridge. Then came a scare:
as Persian lava swamped its xenolith,
the portents were not good. A pregnant mare
gave birth to healthy offspring. But it was a hare.
VIII
A blundering boxer trying to swat a fly,
the Persian force could lunge, but could not kill:
it lost all credit at Thermopylae.
The Greeks, hard pressed, were in the battle still.
To win a war, you break the other’s will,
and this was not occurring. Could the key
be naval warfare? So, for good or ill,
Salamis earned its place in history.
The fleets would clash there. Whose would be the victory?
IX
A tyrant’s strength is his Achilles’ Heel.
His habit of command, of being obeyed,
occludes capacity to see and feel.
To trap them at their moorings seemed a raid
assured to smash the Greeks. Their fleet once flayed,
they could not go on fighting. They must lose.
But Persia’s pride, colossal numbers, made
disaster certain. Tangled, cramped, confused,
the sharks became the bait. For Xerxes, dreadful news.
X
“My bridge. Is it still standing?” Xerxes asked.
Oh, in that question, what a universe!
The pampered prince who - up to now - had basked
in sunshine felt a clutch of fear, and worse:
the tide of fortune, swinging to reverse,
began to drain him of all certainty.
The bridge was now his lifeline, and his curse,
his last hope and his vulnerability.
Persepolis lay far away, fenced off by sea.
XI
So, despots kneel before their own adventures,
become the playthings of their crazy schemes,
contract with Fate, creating wild debentures,
condemn themselves by sure-to-crumble dreams.
Unhappy with mere wealth, they seek extremes
which bring no comfort: sick ambitions bloat
and fester. Most familiar of themes,
Great Xerxes’ boasts grew more and more remote,
until the day his restless minions cut his throat.
The pain you wish to inflict,
Is your quandary as I resist.
Grovel, you demand with hate.
But my resolve hardens and will not abate.
You capture my past for all to see.
But you don't realize that it makes me free.
You seek harm, for my compliance.
Yet you don't know that I dance with defiance.
You angerly wonder why this is so.
For the truth of life, I do know.
I speak of Love and truth for you to see.
You sat down in wonder saying, “Explain to me.”
Listen my friend to the whispering wind
Gaia speaks of love to you without end.
Think of nothing and feel her loving embrace.
As you close your eyes you can feel your heart race.
Startled, you open your eyes, crying “I feel her!”
You celebrate with Love and hugs, knowing you are cured.
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
You thought me spineless,
so in a fit of anger you tore mine out,
Bloodless, I rose sword swallower,
strengthened by my tattered paper edges.
The abyss of your barren soul wrapped me in
gauze, shrouded me on parallel partitions;
nailed to the crossbars of your lust;
only mother me did you revere.
All hail the hidden seal*-- nailed to the missing cross,
white cloaked, virginal, tresses unbound-- lay me not
across the landscape of your desire-- grovel at my shrine.
The Broken Column by Frida Kahlo’s
*the word seal has been used to comply
with Soup Guidelines
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
7/21/22
Can't always be a fair bout
Got to air it out
Very little I've cared about
There's no need for prayers or doubts
You say I am, yet to me you sound delirious
I can't take you serious
One of many things that makes me furious
There's no better time to be imperious
Still remaining curious
About the mysterious
Finding the answer through luck or hard work and experience
There's no need to grovel
Occasionally god-awful
My impact minor or colossal
Learned it first-hand or through a novel
Breakfast of coffee and a Belgian waffle
The job done with a hose and nozzle
Still looking for love, while digging for fossils
People often acting hostile
Having tunnel vision like seeing through goggles
No time for drama, only money, got to hit the throttle
The last thing I need to do is sip out bottles
Fought for there to be new growth
Often I cut it too close
Even though you'd hope
That I would croak
We could both
End it on a good note
Among so many good folks
So many enlightening books wrote
Yet too often they say it 'looks gross'
Judging by the cover
Breaking down each other
Including our own brothers
The cycle continues on with no buffer
Think of your mother
Why cause one another
Or yourself to suffer
Did my best to keep my slate clean
Learned a ton since I was eighteen
No need to sit and daydream
Very far from make-believe
it if they tease
Lady we make a great team
So it may seem
Hey Queen
Would you like to go out for coffee or a BBQ with baked beans?
If not, how about relaxing and enjoying a faint breeze
In order to get it, it'll take cheese
Continuing to gain speed
I'd pick you daisies
Dig deep getting scraped knees
In order for us to both break free
You'll always be more than a main squeeze
I'd sacrifice myself so that we all can attain peace
This is way beyond a campaign speech
We grew up different even if we were on the same street
It occurred quickly or for more than eight weeks
Quit trying to always make a scene
If you just want to hate and cheat
Then please take a seat
Serve you justice for being a snake and creep
This all having nothing to do with a datasheet
They sat home ordering luscious pizza.
Some just drank cold beer or snorted pot.
Nothing was “ really” going to happen!
As they rode unicorns, this lost, hapless lot.
Stoned efficaciously, by the likes of CNN.
America haters, all, each last one of them.
And we citizens buy their “merde”daily.
Will grovel on the earth, cracking jokes
about the future.
Have you forgotten Hitler or Stalin?
Read their writings and on films is their
inhumanity to man.
This CRT is just the beginning...
To apologize for your color and past!
Insane beyond words is such thinking.
Endorsed by the so called “educated”?
A skull and crossbones, no free thought
allowed!
Shining, screaming, unfurled, on their most
disgusting mast!
Bow to the ground, you of wrong color and
confess, you are America’s most evil past.
7/8/2021
No, not for any contest!!!
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Let's start with the fire trucks for every city.
Let's paint the town bandstand and each dog and kitty.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Let's paint my mother-in-law's little and big toes.
Let's start at the top now, and slather pink on her nose.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
My underwear is already a vivid hot pink.
Let's paint my refrigerator, and my dull gray kitchen sink.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Where is my prissy neighbor who tells me how to vote?
I will hold her down, as you paint her and her little nanny goat.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Let's call a town meeting, and change all the uniforms.
Let's change the high school mascot, and fuchsia all the forms.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
I do not care how much it costs. Everything is going to be pink.
The streetlamps, the trees, the stop signs, until we run out of ink.
I will be known as the Fuchsia Queen.
You can grovel and bow. I love fuchsia, as you can probably see.
Come closer, my love, so you can become the same color as me.
I grabbed my steel machete and chopped off her head.
She is dead now, she is dead now, she is cement dead.
My first husband slept through it, I can hear him snore.
I got my boss, I can get you too, I say, my imagination full of gore.
My hazel eyes pop open and I realize I have done it again.
I kill my boss nightly, in my dream world, surely this is a sin.
But she deserves it, I think. My latest review was mean.
She is haughty and stuck up, fancies herself a queen.
During the day at work I pretend I like this arrogant woman a lot.
I fawn and grovel, pretending she is not Kansas City's biggest snot.
Today she was talking college words way above my head again.
I visualized myself cutting her measly throat, surely this is a sin.
Are you with me? She haughtily asked as she graphed.
I saw the ornamental sword on the wall and I laughed.
Seeing her head rolling around on the floor helped me a lot.
I cannot wait to see what I do in my dream tonight to the snot.