Long Hamstrung Poems
Long Hamstrung Poems. Below are the most popular long Hamstrung by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hamstrung poems by poem length and keyword.
Alas ample alliteration available?!
True (terrific) title: Trump's truckling tutored troopers...;
wily word wizard worried,
where world wide web wickedly wends.
Triumphantly tenaciously (try to) trample treacly
traffickers target timid testifiers traducing,
their traitorous tractable toxic troglodyte:
today transition toward
totalitarianism tidily trends.
Quasimoto (querulously) queries, quivers, quakes:
queasiness quotient quarantine quelled qualm;
qua quacking quaffing quota quips:
quicksand quits quagmire quashing:
quintessential quarrelsome;
quintillionth queued questioner.
Numbskull noodles notorious nonsense:
nincompoop netizen nimbly navigates;
nowadays nauseating news necessitates
nameless nervous negativistic nattering nabob;
Nome nomad nudges, numerates,
nurtures... narcolepsy.
Knowledgeable knave; kindhearted
keen, kooky kvetching king kibitzer;
kindles kickass kinskip (kaffeeklatsch);
kneading Keats kinfolk karma.
His highness, herewith hooligan;
helpmate hermit hamstrung Harmit Harms;
humiliating, harried, ho hum humorous hokum;
habitual half hearted hookers happily hollow;
hallelujah!
Exceptional exertion earnest endeavor exercising
especial expending energy excluding essential/
exact entities even everyday eminent eccentric
experienced exhaustion - epilogue.
I wish I was a Tory,
It would be another story,
So much simpler not to care
Or have to be aware
Of how other folks must strive
To make a crust to stay alive.
I could keep my privileged indifference
Surrounded by a picket fence
I wouldn't have to own the knowledge
(Whilst enjoying Heston's snail porridge)
That paupers are dying on NHS trolleys
I could just enjoy my hard earnt lolly,
Keeping my guilt edged share portfolio
Guilt free and safe offshore
(Like Rees Mogg, Gove and BoJo) so
That my net worth will appreciate
And HMRC won't be able to deviate
The profits accrued from fracking
To subsidise those who are plainly lacking
Any acumen or entrepreneurship
As a Tory I could safely worship
At the altar blessed by Thatcher, Zuckerberg and
Branson,
As I stack up my king's ransom,
A monument to personal wealth,
Built without any heed to the health
Of the welfare scroungers or the planet
A social conscience? They should ban it!
Let's get on and get the bull done,
Disposable wealth is supposed to be fun,
What's the point in being a Tory
If you're hamstrung by one nation rhetoric?
Yoghurt knitting tree huggers make me really
sick,
'It's for the money, not for you'
Is the motto of my Tory crew,
so go hug a hoody if you will,
My snout is staying firmly in the swill!
Black girls mollycoddle,
dandle cranky babies;
some cradled on arm and hip,
some hustled along
on low-riding wheels.
Brown men lounge outside bodega’s,
some soft-soap, play imaginary guitars,
some flash smiles at the slackening sun,
dare it to glitz elsewhere.
White girls sit on the steep stoops
bare knees out and breezing,
smoke with dreamy eyes,
pass comments that time-bomb tick.
From high wires
pigeons rubberneck like parakeets.
Thin city winds dodge washing lines.
Blouses and dresses
grip their hamstrung trapezes.
Black backyard mechanics
lean over engine blocks,
imagine curvy garbs air-dancing,
blown outward from street grates
slow billowed from vents.
The brownstones take a knee,
sweat breaks over rooftops.
A scurry of hands snatch
rumbling city transports
that beep ways to late shifts.
Those that ply less punched-out trades
slip into hankering gaps,
alleys, half-way loitering’s
that flicker into sight
juiced by the scatter and clatter
of pigeon wings.
Lovingly lauded.. they marauded.. rightly applauded
Saffa gaffers did thrill
Willow wielding wizards of Oz
Yielding…lampooned..marooned..jaffas
Festooned spill just like Seville .
Must remember..the ember burning
Yearning of Temba Bavuma
Kept his sense of humour
Despite being the victim of flimsy whimsy
Many a nasty rumour
I implore you to ignore the tumour
That is Michael Vaughan…dim..grim
Pompous pig or obnoxious prig
Having a dig..more clickbait hate p**n
Unsung and hamstrung..stoic heroic
Temba has brung salvation for a nation
With no Cronje bung..
The only stifling snub
Hell bent pundits in pulpits scream
Not just trifling .. no defending the Saffa culprits
Blunder of sending a sub par side
Alright trite s**e team down under..
Only one man stood sentry…Aidan Markram..often ignored..
Even deplored…a national pastime…his crime
Not being as sublime as in his teenage prime
But such touch..much gumption & grit
Did his bit…hit a century
Sod the rest…now a cricketing god
Against the odds.. has always saved
His Test best for the Aussie conquest..
No longer a sinner…the match winner..
Only one other Saffa..biff Smith’s
Scored more second innings tons..
They did vanquish their perpetual anguish
Their hullabaloo..voodoo..ending
The choke complex.. the hex hoodoo..
No longer Bill Murray day of the groundhog
Finally went the way of the underdog..
So Aidan and Temba we will always remember when
You gave South African Cricket their own
Homegrown ticket to the 25th of December..
Has been glummer.. Gory…still got the bummer
Of no tests in their upcoming home summer
But this a story of glory
Not being woke…not about race
The colour of his face
In history Temba Bavuma with such grace
The best ever test run chase at Lords
Nabbed his place…as the bespoke bloke & ace
Who broke the finals choke & grabbed the golden mace..
Affliction with comprehension,
now plain as day
predisposition to experience
(particularly abstract) cognitive
acquisition assailed at bay
posits me to suspect mental
deficiency within gray
matter of yours truly, whose
academic track record lay
in abyssal ruins, and
as three score orbitz round
the sun, yours truly doth pay
a hefty emotional price oy vey,
the voluminous, onerous,
horrendous, and analogous
moribund Atlas I cannot pray
tell shrug off from me
mental jackknifed fountainhead,
especially asper today
mainly cuz this figurative
albatross doth weigh
heavily (increasing unbearable
suffocating burden) greater quay
king pronounced effort particularly
with every passing birthday
concomitant impossibility atoll
reef used breakaway
ramping up emotional agony
willpower to live doth decay
dichotomy crashes against livingsocial
Manichean struggle pronouncedly
evincing increased dark shadowed dismay
overarching edge of night evokes doomsday
seeping into every neurological estuary
paralyzing ability to function hamstrung
hidebound hundredfold salvation faraway
sinking me deeper within troubles
steeply suffocating restricting headway,
wherein convoluted corral like gray
matter signals distress call, sans mayday
with futility, whereby
this buoy anchored away
long since being marooned,
mired, and moored since screenplay
starring yours truly launch debut,
asper this lamentable genetic craft
bereft, forlorn, and luckless fey
e'er bulwark permanently
stationed at sickbay!
FATE LEADS THE WILLING
when my life
my very wellbeing
depends on the actions of those around me
it’s a trial to my innate sensibilities to bring my side
if my destiny is to live my final years in isolation
cut off from the interaction with others
it shouldn’t be any hardship
as I can employ this time to the enrichment of my scant knowledge
to learn to do without material trappings of this capitalist world
admit that we are guided by the rules of nature
and I must accept all things are beyond one’s own personal power
every day
every hour
every minute of my day
is another chance for a different path
there are very few things that we can control
also those who resist the pull of Fate will feel hamstrung by events that alter
their life plans
an individual who accepts the things that occur in life that are beyond his
control
can lead a happy life by controlling negative emotions and passions
et du volentem fata nolentem trahunt*
_________________________________________________________________________
*both Fate leads the willing and drags the unwilling
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POET'S NOTE: The prepenultemate and penultimate lines (both 23 syllables per line - the top of the range as far as breathing is concerned) overrun the line space, hence the indentations.
All lines were checked via Howmanysyllables.com
Whom Do We Trust
Written: by Miracle Man
7/21/2019
Every now and then, we all lose our bearing,
Facing days that become gloomy, often despairing.
We only check our compass for direction of travel,
When it appears that life is just about to unravel.
We oft seek out others, and with blame anoint,
But no man is a judge nor will God ever appoint.
He said, Cast your burdens upon me, for I care,*
Yet we oft live our lives hamstrung by despair.
We should never treat others as perhaps we’ve been treated,
Because with whatever we mete, we’ll also be meted.**
When we fail in casting burdens upon HIM for He cares,*
We’re eschewing the wheat while gorging on tares.
*1 Peter 5:7
Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.
**Matthew 7:2
King James Version (KJV)
“For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”
Vane glorious and absolutistic,
though I defiantly,
cavalierly, and blithely attest
Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy
mine acidic breast
houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic,
barbaric, and bubonic
cannibalistic demons within thy
safely guarded Pandora chest
atomic cesium clock
timed to trigger avast
burst of anxiety, frenzy, and
(What me worry
Alfred E. Neuman) blast
ting mental quietude at most
inappropriate, inconvenient,
inopportune, out classed
adrenaline rush, nausea,
palpitating heart, vertigo
besieging, corrupting,
endeavoring fractured arrant
cleft daemonic gripping
hellishly psychic chant
rendering unto sieze hoar,
a choking vise grip extant
yule hiss sieze indomitable
banshee fully controlling grant
diabolic, dogmatic, and dynamic,
anguished corporeal ache
easily, egregiously, and emblematically,
exemplified historically
graphic fatalistic, and ecstatic coup,
(koo), when I caused furious frantic flight,
and/or fight betake
king angst causing just desserts
for Marie Antoinette,
who got her humble pie cake,
thence dispensing with formalities,
where a joshing drake
(named Gill O. Teen)
also known (solely known
to mine selfish source error ways)
alias i.e. as; the Lewis (loose)
lunatic, heady harvester,
and decapitation Deacon trumpeting,
trouncing, and triumphing tranquility
for fifty three Tuesdays,
thence sea king punishing psychotic
pre pound payment
basking in glory (re: gory us)
amidship crashing quays
music to mine ears hearing plaintive neighs
high pitched straining
vocal chord hamstrung keys
regaling oceanographic
lambent hagiographic essays
and keeping at bathos bays.
Jumbled and distractedly jarred,
I awoke beside myself like a wraith,
a spectator to my primal confusion,
hamstrung by the goddess Chaos,
psychotic and frightfully broken.
Drifting through scrambled shrapnel,
a witness to my scrappy scrabble salads
chasing my fleeting thoughts.
I was an ineffectual phantom weeping
wounded windswept in the rain,
a helpless hapless harlequin of shadows
in perpetual refrain.
Months passed while doctors pondered me,
I compressed moments into kaleidoscopic disarray.
My immediacy overruled past and future; and
all spacial orientation collapsed. I watched my
decline like a desperate specter, never seeing
how I could exit my vertigo maze.
But as abrupt as it began, it inexplicably stopped.
I was engulfed by luminous morning,
A bystander to my maelstrom no longer,
I arose astonished in tearful release
to a world of deeper textures
and fevered passions,
to this world where I am no longer
beside myself.
The Temptation of St Anthony
I entered the desert,
took a vow not to speak
Lucifer’s here too, hoping
silent men grow weak
My path seemed so straight
but quickly became oblique
I question whether it is I
that fetishise the bleak
The fish sang in bass tones,
dirges I once knew
A trapped fiend plucked strings
from a hamstrung canoe
The joyful decapitated
are half man half shrew
As laughter echoes from whalebone
prisons, meant to subdue
Beasts around the table
chant a satanic grace
I saw my own face
in the filth they embrace
Physicality beckons
in this unholy place
I pray what I've seen
my mind can efface
I avert my eyes
to remain true and just
From helping hands
that will morph and disgust
I’m not paranoid although
filling with lust
Some gifts look divine,
served by demons I distrust
Deities fawn and
confess their obsessions
Say they’ll absolve me
of any transgressions
I’m losing my will and
might make concessions
God be with the days,
I had my own possessions
As the churches crumble
the habits reveal
Is a sin still a sin
if you know it’s not real
If this is right, I’ve done
no wrong to appeal
I’m out on my feet,
but not ready to kneel
Even the heavens are tainted
with monsters that float
Their droppings rain down,
but I tighten my coat
Hunching to dodge scythes
that fixate on my throat
Focus past pain
to salvation so remote
Calm amidst chaos
is my weary repose
Rock bottom cannot
inflict any more woes
Right now it appears
as if anything goes
Should I step up to the plate
or keep on my toes
I’ve stooped low in thought
but never in deed
I’ll rise to full height
and in good faith be freed
After all, what’s a hellscape
unless you take the lead
I’m not yet a saint,
just planting the seed
I’ve long left the desert,
beatified in name
People believed me broken,
and can now heal the lame
I found peace in tortured
mind, I battled to tame
Wrested truth by devotion,
exposed lies within shame.