Long Hard and fast Poems
Long Hard and fast Poems. Below are the most popular long Hard and fast by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hard and fast poems by poem length and keyword.
So she said that he said they said that we said that she said….
Whenever you hear this, run for your life.
Run hard and fast.
Stay around and your own words will be used against you.
So she said that he said they said that we said that she said….
Get out of there hard and fast.
Do not stay around long enough to make an excuse
or your excuse will be part of the newest script.
So she said that he said they said that we said that she said….
High tail it to the hills.
Do not answer your phone.
Do not speak to anyone; just go. Save yourself!
So she said that he said they said that we said that she said….
The script of a person who has no life,
No interests, no hobbies, who can only entertain themselves
gossiping about others. And often times the
“she said that he said they said that we said that she said” is not true.
The building burned in rich red flames
No one cared what was to be blamed
The fire fighters worked hard and fast
The old fellow came out, he was the last
And then the fire man heard a howl
Seem to come from earth’s bottomless bowl
One last time he peered inside
Saw a doggie with puppies beside
In he rushed without a care
For the doggie that huddled in great fear
Risking his life he saved them
One by one out they came
Tired he sat and took a rest
The doggie put her head against his breast
With grateful eyes she lapped his face
He looked amazed at this grace
For even animals feel fortitude
As the doggie showed divine gratitude
It had been twenty-seven years since the sisters had seen each other – twenty-seven Christmases and birthdays. Twenty-seven years where hurt sisters refused to be in the same room together. Their mother’s sadness appeared to them as anger and disappointment. She tried to shame them for the first few years, not changing the situation an inch for the good. They were both set on their path of righteousness, totally unwilling to communicate in any way with the sister they had cut out of their life and their heart.
As a result, their mother held two Christmases celebrations for twenty-seven years, hinting around, that she wanted them to somehow resolve this and be a family again. The feud was held onto firmly, grasped hard and fast, poked red and raw for a long time. It would have probably continued for another twenty-seven years if their mother had not fallen severely ill, dangerously toward death. The sisterhood they had cherished in childhood, had served them no purpose in adulthood. They had seven children, between them, and none had met their mother’s twin.
The hospital corridor was deathly quiet when the second daughter stepped inside to walk the corridor that led to her mother, in room 435 North. Two of her children sat down on chairs, across from grown cousins they had never met, and did not expect to ever know. No one spoke. Seven grown children, all waiting, wondering what their mothers would do. The door opened and the twins were together one last time with their mother. The sobbing could be heard in seconds as they fell into each other’s arms, and became sisters again.
The mama smiled
from glory’s spiritual realm
daughters feud now gone
Dated: August 1, 2018 Contest: For Your Poetry Journal Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
I took it all for granted. The sky, the stars, the wind,
the flowers, the grass, the trees.
I expected to see my friends every day,
it was boring, dull, humdrum, if you please.
In my mediocre mind-set, I was walking to a friends’ house,
not enjoying a breeze.
Not paying any attention to the sky, the wind,
the flowers, the grass or the trees.
When I am grabbed from behind, very hard and fast, a murderer’s plan.
I am wrenched off my feet, and thrown into a hard, cold, uncaring van.
Chloroform is placed on my face, and I think I am going to the promise land.
I am out like a light, at the mercy of a non-writing rock and roll band.
I awaken on a firm mattress in the corner of a dark and dank cage.
Hey! Long-hair yells, she is awake. Let’s make her write us a poem or a page.
I sit up and glare at the four identically dressed men whose plan in unhinged.
If they think I am writing anything for them, they should try and think again.
You are our prisoner, one tells me, in a really snotty, uppity way.
Yes, you can have food and stuff, but you are going to definitely stay
Until you write some songs for us, and they better be a hooray
Or we can get rid of you, for we are musicians, and we do not play.
They kept me for six years, when I never saw a park, dog or the sun.
Caged in a day care center with a bunch of two’s
would have been quite a bit more fun.
Wrote many songs, about a clever woman who tricked her captor
into letting her run,
But she got caught up in their drama,
this intelligent slippery songwriter of one.
For years I did not see flowers, trees, or anything I used to not see.
Beauty I used to take for granted, and not care about,
obtuse, I could be.
I did not see the stars, the sun, the snow, the moon,
or my maniacal mean cousin Lee.
Prisoner until I had written songs for them,
magic number six hundred eighty-three
Written 3-23-2019
Contest: Freedom to nothing is something
Sponsor: Deliah Ventura
In the dark cold of night
from which all the light has fled
knowing not what may need to be
to pierce the heart and make it bleed
words that may pierce within
cutting sharper than metal blade
leaving wounds that will never heal
hardening scars that will not fade
life before to be as dreams
losing sharpness as they recede
like dust gathering on a painting then
hiding all to be not seen
bright red splashes on creamy white
flowing pain burning hot
of the colors one would not see
to shine brightly in the light
hard sharp edges of day to day
straight lines of rules that guide
decisions that need never be made
thought not needed and done away
hard and fast and piercing through
piercing thoughts that cannot be
beating rhythms that are not heard
pounding deep inside of me
seeking change of all that is
breaking forth in light of day
standing forth for all to see
shouting the words that cannot be
I deferred the words " I love you"
Until the morrows light.
Words, that from my heart,
I felt impressed upon to say.
For sure, "I love you",
Would have best been said that night.
Still I reserved ownership,
For perhaps some abstinent day.
Instead, from my vast reserve,
Grating words were launched to flight.
Words that once I'd spent,
Could never be recanted.
I had failed miserably,
At living life in the moment.
So, doting on another days sight,
I had taken our time for granted.
The next day's sun, I found,
Rose not for both alike.
Albiet the sky was blue and bright,
My day was overcast.
For from my life,
I allowed to slip, a love untold,
Now I'm forever yoked with regrets might,
Hard and fast.
Regret is felt always when it is too late.
Rip tide
A current
That takes you out beyond your control
The only way to save yourself is to just swim sideways along the shore
Somehow we are all caught in a wild riptide
Swimming stupidly perpendicular to the shore
I am desperately trying to find gravity
Trying to find sanity
but sure seems so far away
I'm swimming hard and fast
the tide is running out
I feel whisked out into deep waters
where there are only sharks and wild things
I keep swimming horizontally to the shore trying to be neutral
but the pull out is so hard
I have buoyancy but
Out to sea
So far out there... are we
Is our ship lost
Will we never see beautiful common land again
I wonder if that's what it was like for
the sailors
Commoners all
Just trying to find a new land
Caught up into a riptide of insanity
taken out so far
out to sea are we
He doesn't care about you and yet you care about him
Stupidity seems to be the rule of the day
Blind blind blind are we
Blind to the confusion he has intentionally made
Blinded by want
So blind ...will follow a shark into the dark deep waters and be eaten and forsaken and killed off one by one and even say thank you as he steals your very life away one virus
at a time
Dreams, Past Or Future?
Miracle Man
March 10, 2022
On a four inch floppy is life’s read only file,
where past things are recorded hard and fast.
Some things found there grow frowns or smile,
but whatever the remembrance, they’ll forever last.
These events reoccur at random in our dreams,
Occasionally we might recall some childhood fear.
Sometimes pushing the boundary of extremes,
but when most eyes open these dreams disappear.
“We have all got our “good old days”
tucked away inside our hearts,
and we return to them in dreams
like cats to favorite armchairs”
Brian Carter
...You see them saying the unborn
are parasites, not to be mourned,
it’s not their body anyway,
despite the unique DNA.
Like sacrificing them to Baal,
nothing now seems beyond the pale,
the lives we should vale the most
are ‘inconvenient.’ So they’re toast.
In numbers Chairman Mao can’t match,
even Satan says, “Pull it back,”
our future killed and they’re annoyed
when we say, “Murder’s not your choice.”
Our birth rate dropping, can’t replace
the population of this space,
all so women can think that sex
doesn’t have cost, won’t leave them vexed,
and rather than face what they’ve done
while seeking out a ‘little fun,’
they’ll kill a child, their own flesh…
the excuse? “I’m not ready yet.”
A death sentence, sharp as a knife,
these monsters sure are anti-life.
You see the young folk, quiet confused,
to sane people that’s nothing new,
something we grow out of with age,
now teacher’s cry, “You have to change!
Don’t let them say you’re ‘born’ a man,
deep down you always have been trans!”
Targeting minds too young to know
that some things mankind cannot mold,
that these limits are hard and fast,
if you don’t learn them, you won’t last.
They push these kids to surgery,
sterilized for eternity,
before their old enough to vote,
today’s trend kills a lifetime’s hope.
They cheerlead paths to suicide,
children forever lost to time,
won’t know a family, husband, wife,
these butchers sure are anti-life.
You see them online, cancelling,
their bloodlust for it unending,
every post, video and show
must match exactly what they know,
with no doubt that they are the truth,
so why deign to debate with you?
Oh no, you see, you’ll be destroyed
if anything you say annoys,
they’ll mob you everywhere online,
get you thrown off, and then you’ll find
that’s not enough to slake their hate,
they’ll get you fired, take you pay,
then proclaim it’s a moral act
to lead these Naziesque attacks,
until no one can speak freely,
the mob’s de facto tyranny,
people too scared to take a breath,
society in a slow death,
their every belief leads to night,
these leftists sure are anti-life.
Redacting History
Written: by Tom Wright
5/27/2019
By cultivating falsehoods that we hope will grow,
We omit things from books so others won’t know.
We spin the truth and from our history redact,
Telling lies with frequency until accepted as fact.
But time once lapsed, becomes set hard and fast,
Whether ripe with goodness, or deplorable, its cast.
The past is a storage locker accorded constant recall,
But too many spin the truth in order to enthrall.
Many aren’t content unless they keep the pot stirring,
The changes they’ve made have the truth now blurring.
This new slant on things, future generations will sway,
But spinning the truth won’t make bad things go away.
“It takes two to speak the truth--
One to speak and another to hear”
Henry David Thoreau