Long Harpoons Poems
Long Harpoons Poems. Below are the most popular long Harpoons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harpoons poems by poem length and keyword.
attractive available anguished armadillo
babbled bold bald badger whose bagpipes billow
Caribbean cardinal carved a curious candy castaway
dazzling daffodils and damselflies dived into last Tuesday
eagle’s eager echoes edged eastward to eavesdrop
farsighted French fantasy fascinated a frenzied fop
Gaudy gauzy goose gathered green gingham in a glut
Handkerchief Hannah hid hairy harpoons in her high hut
Identical illusions ignored illustrious images on an iced cake
Jackal and jaguar jaywalked on Jersey Jet nicknamed Jake
Kindly kettledrum kangaroo captured Kansas kiwi and a kitten
Laryngitis Larry liberated long legged Lieutenant Litten
Macabre macaroni moved a muggy machete in the mail
Nomadic Neanderthal noticed nest hanging from nude nail
Old-fashioned omelet overbaked her overgrown tomatoes
Persnickety panda piled on plenty of posh potatoes
Quagmire’s quahog quizzed a questionable quake
Raccoon and rabbit wrestled a rattlesnake with a radish rake
Saber-toothed Sally sanctified Sudan’s soldiers with a salute
Tabernacle tabby tom tap danced with flute, violin and lute
Unskilled underwater sub was unstable and unreliable
Victory for vivacious Vivian, virtuous and viable
whimsical whales wished to be included in a Washington poem
'xact xerox of x-mas trees ‘xcited ‘xtra long xylophone
yen yielded yellow yaks which Yvonne used on bone
zealous zany zebu’s zipcode zinged into a new zesty zone
avid arm-wrestling against awesome Allie
brave Billy Bouncer balks a bit at Ballet.
cocky courage cancelled, civic concentration.
during Des Moines Diamond demonstration
energetic efforts enthuse eager Eddie
facing fearless frog-legged Freddie
gracious Greta grants gorillas gratuities
harry harpoons happy harpy Helga Hanuities.
ignoring ignorant Insignificant Inglewood Iam.
juggling jockey Jacque justifies Jan’s jelly jam
keeping kangaroo kilos in Kalamazoo
linking luxurious llamas left loving the loo
marvelous Maude mixed montana’s merry moo
nevil’s nearby newts kneaded the nightly news
octagonal Oscar ostrich operates an oily ooze
practical pigeon Pete patrols Perry Parkway Poo
queluz quarrelsome questions quiver and quack
rustic remnant of Ruby respectfully resides on the rack
stellar starlight of steeple stallion stares on in the stack
twisting twosome Twiggmeister ties Terry’s Tennessee tack.
universal understanding utilizes utensils in the USA.
varigated variety of venus villians verifying
wild winsome windsurpers willing werewolf whying
‘xact ‘xperts ‘xplaining ‘xtra ‘xpenses ‘xasperatingly
young youthful yellow yaks yawning youthfully
zealous zealots zinging. zipping and zagging zestfully
I THINK THEREFORE I AM
"An ounce of hypocrisy is worth
a pound of ambition" --Michael Korda
Liberty...
This everyone's want--
stretching an autonomy to unbuckle self-discovery
I got mites and bugs living in my head--
infesting my mind. They... daring a chance
to worm my guts and electrify my peace.
They adulterate seeking ways to emerge
from claws of doubts to grains of trust.
My veil of grace they bite and bite
devouring me 'til I set to pursue my act.
Should I repulse...
then spread my wings to fly?
or should I be a little puppet--
controlled, slave to strings attached to me?
or I'd rather choose a mask--
my gamble to earn sympathy or popularity;
my weapon sheltering my luck;
my fall or my win?
Cogito ergo sum.
I think, therefore I am.
The mites and bugs in my skull blown
from shocks infused by my firing drive.
My cavalry of Modesty, brave to rise
face the furnace of battlegrounds.
Insincerity. Malingering. Pretension
are artillaries luring hypocrisy
but love, honesty and bravery:
the bombs I defy to conquer the trades.
If God is with me, who can be against me?
Standing like a Molave
rooted evergreen, ever strong.
My face bulletproof
to those who I believe wrong.
A standing soldier ready to offer her life
to fraud and tyranny.
I refuse to be fed on standing lies.
The harpoons of verity, I battling dart,
raining towards the barbaric boxes as they...
They are my lioness roar, my freedom and my soar
piercing the pumping heart of those who eat innocence,
I... dauntless!
_________________________________________________
** I think therefore I am is said by Rene Descartes
Romans 8:31-- If God is with us, who can be against us?
O. E. Guillermo
10:43 pm, April 18, 2015
They, them, those people
Are lying, not relying
On God. Lying...
Every time they do
Their wicked deeds,
They blame it on God.
They don't believe in God,
So, the dirty deeds they do,
They pretend it is in
God’s plan.
Once again then you
We’re not listening,
Poets told you to
Protect the children
Those mad scientists
Interfering with nature -
Using their knowledge,
To test God’s virtues.
They use H.A.A.R.P to
Manipulate and
Control the weather,
Now they want to
Hold their breath
And say God did it;
Because you were sinning.
Well nobody believes
In your King James tales.
Who more than black folk
Love Jesus so well.
No one is more true-
Than people of hue.
So why do you
Add insult to injury,
As you oft times do.?
just like "Katrina
You blamed that on God too.
Man, is so smart he can go
To the moon (really)?
Drastically changing weather...
Manipulation with harpoons.
But you can't build a reliable
Dyke in the 21st century.
So, all that was God’s fault?
Why didn't you rescue the people?
Oh, I know, God told you not to.
Lying on God again
Be careful America...
When the food is scarce,
And our seeds are altered,
None to spare.
But we still need clean air and
Clean water: Don't forget, medical
Attention can be withheld.
Why are you still buying;
Fake Gucci, fur coats,
And Korean hair?
Why are you not planting?
And storing or
Preparing for another
Blackout or worse?
Even though you pray and go to church.
Then again you didn't take heed
Ignored the warnings.
So now, blame God and ask God why ...
God why- why you didn't save me?
He’ll then will tell you ...I tried!
I sent a poet to tell you,
But you listened to those
who blamed me, and lied.
You should know that you are
the last people I would hurt.
The wicked ones know
That poets are
The new prophets.
These liars are propelled by
Tricks and greed.
Then a voice said to them...
“If from the poets
you had only taken heed”.
I am God and they lied on me.
If they’ll lie on me, “God said
“What makes you
think they won't lie on you? “
“You had better recognize”
“You had better know it “
God said-
“I sent you a poet"
“I sent you a poet”.
The roll of the waves hides the arcs of their backs.
The shoal of porpoises are feeding on squid.
Feasting amongst them on cephalopod snacks
Are green-scaled dragons that choose to be hid.
They hide from whalers and their brutal harpoons,
While they stay in the ocean for most of life's times,
Except times when they roam the nearby sand dunes
To covet Marsh Radishes and the wild limes.
These dragons don't fly, since they're aquatic sorts.
Like Nessie in Scotland, they wish to be free.
Some people catch a glimpse, and some hear a snort,
But rarely, since mostly they're way out to sea.
Shocks like elastic repeated.
The globs of them.
Grunting feelings with packaged up tears.
I could have done more relaxation but it feels uncanny.
Like a zipper in my veins.
Cold shocking sensations, clapping hands and amazing tricks.
Drastic measures feel like cinnamon in my nose.
And a breeze of lost air.
The thing about panicking is that…
It’s a feeling as groaning as spaghetti for the tenth time this week.
And it’s always still this weakness.
I wish that the afternoon air was less grumbling.
There’s a skeleton shooting harpoons into my muscles.
And that’s not the last trick he has for me.
Fierce winds blow across the Atlantic tide,
Colder she gets the rougher she'll ride,
In matt'r minutes a chill to the bone,
Few dare sail her northern zone,
Far north the whaling be done,
Colder in account for the miss'n sun,
The currents below just twist and swell,
Above her frozen by a northenly gale,
Sails drawn, busting through crests,
A captain in hope of filling his chests,
His riches are meat, blubber and oil,
Higher the reward the higher the toil,
Frozen upon a crow's nest a seaman perches,
Breathing warmth to fingers while he searches,
"Hurry up, you! Rise for yer air!,
This seaman's about had all he can bare",
"Ahead a whale's blow!" The watch shouts,
After two months he had his doubts,
On a boat in a vast ocean tis but a speck,
The seamen, like roaches, scatter across the deck,
Upon the bow comes a captain's roar,
"Land the big one and we'll head for shore!",
Mumbles begin to rumble across the crew,
Who can blame, with ev'ry night potato stew,
Still hard hands grasp long harpoons,
Praying to be blessed with throwing boons,
A pod of whales with seven or more,
Ahead at lead, a bull, one hell of a chore,
One hundred feet in length it may seem,
Whale skin pasty white with a hint of green,
Scars from predators who have failed,
Furious temper and plans to nev'r be scaled,
With sails raised the crew lowers cobles,
A small craft nev'r intended for nobles,
These boats were part of a fisherman's craft,
Characterized by high bow and shallow draft,
Upon each boat stood a man with a harpoon,
Chosen by the captain, whom a fellow goon,
They draw closer surrounding their prey,
Harpoons in hand awaiting whale's spray,
Captain points toward a great white mass,
"Alrighty Boys wait for yer pass!",
As the oars stay in motion pressing against the ocean,
The boatmen dare not cause a commotion,
For pure focus is upon this high bow,
With intent to win, this Captain's vow,
The white mass closes making a harpooner throw,
Red against white appears to glow,
First of many fishermen to try,
First of many to hear Moby Dick's cry.
Woeful wandering wayward soul
Hither-thither you go to a place
so lonely and cold
Dwelling and sometimes reveling in
a sunken place
Hither you go, leaving
a dark trace
Wandering and wavering, so capricious
Aimless and shift less, so pernicious
Traveling this plane
in search or maybe not
But during this course what
surely can be seen is pain
Rest wayward, soul, won't you?
Salient feeble eyes speak so much
longing for a moment to see anew
On the nature of daylight
So entropic!
The crushing blows of thunderous
midnight
O, somber cello playing as the
piercing violin harpoons the heart
In search of refuge and a new start
Strings of melancholy so dark and cold
Void of light, what 'was' remains old
No rest now ends and begins to fold
A vessel of unrest, old, weary wayward soul
Fatherhood holds great pivotal power:
To lift or let down, bringing laughter or frowns.
Your words have potency, proven by deeds.
Do what you promise and plant for renown.
Be the hero, the parent your children need.
Be more than you dreamed that a father could be.
Be a fulcrum of joy, praise extravagantly!
Fatherhood bears a life-changing might:
To give worth or debase, esteem or erase.
Your words are harpoons, or pillows of grace.
Listen intently, be still, SEE their face.
Be the dad that your children love to embrace.
Be more than you dreamed that a father could be.
Be a fulcrum of grace, give extravagantly!
Fatherhood sets generational ties:
To move up or down, the family tides.
Your words are their seeds of self-worth or shame.
Invest your best to build grooms and brides.
Be the man that shows them the worth of your name.
Be more than you dreamed that a father could be.
Be a fulcrum of life, love extravagantly!
The captain’s eyes glow ruby red
Atop the steamer’s deck –
A rusted tin can set adrift
By rough Atlantic crests
A crimson emblem sanctions
This whaler’s floating tomb –
A battered vessel bearing
Insignias of doom
Red ember sparks illuminate
The old man’s hickory pipe,
As he begins to scour the sea
For subtle signs of life
The radar soon shines fiery red,
And deckhands race to find
Their harpoons pointed straight ahead
At monsters in mid-dive
'There she blows!' the captain blares,
His face now beating red;
The hunt is on for him again,
And victory’s ahead
But as the scarlet sun moves west,
Black storm clouds open wide,
And though the weary crew protests,
He keeps the men in line
One well aimed shot is all he needs
To stain the ocean red,
But angry winds and beating rain
Show no signs of an end
The crimson hull begins to quake
As waves come crashing down,
And though the crew is mad with fright,
The captain only frowns
Then finally a sound rings sharp
Amid the roaring surf –
The red harpoon has found its mark:
A whale of massive girth
'We got her now!' the captain chimes,
His new prize bleeding red,
But with his words a rogue wave climbs
Ten feet above their heads
As they stare up with fear and awe,
They realize their fate –
Atop the blood-red steamer bow,
They know that it's too late
And though the crew and captain pray
For rescue from the squall,
The phantom wave of burgundy
Descends to drown them all.