Long Hash Poems
Long Hash Poems. Below are the most popular long Hash by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hash poems by poem length and keyword.
March 10, 2019 - Daylight Saving Time Starts
The homey nimble storied wisdom of
Benjamin Franklin still
admired during hour time,
especially noteworthy, for slime
molds, the second Sunday of March,
when theft linkedin with
(Ides say) most innocuous crime
re: stealth of precious sixty minutes, hence
a flash in the pan idea to expound rhyme,
which notional whim came like bolt of lightning,
while daydreaming 'bout (what else...but)
flying a kite during stormy (Daniels) clime.
thus, once again twilight
takes quantum leap
forward hut, our humble keep
sake hour hand of time
grudgingly advances without beep
ping, ewe know who of little lamb fame,
what with barely audible lil bo peep
predicated, asper in taking away thirty six
hundred seconds of sleep
subsequently marking
second Sunday when e'er deep
into Lion of winter month o' March rolls
around with least amount by Dickens
plaintively asking Uriah Heep
to crank up AC/DC dirty
Harry deed done dirt cheap
cuz, this tradition of sorts
supposedly doth reap
economic benefits plus
Circadian rhythm less steep
difference with contrivance
issuing Whatsapp hapt'n when leap
pin lizards such Iam
motioning carillon to alternate between
sepulchral and refulgent chime
creating less discordant
dilly dally dichotomy
reverberates all the way to Siam,
while aye blithely tapped out here
yours truly 'ere at his Schwenksville heim
taking poetic life (in hour hand)
liberty at pursuit this prime
mate takes to hash feeble
verse to eke out a dime
probably more realistic for me
to ply blimey hands with grime,
now suddenly bedeviled what to do
soundlessly communicating woe
whiz mere (mein kampf),
sans displaying mime
as a last ditch effort before time
to call quits with this futile rhyme.
THE PUSSY CAT AND THE OWL
(With apologies to Edward Lear)
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a Sealink Hovercraft.
They took some hash and plenty of cash
Wrapped up in a banker’s draft.
The Owl looked up to Telstar above
And played to an electric guitar.
“I’d like to take you to Capri Pussy love,
But the lead wouldn’t reach that far - that far, that far.
But the lead wouldn’t reach that far.”
Pussy said to the Owl, “It’s perfectly foul,
The discords you play on that thing.
But I’d still like to marry - it’s your baby I carry.
We’d better look out for a ring.”
They sailed that night to the Isle of Wight.
The place where the tourist goes.
And there on the quay, a Punk they did see
With ring through the end of his nose.
Owl said, “Do you agree to sell for 5p your ring?”
Said the Punk, “I will not.”
So, unable to wed, they cohabit instead
With a commune at Cowes - in a squat.
They dine on the floor and have yoghurt galore
Which they eat with a white plastic spoon.
Then - with a new partner each, they go down to the beach
And smoke pot by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon.
And smoke pot by the light of the moon.
20th December 2020
Parody of a Famous Poem contest
Sponsor - L Milton Hankins
The hustle of the
Khyber pass
Dusty
Dirty
Traffic chaotic
Pori’s border
Like the ground
Soaking up my foot prints
We move beyond
The bus is silent
In this barren landscape
I look upon the discarded
Shells of war
Interesting
I identify shells
From many wars
Like a walk
Along a beach
After a storm
An high tide
But the storm
Still thundering
The vision scape
Has pockets of green
So many gums
I could be back
In Oz
A brief stop
Jalalabad
The men Decant
I stay
Watching
Looking
Out the dusty window
Engrossed in what I see
The woman and children
All start talking and laughing
At once
The sudden noise
Makes me Jump
I look around
But all I see are ghosts
But free
The influence
Of men
The men return
So does the silence
We move on
We pass a check point
Then stop
Beside a green river
I sit on the bank
Smoke some hash
With old Coco
He looks just like
The old cameleers
From the pioneers
We can’t converse
But I feel
A gentle heart
War tired eyes
Mountains loom
Around us
We are about to make
The push up
To Kabul
We join a convoy
Of trucks
So many trucks
All going up
And up
And up
Never been on such
A huge mountain
And such a narrow
Road
I look down on the
Shells of trucks
That didn’t make it
Up or down
Horns blare
Dust stings my eyes
But I want to see
If I am
About to die
We plateau
And loose the convoy
Cruse toward Kabul
We stop at the
Biggest refugee camp
The atmosphere is
Stressful
Angry
Suffocating
Claustrophobic
Like a humid
Wet season day
I can’t wait to leave
Continue we do
The end is here
The infamous
Soccer stadium
Blocks an blocks
Of rubble
The end
Of the road
To Kabul
Why are all these hash slingers
Constantly there on my TV?
When did the ability to cook
Become reason for celebrity?
Eating for me is just like
Shovelling coal on a fire,
Just adding fuel to keep
Your energy levels higher.
It’s a bonus if it tastes good,
An even bigger bonus still
If it quietly does that and,
More importantly, doesn’t kill.
As for that fine dining lark,
Fashion apparently demands
They poke and finger it about but
Seldom seem to wash their hands.
I’m just a lower class peasant
But one thing I loath and hate
Is having to send my food back
To be properly served on a plate.
And as for the prices they charge,
Why are those in the catering trade
Constantly quoted in statistics as
Some of the lowest of the low paid.
I really don’t wish to be seen as
Pouring insults upon insults
But shouldn't these foodie quirks be
Confined between consenting adults.
Give me a roadside burger van.
You can almost guarantee it’s clean
For sure as heck a Food Inspector
Will not too long ago have been.
See a bunch of parked lorries
And your checking is complete
Had it been below our standard
They’d have voted with their feet.
So, you compile your list of
Good honest eating places
And in time come to recognise
Some well known familiar faces.
A quick greeting as you slip in
Courteously switch off the phone
And get ready to join in with
The latest rant or moan.
A bucket full of coffee,
A bacon butty in hand
And well before it’s time to go
Solve the problem of the land.
11/13/20
"Halo"
Always try to give me the run around
Like I'm such a clown
That should be stuck and drown
Then stay under the ground
I've just about
Had it up to here
My oh my
A lot of the time, I'm not in this atmosphere
Damn, it must've been the dabs
Or the flower mixed with hash
Perhaps, it was the alcohol in my glass
When I pass, will I get a halo?
It wasn't always sunshine and rainbows
At times, had to wear the same clothes
And handle it, whenever I felt the pain grow
I maintained, as I aged, some things changed though
Often they'll try to say so
And that, that's how the game goes
I like to lay low
And stay away from fake folks
Out in the country, a ways from Arroyo Seco
One of many things this life has displayed and shown
I know it's wise, to stay on your toes
It could be a landslide or way too close
Make it known
Use your brain or don't
Some complain and groan
Others main aim is to own
A great big home
If you work hard and save, it will show
Regardless of if you came close
Expect the same results, if you always use the same approach
I'm not picky, don't always need my eggs poached
I'd like to make a toast
Near the bay and coast
May we make the most
Of this life, and stay engrossed
Instead of just chasing ghosts
AS NATURE INTENDED
This is the tale of Edward Brown, a man respected in the town.
A model of sobriety, a pillar of society.
He lived alone and, in hot weather, he’d walk around in the altogether.
With neighbours few and far between, he wasn’t likely to be seen.
And, anyway, to make quite certain, each window had a nice net curtain.
Having had a shower one night, he decided that he wasn’t quite
Ready to get into bed, and so he went downstairs instead.
First he put the kettle on and then prepared a buttered scone.
He put some cocoa in his cup and stirred it as he filled it up.
Just then he heard the front door bell; the knocker loudly knocked as well.
It gave poor Edward quite a fright; who could it be this time of night?
Standing there, completely nude, which in an old man looks quite lewd,
He realised, with a worried frown, that between him and his dressing gown,
There was a well-lit hall to pass and the front door was entirely glass.
He used his two hands to conceal those bits a man should not reveal.
But, as his hands were rather small, they really didn’t hide much at all.
He took a deep breath, made a dash, but, sadly, also made a hash.
And, running through the flood-lit hall, he tripped and had a nasty fall.
Just then he glanced towards the door and was aghast at what he saw.
For, standing there, mouth open wide, a female constable was right outside.
Panicking, he turned and fled, revealing the rear view instead.
The PC (at the wrong address) was singularly unimpressed.
Her modesty was quite offended, so Mr Brown was apprehended.
My Lord, he intended no offence. And that’s the case for the defence.
10th October 2019
Nude - Descending a Staircase Contest
Sponsor - John Lawless
He did his hash slinger training
Then with a couple of his mates
Set up this high class restaurant
Where they didn’t bother with plates,
Just bits of brickkies rubble,
Guttering and such,
Jam jars and slabs of wood
Stuff not costing very much,
And they served minutest portions
Arranged with artistic taste
Just little appetisers really
So very little went to waste.
And they did the strangest things
Like serving food in hay
Even chocolate covered ants
One special gourmet day.
Folk came from near and far
Just to be seen
Eating his creations of
Advanced Nouvelle Cuisine.
And they charged the highest prices
Just to keep it riff raff free
And so very very soon
It became the place to be.
They worked and they strived
Seldom long serving the same
And so they managed to stay
Well ahead of the game
And they thrived and multiplied
Were franchised all over the nation
With proposals from America
And internationalisation,
They got gongs from Palace
And nobody ever knew
They’d only been to night class
To do Catering, NVQ Level Two.
Then came a call from on high
The Palace of Westminster beckoned
He stood a good chance
So the Party Hierarchy reckoned.
It was touch and it was go
But he only just got beat
Standing for the Tories
In a very marginal seat.
Thus he’d proved that old adage,
If you’re daring and brash and bold
The people will swallow
Any old garbage that they’re sold.
Cloaked in grinding whispers
Such inhabitants feel
Their way
Gallop the day
By thrusting, trusting
Emblazoned minds
Envious looks deflected
As the clan stays on task
The full-time preoccupation
And execution of self-expression
Daring risks trickling
The vacant gutters
Thirsty for adrenalin
And a satisfying gulp
Of shattered dreams
Fashionable product
Underserved and underappreciated
By the sanctimonious angels
Slinging hash in pits
Adjacent to the realm of man
Does thou hast remedies
For secrets and manipulations
Self-inflicted
The favored play of
Tenderlicious vassals
Who clamor for more
Than anyone truly deserves
The proven chorus
Decorated in colors
Beyond their years
Hum a distant buzz
Galvanized harmony
Textured strokes o' plenty
Count the measure seventy
Plus whatever is needed
No budget heeded
Because symphonies
Laced with street sugar
And turnstiles revolving by
The peeks and cheats
Sing the bling
And never stray too far
Given no better place
To go.
(8/7/06)
Some fried chicken and frying sliced spam
a tasty beef steak and Virginia fried ham
link sausage patties sausage sausage casserole
chicken fried steak and a pork chop on hold
Bacon of pork, turkey, beef and Canadian
a smoked fish and just in case another can of spam
Eggs eggs eggs scrambled poach over easy
sunny side up hard boiled and omelet cheesy
Hash browns skillet potatoes potato pancakes maybe
rice and a big iron skillet of morning gravy
Butter pancakes waffles biscuits and a honey bun
muffins corn bread, toast with jam or jelly by tons
French toast cinnamon roles and maple syrup to pour
a Pop Tart some bananas peanut butter on something for sure
A glass of cold milk or OJ and hot coffee with sugar and cream
So much food to feast on but why do I want to scream
A morning breakfast to feed and satisfy any living soul
but all the kids want to eat is Cap'n Crunch in their bowls.
I feel quiet.. Then perhaps its a reflection of
The quietude I sense among the greater majority of people, there are fitful bursts of conversation
Overheard at times on the faux Brexit so resented.!
The hubris of ensconced poiticans has died down
In the aftermath of the local elections..
There is a smouldering of talk and thought that
Rumbles on in the sidestreets and shopping centers; there are many who having seen the the mockery of democracy 'laid bare' changing from
Remain to a leave identity, and to my great surprise advocating a 'no deal is the best outcome'
So back I go to the bubble and squeak I am
Making at least the content are fresh
And the hash is edible.'