Long Headlines Poems
Long Headlines Poems. Below are the most popular long Headlines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Headlines poems by poem length and keyword.
Little Billy was a designer
Known worldwide and even wider,
All the way from here to China.
Little did the people know
Little Billy had a vag*na.
Little Billy sold millions
and billions of gold bullions
Worth, to many civilians
Alike parents and children.
Each item was worth about forty,
Little Billy sponsored all things sporty
Little did Billy know, it would be shortly
That the world would be aborting.
News headlines, global sensation
Of Little Billy's gender connotation
Revealed in a social fluctuation.
All Billy could feel was humiliation.
Sponsorships ended
Cost price descended
Moral right transcended
All because Billy pretended
That she was a woman
Living as man
In a land where the wage expands
When you've got an appendage.
Bed Time
I should have gone to bed by now, if I'm late
But when the head touches the pillow in the dark bedroom
I think of death
Not fear, but the feeling of helplessness, not an iota
What I have done in my life has made the slightest
Difference, I have not given the world a thing of value.
I remember Liv Ullmann; we were both seventeen
I danced with her, but I could feel I was in the presence of talent
And she became successful; she is someone.
She tells the newspaper in an interview that she hopes to die
In Norway, a rather disappointing utterance when you are
dead, it doesn’t matter where.
She will make the headlines have her obituary written and
There will be sorrow, but in the end, we will both be equally dead.
and tonight the rest of the story
let us not give the headlines
the best of the glory
let's remember the times of old
a history, something told
a storyteller tells the tale
of the bold
listeners tune in to listen
to what is gold
a riddle, a clue, a mystery to unfold
who is the subject and what is the goal
and in the end remembered
the great invention
within the story meaningful intentions
the storyteller had a way
of keeping our attention
as we listened in the car
or in the kitchen
for some he was our lunch time break
we listened to his commercials as we ate
the trick of advertisement was so sublime
we listened attentivly as he used his time
at times of mattresses,
and pills we listened to his appeals
while he told the story his ad's would pay the bills
and tonight the rest of the story
lets not give the headlines
the best of the glory
Paul Harvey went to meet his glory
leaving the rest of us wondering
what would be the rest of his story
surely he knew how to begin
and how to skillfully draw us in
as every story the master would begin
but this time there are no commercials
no special ad's made for his rehursal
only the quiet exit unto glory
and now we know the rest of his story
They speak in flames that do not burn,
A furnace of phrases, polished and loud.
“My government will leave no stone unturned
Until the perpetrators are arrested
And made to face the full wrath of the law.”
Sirens of promise wail through the air,
Yet the ashes remain exactly as found.
Words roar from official handles,
Broadcast in waves across waiting ears
Through every medium
Threats dressed in the uniforms of law.
“Full weight,” they say, with borrowed thunder,
But justice sleeps behind a bolted door.
Each dawn counts bodies like broken clocks,
Lives shattered between headlines and dust.
Homes reduced to nameless rubble,
While speeches rise:
“I have given marching orders to the security chiefs
To ensure these criminals are hunted down
And face the full wrath of the law”
Faithful in tone, yet barren in truth.
The killers walk with familiar shadows,
Their footprints unafraid of the light.
No cuffs clasp their wrists,
No courts summon their names into the night.
Words parade proudly across the screen;
Action limps, wounded and late.
Declarations pile like fragile sandbags,
Still blood seeps under the gate.
O cold fire! You glow without heat,
You threaten without a strike.
You roar for cameras and crowds,
Then whisper when justice must bite.
How long shall we be governed by echoes,
By vows that die at the microphone?
A nation cannot be warmed by slogans,
Nor secured by a voice alone.
Let silence fall on empty threats,
Or let deeds finally speak.
For fire that cannot save a life
Is colder than the weak.
There's a logical reason
why I'm not into politics...
I've seen much corruption
in elected politicians, who have stolen
from the state treasure without conscience.
And many live in mansions;
drive foreign luxurious cars...
take extended vacations,
and drink the best champagnes.
We, the common people, observe them
and continuously wonder where those things came from,
but naiveness is confused with the plausible thought...
that they have honestly earned or inherited them.
Many have made the national and international headlines,
hiding shameful faces that will confront dire consequences;
don't pity them, remember our laws are fair and strong...
even a President will be hold accountable for any wrondoing!
Some are filthy rich, and desire more,
and what's our wish? To pay less taxes as they do indeed!
Hating them may cause bitter feelings, enough to expose their greed.
Have faith that things will soon get better,
elect a politician who has ethic values and with dignity opens your door.
The servo sign flickers.. then punches your soul..
Numbers climb higher than you can control.
You stare at the price like it’s taking the piss..
“Wasn’t it cheaper? What madness is this?”
You tap on the pump like it might be a glitch..
Like somehow the numbers will drop if you twitch.
But nah, they keep climbing, no mercy in sight..
That shortage excuse rolled out day and night.
We laugh with our mates, “Yeah, she’s brutal, no doubt..”
But under that humour, there’s stress creeping out.
Bills stacking higher, the budget stretched tight..
While headlines spin causes we can’t really fight.
They point at the markets, the wars, and the trade..
At deals that were signed and the choices once made.
Global decisions, far out of our hands..
Still land at the pump where the average one stands.
So we joke and we whinge, ‘cause what else can we do?
When the tank’s nearly empty and payday’s not due.
We laugh at the madness, but deep down we know..
It’s more than just fuel.. it’s the cost of the blow.
I can sense the air a changing, through my eyes in peripheral see
This I have to await, to await what she brings to we
Oh! this trepidation, I'm in fear of what we've been told
For her skies are not what they seem in fear of her unfold
Suddenly azures are bleached, diminished from their blues
Maybe the headlines, the news informed, are now becoming true
Cobalt bluey greys, amidst blackened silvery delights
Beckon my eyes in see, this night a changing sight
Sporadic openings honour, it's as if their about to clear
Then thunder like kettle drums, reignite my fears
With one hell of a mighty crash, resonating thunderous noise
Straight away my mind reminds that nature knows destroy
Mountains in the distance, in daylight so far away
A flash here, a flash there, their standing in disarray
I stand here awaiting, knowing, that her heavens are about to burst
Her cascade, cacophonous noise, she rarely lets us thirst
Ice bullets teeming, streaming, amidst droplets of what could have been
Crashing, caressing, stressing, man's modern life now screams
Stop-lights, signs swaying, flaying, crashing to the ground
But even the designs of man, can rarely imitate her sounds
Seconds, minutes, hours pass, now a calmness before her storm
There will never be a day, when even we conform
For I marvel in fascination, so vivid in what she displays
In lightening we appear to be, but we will never outweigh
Through the gap between the closed drapes
A maid peers in a daze
An ashtray upon the table
Held her undiffused gaze
Clearly there was bright red lipstick
Circles upon some butts
A golden earring lies close by
Lying cheat drives her nuts
The fog lifted revealing all
Airline ticket back home
A scoundrel, cheater, liar, creep
In the night he does roam
A teardrop fell upon the floor
As the click opened lock
He slept peacefully this last night
Gun shots silenced by the clock
Last chapter typed upon white sheets
The typewriter now still
Headlines plastered across front page
Lovers in motel were killed
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest: Chopped III
Form used: Poulter's Measure, Syllable count 8,6,8,6 with the rhyme on the six..Some lines might be slightly off..
“She lies in the western region of the black race territory apportioned back from generations,
Within the 11th century era,
Filled with typical black men with strong melanin,
Who lives semi-primitively to satisfy the necessities of their dreams and aspirations,
Under the rise and fall of the sun, soundly…
A land raising walkers from different routes permanently,
Deepening and sharpening the definitions of social culture at highest peak,
Profoundly marked upon the Gulf of Guinea,
Acclaiming the recognition of undeniable reputation,
Her heart dripped with blood in the course of human trading,
The historic period where hope and self-realizations seem to never return for formal grading,
The blood of her forefathers through the purpose of mightiness erected her back magnanimously,
She is clothed with discipline and self-actualizations,
Shaping the conspiracy arrayed in her senses to meet everyday determinations,
And it`s steadfastly concluded by the views of observing neighbors and willing spectators,
Possesses cherishable name highly distinguished,
Subbed with riches bridged over an expandable range,
And this proves the result of past event which left her offspring anguished,
They conformed to shame, just to get the inspiring tenets of their motherland among headlines on global page,
Which brought about the achievement of independence…
Based on the ideologies and firmness of the Kwame Nkrumahs and the rest,
If probably you`re not figuring anything out,
I mean “GOLD COAST”,
A unitary presidential constitutional democracy,
The present “GHANA”,
Meaning “Warrior King” in the Soninke language,
Home of peace always deserving honor,
Who always stand against a sign of savage,
Indeed, the land is full of courage”
“GOD BLESS OUR MOTHERLAND”
He was a man penned,
By instinctive needs,
To whisk away,
Dirty deeds.
The necessities of others,
Trumped what was,
Making headlines,
Out of quiet acts.
Into a text,
He appeared,
From the text,
(h)e disappeared.
A lion he was,
Doubt it not,
Full of blood and fire,
Ready to grab his lot.
Sin was virtue,
Guilt was shame,
The man was hungry,
In want of a name.
The lamb came later,
Down gossip’s path,
Upon an alter,
History crossed.
The books,
With deliberate fancies,
Inverted the meaning
Of time.
Meanwhile,
Blood became wine,
As castles rose,
To hail the divine.
For God’s sake!
The man was made of steel!
Not like superman,
But still a pretty big deal.
One reason,
He became the son,
Was that god,
Needed to be born.
What was the point of
Laying down arms?
When the Romans came,
There were no other charms.
Ay, there’s the rub,
Machiavelli,
Outdated, outrun, out-stated,
By the donkey riding man.
Without faith,
Its all just a spoof,
With out doubt,
There’s no proof.
Before him,
Metaphors were magical,
After,
Merely logical.
Myth,
Is the shining example,
Of what you get,
When men dance and sing.
Religion,
Is the only way,
To get things right,
Some other day.
When the temple,
Came crashing down,
Fate was sealed,
For money ruled the town.
His worshippers protested,
Not to budge,
If he did,
Some rocks they would indulge.
Not one to say no,
Believing in his flock,
He was surprised,
How they began to mock.
When the real story began,
The fake one ended,
Men of action,
Lost their main attraction.
The men with quills,
Who with great depth,
Expressed their wills,
Still whisper in the halls.
Who’s to say,
What it means,
When all is said and done,
Nothing is as it seems.
All hail and rise,
To this story that was devised,
By one god damn man,
Of art he was comprised.