Long Heep Poems
Long Heep Poems. Below are the most popular long Heep by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heep poems by poem length and keyword.
Agnes:
Oh, what a smile Uriah Heep!
It makes me feel so vile and cheap
You’re planning Papa’s soon demise
An evil light shines in your eyes
You smile a sheepish little grin
Usurping is your grievous sin
My father is under your spell
But I know you are straight from hell
I shan’t marry you, no not I
If you must know the reason why
Your fiendish smile I can’t abide
It makes me want to run and hide
One day t’will be that I shall smile
A smile that will be so worthwhile
For you’ll be gone, without a trace
No ghastly grin upon your face
Another’s smile my eyes will greet
His lips will bring me kisses sweet
His love will be my endless song
Go to the night, where you belong!
Uriah Heep is a creepy character who is one of the antagonists in Charles Dickens novel, David Copperfield. He is working for David’s friend, Mr. Wickfield. He uses Mr. Wickfield’s love for drink that is exacerbated by the death of his wife, to confuse Mr Wickfield and blackmail him into signing him as a partner of the business. His ultimate goal is to marry Agnes, Mr Wickfield’s daughter. David Copperfield takes an instant dislike to Uriah when he meets him. This poem is written in the voice of Agnes, who eventually marries David Copperfield.
For Smile Contest
By Linda
Well today I find myself stretching again
Passed tests trials and wicked heart men
Playing games on courts
Who me no door
Shuts close with no reason
Freedom comes in season
Time gains its now
Hope despair somehow
Catches up with lost time
Almost lost the mind
Sandy winds in eyes
Differently to cry
Tears of joy to die
Old life renewed
All the reason to choose
Team won without rules
This dude thought slick was slick memo
Producer with no demo
Riding tires without a limo
Stage with out bingo
Won with out a song
Hidden revealed who won
Sitting in the audience tables have crumbs
Snatcher and catchers
ballplayers flipped done
First place without a stump
Hills with no humps
Helicopters blades with days
News casters who lie trilogy
Rain passed storms windy chilly
Seasons have reasons
Maps have overlaps
But people insecure run miles with no crap
Tell tales and stories with lies
Promises made with goodbyes
Pimping Easy prostitute pushed down made to cry
Die deaths streets with beats
Undercover paid service with creeps
Heep down with locks too
Blurred Lines tell lies too
Who wrote Gaye lines paid lines have paid too
Ofttimes yours truly assiduously tries to adlib,
but blubbers like a landlubber
at sea treading water donned with bib
(that doubles as yellow
spongy bobbing life jacket)
furiously doing doggy paddle
riding the next tidal wave
hoop fully washing me ashore to crib
if need be to dig an underwater channel
painstakingly slow drabs and drib.
The English language I simply adore
though offtimes methinks waxing eloquent
affects listeners as yours truly a bore
in record time flapping waxed lips
beholds one gordian
tongue tied knot major chore,
whereby I wanna bolt out figurative door
feeling deplorable and stuck
analogous to Eeyore.
Ache 'n to launch into a monologue
or chime into ongoing dialogue
me noggin off times generates brain fog
mental state mimicking one,
who quaffed an over abundance of grog,
which for this teetotaler would constitute
a mere thimble full of drink,
perhaps rum enhanced eggnog
just one sip and boing I go
topsy turvy as if a felled log
hit me over the head
rendering me unconscious.
Thus wood explain mine altered state
though unsightly gash on pate
battle scar leveled playing field
with the missus, 't other significant primate
supplementing and complementing
one aging long haired
pencil (vane ya) necked geek
being caged, yet free
to roam within human zoo
both, (née all) of us captive
on carousel of time
nsync with every other *****sapien
begot to participate in circle game.
All superfluous joking aside,
I strive to groom conversation,
whereby uninterrupted flow of words
(versus fumfering, hemming, hawing,
stammering, stuttering...), thine
general oral feedback paradigmatic guide
ever diligent to think
before I speak with pride
else I heep discourtesy
upon myself and chide
yours truly with harsh rebukes,
which maybe tantamount
going off the mountainside
plummeting into the abyss
engenders an unpleasant
metaphoric roller coaster ride,
and if crash test dummy doth survive -
upon gibbet he will be tried
punishment broadcast world wide
for flagrant horrendous verbal
egregiousness (waywardness) he belied.
AC/DC, the rockers from down under
Boston, with Tom Scholz on guitar, sweet thunder
Creedence Clearwater, singing Proud Mary
Deep Purple, from the 70's, rocking and hairy
Eagles, easy listening, bum hugging music
Foreigner, with their Englishman Mick
Gun, from Glasgow, Taking on the World
Heart, from Seattle, just have to be heard
Inxs, singing their Afterglow
Journey, from Frisco, under the Bay Bridge flow
Kiss, in make up, after these Crazy Crazy Nights
Loverboy, from Canada, in concert excite
Marillion, prog rockers singing the lovely Kayleigh
Nazareth, from Scotland, singing Please Don't Judas Me
OMD, with their song Enola Gay
Pink Floyd, just let Emily Play
Queen, without Freddie, but their show went on
Rush, from Toronto, three playing amazing songs
Styx, with Tommy Shaw, their blond blue eyed boy
Thin Lizzy, from Dublin, playing Inverness were a joy
Uriah Heep, named after a character by Dickens
Van Halen, with Eddie, and his guitar rockin lickin
Wishbone Ash, a favourite band of mine
XTC, singing Senses Working Overtime
Yes, with album covers, by Roger Dean
ZZ Tops, singing Legs, those legs need to be seen
Distal to Dorsal the bofdy human
agility and flexiblity
Rest and recovery
a detailed
meme of wrestling stylus
heis works are a showcase
of atheletic showmenship
a marvel in the specticail
of chain wrestling
move and counter move
a great treat for an audeince
a championship A-lister
a Modern Classic in the making
afew among his peers
he's a sceintific techition
one move away from
being champion
trophied and contention ready
in-line to be champion
the right night
Pro-chored and ready
Guilded and a real deal
a contenders nightmare
and a partners dream
someone even a non-fan recognizes as great
he got the fans calling him great
he's got his peers calling him great the
guy's in the locker room wait in line toim
at his best there non other
out wrested he'll
rehone his craft
and come up with something to offset
any defeat
as rare as they are
W got the message let's
see if the cahmpionship commity get's it
a champion is wise to heep his eye on
this man
attention:attention:attention
they already know his ablity
what he does to get that huy
to look him right in his eye's
He never could get past the ego
his staus is well above reach
he better find a trusted freind
someone who doesn't mind
being apart of a big-deal
If the other stands in front will
he let him be championship quality
or will he undermind him
to reposition himself
the newness maybe off the champion
let's see if the number one contender
can bring his ball to the game
A trophied, titled contender
with a niche: he can walk out of here
champion without breaking a sweat.
However decorated all others mimic
him as Champion!
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.
Will the people ever ball-
at the right of their figures?
And let cock be the trigger?
At the sign of the savior?
With the women in blazes?
True signs come and go,
it is amazing...
People heap hype at the sight of the mic,
at freight night-
and at soccer fields European wide.
But why confide?
Mean people act mean because they have mean to say,
I mean,
they wonder all day why they are that way!
But in a shining star,
people pretend to see afar,
just across the bar.
People will heep-hipe more clearer,
when the dogs try to lick silver,
they will see people right,
when the night turns into the revealer.
In time it will become,
because in my mind there is a plum-
so dam ripe,
I am starting to come.
Albert F Simmons's birthplace was Detroit Motor City.
Nature gilded him with vitality and wisely showed pity.
As the best undercover agent, his ethics were absurd.
Albert was smart, yet his mother lauded a devil herd.
He was a Marine officer and served in the Secret Service.
He later joined the CIA and NSA for a deadly purpose.
For his lion-like honesty, Jason Wynn set him on fire.
He meets his family in Hell and turns a hellspawn hire!
Albert is slain and died on a secret mission.
He is sent to Hell and seals with the devil a position.
Like a wild ape, he roams, losing his zest and zeal.
He lion-fights evil to avert fire and his soul to heal.
He returns to Earth after evolving into a hellspawn.
He is sent into history, which is his physical swan.
He took up arms as a warrior to rid society of its flaws.
He brought morality to criminals and outlaws.
He fights Zeus, hell, and earth as a cruel anti-hero.
His huge red cape and neoplasm outfit are heroes.
For gaming, chased down by a fighter demon.
The actual fighter angel, Jason Wynn, won!
He wears a hat on his face and has right and left feet.
He is a strong fighter with demonic immortality heat.
Heaven and hell are mocked as inscrutable beasts.
Heep, the green world champion, is elfin, to say least.
Too many fights on Earth, heaven, and darkness.
Such a poem isn't listed all, yet, a nest in harness.
Via supervillain death, hell is able to seize power.
Transforming hell into heaven as a flower!
Written: March 30, 2023
Written for the contest, Spawn
sponsor, Robert James Liguori
Inferiority complex viz mine (mien)
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heep,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nanobot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches,
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hindsight
analogous to Snoop doggy dog.
Transmogrification into hideous golem like beast...
Seeks to lavish adoration,
especially after freshly deceased
cuz, upon yar flesh I will voraciously
devour thee asthma Christmas feast
mee haint not a cannibal,
cuz this humane anthropophagist
expresses love daintily, hungrily,
and with lips smacking and creased
devours thee charbroiled,
chargrilled, raw or greased.
The above worst case scenario if you
ignore serious warning
and interrupt my sleep
particularly during
rapid eye movement phase,
cuz vital to dream unconsciously deep
if left alone (meaning no awakening me
into foggy, groggy, and soggy state)
lest I manifest into a creep
more horrific (think)
by Dickens Uriah Heep.
Ordinarily mine Hyde bound diabolical
persona non grata
kept under wraps
dramatic malevolent manifestation
only appears only,
when requisite precious dream snaps
courtesy when some wise acre
foolish enough upon me noggin
doth drums, joyfully raps
itty in Blue knuckles (think drum),
cuz as An American in Paris
on permanent holiday courtesy lapse
of rhyme reason
(thank prefrontal lobotomy
to alleviate oppressive
anxiety linkedin with)
absence of necessary cerebral apps
induces predilection to relapse
into atavistic Geico caveman perhaps,
with courtesy bonafide frayed jockstraps
suddenly pops, crackles and snaps
in my body whereby sanity doth caps
eyes, that mashing monster aside,
ye ken count me mandate
fiend in Southeastern Pennsylvania
look no further then bleached lovely bones
formerly missus (sob...sob...sob...)
who thankfully no longer zaps.
Thus allowing, enabling,
and providing yours truly,
not ordinarily unruly
a bachelor Matthew Scott,
(but never known as Dani Boy) duly
available as coolie
cooking up house special wooly
mammoth and side order of tabouli.