Long Hunter Poems
Long Hunter Poems. Below are the most popular long Hunter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hunter poems by poem length and keyword.
As soon as Odey arrived,
The villagers greeted in roar
Like the verdicts of Lions.
He was lifted high and
Gongs gave their salutations,
For Odey, the great salt
Discoverer has arrived.
Wrestlers pay allegiance
By displaying black skills,
He walked shoulder high
And his praises were lifted high.
Women swung their backyards,
Making the men's mouth water,
For the great hunter has arrived.
Jubilation is sure, all anger cured.
Gun powder entered the air to
Inform the sky of the black discoverer,
The seed of Yala*.
Children orchestrating black rhythm
And rhyme, happy to see the salts.
Welcome Odey, welcome black hero,
For thou art a true meaning of an African sunset....
===========================
Yala* is my mother's tribal dialect.
My mind is piling up with debt
'cause
I don't want to breath without you
I don't want to face my fear
I don't live ANYMORE
I don't want to leave you behind...I just don't wanna bleed again
I don't wanna bleed x4 and sacrifice myself for you...
You used me as an inadequate tool, girl - stop making me feel guilty for your crimes
Stop being a deceiver...
Cause
I won't fall into your traps again...
I won't bleed for you
But still i think of you...and how you made me feel so blue
I won't give in to your dimmed light... Has your heartfelt light died
But I am a victim to your love
And how you hunted me down like a hunter, craving for a dove
I won't bleed
I don't want to be by your side
I won't bleed
'Cause you feed
On others' pain
You drive me insane...x4
Like continual rain
During the middle of summertime in California
'cause
I don't want to be you friend anymore...life has been an up and down ride
I don't want to face my fear of being rejected again
I don't live ANYMORE...kiss me, suicide
I don't want risk my life, hanging around you...I just don't wanna bleed again
I don't wanna bleed again
don't wanna bleed again. . x3 (whisper)
Droolin’ Joe Biden has been on a media blitz trying to gaslight you again that he isn’t an addled old fool before a couple books telling of an orchestrated cover-up by the White House and congressional Democrats and the mainstream media are released in a couple days. A book written by the same people in the media who lied and covered up his obvious decline from day one.
Then a few days ago we all heard the released audio of this babbling fool in the Hur interview. He wasn’t fit to run a hot dog stand. Joe spent nearly 550 days of his presidency on personal leave. That’s 40% of his term. We all know he wasn’t running the country, his Chief of Staff and Hunter and Jill along with Obama’s minions had control of the Presidential Autopen.
Now we are told Joe went to the doctor on Friday and was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. This news was deemed so new and important that it was immediately released to the media. This cancer being new is another lie. Why was it so necessary to reveal this news so quickly you might ask.
Well folks, Joe and his carers and all those who held his hand and cut his food and wiped his ar-se for him for four years want your sympathy and not your condemnation. They want you to forget it all ever happened. Watch the complicit media try to do just that. They will try to gaslight you again. Don’t let ‘em!
A queen was spinning flax one day.
She gave her loom a jerk.
(Don’t ask what “flax” or “looms” might be,
or why a queen must work).
She pricked her finger (careful, now!)
yet Sigmund Freud would say
these children’s tales are full of smut –
there is no other way.
Three drops of blood fell in the snow
(she’s spinning flax outside?)
She thought that she’d commemorate
her perforated hide.
“I’ll have a daughter,” Queenie thought,
“with lips of ruby red,
and skin as white as that there snow!
Let’s go!” And so to bed.
Her weaving-loom was black as jet
- another tint to add –
and when she found she was ‘with child’,
a daughter’s what she had.
The girl grew fair, with jet-black hair,
and skin, unblemished, white:
those curvy hips, those luscious lips!
She was a gorgeous sight.
But mother never missed a chance
to put her daughter down:
“Just understand, I rule this land –
the only babe in town!”
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who’s the tasty totty?”
The magic mirror told her straight,
“Queen, you’re the only hottie!”
But adolescence changes things,
and Snow White turned out fair:
to use the common parlance, she
had grown a lovely pair!
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
I’m still the choicest chick!”
“Well, just about,” the mirror said:
“the kid’s improving quick!”
We’ll drop the Huntsman who was tasked
to take her to the river
(Snow White, that is) and rip her guts,
so Queen could eat her liver.
Why did the hunter like the girl?
Was it her curvy bits?
A friend, he proved – and probably
A friend with benefits!
He told the truth, and now the youth
slipped something in the booze.
She turned real mean – she got the queen
the reddest pair of shoes!
The birthday bash was fairly flash:
for Queenie, two surprises –
no, not the wine ‘improved’ with hash,
as everyone surmises!
Snow White was still alive, the first:
she wore a see-through blouson.
“Mommy Dearest,” red lips pursed,
“Just slip these bright red shoes on.”
The Queen put on the birthday gift
and started twirling, prancing:
the mirror told her, “You’ve been stiffed!
You’re dying, Queen – not dancing!”
That Snow White dame must take the blame:
for she had put together
two metal sheets, a red-hot treat!
Those shoes weren’t made of leather!
I am resigned.
I was once full of neoteric life, fresh as morning dew.
Blank as a hardened sponge waiting for that morning, to
soak in all this life.
I was curious and surprised by the innocence of young creatures. Playful, and distracted by all the colors, flavors, scents, sounds, and textures whirling around me. I was but one drop of water yet presumed myself the storm.
I was then full of new life within my growing awareness. I was the life giver. The female womb, ripe as fruit from the tree. The planting of which was forbidden but irresistible in its passion and pleasure.
Life and death growing inside me.
I was then blind sided by reality, by my insignificant self.
I lost the morning dew, I lost the fevered curiosity, I lost the ego.
I was left with cold questions and fear. Knowing myself to be corruptible.
I became the seeker, the hunter, the collector of truth.
The water dried up, hardened the sponge once again with no more mist or dew to soak in. It was not for me.
The colors no longer distract.
The flavors have lost their savor.
No perfume in this decaying stillness.
I am deaf to their noises, and they shrink from my touch.
I am resigned to listen to my own thoughts… of what is to come.
I am resigned.
The huntsman took aim bringing it into line,
he pulled back the bow, a shot to the chest;
Not instantly dying he ran into a mine,
there on the hillside I saw him escape;
Majestic he stood in full view at his best
but for this beast today there'll be life's forsake.
Into the cavity where gold could be found,
time was now called on this magnificent beast;
Surrounded by beauty in woods all around,
he was hauled to the castle where royals would dine
upon the cooked carcass for nobels to feast,
the toothless hunter enjoyed this over swine.
The huntsman took aim bringing it into line,
Into the cavity where gold could be found.
Ending In Regret
Most of us wait
for what few of us get
Then start the excuses
—that end in regret
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2014)
Inside Your Heart
With your every smile,
my life grows longer
Both on this earth
—and inside your heart
(To My Grandson Hunter: January, 2014)
The Felony Of Language
The felony of language
is within the larceny
of being neither right
—nor wrong
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2014)
Unspoken Dawn
The morning returns
new verses unheard
rising eternal
—in the unspoken dawn
(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: January, 2014)
10/27/22
Not the best credentials
Yet so much potential
It's evidential
Not all of it is essential
Considering that much is still experimental
Remaining confidential
Seen in person or written in pencil
Still pouring
And exploring
My faith in humanity lost not restoring
Too much of it is boring
They are always ignoring
Or warring
As well as being rude and lording
Far from a haiku
Not always the sky blue
Too often lied to
This is quite true
I do
Have the bird's eye view
If I choose I'll slide through
Typical people being quite rude
During daylight and as night drew
Always acting like they have the right to
I don't like it, so I do the opposite in spite of you
I don't trust her
I remain a lone hunter
While below thunder
It's no wonder
Since others are often thrown under
Felt like a zero until I turned into a hero
She never once wanted my phone number
Meanwhile I did it like no other
When will it rest?
Toward each other they often pit against
It's a mess
All these tricks and wrecks
Causing more disconnect
At times I feel alien not like Gilgamesh
What a joke, always thinking they're still the best
Having ill intent
How dumb and sad that people got killed for less
To nil effect
So quit the trek of continual disrespect
I'm on a scientific quest
I could care less how these b****es dress
In the open or occurring secretly
The cycle is seemingly
Going on repeatedly
…Musk…
There once lived a hero named Musk.
Who found lies in Twitter’s big husk.
Truths were perverted,
Lies, huge, diverted!
Our leader goes to bed at dusk?
…Hunter…
Hunter has cash, babes, and hash.
A noble man, sure, with a bad rash.
But why should he care?
We pay all his air fare!
Fool, twirls in an Iranian sash!
12/8/2022
Entry for Anthony Biaanco’s
Musk Poetry Contest.
Drifting in the silence of the night,
I just want to reach out and grab you;
I’ll calm what is feral hold you tight;
Ceiling fan spins as hard as I fight,
wide eyed witching hour’s nothing new;
Drifting in the silence of the night;
There’s reason to smile tears fall despite,
maybe it’s time to reveal what’s true;
I’ll calm what is feral hold you tight;
Such restlessness in star light star bright,
your eyes change from purple to blue;
Drifting in the silence of the night;
A pin drop’s enough to bring frostbite,
is the hunter who’s stalking a clue?
I’ll calm what is feral hold you tight;
Please do not ask me to stay polite,
I see all you try to hide from view;
Drifting in the silence of the night,
I’ll calm what is feral hold you tight.