Long Intel Poems
Long Intel Poems. Below are the most popular long Intel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intel poems by poem length and keyword.
Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
Proem
After Sir Thomas recovered the Spear of Destiny and returned it to the Pope at the Vatican in Rome, he remained there for several months serving His Excellency, attending meetings, and recovering from several minor injuries sustained while recapturing the Spear that pierced the side of Jesus the Messiah. Sir Thomas could have stayed as a guest of the pope in one of their lush suites, but he chose the bare walls of a guest bedroom at the local Knights Templar castle. The pope then called upon him for his next assignment: Leave Rome immediately, by boat, again, back to Constantinople. “Head off a Scot by the name of Sir Robert Bruce, whom our intel indicates has a map and is currently on his way in search for the Holy Grail. Sir Robert is a stubborn ally. You will help Sir Robert, but convince him that the chalice of Jesus belongs here in Rome.”
Prior to shoving off the west coast of Italy, a few miles from Rome, Sir Thomas wrote the following message, and placed it in a bottle.
______________________________________________________________
A.D. 1301
My dear sweet wife and babe within her womb
The five long years since I had lost you both
I prayed for inner peace despite my joy
You're both in heaven; worship Thee Most High
Because your love exceeds all life itself
My lips will glorify you ever more
I praise you for the rest; my living days
Your name I lift on high with my bare hands
Was on my bed that I remember you
I think of you the watches of the night
The shadow of your wings I cling my soul
The depths of which my sword shall honor thee
I yearn affections taste where two come one
The seed by faith that yields abundant life
Endures celestial kingdom's perfect place
It brings this missive to its endless oath:
To bless, release my restless heart that bleeds
Commit my swords allegiance to the Lord
To you Dagung the earth is smaller still
For every inch be searched to see your face
You disappeared, not dead but still alive
I feel the transom temper my resolve
For in this ship another search begins
The Holy Grail; Dagung I'll find you both
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Postscript
I toss the bottle through the wind to stormy sea
Inside the missive of a knight in love with thee
__________________________________________
What a fella what a lovely fella happened their way
What a generous fella to kindly offer all these gifts and his services for free
He was of the mind to give them some of his grub
But he waited until it got rank and mouldy first
He then offered them a sip of his tea
But thought it best to spit in it first
He was generous with his backhanded compliments
never missed a beat in his dance of deceit
his two faced stance well maintained to entice the flies to his web
Bothered to put on a show to appear likeable and relatable too, what a gent
As he knit picked at their lives and put a spin on every word they uttered
he meant to gently pump them up for intel for reasons known only to himself
A mission that sadly bounced hard and flopped
For that last bit I blame who ever created the character of James Bond
Has the likes of him curtain twitching and meddling for dear life
Convinced every foreign woman wants to get their mits on them, I mean resounding yuck please!
His exotic fare he elaborately served on a bed of fake pleasantly, seasoned with a dash of bogus laughter
He seemed appalled that they could be handed a chance at anything at all
before he got to take at least ten more chances that he doesn't even need
God forbid anyone else aside from him gets any upliftment
Joy should start and end only with him and his kin
and compassion should only ever be pointed his way
He enjoys his loot only when others stay beneath him, and thrives when disparity amounts
There is a hole where this man's soul ought to be
And that's if it was ever there in the first place
Maybe all he ever had is this humongous gaping emptiness
that he has to fill at all odds because its eating him alive
It seems it can only ever be filled by him generously spreading misery and contempt
He tries to fill it with greed and a haughty demeanour
Little does he know it will never suffice
Somethings no amount of wealth can ever buy
Maybe he never got enough hugs as a child
I mean one might be born into abject poverty
but it never stops their parents from raising loving compassionate children, one hug at a time
Sometimes that's all a soul needs to thrive
What a fella, poor fella with a stone for a heart
and pockets weighed down by gold
Form:
Nineteen Years Ago
By Franklin Price
09/11/2020
Nineteen years ago today, the tall twin towers fell.
Hijacked airliners hit them and turned them into hell.
High above Manhattan streets fires began to rain.
Just a short time later only rubble would remain.
Victims trapped above, who did not want to die by fires,
Chose to jump and take their chances, from those giant burning pyres.
First responders rushed inside, those towers that were boomed.
Many did not come back, hundreds of those heroes doomed.
We the People came together as we did for World War two.
There were no axis powers. What were we supposed to do?
The world forever changed that day. What was that terror for?
No country to go fight against. No place to fight a war.
Iraq seemed like a likely place, to go and fight the fall.
Bad intel, said mass destruction, could be found there after all.
We went and kicked Iraqi ass. No mass destruction there to see
Hussein was hiding in a hole. We hung him from a tree.
The terrorists not in Iraq. Afghanistan could be their base.
The Russians had no luck there, so we went and took their place.
We found and slew Bin Laden, who was terror master then,
Others came to take his place, we killed them and their men
We still are fighting over there, in those lands so far away,
Our soldiers and our money, being spent there every day.
The terrorists still fighting. We must convince them to refrain,
To protect our homeland from them, so they never come again
Must now look within our country, look up close and not afar.
Since those nineteen years have passed, how we've gotten where we are.
We've torn ourselves asunder, made a farce of Washington,
Allowed the terrorists among us to take our liberties and run.
Trample on the constitution, disrespect our flag that flies,
Remove the God, in whom we trust, the One that they despise.
Do not want to pledge allegiance, or to follow any rules.
They're the terrorists I speak of, or unpatriotic fools.
We the People need to speak up, those of us who give a damn
We're not supposed to be the sheep, of the shepherd, “Uncle Sam”.
We must pledge allegiance, to the flag, the Constitution make our stead,
Or our country, as the towers, will be fallen down and dead.
Marc Spectar is Moon Knight . . .
the traveler . . . the pathfinder . . . the defender
protecting and avenging the innocent
the son of a rabbi
with D.I.D.
(Dissociated Identity Disorder)
~he is actually a fictional Marvel Comic character,
who worked as a mercenary, until he was mortally injured and died
in the shadow of Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon ~
he was reborn . . . The Left Fist of Khonshu
to fight evil and defend all who travel at night
from vampires, from monsters and from super-assassins
Marc's alter ego Moon Knight does the fighting,
takes the punches, he is the one who spills the blood
wearing a white armored costume, well, sometimes
black and white, and sometimes all black
~but they are not alone
Marc has other alter egos, Steven Grant, billionaire businessman
Jake Lockley, the violent taxi driver, and Mr. Knight,
the suited detective and police consultant, and many more egos ~
trauma in his childhood resulted in the D.I.D
he hears the voices of his other identities
has spent some time in a mental hospital
sometimes, he chains himself to his bed at night
and it has be suggested he has brain damage
yet, he is a closed fist . . . made weapon
he is "The Left Fist of Khonshu" protecting the innocent
~ fighting evil with strength, combat, technology,
detective work, tolerance for pain, willpower and experience
with the help of his alter egos who gather the intel
he has died many times . . . but has be resurrected each time ~
. . . he likes his vodka, ice cold, and has a girlfriend too
a pretty normal guy . . . until Moon Knight
The Left Fist of Khonshu is needed . . .
__________________________
October 02, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/The Left Fist of Khonshu
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1491-758-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Moon Knight
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 10/18/2022
First Place
How can people want rights but they aren't right
While working in the daylight with souls bright as night
The creator shall judge the judges, The evil deserves evil
Good people will get what is equal to their actions
And immoral skin passions have fatal lessons
God has a scale where He weighs & sits
Because everything has equal opposite
We selfish to others but hold our nose when they sell theirs
And not giving pardons while expecting God’s cares
And blessings while leaving others with our bee stings
Now turn to your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
To be right there's no wrong, the righteous are morally strong
You need more than calcium to be the backbone of society
While society breaks you, to makes you. Surprisingly,
The -able are ignorant and unstable
Unable to add-up in the moral table
Telling fables of multiplication while being divided
Trying to add reasoning in facts provided
Their individualism is subtracting from the fold
Being percentages of a percentage, losing the stronghold
False foundation told about a “Doomed Youth”
While the witty wise horde the fake truth
As the truly righteous shake their head and sings
Go ahead with the devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
The battle of truth lies in the beheading of lies
The Righteous must write us
For justice to be just to us and right us
Bleeding thoughts to think, words to ink
Carving insight to push sanity to the brink
Punching Intel, in mind, for knowledge to sink
Unfold stories consoled foretell tails told
Today's prophets profit profits with souls they forfeit
Crumbling towers with warped foundations
Ripping families but cursed lives they’re facin’
Losing the troubleshooting; uprooting with a booting
Bearing false fruits flawed brings
Now play with your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
I sat in restless chairs
I breathed stilted air
what feeling compares
with feeling squandered?
I’m not sadfishing,
I was bored in a 5-star hotel.
I’d swum the Atlantic - in the underground pool
and I felt like I was marinating in boredom.
It was as if the loudest thing in our suite was
the sound of my eyelashes flapping up and down.
I wasn’t in solitary confinement,
Lisa was there too - and just-as bored.
She didn’t complain, 'cause she’s ‘New Yorker’ stoic.
So I started complaining for her - for the team.
We’d filtered every boutique,
sampled every eclectic café,
there’s just nothing to do in Geneva.
It is an implacable reality.
Peter (my bf) was at work all day and we were on vacation.
It’s different when he’s around.
He walks into the room, and I feel like
a phone that’s been placed on its charger
- the world lights up and I get - charged.
“We should make a list,” I'd announced, “‘the pros and cons of boredom.”
“No,” Lisa said, “Let’s name fun things.”
“Fruity Pebbles popcorn,” I started.
“Girl panda makeup” Lisa offered,
“Foot massages and bubblegum”
“Cotton candy and sunflowers”
“Holidays and sparkly things!”
- we went on and on and on and -
“kittens” I updogged dreamily, then I switched subjects completely.
“We need to go to Paris.” I announced, with a tone of relief.
“Oh yeah?” Lisa asked, with a little side head-bob.
“Actionable intel,” I whispered, “Grandmère wants to see me.”
Lisa gasped, adding, “You’re in TROUBLE,” drawing the last syllable out slowly.
“That would be a first,” I laughed.
“Kisses!” She exclaimed, resuming the game.
I remembered the first time I thought of kissing Peter. The thought was a flash, an emotional Rorschach test and I smiled. It was like a movie kiss, an abstract heaven - not the breathy, erotic kisses of real life.
“Where’d you go?” Lisa asked, grinning.
Some emotions are too thick for words.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Disco Boots by Gavin Turek
Sparking my bodies brain cells,
Well-endowed with cosmic material, sparkling of excellence to excel,
Establishing my teacher for story rhymes to tell,
Spelling out words, heard from parallel dimensions and their Intel,
Foretelling, unraveling and not selling any of this,
On a quest with benevolence searching for the higher intelligence,
Divine minds bind, words of eloquence rhyme with emphasis,
Direct evidence, neurons travel and ignite nerves,
Processes of verses through this universe coerce,
In this Matrix Multiverse I observe, gaining wise knowledge to learn,
Never overthrown by the mundane weak system,
This world isn’t even worthy of mention, has absolutely no wisdom,
As I see my peers in submission to authority of fiction,
Listen, what I’m witnessing on our common plain is limited,
Observing everything here, the global atmosphere,
Shocked, what’s been concocted needs to completely stop,
So I pursue the universal natural powers on top,
At the summit with bombs of truths they drop,
Almighty, profound light shines causing powers to be found,
I’m past playing around, I get down with my third eye,
Underground proverbs from other worlds and highly renowned,
Sound and legit hitting the spot that’s curious,
Serious are the consciously aware who steer their host,
Like the Holy Ghost delivering innermost insight is the wise man,
Overwhelmed by the spokesman, human walking the earths lands,
Divine plans through futuristic scriptures,
Meditate on the richer picture,
Capturing jewels uplifting my stature,
Storing up treasure in my kingdom as I dodge folly,
Wisdoms leading me, knowledge of good and evil,
Living proof with a spirit on the move,
Movements of improvement I impart that last,
Fast acceleration passing all disaster on this 3D canvas,
Spray painting reality illegally in the eyes of this world’s madness,
My mind landed on this planet to practice what the ancient wise men missed.
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 3.8.2016
Moss Cowed Covenant I Keep Putin Off...
For preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation two mike
pence sieve lee clear,
to immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans mock cut up fold
drawl migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting old),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank commensurate Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
donned with torn (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent – bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will happily, laughably parody
any vigilantes spot on cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
dinned communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how
Democrats plan to hold
world web hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark web bitcoin blockchain trolled
to collude with "crooked Hillary"
under Ponzi scheme auspices doled
courtesy, sans spongebobsquarepants
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily scrutinizing,
policing, monitoring and
fortifying electronic Internet scaffold.
BloodOfJesus
Not the wine sacrament of the church not the grape juice that we use not the chalice cupp
not the rememberance not the ritual not the religion not the commandments of men. The
BloodOfJesus is the real blood that he shed on the Cross of Calvary the post of Jesus. ON
the Romans Internet it was www.JesusSaves.Com.Blood the Pointless Pilot smurffed the
action then went behind the bathroom tossed up all his cookies lost his function. The
COnstant searching of the Knights of the Rounded gave me pause seek becomes find King
Arthurs COmputor did not have the same wireless button on mine. Smile you are on CharlaX
Camera candid the price of life is death the death of GOD. GOing to a function and
remembering his sacrifce will never save you but the realization given to you from the
Holy Spirit to once and for all convince you that it is this Jesus Crucified in Jeruselum
His Holy City and cast out to SHED his blood on the tTtree of Golgotha the Hill of the
Skull it was a place of Death is where this new eternal life comes from. Drinking wine in
small amounts and breaking cracker crumbs will not save you but the shedding of the blood
of JESUS when he did this was over Two Thousands Year ago this Christmas. Not the formal
necktied meetings but the Beaten Dying Lord hangging dripping Blood the blood of Jesus.
What he said was WHEN WHEN WHEN you are DOING THIS (meant breaking bread at the meetings
and drinking the wine as the sacrificial remembrances) HE then said Remember ME ???
Meaning Jesus. www.shedbloodoncross.com on the older model Snail mail COmputors you wlll
not be able to see this. You now need INtel. This may seem humorus to you even fruitless
or breadless at least it is wineless but it may seem like sacrilegious but many people use
this internet the web is huge and they also need to be saved by the shed BloodOfJesus.