Long Jam packed Poems

Long Jam packed Poems. Below are the most popular long Jam packed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jam packed poems by poem length and keyword.


A-W

Americans, Algerians, Australian aborigines,
Corrupt leaders of the world involved in illegal activities.
Bloodthirsty bullies brazenly bombing bystanders,
Militaries full of corrupt army commanders.
Charities for children, carers in communities,
Third world countries deprived of equal opportunities.
Doctors, dentists, drugs, disability and depression,
An angry generation full of negative aggression.
Evil egotistic eejits entering elections,
Profiteering politicians with the right connections.
Foul mouthed fools fighting over fossil fuels,
Crooked government clowns creating their own rules.
Greedy gangs gambling, goons glamorising globalisation,
A sad and unfair planet, full of frustration.
History of horrific holocausts, hate crimes, hard times,
Skull and bones, secret societies, illuminati hand signs.
Isolation, intimidation, immigration, inaccurate information,
Hiroshima and Nagasaki still suffer from radiation.
Judge and jury, jam-packed jail cells,
Relentless rebels not doing it for the medals.
Kalashnikov culture, killers keep killing,
The reality of climate change is extremely chilling.
Lame loud mouthed liars living in luxury,
Corrupt politicians should be in custody.
Microchips, machine guns, military madness in the Middle East,
The rich get richer while homelessness continues to increase.
NASA, NATO, new world order, negative nonsense,
Celebrating Columbus Day, do they have any conscience?
Outrageous organisations occupying oil fields,
Double dealing leaders involved in shady deals.
Pitiful pessimists publishing pointless propaganda,
While aids and malaria increases in Uganda.
Quality over quantity or quantity over quality,
An overused phrase that’s used too commonly.
Radicals rallying, ready for revolution,
Air, water, soil and radioactive pollution.
Sick, sadistic sinners selfishly selling slaves,
Fredrick Douglass must be turning in his grave.
Terrible terrorists taking over territories,
Religious beliefs still creating enemies.
Unconscious unkind useless United Nations,
CNN plus Fox News equals bias news stations.
Various victims viciously victimised,
Deadly missiles falling from the skies.
Wars, weapons, whistles blowers on the World Wide Web,
While others sell their souls just to become a celeb.
© Wes Martin  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Synthetic Selection

Explode the galaxy
iron out this wrinkle in time

Cheapen a poor mans rich taste in fashion
it’s habit to be a creature of design

When the delicate send out the search party
start by scanning the various roadsides
follow the stench of day old regret 
that should lead in right to my location

Where have I landed?
A strangers planet Earth?
A manic depressives getaway?
A lunatics wet dream?

Drain the oceans 
bleed the kids on the mountain
the formidable foes of the knife I haven’t sharpened yet
jam packed arenas stocked with fresh meat
I’ll start at the bottom

-The Man-
The man holds the hand of his wife 
greeting me with a reverse handshake
Something grainy about his personal life
leaked into his lovers tears
it sure as hell isn't this lady on his arm

Rinse his eyes in a river of lust only to let him see what he's done has scorched the Earth
straying too far from...

Rid you
Burn

The scum secretes 
my head can't take much more of this eyesore
total eclipse of his soul has begun

Next up...

-The Harlot-
The girl holding the rose laughing
she’s breeding an uncanny look of impurity

Nothing perverse about what I’m thinking 
it’s what she is

Spreading a soil around the town that reeks
a forked road where she walks down the handle
nothing she won’t do 
nothing she won’t take or see 

Come here and meet me in the middle 
there aren’t so many eyes here
I’m sure this won’t be the most popular of assassinations
everyone likes a harlot

Excitement stimulates  
Diseases decimate
Make up your minds

-The Vagrant-
Traveling on web feet has begun to hurt his ego
burn his shoes and prick at the calloused soul of a man ravaged by nothing

Pity is lost on skin without purpose
throw a penny at something that begs
spare a nickel for a chosen profession

Demon in disguise if you ask me

Blameless self de-evolution personified in a cardboard box
warming themselves with headlines and bold ink
Cold?
Maybe
Alas, what I do must be done
It's a thirst unquenched by a common liquid and if not
then innocence is lost in a blink of an eye

Explode this galaxy
iron out this wrinkle in time

Christmas Through July

Christmas Through July

Christmas is such a grand time of the year!
People are happy joy shows everywhere. 
Gifts of love arrive from both far and near.
Scents of the season permeate the night air.

Remembering the Savior's love so grand.
Families hang lights, such a beautiful sight.
Decorations displayed across the land.
Many surprises are shared Christmas night.
 
January came but the tree remained.
Celebrating my child's birthday the same.
Just like Jesus, her happiness sustained.
Each year's tradition when her birthday came.

Year round loving was about to be taught.
Decorations of hearts and shiny red balls
Replaced the angels that Christmas had brought.
February feelings Christ's love did recall.

In March, the tree was adorned with shamrocks.
Paper-mâché nuggets sparkled in gold.
Children and laughter sang around the clock.
Smiles, like at Christmas, were great to behold.

April was spring pretty flowers were hung.
It took a lot of work, but was it still fun.
We at play felt pure joy, free and young.
One fun filled plan to teach love, begun.

May decorations, the best, I recall.
Mother's day cards, painted hands, paper plates.
A trip to the attic was fun for all.
While cherishing the loves childhood creates.

Christmas in June on a new marriage day
Downstairs jam-packed squeezed in each wedding guest.
Rained out at the park, they saw our display.
Christmas year round knew love at its best.

July 30th past, the flags were still hung.
Patriotism shown, honored with rare style.
Christmas in July with a new day sung.
We took down the tree cherishing each smile.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This lyric poem written in quatrain format is a true story that expresses my feelings about 
showing love year round…not just in December.
Form: Lyric

Premium Member Tree Top Dancers

Tree Top Dancers
and Circus Clowns

The neighbors moved away. 
They said nothing to anyone, 
they just left. 
New people took the home. 
There was a big truck. 
It was full of boxes, 
and a TV. 

It was jam-packed with animals...
and cages and crates, 
and statutes of...
Greek women holding water vases, 
Greek men with harps. 

The truck itself was all blue. 
Funny, even the tires. 
Odd. 

I watched as they unloaded other things; 
a giant clock that rang...
from the time they took it from the vehicle, 
until it went... inside... (hushed tones). 
There was a deep freezer, 
the size you could fit six grown men...in.
One on top of another...
a side; by side by side by side, by side, by side. 

There was a trunk with a hunchback, 
and then a hunchback with a trunk. 
What can I say... they were a pair, 
I had to stare. 
Unfair, I looked away. 

Then the mom, and the dad...
came rolling up the drive. 
They were in a giant bread truck;
made of cowhide?
A dozen kids on the back, 
and even a few on a rack?
 
A lively crew of gypsies. 
Carnies, forced to retire;
from long days, 
now gone. 
The circus,  the show, 
the festival of colors;
no more...

Come to a new place, 
to put on a new face, 
to leave no trace, 
of all that was left behind. 

Yet how do you start a fresh life, 
from a comfortable place you always lived, 
upside down, right side up, 
cheers all around, 
and elephants that danced, 
giraffes that sang, 
and popcorn was the main course;
at dinner. 

Now everyday life, 
full of strife, 
trying to make things right, 
somewhere in the world. 

The clowns still make some laugh, 
at every funny gaff, 
even if...
it is not in a big shoe, 
or under a giant tent. 

Be happy. 
It is a choice.
© Ann Foster  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Narrative

Slow Movin Tights

I'm in me bath here, with a box of red cheer, 
yeah a box of red cheer, beer's too bloody dear.
Me mind's wanderin twixt big **** and riches, 
bein able to scratch at what itches, 
without scratchin the bum out your britches.
 
If they think you got what, 
they'd rather they'd got, 
mate, hang onto your hat, 
they'll bloody take that. 

That girl in black tights, so jam-packed with delights, 
nights full of delights in them slow movin tights. 
She's not, like Jacko reckons, a whore.
Wouldn't lie on me bare wooden floor.
Christ, I did nothin to get to be poor.
 
And you can't pay what's due
so your creditors sue? 
Funny old world, not half.
But good for a laugh.
 
I can't help but hear next door's shoutin and tears,
all their shoutin and tears, I can hear em from here, 
through the stem of me glass on the wall. 
Pray to God he don't hit her at all. 
I'm half pissed and spliffed and I never could brawl.
 
But I stand in the queue, 
for a place in the zoo. 
Heard you shouldn't have pride.
They wouldn't have lied.
 
A party's upstairs but I can't breathe their airs.
I won't breathe their airs, them there upstairs.
So I fill the bathroom with me smoke.
All those girls shaggin some other bloke.
I just lie here and soak and suck in me toke.
 
What's it like not to do
what your needs need you to, 
to beg borrow or steal, 
to make stuff come real? 

I hear downstairs' soul hit his lavatory bowl.
That porcelain bowl gets the whole of his soul, 
as I wring out the bladder of red.
All the sweetest of girls, Jacko said, 
have big whites to their eyes that aint never've bled.
 
There aint nothin so nice 
as those whitest of whites
on rich girls 
with sweet arses
in slow movin tights.
© Red Omara  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Ballad


Premium Member Peeve, Personal

oh. dear. gawd.

another patently
meaningless
crush of stanzas, jam-packed with
adjectives and color words
straight from Roget's,
strung together in
strands of misuse and
improper context -
syntax-scraping adverbs and
prepositions dangled
at inhuman angles,
rushing in torrents to a
head-scratching conclusion that
leaves lips numb and dripping clear liquid,
fingers combing deep the
strands to tear out in horrid disbelief,
jaws left agape in
utter confusion and
hopelessness ...

it all settles like
brick-heavy clay in
the gut, that this vile destruction of
the English language and
its artistic forms -
this uneducated and
brutal bludgeoning of phraseology -
words replaced
willy-nilly by thesaurus-crazed maniacs,
(all for the sake of
impressing the masses
who don't know the difference),
is garnering dozens of
enthralled ignorance-is-bliss
comments, and placing
first in
contest-after-contest!!

how could any sane,
serious weaver of words
NOT want to blow
their freaking brains out?!?

the coronavirus pandemic
has been NOTHING
compared to the sickening
misuse of words
that flows on-and-on from public
poetry sites in crushing
waves of feigned
eloquence and verbal vivisection ...

could it be, perhaps,
that the circle writing ISN'T inane,
but rather a strangled striving
for the breadth of
non-linear orthography??

welcome to the
ultimate zero sum game -
the mangy monkey in the monkey
puzzle tree,
Schroedinger's kitty,
skinned and nailed to the barn house ...

fan-freaking-tastic ...
let's kill this clairvoyant clown,
quickly ... quietly ...
cuz ...

it. never. ends.





(lack of proper punctuation and capitalization very intentional)

Premium Member Deja Vu Racial Disparity

These are not events that took place very far in the past
These are obviously ongoing racial gaffes and contrasts
Where human beings are bombarded and mistreated
Where human beings are veraciously discriminated
Against, where politicians with supercilious smiles
And where election cheaters with camouflaged styles
Expel and reject Black people such as Africans and Haitians
And these same biased lawmakers welcome Ukrainians
With open arms, because Ukrainians are Caucasians
Because Ukrainians are Europeans and white 
In your judicious eyes, is this right?
Black people are human beings too
Haitians are people too
Africans are people too
Ukrainians are people too
Are White human beings people too?
Please say something. Please write something
Please utter something. Please sing something
Singing ‘We shall overcome’ is insufficient
Not enough. You call yourselves ‘Christians’
Pour more Tetrahydrozoline HCL 0.05% in your eyes
In order to see clearly that the moon is not circled with hollow pies
From afar or from space, all humans are infinitesimally congruent
All human beings have red blood in their veins
And all humans are jam-packed with flaws and sins
Moreover there exists neither white blood, nor black blood
Blue blood is originating from chasmal whims, far from abroad
Fair-minded Readers ponder
And conscious minded Poets wonder
Apparently, Republicans are pushy and obvious
And Democrats are wishy-washy and dubious
Human beings must not be chased by wild horsemen
All humans must be welcome by clergy men and women
Anywhere on Earth
The Globe is everybody’s turf.

Copyright © March 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Snow Less Christmas

The Eve before Christmas day,
No snow but clear skies 
And visible stars
A full moon and the Milky way,
Sprinkling its magic, while
My gran and mom jam packed
Cookies into jars.
A dip in the swimming pool,
For it’s sizzling hot that night,
We want to go to bed cool,
Young children eventually 
Tucked in tight, with just a sheet,
No snow, ice or sleet,
In South Africa, our home,
Where we sleep.
In their dreams presents, Santa and fun
Tomorrow’s weather prediction,	
Thirty-nine degrees in the sun.
Dusted the floor with baby powder,
Who wears the same size shoe
As Santa, 
We all look at Grandpa!
Under the tree are two funky
Pairs of flippers for the twins,
Who by now should have grown fins.
Time for bed, presents all
Under the tree
Fairy lights on, 
In the kitchen a timer for
For the turkey put on for three
To be turned off at eight,
When we go to church
Come back for freshly baked
Scones and pancakes,
Made in the oven outside,
My Grandma’s pride.
Run for swimming costumes,
Jump in the pool 
Oh it was so hot in church,
Now we feel cool. 
Air conditioning in most rooms
When indoors, 
Sunblock Cream and hats
When outdoors,
We love Christmas in Africa
And in the scorching sun,
Guess each country,
Enjoys and has its
Own kind of fun,
Whether in the snow or the heat,
Christmas day is a day 
No one can beat,
Christmas carols are sung
Mistletoe hung
Hubby grabs me
And kisses me
With a glint in his eyes,
Have a surprise for you
Tonight after tea,
And your special mince pies.
Bright wrappings on
Presents under the tree
And so important is the gathering
Of the entire family.

What's Dead is Dead

After checking the Sears and Roebuck and Montgomery Wards catalogs until their pages were torn and faded, we took one last look at the sales ads in the local newspaper, donned our socks and sandal, and jumped into the station wagon to head out to that brand new shopping place called ‘The Mall’. Wheee doggies it was something. That joint was a jumpin’. It was cool and hip and out of sight. I mean it was really far out man. The mall had everything you could imagine, all in one building. There was store after store jam-packed with VCRs, rotary dial phones, cassette tapes, console TVs, One-Hour Photo, Blockbuster, and Toy’s-R-Us. It seemed like they had everything under the sun ready for a layaway plan.
After paying for the purchases with paper checks written in cursive, we’d head on down to the food court or the all-you-can-eat buffet for lunch. We’d sit on the red plastic-covered chairs and light up a couple of Kents, Chesterfields, Viceroys, Virginia Slims, or maybe some Lucky Strikes. We’d take a couple of pictures with our trusty Polaroid to commemorate the day by adding them to the family photo album. At the end of the day, the kids would jump into the back of the station wagon for a nap while we drove the two-hour-long trip back home. It was a good thing we only had to stop for gas once because, after all that shopping and eating, I only had two dollars left from the fifty we started out with. Seems like the high cost of just living is one thing that will never die.

On Main street’s sidewalks,
the store sign say they are closed,
is Christmas canceled.
Form: Haibun

The Raw Power of Natural Phenomena

Vast dynamic catalysts
     inaugurated biochemical
     (biological), geological,
     and/or meteorological
     processes, that didst
     wax and wane
since time immemorial
     before this "FAKE"

     pencil neck geek NOT vain
poet law re:hot bubbled
     outa (Compton) 
     primordial ah stew,
     (ward) uber urbane,
sans global Pangea some
     bajillion years presaging Ukraine
chiseled terra firmae didst reign

from hydrosphere,
     (setting the stage
     for Matthew Scott
     Harris to markedly twain (train)
his thoughts), wrought variable dramatic,
     epochal geographic upheavals
     (recorded palimpsest like)
     across global terrain

catastrophic, dramatic, epic forces
     rendered prehistoric creatures slain
extinction, though billions of years
     survived Prince sip
     pull purple rain
skill little till lee (skeletally),
     within said dam hint
     (sediment) permanently preserving

     an impress'n quatrain
jam packed with species, some
     of which flew like a
     donny soaring plane
signaled onset and demise
     of supposed pseudonymous
     terrible lizards with bulging eyes
"NON FAKE" special effects,

     but actual - no lies
wooly alive paw lick
     tickly incorrect, tough,
     winning ignoble dangerous prize
huge, out of control, trumpeting,
     who eve vent chilly gave rise
to Adam Abel bodied

     coon sitter ably reduced
     cane raising,
     (yet most fearsome) size
a totally tubularly err wrecked
     primate nada so wise.

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