Long Laird Poems
Long Laird Poems. Below are the most popular long Laird by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laird poems by poem length and keyword.
The load bearing capacity
Load bearing consistency
It lack such but provides
the artist the ability to create
It's need for insulation
He stood before with
Such a grin
The conversation would be
needed to talk in a standized
Way.
Grams into ounces
Kilos into pounds
Liters into cups
They stood there smiling
Like gold miners we
Struggle with the same
Math.
Might these conversations
Make the fear of gypsum
Block making easier or
easiest that we fear not
that thou are with us
To speak these manga stations true.
That those who wish us parted
May frown in the fact that have
been undermined in a reversed fashion
Might they then speak us as
Lord and Laird, yet we pray
Yet we pray!
The drunk hogs the path where the public walks
Then hogs the air with his nonsense talk
His breath smells of ale
His eyes look stale
This Scottish male
In a Scottish gale
Just gets wet
Along with his pet
His unkempt dog
As white as the fog
Feeds him a chip
Gives it some lip
He thinks he is hip
And knows it all
That he's on the ball
Then staggers and falls
Can't walk but crawls
On his all fours
He doesn't care
This Glasgow Laird
Who thinks his world isn't fair
For tomorrow he will call into the bank
Take out some cash from the Governments tank
Then he can go back to the house
That will sell him more Guinness stout
And stand outside on the same old street
Where the cold will numb his directionless feet.
Christmas shopping in Glasgow. 6 drunk men hogged the footpath in the cold rain. They didn't realise all the people who could get passed with getting soaked.
Laird is a Scottish word, derived from "Lord". It is the owner of the property.
Love of my mother's Scotland knows no bounds,
yet she, like me, was destined far to roam.
Her wistful music of the isles surrounds
my everyday, her voice so soft and low.
Sweet songs of love, and yet forever sad,
with veils of deepest melancholy clad.
A lonesome piper plays a slow lament,
or, boldly rousing, urges men to war.
From kith and kin they were so often sent,
their mist-clad hills and glens to see no more.
Or else to unknown futures overseas,
a greedy and uncaring laird to please.
Today, as Scottish hearts still strongly beat,
proudly as ever do they wave their nation's flag,
untrusting of the powers that would deplete
their unity, their centuries old resolve,
to be a sovereign nation once again,
"O Flower of Scotland" their heartfelt refrain.
***I personally don't indulge in "soothing weed"
but the Dutch and many others certainly do***
Amsterdam
Dynamic charm along many contradictions encompass Amsterdam
House boats festoon canal while tenants toast wine and love Edam
True blue blonds cranking bikes synchronize pace crossing a bridge
Stoned laird hears enlightened souls chant verse perched on ledge
Safe from surging water churches dominate rooftops ogling a tram
Finely carved architecture tower above bars serving eggs and ham
Cafes offer soothing weed dazzling each mortal with such privilege
Fueling dreams of nirvana minds invoke desire to sharpen its edge
Penned: 06/16/2017
12:34 a.m.
Aboard cruise liner: Vision Of The Seas
Docked in Amsterdam, Holland
Big Ben chimes again
With Bazball zen
One of those men
From special stock
Shepherd of the flock
Hewn from strewn Volcanic rock
From New Zealand's Southern Isle
But only there for a wee while
Mighty flame haired flair laird
Without doubt more about Blighty's North East
They forged this bellicose beast
Ripsnorting sporting cavorting squire
Glutton & gourmand gorged feast
Test town crier
Puffed buffed chest
Inspire..burning
Proper copper topper
Churning fire..
Endless zest..desire
No dull lull
No bore draw
Simple...aspire
To score more!
It's not arcane
Stokes campaign & reign
Train like you're insane
Always entertain!
Remember us flounder
In the gutter
Trounced...17 on the bounce
Could we have found
Pound for pounder
Better all rounder
Nutter...go getter
Sounder founder
Run rate record setter
Of the evolution
And revolution
Of Test cricket
Toe to toe
Blow by blow
Heave ho
Give us a ticket
In the Baz ball or
Ben buzz grotto
Gung Ho motto
You will never know
Till you give it a go!
Alright have to admit that whole drole Bazball or Baz Bat cool cat vibe…rabbit out of hat tribe.. is taking its toll..sunk in a hole..losing it’s goal and soul..not being a vitriol troll..maybe need to mull over a cull of this rigmarole..
Can’t pretend..is the end of this spangly jangly new fangled trend…nothing off the shelf…just express yourself…won’t spank you..will almost thank you.. if you tank…bonkers fools rules you can’t bend…must always go stonkers.. all cool no old school…when you shan't defend and depend on a blend of soft conkers and tracks to conquer..
Let’s explain there are many ways to play and entertain…the lotto of the Baz grotto..no dull lulls …no more bore score draws…one motto…just high octane insane where seemingly the sole means to control is a flat track that blunts and shunts how every attack does bowl..
I know..have already banged on..had a go at the pitches…feather beds so flat you can bat gung ho heave ho from the get go.. no wear and tear..glitches or hitches.. despair to stop the flair.. no real movement in the air or off the square..the Bazball pest…Bazbat conquest..effectively saying no we won’t be surfing the crest of a true test contest of willow and leather..hey ho nonny no…to the real deal Test fest..tally ho..
No pretension..apprehension of the lacking dimensions and few mentions of the best Test tensions..
Also must rebuke how they have turned the duke ball from a serious nuke which would spook.. enthrall..now reliant on a cherry that gets so soft you need a fluke ..well Dukes will be compliant as England’s their biggest client…we saw our copper haired laird no longer..stronger defiant..again came a cropper..and this was hardly a proper whopper green topper..
It seems kitsch Bazball rule needily greedily avoids any glitches or hitches in batter’s riches which in turn.. does spurn and bewitches merchants of seams and stitches..
Well it can be dicey to make your tracks at home too spicy..get in a lather…at the palaver as runs become rather pricey..when you could goad..milk that ilk as you explode on a silk road..
Our selector trifecta…the three wise men..Baz..Bob and Ben.. know if there is no speedster thuggery… no Geoffrey jaffas…bunsen spin skulduggery..they will be the gaffers with some Bazball muggery..
Long ago
In a far away land
With stags in the glens
Salmon leaping so grand
This ancient Kingdom
With its lonely King
Longs for a maiden
To make his heart ring
No crusades
No battles no wars
His reason-ability
What do we want to fight for
The only war he faces
Is raging in his heart
To seek his chosen maiden
For his life to start
With his entourage they travel
To tour his Kingdom so
Through heather bloomed glens
Over mountains graced with snow
Many miles they have travelled
All in need of rest
Up ahead in the distance
A manse house, we're timely blessed
On the door his footman knocks
As it opens with a creak
What can i do for you
Bow, its your King your about to greet
They settle down for supper
Roast hog and venison pie
The King enjoying their welcome
Twas not the food that caught his eye
The Laird of this estate
Had two daughters, lovely named
Carolyn and Lorna
Blond haired and red head flamed
The one that made him smile
Was the way she looked at him
This blond haired gorgeous beauty
All curvy shaped and thin
With the politeness of a King
Would you like to walk with me
As they strolled around her garden
Talking of all that they could see
They talked of ancient mariners
The roamers of the seas
Adventurers, they would seek
To show new worlds to see
En captured by her knowledge
Her smile, long blond hair
Is it the politeness of a King
To be in awe and sit and stare
They head back to the manse
To retire for the night
Both lying awake in thought
Something here, clicked tonight
Now many months have passed
Visitations to and fro
The King to her dads estate
This blond to his castle so
Then on one sunny day
As they rode through his Kingdom's glens
Enjoying this place of beauty
In his cloak, some thing full of gems
In the presence of his lands
The King goes on one knee
My dear darling Carolyn
Will you marry me
Yes my darling King
I will marry you
Today we are engaged
Tomorrow, this precious join of two
They head back to his castle
Through his glens and rivers of blue
For on their day of marriage
The Kings heart at peace and true
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy2.php
Dare to dream Ashes nightmares it seems reawoken
Token words spoken after scares & flares teams broken
Dafter peacocking then rocking no blocking just shocking
Mocking laughter of the ghost of Christmas future knocking
Host boast from coast to coast toast as England roast
Boiling..recoiling..toiling & broiling this is our last post
Our iridescent flaming proper copper haired laird
Incandescent flairs no taming his despairs we all shared
Luminescent cares blaming Bazball heirs ill prepared scared
Stoic brawler our defiant mauler on a leaking reeking trawler
Too reliant on our brilliant defiant resilient glowering giant
Big Ben set up camp crippled by his men again & ripples of cramp
Overpowering pain courses through every vein towering skipper & champ
Heart on his sleeve…makes us believe in a reprieve heroic Firestarter
Immensity of intensity.. O Captain my Captain..our smarter martyr
His name was James Skene
He came from Aberdeen
Sent down to Edinburgh to die,
The brother of the Laird
Land and power shared
Everything that Scotland could supply.
But inward treasure captured mind and heart
The noose won't drag him and God apart,
So death where is your sting
When the edict of the King
Is naming God as a royal crime,
And the Covenanter's tone
Is God sits on the throne
Welcome to the "Killing Times".
The Privy Council told Skene to back down
But He loved and served a different Man's crown,
The sentence of the boss
Was death at Market cross
So that all the people then could see,
The covenant they made
Was a useless aid
If they thought that it would set them free,
He felt his life was not dear to him
Here are the final words of James Skene
"I lay down my life
For owning Jesus Christ"
He said as he looked up to the sky,
On a cold December Day
The wind and rope then played
Swinging to the tune of Martyr's cry,
Confirming what the world already knows
The blood of Martyr's make the harvest grow.
With some apprehension, he prepared to write;
with his muse’s dissention, there’d be no insight,
and thus, by extension, no joint, shared delight.
With her added dimension, he’d dared lofty heights.
In joyful ascension, they’d paired on long flights,
but now, in declension, grievance aired, all seemed trite.
It was his intention to square with his sprite -
Contention impaired him; he hated the fight.
Ego in suspension, to her laird, much contrite,
he sought his redemption, aware of his plight.
Their convention fared better than he thought it might;
his affections declared, they were once again tight.
Their shared penchant for flair soared into the bright light.
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something a little different - a monorhyme with two internal rhymes per line as well...