Long Mangles Poems
Long Mangles Poems. Below are the most popular long Mangles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mangles poems by poem length and keyword.
Five stones closing times
radiograms & seventy-eights
school caps sticklebacks
saturday flicks pooh sticks
Charabancs steam trains
linoleum oil cloth
mangles fish paste sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves cut-throat razor
shopping baskets paper bags
braces, & plimsoles
short back& sides
Wizard Beano & Hotspur
lending libraries &picturegoer
roadfilms Bridget Bardot & Marilyn Monroe
Dripping coal fires
antimacassars
nylons suspenders
crumpets &toast
Brown &mild barrelled beer
conkers
school milk
blackboard rubbers & liftup desk lids
times-tabled school-kids
Draughts & allotments
rusty bikes roller skates
satchels &scrumping
with mates
hence
no
pounds shillings or pence
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
In the corner dark and glum,
Extant off-casts lie plonked there,
To fill in the space
Knick-knacks, old wedding presents,
ornaments and filler-inners
Round and globular, bits and pieces,
Hide the harsh mangles and tangles
When walls at right angles collide
Vases on pedestals, lamps on tables with draws,
Triangular book shelve
Tiny, tall thin cupboards
All lurking and softening the dead, dank naughty corners
With curvaceous adornments and left-over stuff.
If rooms were round there would be no corners to fill
But, would you miss your corners
Like graves with headstones miss their mourners?
A Penn Valley phantom appears to haunt and lurk
premises at 1148 Greentree Lane
his youngest daughter (Abby) I pledged my troth and, natch won my Zison’s
Dunkirk
ire and vindictiveness akin to rivalry of Abel versus Cain
now breeds and festers hallucinations that make me go berserk
also brings to mind myth of another named King Canute, a Great Dane
whose battle cry and hymn of the Republic made manifest with ease of dirk
visitations with ethereal sprite pushes me to madness and makes me go
insane
torture treatment mangles mental management amidst mire and murk!
The rattle of chains heard despite noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse
and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
at such fallacious belief in preternatural imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness to otherworldly visages does perk
especially during wee hours of morning when superstition runs amuck and
seems to gain
upper hand and let spiral out of rational control thought of afterlife quirk
yet confession must be made that long dead father of wife does wag finger of
disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination by marrying a bum of a guy who
lacks for work!
A Penn Valley phantom appears to haunt and lurk
premises at 1148 Greentree Lane
his youngest daughter (Abby) I pledged my troth and, natch won my Zison’s
Dunkirk
ire and vindictiveness akin to rivalry of Abel versus Cain
now breeds and festers hallucinations that make me go berserk
also brings to mind myth of another named King Canute, a Great Dane
whose battle cry and hymn of the Republic made manifest with ease of dirk
visitations with ethereal sprite pushes me to madness and makes me go
insane
torture treatment mangles mental management amidst mire and murk!
The rattle of chains heard despite noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse
and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
at such fallacious belief in preternatural imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness to otherworldly visages does perk
especially during wee hours of morning when superstition runs amuck and
seems to gain
upper hand and let spiral out of rational control thought of afterlife quirk
yet confession must be made that long dead father of wife does wag finger of
disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination by marrying a bum of a guy who
lacks for work!
MELIORISM
This world stings like the scorpion,
And I will not filter in her tears,
This I said because I’m a champion,
Only throwing jabs, it really wears!
Like the faeces of a chameleon,
She stinks in her odourless sheers,
Truly this world bites in oblivion.
And never to be seen in klaipeda _
The elysian sky has deceived me,
Leaving behind their propaganda;
This dark ominous mangles me...
The tenet of retronym in obscurity,
Why we can walk without security.
The quell for fairness may wither,
As we skulk in together!
The gargoyle mole of pains...
Hardship is loose and unfettered;
As we wallow in this sane oneiric,
That never sought for the kindred,
Of conflate moth of harangue...
The axiomatic mild of the youths,
The automatic bunkum in heroism,
The cosplay to this hilarious pains,
The syringe to my bitter whinge.
To saudade for the shadows of life,
A vain wait for meliorism!
When will it get back bitterly better?
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
good morning
we have been here before
dawn arrives slow, boring
the knife we ignore
from dusk we’ve dreamed of the slow slice
the pain that covers the real
long sleeves is the price
you don’t know what we feel
child abuse
fear creeps deep
no one will hurt us but the noose
deep 6 big sleep
the sun is no fun
when your dreams scream
and your last thought is the sound of a gun
the message so serene
you don’t know what we feel
when your thoughts of driving into a big rig
mangles flesh and steel
as it burst into flames from your cig
the thoughts come in a blink of an eye
as we sit on the couch with the remote
all the ways we want to die
tomorrows dawn will be rewrote
You left me all alone again in the therapist office we went over all the scenarios what we would say but there you were stunned knowing your head was bashed in your lip still bleeding from his brown fist you said nothing holding your arm while the pain crawled down your back and again he'll get a free pass I hate you for that he mangles us as his friend meet at the bar cackling about the bruises they left on their wives just so they could have a beer and a sandwich rather than sit through meat loaf and potatoes hearing Bobby talk about his championship game wanting both his parents to just get along long enough to see him receive his trophy but here you are broken battered in tears unable to stand or open your swollen eyes I'm here looking at the therapist crying weeping what a waste of flesh allowing yourself to be abused by this coward being respected a great guy a woman beater hurting his children oh well this is America women are conditioned to except his raunchy characteristics and he still swings a baseball bat who are you lady I'm triggered to let the world see what we've done cause he's not coming back to ever harm us again thoughts have been acted out only because you couldn't get out and well he's dead now there I said it Somebody had to stop him the authorities take him around the corner to return more violent I am not sorry for saving you it’s not your fault tell them it was me remember
survive to stay alive
Alto Enhancement Mental healthcare
Thank you
WRITTEN BY MRS. YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
SEPTEMBER 2001, 9/11 New York
(Dedication: To Those Souls Who
Left Us So Abruptly That Day. RIP.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In crisp refrain:
Feel so much pain,
Loss felt again,
Tears in sure strains.
Fate hits the face:
In that sad place,
A tragic space,
Anchors odd grace.
The world awoke:
Watched terror yoke,
Huge fatal strokes,
In dying poke.
Yes mind still sees:
Madness set free,
Harsh tragedy,
News on TV.
Hijack of jets:
Terror did set,
Crash wrought dead bets,
Tears beyond wet.
So much of pain:
Now surge again,
A nightmare plain,
So many slain.
Such grim horror:
Tales of sorrow,
On the morrow,
Sad strokes borrow.
Our human tears:
Outbursts right here,
In fatal fears,
Drowning all cheer.
Pictures now flash:
Glimpses still dash,
That fatal crash,
Towers turned trash.
Terror strangles:
Burns and mangles,
Fear now shackles
Our mad tangles.
Here and now see:
Can love set free?
Can hurt hearts be
A kind story?
Leon Enriquez
11 September 2017
Singapore