Long Masters Poems
Long Masters Poems. Below are the most popular long Masters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Masters poems by poem length and keyword.
Here we are the African Youth
Waiting endlessly to be leaders of tomorrow
As propounded by our predator Overlords
Decades have passed and the wait continues
For many years gone by
We have been Cannon fodder and thugs
Propping up the old order
Drenched continually in broken promises
In schools we were inundated
With exploits of our current Masters
Which imbued us with high dosage of patriotism
But today exclusion and joblessness are our companions
Hear our cry of desperation you cities of Africa
Listen to our wailing of disillusionment you villages across the continent
The youth of Africa have come of age
Now that an African Spring beckons
the Maples red is shrouded
in a purplish chill
her stinging cheeks
cold slapped by icy rain
she droops beneath
a pelting fall refrain
the robins wings
hang wet
in trench coat slump
her lowered head
resigned
to time and fate
holds still
preserving warmth’s
forever wait
old dogs
follow masters
memory trails
around the bend
slow past
long rusted rails
for time
alters morning
into night
as two
forever shadows
drift from sight
children splash in puddles
as they run
catching Autumn raindrops
on their tongue
chased by parents
drawn into the fray
by youthful pleas of:
“Let’s go out and play!”
John G. Lawless
©10/27/2018
~Fight To Th' Death!!!~(Familiar Foes)
When my truths come to light,ye revel in thine assumptions...
Whilst I refuse of mine patronage,to foolishly befallen ignorance
I shall serve only...One Master,of Whom's bonds I willingly embrace
War 'gainst me if you must,but be warned...of whom may be led slain
Not one battle has been waged,I've not endured 'fore n' front...
Th' trials thou hast endured,are innumerable of mine occasions
You are but an lone one lost,of your seemingly privileged ranks
And though your irrelevance ye deny,'tis all that sustains your being
Masters of manipulation,hold fast to your fate's confusion...
An slave of your own accord,thou shalt remain until thy reckoning
As long as ye allow thine servitude,th' scythe's shadow looms
Whilst you pray for mine persecution,thine own grave's depth descends
An perpetual flux of foes,I've faced since mine birth...
Ye'll not be th' last accounted,let alone an first nor worst
Many 'fore have claimed th' right,to cease my life's breath...
But all presumed erroneously,I wouldn't fight 'till very death!!!
~AZAZA~
05/11/2010
God forbid i ever tell on my friends
God forbid I ever betray my country men
As aesthetic as the gas-mask
Dressed for work, dressed for success
As alien embryos thrive inside glass tubes
101 psychological tactics classified welcome to that classroom
The instructor he's fantastic as unstable as a bait cast
Watch for the hook watch for the backlash
The words clandestine written across the chalkboard
He say's Underline the the two words Cherry Terror, The Masters
A hand raises and he looks right past him
As he has flashbacks of the cold war the whole classroom
Ask him in unity why did they outlaw Shock and Awe
He draws a diagram of the food chain and says life is a cycle
HE ASK THE QUESTION WHAT'S THE 5 BASIC NEEDS TO SUSTAIN HUMAN LIFE?
FOOD , WATER, SHELTER, CLOTHING
DON'T FORGET THE LOVE YOUR MOTHER FAILED TO SHOW YOU]
He hit the nailed on the head repercussions from cowardly acts
And now I wonder why my brother's still missing in action
They camouflage sexual harassment
But in this classroom they call it forced rape
Go back in time, Go back to the Air Forces
Tell me how an alien killed three Airmen
I guess they die the same way i kill em back with my bare-hands
My Way
I saw the three tenors sing “I did it my way,” mind, the fat one died,
and the two others hate each other and never appear in public if
They can avoid it. Of the two, one looks like an aging matinée idol
The other suffers from being mobbed at school and looks scared
has nightmares and takes to tears before going on stage.
I still like Frank Sinatra`s rendition of that song better; he sang
It was so relaxed with a clear diction, and made me think of a man
With six a pack ambling on his way home, he too is dead to
“My Way” is about human hubris; we believe we are masters of our
destiny when we are leaves blowing along a wet asphalt road
in the autumnal half-light.
Thinking back, I can afford to, I never got a thing my way, which, when
Young caused me bitterness, the highest prize eluded me, kismet knew
I could not handle illustriousness; it would have made me look absurd
a swaggering fool hated by colleagues, at the stage of life. Yet, when
dancing the tango at a nightclub in Buenos Aires, 54 years ago
The applause I received still rings sweetly in my ears.
April 7—Figure something out in a poem
Why Trump?
For the last six years
I have been trying
To figure out
Why 40 percent
Of my fellow Americans
Still support Trump.
Still believe he was
The greatest President ever.
I just don’t understand it
Trump is a racist, misogynist
Sexual predator rapist, narcissistic
Fraudster, con artist, grifter.
Who has lost billions
Of dollars over the years
Never pay his contractors
Or his lawyers.
Has been involved
In over 3,000 lawsuits
And lost most of them.
Who lied over 30,000 times
When he was President
And at least 10,000 times
Since then.
Including the big lie
That he won the last election
Both in the popular vote
And in the Electoral College vote.
Over 90 courts concluded
That there was not there there
And that he lost the election.
There was no widespread fraud
The election was fair and square
And he lost.
Trump is the poster child
For the seven deadly sins
And is not a Christian
Far from it.
Yet to his deluded followers
God anoints him
To destroy the enemies
Of the Christian faith.
Now a court has declared
That he defrauded the State
Of New York
To the tune of 450 million dollars.
He stole top-secret documents
Denied he had them
Refused to give them back
And openly talked about them.
With people not cleared
For secret and top-secret
Documents.
He plotted to overturn
The election
And stay in power.
He openly promises
He will be a dictator
And round up millions
Of illegals, and political dissidents
When he is re-elected,
Why he is polling at 40 percent
And not 4 percent
Is beyond me.
The best I can conclude
Is he appeals to those who believe
The whole system is corrupt.
And is rigged against
Lower-middle-class
Christian white Americans.
They feel that they have been
Royalty screwed over by
The masters of the universe.
Who see workers
As nothing but
Disposable labor units
Of production.
And they are right
And Trump for his faults
Speaks to the forgotten men
And women in fly-over country,
That is why he is still popular
And could be re-elected
And if he is re-elected
Can American Christian fascism
Be coming?
BDSM Sensual
_________________________________
Straps and paddles too,
what's a girl to do
handcuffs to tie me up
shall we try something new?
I am in need of liquid libation,
but I was taught to please
I close my eyes and clench my thighs
down on bended knees.
Master is the name rightfully spoke,
With a capitalized letter first
to feel the thorn of a Masters scorn
is ultimately the worst.
Little slave you will learn,
you gave yourself to me
what's divine, is only mine
and one day soon you'll see.
We are taught to respect the Free,
and a Mistress is the same
she shows love, with rod and glove
on whomever she does reign.
But you put your trust into them,
because they're supposed to care
if they're good, they do as they should
and will treat you fair.
Sexy as the BDSM world might sound,
people live it day to day
what has begun, as only fun
might carry you away.
There is a world of Gor,
I have RP'd online
all their rules, and guilded tools
might not fit your design.
I have tried both worlds,
online it is safer to try
use your mind, it's your first time
just open up and fly.
It really can be sensual,
erotic more than ten
once introduced, I was seduced
into this world of sin.
Captivated by its freedom,
I had to take a break
but just one day, again I will play
in sinful fun, I will partake.
8/19/14- Jessica Thompson
The Imaginative Lad
The blissful boy at the kitchen
table,delineating his Christmas list.
His Pomeranian puppy licking his cold,
growing, beautiful toes.
Hot chocolate ambiances and
wheat toast, zephyrs up his nose.
He is a prodigious child,with a
temperament, so marvelously mild.
Learning from grandmother to
write classic poetry.
"No one-liner poems from you,"
pronounced she.
"Use your heritage, our beautiful
English language!"
On Christmas Day, Grandmother
received a book of sonnets, which
he authored!
In a green velvet notebook with
a red satin ribbon outstanding upon it.
Grandmother had passed on the
glory of English!
For his Christmas,he was given books
of the Poetry Masters.
Wrapped in loving gold under the great
scented, Balsam tree.
He unwrapped them with joy.
Words to live with him.
For decades, ever after.
November 23, 2019
It’s never just the one thing
It’s mostly the dance
Of countless pages of water
That makes us look at the ocean
The tango of darkness and light
Which shapes the shadow out of nowhere in sight?
And when the rain drops touch the earth
Masters of tap-dancing bow their heads with delight
Of Swans, we all know their elegance
Guiding the movement in the most beautiful ballet dance
If the earth, light, and ocean are not enough to make you wonder
Look at the birds in their rhythm the entire sky they conquer
And you know for sure it’s a dance
When you see many things, but they feel as one.
The Rainbow
The world howled and the roaring thunder did clap,
amid frothing waters and whipping winds our vessel marched.
To us whom the boiling sea had unkindly spared there was no stopgap,
the hellish deluge spared us no water to salve our throats parched,
and our spirits the horrendous face of death did sap.
My captain's fearless visage did cower in prayer,
his wise hands wrung in mute submission to the Lord.
Invincible masters of the seas we were by day, yet we did not dare
to wear such mighty crowns as the storm had us floored.
The heavens we begged for forgiveness, and our sins we did declare.
A brilliant blaze of lightning drenched our pallid faces in light.
The nightmarish hum of pelting rain, a ghoulish crescendo of cries
and the hissing sprays of sea water did ring through our plight,
upon us ruled judgment and over us the majestic skies
did appear as God's black throne, deeming us minuscule and contrite.
So wedded I was to the denouement of my mortal existence
that the infernal spectacles now filled me with awe, not fear.
When, in a moment of epiphany our tortured eyes did squint at the distance
and an end in sight amid the growling clouds did appear,
God's hand, manifest as a golden ray of hope, offered us subsistence.
Feeble thanks we dispatched, our knees unsteady,
the downpour wore itself out to a solemn drizzle.
Those reclaimed lives, unblemished by fear did find us heady
and jubilant, and amid thankful tears our eyes beheld the storm's fizzle.
In the sky a blessing in seven colors - heaven's arc - had been built already.
Date: 10th October 2021
Contest: Quintain (Sicilian) Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Emile Pinet