Long Matron Poems
Long Matron Poems. Below are the most popular long Matron by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Matron poems by poem length and keyword.
Atatine .00999 parts per million
Enough to power four continents
With my Matron Disstule Generator
One ounce can power enough energy
For one large city They laughed at my
Science and ridiculed my beliefs I offered
them money, they said it was evil.
I trick them by giving them pallidium
Knowing they would have to use me to
refine it. Fair, fair, I was fair I asked for
there lands to began mining. I made them
Wealthy people When some refused the deal
I smiled and walked away And one night
I heard the gossip of cackling hens, speaking
Of me as foolish and how they wished to exploit
Me. I created the Scarecrow in response. My
Need to exist before all others. My wife lefted
divorced me and married my enemy. One July
Fourth she came to visit me crying.Asking me
to again trust her. She had fallen on hard times
I took her in, for months it was like when we
Married. One night I was in the warehouse and
I heard giggles, I tiptoed to we're the noise was
and there she was standing . I asked her what
she was doing there she dropped her robe to
Inside me. I went to her and suddenly a large
Man grabbed me. I woke up tied to a chair in my
House She and her husband making love before
Me. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my
Neutron fazor. And then suddenly to my surprise
Through the wall he came to rescue me, My Scarecrow,
My Scarecrow had come to life!
Riddled face, weary under clouds quite frail,
night of hope screeches of meal to eat.
A boy cups his hands again for spare change
plucking a tin can on lanes primed for the rich.
Colder than ice of night like soiled paper bag
he approaches a woman of leisure with a smile;
bypassed and judged as nameless face, a plague
while his lips hang on a sigh…coins, coins.
Though disgruntled, the matron feels a hard tug
A shrewd merchant blinded by earthly whims;
hoarding diamonds and favors as life’s treasures
while he, an innocent waif mirrors her empty needs.
For she lives in a mansion filled with poverty
where frozen rooms and silverware feed on hunger,
as soul barren cannot hide the real misery
craving for pauper’s wealth of faith; she is the beggar.
Dr. Ram Mehta's Measure For Measure
by nette onclaud
The traffic was strident, lanes straight
the cars lined the street and froze rigid.
The cop with a glare of pure hate, directed
a line of gate crashers cutting.
The sidewalks segmented in rows, false
lure more tourists into a queue.
Cowed were young folk and old folks all queued
a ménage which was quite far from straight,
all had come for a peck at the Bard, false.
even a librarian or too, who waited with spines rigid,
and scowls on their lined brows like cuts
their critiques would be most direct.
Teens kiss in a clutch most directly
their faces make braces of queues
Scalpers hawk to the latecomers cutoff,
the elite meet and greet heading straight
for the red road with a rigid
line of bull filled with falsities.
Inside the antiquated theatre under false
the foot lights lining the aisles direct
Mayor and matron, gran and child in rigid
alleys to velvet seats also queued.
The stare of critic and patron glared straight
64 toward the author so pinned and cutting.
A bright white light cut
the chill air so false
and focused on drape lined straight
each fell open as artist directed
and orchestra swells filled their queue
and the author he sat stark and rigid.
His fate would he find in lines rigid
on the page of tomorrows review, they’d cut
make or they’d break his heart’s queue
these piranhas with smiles so false.
No fate could be more direct
this tonic he must imbibe straight.
So like dominoes, they fall lines rigidly, piercing cuts
Filleted be he by queues false,
in the end words directly aimed, straight to death cue.
Christmas spirit was all over the house.
A day for a party, but with plenty of louse.
Ding-a-ling-bring-some-sling unseeing Dan
Came alone, which is always the best that he can.
He contributed chocolate fudge that was tasty and sweet.
For his amazing mother’s sugar cookies cannot be beat.
Candy cane crystals blinked in succession from the Christmas tree.
You want to know about everybody? I asked. Come sit by me.
Take a bite out of every piece of pie for corpulent Laura is back.
She drove up in a shanty of a Hackensack beer belly without any tack.
We knew now the party could truly begin, and possibly turn on a whim.
For she usually brings Enthusiastic Essie, her fun-loving, identical twin.
Christmas carols were being piped in courtesy of the host’s daughter.
Gladypipes herself is not here, absent after running off with a potter.
Watch out! Pompous unholy Lady of the Arrogance church is here.
Sitting alone in a corner, on her non-smelling, prissy stuck up rear.
Some of the newcomers have sat down, trying to make small talk.
Discovering she is as mean as they come with uplifted beak of a hawk.
Christmas party full swing now. People are gobbling up cakes and pie.
In the east, I see Jesus’s happy star, winking down from the sky.
Prissy non-listening glistening, kissening, fissening Man of the West.
Is flitting from young woman to old matron, flicking winks at the rest.
Most of us felines know him exceedingly well in a rather bad way.
He's dated every single one of us from twenty to forty; he likes to stray.
Another successful party, full of gusto and girth, gladness and giggles.
I write it all down quickly with juicy whorls, curls, and squiggles.
I HATE SCHOOL
What did you do at school my son?
Was your day a happy one?
Did you get some good work done?
Did you have a lot of fun
At lunchtime, playing in the sun?
No, it wasn’t as it ought to be.
First I tripped and grazed my knee
And Matron had to bandage me.
While all the children laughed with glee.
I didn’t like the lunch today
But everybody must obey
The rules and eat it come what may.
And then I spelt a word wrong on the board
And again they laughed with one accord.
All-in-all, the day was a disaster.
So, right from when the day had begun,
I hated every hour, you see.
There was no sun, the sky was grey.
I’d like to give up school, Oh Lord.
What a shame that I’m Headmaster.
11th April 2020
Minuanetta Poems contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
Bored out of my skull in my hospital bed
You’ll be here for Christmas, the consultant said
What happened next made me bubbly as Fanta
Two nurses came in, they were dressed up as Santa
My blood pressure took by a couple of flirts
With very long legs and very short skirts
One just bent over so it’s not surprising
The other one told me my blood pressure’s rising
You won’t need a Rabi, a priest or a vicar
Ain’t nothing wrong with this fella’s ticker
Its pounding away like Cozy Powell’s drums
You don’t expect nurses to have shapely bums
One licked her lips and... crikey, she’s winking
What a good job she don’t know what I’m thinking
Oh Lord, something’s happened just like I had feared
I really could do with a full knee length beard
There’s nothing gallant about what’s in my head
With them in their scanty gear, ermine and red
But I think they’ve guessed cos there ain’t no disguising
The sweat on my brow and my temperature rising
They sit on my bed and I smirk like I’m bolder
The next thing I feel is a hand on my shoulder
The Santas remain in the world of the sleepy
In this world there’s matron...
Not sexy
Just creepy
To reclaim needless expenditure, allow the MP's to repay
No matter the total, let the law courts have their say
Now our economy has taken a turn for the best
Restructuring internally an injection of zest
Now, let's look after our pensioners, and place them in jail
They'll have showers, walks and hobbies, where their care won't fail
From unlimited free prescriptions, dental and medical aid
Wheel chairs aplenty, not a penny will they have paid
Constant video monitoring, instant assistance if they fell
Bedding washed and changed twice a week, soon they'll be well
Having someone check up on them, every twenty minutes or so
Bringing meals to their cells, watch the smile in them grow
Families visit in a suite, for their purpose and nothing more
Enjoying Snooker, Pool and Sky TV, and a Library to explore
Clothing would be provided, shoes, slippers, PJ's and Legal Aid
It's all free on request, oh my! certainly no charges to be made
They would also have gardens and lovely exercise yards
Computers, TV and Radio and as many as they want, phone cards
No longer would there be a Matron, a board of directors there will be
A code of conduct for the officers, strictly adhered to, you'll see
And what of the poor prisoners I hear your minds start to think
How will they cope, these poor souls left on the brink
Well, they'll get by with cold food, left alone unsupervised
All lights turned off at eight, as they will internally cry
Mind you they will shower once a week, live in a tiny little room
A figure of £600.00 a week they won't flout, with no getting out soon
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/political.php
God is good to everyone; so when you love, be in love.
Said to me a Sable Hoplite in mottled clothes; guarding the memoir of his dead wife in Boston’s subway transit.
Robbing a pedestrian of a moment's time as he did from banks for fiat claims and capital climbs via violent crimes.
He intimidates the hive mind as well as mine, but we are receptive.
Like all under the devil's thumb, we wish to traverse the red wall.
I look to my side and see a cherub evolving into a matron of unworldly skies.
Her will soars like a whirlwind sword that scores the fabric of time.
She fosters the orphaned spirit and walks the literal and figuratively blind through their valley of darkness.
Her and I are vagrant and lost like nomads; but we find homage in one another.
Attracting like covalent and ionic bonds.
She’s an eclectic electric Aryan blonde with the constellation Pleiades in the lines of her palm.
The lines are in cursive and those who read and heed its words will hear the echo of the Celestine.
The Valkyrie, oh so cunning and keen; so intent to take me to Valhalla.
She passively leads the Liberation Army; to their respective terminals and posts.
As if to intervene.
Co-collectively, they carry the virtue of a justified rebellion in the form of a military coup.
Encouraged to face the truth even in her absence, a man finds he must transmute.
Atatine .00999 parts per million
Enough to power four continents
With my Matron Disstule Generator
One ounce can power enough energy
For one large city They laughed at my
Science and ridiculed my beliefs I offered
them money, they said it was evil.
I trick them by giving them pallidium
Knowing they would have to use me to
refine it. Fair, fair, I was fair I asked for
there lands to began mining. I made them
Wealthy people When some refused the deal
I smiled and walked away And one night
I heard the gossip of cackling hens, speaking
Of me as foolish and how they wished to exploit
Me. I created the Scarecrow in response. My
Need to exist before all others. My wife lefted
divorced me and married my enemy. One July
Fourth she came to visit me crying.Asking me
to again trust her. She had fallen on hard times
I took her in, for months it was like when we
Married. One night I was in the warehouse and
I heard giggles, I tiptoed to we're the noise was
and there she was standing . I asked her what
she was doing there she dropped her robe to
Inside me. I went to her and suddenly a large
Man grabbed me. I woke up tied to a chair in my
House She and her husband making love before
Me. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my
Neutron fazor. And then suddenly to my surprise
Through the wall he came to rescue me, My Scarecrow,
My Scarecrow had come to life!
Once within these very walls farmers woke at dawn.
The field was full of vegetable, the cows were in the barn.
Life was full of chicken clucks, and Mother's who could darn,
bales of hay stacked within but, all of that's withdrawn.
Within my walls, my embrace, I hold one matron chaste
a Smokey cat, and bric-a-brac, she's a lonely one.
Surrounded left, surrounded right, all her chores are done,
I can but hold, I can not mold, the ones that I embrace.
Four walls within, four walls without, a box of reverie
meant to hold the dreams of tykes, of pets and chick-a-dees.
Head held high, I seal the deal by denizens decree
and in the night, the shadows talk to comfort such as she.
A house, a home, a room, a box what stories people tell
but walls will not for you see, these walls are ancestral.