Long Meekly Poems
Long Meekly Poems. Below are the most popular long Meekly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Meekly poems by poem length and keyword.
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
A nubile young vicar named Jude
Was seen swimming, totally nude
The bishop said WOW
Just look at you now
Your assets - they need to be viewed!
Fiction write!
07-05-17
Invited him home for a drink
A toast as their glasses did clink
Robes down on the floor
Performing a chore...
How far will this story now sink.
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
The vicar bent over to pray
The bishop could not look away
So for his protection
Took up a collection
A robe now conceals his display
WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN
I think this story about being nude will sink low
I will tell on those guys, all I know
Those two men are not holy
The bishop's roly-poly
And the vicar used to be in a nude girly show
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
The bishop was feeling romantic
The vicar thought the man pedantic
When the vicar turned around
To give the bishop a frown
The bishop gasped, "Lord, you're gigantic!"
WRITTEN DALE GREGORY COZART
Said Jude, will we both go to hell-
Said bishop, you never can tell
But please will you turn
I've got carpet burn
And my knees are beginning to swell
WRITTEN BY GARY SMITH
As the bishop continued to stare
He thought such a body's not fair
To see the nude vicar
was hard on his ticker
and soon he had to change underwear
WRITTEN BY ROGER ADAMS
Mother Teresa told me so
In the heaven we’ll dance too slow
If you want to come
Bring us some Rum
Otherwise you may stop and go
WRITTEN BY PASHANG SALEHI
btw... What would the Pontiff say?
Would there be hell to pay?
Or would the Pope
just drop the soap
and hope he'd be invited to play
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
When suddenly a knock at the door
they decided they'd rather ignore
in walked the pope,
joined in the group grope
next day they were all saddle sore
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
The pope thought it not at all freakly
when asking the other men meekly
that if they were game
and would do the same
they could set up appointments weekly
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Jude's assets developed so well
As the bishop could obviously tell
But you might be surprised
How it grew to that size
Well, he used it to ring the church bell
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
07-06-17
While I gaze in your eyes, cool cerulean blue,
Sifting night, straining stars through morning’s sweet dew,
I can fathom the depths of empyreal skies,
Angels fluttering by, riding wild butterflies
While I gaze in your eyes, changing, aqua-blue greening,
I’m sucked into chasms, cascading, careening,
And yield to enticements which meekly disarm,
Seeping virtuous beauty, sad sensuous charm
While I gaze in your eyes, bleeding fiery blue
Ever tempting with treasures, with pleasures for two,
Being caught at the core of a blazing sapphire
Possessing, enthralling, aflame with desire
While I gaze in your eyes, misty emeralds, deep green,
Veiling laughter and banter, and echoes between,
Then I dream, so it seems, in whatever the place,
Of your scent, of your breath, of your radiant face
While I gaze in your eyes, at times placidly blue,
Near’ as calm as the weirs in the woods all bedewed,
Forty winks relegate to a shimmering lake,
Gently floating on lilies, while waiting to wake
While I gaze in your eyes, caught engulfed in the greens
And consigning my fate unto verdant ravines,
My reactions, at length, become shyer and shyer
Reminiscent of ravens at risk in the briar
While I gaze in your eyes, restless, hesitant blues
Overwhelming sensations with turbulent hues,
I’m succumbing to waves of a storm battered sea,
Being cast like a plank, never meant to be free
While I gaze in your eyes, shadowed, Midnight Lake green
Glowing hazy with dreams, misty thoughts so serene,
Sudden silence befalls me, a fast sinking stone,
Looming lost in your eyes, I am never alone
While I gaze in your eyes, saddened, lachrymal blue,
Spilling trickles of rain, pearls obscuring your view,
I’ll attend to your anguish and feelings morose,
Lightly kissing your tears, touching, holding you close
While I gaze in your eyes, pulsing infinite green
Of the earth and of heaven and all in between,
It is simple to see that my hands can hold all
Of the treasures I find which so humbly enthral
While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re bountifully blue,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning is granted to few...
While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re blindingly green,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning cannot be foreseen...
Yet I hope... and I wait...
For Silent One's - Mamma Poetry Contest
Where is the love, Mamma?
Through broken Louvre blinds, you're ever watching
Rosary beads clicking prayers on repeat mode, uttering
Your plethora of Faith keeps me steadily striving
Though, frustrated when peace will be arriving.
Under cover of the midnight moon, hookers seducing
Shady men with illicit wares aggressively peddling
Of changing our situation, I'm forever idealizing.
Enduring every day's trauma, just surviving.
Seeking direction from above, when is enough enough?
Tell me, Mamma ~ Where is the love?
Collective immorality still existing.
A ticking clock morality meekly resisting
Corruption, greed, and deceit still abounding
This life where goodness seems to be drowning.
A depraved degradation of insanity still insisting,
Death, broken hearts, crime persisting
In the chaos, qualms never ceasing.
lawlessness above the muck and mire rising
At the kerbside, a holy man piously preaching
Should I turn my cheek, still beseeching
Amidst their plundering and their leeching?
NO !!
Enough is Enough ~ Where is the Love?
Beyond-repair abhorrence, I'm escaping.
Fervently, I'm hoping and praying.
Please God, Mamma, be safe while I'm gone
I'll be back for you before long
In the eerie darkness, emotions imploding
Sirens blaring, with the sound of guns exploding
My shallow breath quickening, turning back with throat thickening
All the while, I'm screaming
Where is the love?
Back through this hellhole, I'm rapidly racing
All through the panic, still hoping and praying
Please God, Mamma ~ Be Safe, Be Safe, Be Safe
Neon blue-red lights flickering and flashing.
Through my open front door, I'm madly dashing.
Looming through the haze, I hear them saying.
'Sorry, Miss, yet another random shooting
Your Mamma just got caught in the cross-firing.'
The last thing I hear is my own voice crying.
MAMMA ~ THERE IS NO LOVE! THERE IS NO LOVE!
October 12 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on John 19-20
Key Verse – John 19:11 Jesus answered, Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above: therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY POWERFUL DELIVERER
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always upholding me with Your hand
Thank You for Your assurance of salvation whereupon my soul does stand
Against unbelief bearing doubts marked by accusing demand---
Here am l grateful for Your Gospel of compassion brand.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always releasing me from guilt’s judgment
Thank You for Your testament that anchors my redemption-settlement
Against sins and iniquities causing hell’s punishment---
Here am I adorned with Your forgiveness-garment.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always guarding me as Your disciple
Thank You for Your Bible truth of life-building principle
Against unrighteousness causing my ministry involvement to cripple---
Here am I upheld by Your foundation no one can topple.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always healing me in my brokenness
Thank You for Your invitation for me to come to Your throne of graciousness
Against hopelessness-pain and piercing restlessness---
Here am I beseeching You with prayerful steadfastness.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always loving me so dearly
Thank You for Your compassion that makes me approach You sincerely
Against hatred, deceit, pride, hypocrisy and lies lurking secretly---
Here am I repentant while approaching You humbly and meekly.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always enclosing me with Your care
Thank You for Your sanctification with Your mercy’s nurturing welfare
Against anxiety and misery that cause grievous affair---
Here am I yielded to You midst the Holy Ghost’s protective stare.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always reaching to me for my faith’s strengthening
Thank You for Your truths I keep on gaining while learning
Against falsities and follies that bring wisdom-staining---
Here am I worshipful while my character You are refining.
The alarm clock signals a brand new day,
So I dress, and head for my job,to earn my pay.
It's a very pleasant morning, as I arrive at WOORRKK!
(Even the sound of that word makes me react with a jerk.)
I show up every day; whether it's in sun,or snow or rain.
OOPS! It's 7:35! Guess I show up late again!
Punch on the clock,and it's time to face the BOSS!
Reluctantly,I reach down,and pick up my daily cross.
Case and pull. Pull and case, while others around me whine!
The only question on my mind:"How long till quitting time?"
I ask the BOSS if she's"selling five" hours of annual leave;
Only to realize, I've no leave left(which causes me to grieve.)
So I face my case, and resume my work, with my head sadly bowed.
Must that guy working next to me , really be so loud?
OUCH! Another elastic broke--and I think that I know why!
But the response I get is,"Not my fault man, blame the other guy!"
Time to pull down and see that all my dear customers get served:
(Though sometimes they yell and complain--which really strikes a nerve!)
At last my truck is loaded, and I'm set to go.
"See ya later, slugs" I shout; then I'm on the road.
Scan my MSPs, and record the mileage and such;
If you ask me, I think this is too much!
I'm in and out of businesses, and running my route all through the day.
Scan barcodes; do parcels,and accountables--oh, and some letters along the way!
I've learned a lot of acronyms, that no civilian would ever guess:
Like NSN;UAA; FOE: and DPS!
But I'll soon retire, and be away from here.
My wife will call "JIMMMMY", to which I'll meekly say "Yes Dear".
I'll be running here and doing that, and fixing everything in sight!
Surely, she'll keep me hopping-- morning, noon, and night!
There'll be no more time for naps;
In fact I may have to work at a second job, so our insurance doesn't lapse!
And when I get old--eh, older--and am in my rocking chair,
I'll think about this job, and the good times I had there.
Reflecting on my career; yes even recalling working with this ungainly mob;
I'll awake one day and realize---I really DID love my job!
Charlie Pelota
Isabel was the youngest of four children, dwelling in a large old house,
Nestled under the burgeoning oak trees, in green spring, of no doubts.
Isabel's parents were devout churchgoers, insisting upon going weekly;
But, Isabel often preferred playing, like dawn, pink sun, shining meekly.
Theirs was a tight knit community, the kind everyone wants to live in;
Like orange butterflies, calling on red flowers, of golden days in a spin.
Isabel and funny friends flew blue kites, under floating clouds of fluff,
On finer days, foreseeing furious storm, betwixt yoyo's, bikes and stuff!
Fleeting faddish colors flitted summer gardens, as bug eyed frogs leapt,
On flighty days of family visits, and gloss sunshine, where the ages slept.
Isabel lived in the house of now and then, like a rare eclipse of wonder;
Or the burgundy roses of seldom, evoking the green spell we are under.
Scented sincerity wafted from still blooms, on the street of sunny views.
There Isabel's family lived sparkly lives, like yellow stars, in sweet youth.
Nice music came from treetop nests, in shady niches where it was born;
When nonchalant neighbors came casual, and geese honked their horn.
'Pink powder puff' flowers applied talcum, as 'rattlesnake calathea' hissed;
And 'purple daydream' dozed away, its fragrance and beauty, very noticed!
'Weeping blue wisteria' was melancholy, although sun was shining orange;
And 'blue waterfall' bellflowers cascaded, like a couple, taking the plunge.
Sunday came and Isabel was pouting, as she would be in church for hours!
And she wore a long face to Sunday school, like dissent among the flowers.
But, Sunday school was so much fun, and she had forgotten it was Easter;
And the Lord's face was smiling down, and her unhappiness, released her!
They all had a snack and played a fun game, singing and clapping along;
For every warm heart is happiest, midst melodious voices, raised in song!
'If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it,
Then your face will surely show it,
If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.'
The Wind to the Wayside
There’s an old man sleeping on the bank of a river, and he’s flying his dreams in an indigo sky. If you listen so softly, there’s a chance you’ll remember his words of magic to the old and the wise.
There’s a candle in the window of the widow on the corner, its flame is what’s left of the light in her eyes. If you listen so closely, she sings a sad song of all she has lost in the tears that she cries.
Mist in the hollows and shadows at night, wisps on the water and smoke in the sky. Voices of sirens whisper to the light, and I’m flying on the wind to the Wayside.
There’s a child laughing in hills filled with heather, and she’s calling the names of the stars near the moon. If you watch oh so wisely, you might see her tiptoe into the slipstream and drift away home.
There’s a cobbler mending soles by a hearth, and he’s whistling a tune to the ostler’s wife. If you listen so meekly, you’ll find he’s completely lost in a place for the ostler alone.
Mist in the hollows and shadows at night, wisps on the water and sparks in the sky. Voices of sirens call to the light, and I’m flying on the wind to the Wayside.
I’m dreaming. I’m not. Its real and I’m falling. These hands can’t hold onto shadow and smoke. I’m screaming. Silence. Scions are calling. These memories bow down to a night time of ghosts.
There’s a reaper tending to fields grown fallow, his face etched with sorrow from the sweat of his brow. If you listen so sadly, you’ll hear the earth weeping for the sallow soil at the blade of his plow.
There’s a vendor peddling on streets long gone silent, he doesn’t remember that sleep is about. If you listen so simply you’ll hear the faint flicker of the lamp on the cobbles as his last light goes out.
Mist in the hollows and shadows at night, wisps on the water and fire in the sky. Voices of sirens plea to the light, and I’m flying on the wind to the Wayside.
I’m dying. I’m not. Its real and I’m fleeting. These eyes can’t see through the shroud and the cloak. I’m drifting. Silence. Scions are calling. These memories bow down to a lifetime of ghosts.
I suddenly became aware
(although rooted motive not clear)
avoiding self castration ere
yours truly back during
forty three plus summers ago
(do the math and figure out what year)
long haired pencil necked geek
applied dull razor
to remove, (albeit temporarily) hair
covering these skinny legs.
The missus asked me
(hitherto known as her bozo)
just mere moments ago
to craft humorous poem to glow
nsync with the shiny nose of Rudolph
keeping syncopated metrical flow
thus methought to crow
about being equally as foolish
streaking naked outside at five below
so without further here I go
rattling off gibberish as common Joe
King cole, a merry old soul...
dirt poor, hence without any dough
to embellish endeavor as literary pro,
who also sought to catch eye of Mister Perdue
(yea him of agribusiness fame)
to sacrifice self for New Year's barbecue.
Yours truly repurposed courtesy rigged
easy to assemble cannibalistic spit
with large fig leaf covering puny naughty bit
meekly (née willingly) surrendered
matter of fact, I paid with bitcoin chit
recognized latest currency
ever since legal tender easily susceptible
and oftimes confused as counterfeit
money forged, smelted, and hammered
linkedin with pendulum that swung within pit.
Thus analogous to
Five Chinese brothers immune
yours truly constituted more'n one secret boon
such fiery flames (hot enough
to melt like molten rock)
could harm not a hair
of one *****sapien baboon
matter fact simian in question could become swell
think hot air balloon
allowing, enabling and providing me quick escape
national anthem playing as most popular tune,
a capella, I simultaneous croon
as hot embers snap, pop, and crackle
token human crisply cooking
taking place at high noon
despite the most ferocious typhoon,
no worry, I defy being drowned
survival skills inherited sophisticated protozoan
symbiotic eukaryotes since time immemorial
livingsocial within tight quarters
with not mushroom
to maneuver - oh... hold on,
cuz I will be done lame
reasonable rhyme really soon
ah... just about done
getting cooked the color maroon.
got what he wanted at my expense.
Said crack fast talking
hacker and scammer
pulled figurative wool over my eyes
going incognito and speaking a clipped
English mien his disguise.
He appeared (rather sounded) genuine
after yours truly experienced computer snafu
(the Macbook Pro essentially hogtied
courtesy virus that disabled any activity)
even turning the laptop off then on
only wrought frustration to boot.
An out of state Apple computer
technical support person impersonator
(imposter invariably linkedin
to aforementioned fraudster -
most likely brother in arms)
answered telephone number
provided on the screen.
Admonitions against sharing details
about case in point, whereby cyberpunk
donned many hats to convince me
serious computer virus,
malware, trojan horse, et cetera
counterbalanced with voice on other end
affecting sedulousness to "listen carefully"
and carry forth the following commands.
Yours truly trustingly,
passively, meekly, et cetera
(though feeling jittery)
carried out the repeated instructions,
which charlatan inveighed against
speaking softly (in retrospect,
I ought to have carried a big stick),
indicating (as if held at gunpoint)
to headout off to the Trappe branch
of Citizens Banks and withdraw cash
all the while recording verbal dialogue
with small, medium at large criminal
(the scam artist(s) in question).
Upon retrieving legal tender
(quite a wad), thee next entrapment
entailed driving to closest ATM machine,
an MP gas station/convenience store
in Collegeville to convert
high denomination bills
(a considerable number
of money crisp Benjamins)
into bitcoin cryptocurrency
then hightailing back to where I live,
an assisted living facility
named Highland Manor.
Finally, the schmegegge script
(incorporating ejaculations that
questionable hacker convinced me
to swallow hook, line and sinker)
alluded to strong likelihood
scam artist lurked in close proximity
to above named banking institution,
which divine comedy bumbling
Ace of spades, an inept card shark
anagram name (Meg Found)
left as crypto clue told.