Long Mel Poems
Long Mel Poems. Below are the most popular long Mel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mel poems by poem length and keyword.
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice
his last gasp was quite lengthy
trying to go out with a bang as usual
a rationalist manifesto covering his face
accompanied by a cotton field work song
his grip went slack under the torrent of images
fortunes have been lost in that snapshot parlor
shook the money from the pockets
of many a surviving Siamese twin
blessed with a rugged set of mouse buttons
he pitched head first into the theocratic miasma
since a rescue by wisdom eluded his pilgrimage
and its inner parade of flailing penitents
he died to a real slow slide whistle tango
from a regrettable strangulation of debate
and terminally transparent eyelids
at least the bastards left me to my fate he mused
just as a legion of parachutists
crashed and tumbled through the roof
it was an Exist-o-Gram from my dear mother
but first a word from our sponsor
Hi there Mel Linger owner of Mel's Futon Corral
so jump in the calaboose and come on down
for a steal of a deal and a big gold tooth smile
clear and sunny in the lowland swamps
now for some traffic from overhead
fully awake after the reservoirs of hell broke loose
his mathematician’s mind calculated
how long until earthly paradise
it was a delusion but a lot of them work
time to risk the entire skin layer he fielded
searching for the trail to civilization
he shinnied up his collective unconscious
an optico semiotician on a paranormal safari
and began to read mom's holy missive
son, your persistent mania for self dialog
requiring a frequent bath in statistics and terror
has left you under the juggernaut's wheels
for some fashionable occult mystery
humor him it's a mud fest in there
relaxed again and ready for
the ever enchanting silhouette of flames
he spread his wings and noticed
there were no wings too late
his nipples were erect with drama
moms lips floated above and spoke
the extraterrestrial rushed up at him
the Cherubs chirped and twittered
as he rowed over the spillway of oblivion
and stood before the ancient ones
boy were they ancient decrepit even
connected to bubbling jars by their sex organs
apparently this made them really smart
the one labeled mom bubbled and spoke
lose the kilt festooned with skulls son
later that day a marsh fire swept through heaven
and a humming bird took nectar from his ear
he sits in back of the class
The jocks throw paper airplanes
near the chump's little rear
Picking his nose-how gross!!
Laughter ensues
They all like to make fun of him the most
Teacher wants him to wear a dunce hat
Making sport of him is where the good times are at
NOSE PICKER
-SS GRABBER
FOUR-EYED FREAK
and more
The girlies all think he's a PERV
Especially big breasted Linda
She has the nerve
Billy Bully throws his books
Eyeing Melvin with threatening looks
John-boy the janitor
makes him eat some worm
20 slimy ones
to make the runt really squirm
NO NERDS DOWN THIS HALL
so says the dope dealers-6ft5inches tall
Poor Mel of the Dweeb sect
He hasn't somebody who could like him as yet
Some days are for the clique heirarchy
Others can be cruel to the meek and timid
LIFE IS NOT ALWAYS THAT FAIR,IS IT??
Form:
Disappointment /// Disillusioned
If only it could be known ?, if it be told
why my youngest Child, becomes meanly bold.
If only the truth be seen, the tale would unfold.
Regardless – she in my heart – I will always hold
even if – to these devils – her soul, she has sold.
My little world has come tumbling down,
uncertainty, heartache, fear for all around.
My life, no longer planted firmly on the ground.
Insignificant ?, I feel !, – not a ripple, not a wave
as I – carelessly thrown into the fray of a deep blue sea –
await my fate in the gloom and doom of impending eternity
as my youngest Daughter, prepares me for the grave.
This Beautiful Child, - goes ugly at times – Mel, Melanie,
seems determined - hell bent and hell bound to destroy me
by any means – one way or by any other
acting like – becoming so much like her mother,
following in the foot steps- wearing the boots of her sister,
Mandy, who can be a child without feelings, nothing to register
a sign, a belief in – there seems to be nothing to family ties.
It seems to be ?, all I feel from her, see with these old eyes
and have to wonder ?, has it died ?, all gone dry ?
Is my life ?, are my Friends, my Family – lost – reason to cry,
cry !!!, as all seems to have been going down the road, toward dust.
Do I accept ?, live without ?, I guess, move on I must,
as, upon this old metal – my life – things begin to rust,
become the poisons eating away
at what is left – taking me to that end day.
All that is left for me to do ?, it seems, is pray !!!
In my heart, in my mind, my memory, they will always stay
even if ?, in the physical, in the spiritual, my Girls are gone,
doing the things they must and continuing to move on
towards a world of bigger ( I pray ) and better things.
Things taking them beyond their mother / me, what life brings
to them, that has tortured, haunted and torn them apart,
allowing them a better future – then their past – and a new start
and hopes – from me – that all the negativity will depart.
Love
Dad
B. J. “A ” 2
June 3rd 2004
I write what I feel and as each verse of this poem enhances the knowledge that one
posses
Inside their brain
Driving you insane in which my metaphoric & poetic
Lyrics changes your mind set
And I bet by the end of this poem I guarantee that
Thing that you would never expect would be a death
Defying moment that you will never forget.
In order to succeed, the desire of success should be
Greater than the fear of failure
Because with out sacrifice their is no
sense of achieving victory
Life is as the same as a roller coaster
As each click scares you until it gets to the top
And then drops
Each scream gets worst and worst tears come out cus
Of the fear that they feel
Don't hear me
Listen to me
Cuz as much as its been repeated we have to learn to crawl before walking
Babys babble before talking
At the end of the day we proceed and follow the goal
Of succeeding.
I am the freedom writer cuz im known as speaking freely
To my public
Expressing what I feel and putting it down on paper
I am the lover never the fighter
The first expression perfectionist
I attack the new challenges and never bacc away from them
They call me Mel for a reason
Who else you know they call the Most Efficient Lover
Now tell me who is the bitter.
I wake up 2 poetry....I live it....breath it....
I have succeeded in it
And as I try to strive perfection
In order to get to the top I have to go through the
Battles
Shielding my way through challenges
I am the hercules of modern time
As I take my rhyme and read it to myself
Everything seems fine
Because the purpose of a freedom writer is
To go beyond the line
They spit 16 bars...I say why so many
When all I need is nine.
Listen to my rhyme
Because this benefits for the present
Past and future
I want to make history like shakespear
Turn my poems into plays of romance...
hurt and pain...Living in a world where the name of the lord is never to said in vane
We poets are freedom writers
For those who are justing starting
Keep ya head up never give up
Never live the life of shame.
Mel got knocked up very early
when out playing the field,
then she went and murdered it
before it all got ‘too real.’
Now her baby haunts her dreams,
and she sees only perdition,
there’s a reason we don’t kill kids,
there’s a truth behind tradition.
Allan called himself ‘open-minded,’
and said ‘he would never judge.’
He’d let anyone into his house,
be they poor, homeless, or thug.
One day he woke up and found he
no longer had a television,
still he refused to make judgements,
blind to why it’s a tradition.
Sue was an empowered type,
she “did not need no man!”
She went ahead and had a kid,
to be raised by her own hand.
But now the boy is out of control,
and her pay-check’s but a pittance,
with no husband to share the load,
as was done by tradition.
Mark was a male feminist
who stood by to help his ‘girl.’
She was a strident activist,
she was his entire world.
Until he learned a Hell’s Angel
upon his true love had ridden,
there’s reason men should act like men,
not by chance is it tradition.
Jane, she was a young GI,
one of the very few
women who had passed the tests
Aal male soldiers must do.
Where her squad was over-run,
her captors laughed in derision,
She knew what they planned for her,
a dark and horrible tradition…
Rick was a damn millionaire,
quite blessed by inheritance,
never had to work a day,
nor a toiling hour spend.
Still he sent out resumes,
surrendered to the repetition,
to have no task would drive him mad,
he needed that male tradition.
Sure we know some had to go,
discrimination comes to mind,
but the bulk of them still remain,
and I think most folks will find
these ideas stand the test of time,
face Darwinian competition,
those that survive all the world’s trials
are entrenched as tradition.
To seek change for it’s own sake,
is a foolish waste of time,
a vanity of success and wealth,
a byproduct of good times.
But this world is a ruthless thing,
with nonsense it’s not smitten,
to survive at all is a great fight,
your best weapons are traditions.
After chewing shoe leather they called steak,
in the Pencey cafeteria,
Mal, Ackley, and I enjoyed a winter afternoon on campus,
on the bus, and in a restaurant.
We walked across a puffy white quilt
as students conversed, laughed, and threw snowballs.
I held my snowball until the bus driver told me to leave it outside.
We had intended to see a comedy with Cary Grant,
but Mal and Ackley had already seen it.
We hung out in the restaurant played pinball and ate burgers.
Arriving back at our dorms at a quarter to nine,
Mel left for a bridge game
and Ackley shoved his acne ridden face into my pillow
until I told him I had a paper to write.
I couldn’t write what Stradlater wanted.
I couldn’t describe any rooms without elaborate furniture.
I couldn’t describe sporty rooms
with trophies on dressers and pennants on walls.
My brother Allie played baseball.
He wrote poetry on his catcher’s mitt with a green pen.
He stood in right field and recited verse from his imagination,
in his mind.
He died from leukemia very young.
I fell into a depression,
a garage,
a gym with windows to punch out.
I broke my hands against our station wagon’s windows.
I cannot make a tight fist.
I curl my fingers enough to type excerpts of Allie’s poetry
for a paper that will never be appreciated.
My red headed brother Allie,
such a good natured kid,
he had a good combination of extrovert and introvert,
avoiding anger.
Sitting on his bike fifty yards away
with his hair shining in the sun
as I teed off,
hoping to make a distant green and shoot under par.
Mom had scored a hole in one with him.
I still try to overcome unidentified handicaps
on a hazardous course.
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If you are intrigued by this work read and review G. D. Master’s book, “Interpretations,” free in PDF format on SmashWords.com. Enter “gd master” or “interpretations” in the search bar of SmashWords to find it.
American Psychosis
The sun, the Son,
ECLIPSED
Overshadowed by
Dark clouds of
Bloated EGO and ID
Me supersedes We
The people1
Will weep
DEADLY SINS
More than seven
In one
Narcissist ‘king’ of
WRATH, HATE, REVENGE,
Not a
‘Dish best served cold2
But with anger
Evil so bold
SCOTUS behold!
Bunker-Busting Bully
Historical ignorance, ignominy
Big Beautiful Bombs or
Tariffs Coercion
Psychotic projection
Weaponized state
Now fully effected
No critic is safe
LUST
When you’re a celebrity
You can do anything
Predatory
You want
Assault, murder, rape,
Cheat, steal, defraud
LIES
Free speech
IF you’re with us
‘Fake news’
If you’re not
We have
‘alternative facts’
GLUTTONY and GREED
Never satisfied with
What you have
Never enough!
Never enough!
IDOLATRY
Genuflection
To the ‘Golden Calf’3
Crown of Orange
No thorns4
Nor Pain
LAZINESS, SLOTH
Reap rewards from
Work of the plebes
Let them eat cake5
Simple living, no steak
Accountability – None
ENVY
Look up to look down
The billionaires ladder
The one I will climb
Not Jacob’s sublime6
But the movie
On the horrors of war7
PRIDE and VANITY
Peers, I can tolerate
But
I am the best
Losers and suckers
Make up the rest
OK to call on them
To squelch the unrest
Parade
Honors ‘Dear Leader’
Who dishonors
Misuses the troops
MAGA, sycophants,
And Nazi salutes
No impulse control
Chaos, Disunity, Autocracy
Unreined
Breaking Bad8
RESISTANCE
Inevitable
‘No Kings’
In ‘our land’
Despite fear of
The worst
Assassinations, arrests
Uncivil will be
Armed
‘There will be Blood’9
On the streets
Where chaos will
Reign
Unless it be tamed
1 Preamble to the U.S. Constitution
2 Joseph Stalin
3 Exodus 32
4 New Testament Gospels
5 Dubious attribution to Marie-Antoinette
6 Genesis 28
7 1990 movie on the horrors of war
8 Breaking Bad, highly acclaimed TV series
9 Gangs of NY 2002 movie `Copyright @ Mel Gill 06/14/2025
As I watch the rain coming down in measured bursts onto the dark waters of the vast bayou.
My mind notes the watery circles and bubbles that trace alligators asleep in the slough.
I check my lines as the sun goes down. The wind fights me at every turn, causing my boat to rock.
I've got three dead gators in the skiff. For cash, I'll trade them when my boat shimmies up to the dock.
I snooze and wake to find that my boat has drifted to the bank where a bait line is stretched taut.
Thrashing sounds in the water let me know this one's big. Grabbing my gun, I aim for a sure shot.
It happens not. The muscular creature slips under the boat, then tugs on the line till he's free.
He crawls to land! I jump from the boat! Etched in my mind is, 'It must be Big Mel. This one's for me.'
I track him through sodden grasses, cracked twigs, fetid mud, until at the end, his swath disappears.
It's getting dark and I must return. Getting lost in a woods full of gators stokes my fears.
I arrive at the skiff, stepping carefully over gators and sad at losing Big Mel's gain.
Suddenly, Big Mel lunges from hiding and clamps down on my leg. At first, I can't feel the pain.
In the brisk of a minute, pain shoots through my body. My leg, as if on fire, feels burning hot.
Thank God for my rifle. Though trembling, I grab it and aim, bringing down Mel in a single shot.
One dead gator and one almost dead man! My mangled leg gushes blood as I get to the pier.
"Big Mel got me" , I yell, as I'm pulled from the boat. Willie gives me first aid, but is the end near?
Willie is my friend through and through, and he drives me to the hospital in his new seafood van.
The guys on the dock take care of my gators. In fact, Big Mel ended up in a gumbo pan.
The years have gone by as I retell this story. "Grandpa, tell it again" my grandkids still beg.
But the last time that I told it, the youngest one said, "Grandpa, Is that how you lost your left leg?"
SALAD SALUTE
Listen up everyone, and I mean you peas at the back:
Think you can hide in the mayonnaise?
Some of you peppers feel you are pretty hot stuff, I know;
And our cucumber friends are just way too cool dudes;
And some guys feel they are just beginners - you green onions,
All shifting places to avoid being next to the garlic.
But remember this - we stick together in this mayo,
And we’re like the Rangers - we go in first, and no one is left behind;
Not like the soup or main course,
Oozing into those warmed and ready bellies.
We hit the plates cold -
Even before the metal meets the meat.
The first forks of these people are aimed directly at us -
And they’re hungry, so expect no quarter.
Look around you : in this mixed salad
We got French beans, and jumping beans from Mexico;
We got green peas, black peas, brown rice, and white swedes -
All Americans.
Now here in the US some of you guys may have
Experienced discrimination due to color, taste, smell, or size.
But for you and me now, all that is gone.
We are moving into the shadow of the salad bowl
Where you will watch the back
Of the veg next to you, as he will watch yours:
And you won’t care what color his skin is
Or by what name he calls eggplants/aubergines.
We’re facing a tough, determined, and hungry foe -
Lets stick together.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
NOTE
Imagine a salad being addressed by its leading carrot just before the main serving occurs in a restaurant.
This light-hearted poem is obviously based on the words of a great speech by
Colonel Hal Moore, which can be heard in the movie WE WERE SOLDIERS,
and Mel Gibson does an excellent job of rendering the speech on youtube at
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7OPPWlKV2A I recommend you to watch this inspiring two-minute speech.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck