Long Mo Poems

Long Mo Poems. Below are the most popular long Mo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mo poems by poem length and keyword.


Irony

IRONY

My joy that I wasn't born a Nigerian
Is that my parents are Yorubas
I would have been limited to Naira

Mo dúpé pé mo lókó nílé (All thanks, I have a hoe)
Mo láyò pé omo alápatà sá lèmi(I rejoice, I am the butcher's offspring)

Nigerians should say alhamduliLhai
That our legislators are not as corrupt as our president
The country would have met with a great recession

E wá womo alápatà bó ti n jàsán (behold, a butcher's meal begging for a piece of meat)
Eni tó lókó nílé tó tún fowó ó kómí kiri(and a shovel merchant handpicking wastes)

Nigeria is blessed
With green pastures
And various rich liquids

Láyé Olúgbón, mo dá borùn méje(in the reign of Olugbon I owned seven different brocades)
Láyé Arèsà, mo dá borùn méfà (in the reign of Areas I owned six different brocades)

Nigerians are blessed
With great leaders
And various 'politricks'

Láyé Olósèlú mo ra àrán, mo ra sányán baba aso( in the reign of politicians, I owned linen and silk)
Ení pé ilè yìí o dùn ení kó wá bòmíràn lo(who dare thus pasture is not green should please make an exit)

The rich no longer cry
They are the beneficiaries
Of the poorman's labour

Sisésisé wà lóòrùn tó n làágùn (the labourer are dripping with sweat)
Jeséjesé wà làbétè tó n jè 'gbádùn(the beneficiaries enjoy the clubs)

Oh God of creation
Guide our leaders right
Perhaps, to spend our labour well

Bámúbámú mo yo x2(My hunger is satisfied to the fullest)
Èmi ò mò pébi n pomo enì kankan(I doubt if there is any languishing in hunger)
...

Whenever I see a Nigerian
I see along the irony of a country
Where hunger is an offspring of plenty

Nìnú òpò ará ìlú n jòwón(despite the riches, inflation is at its peak)
Nínú oyé, èése táráyé tún n sunkún oru?( and though its winter, the masses sweat is still profuse)

I hope to change the condition
I wish I could turn this irony around
And make a great change of situations

Sùgbón níbo laó ti bèèrè?(But where hence do we start?)
Tani ká kókó gbá lówó mún gan an?(who should be our first suspect?)
Sájépo lájà ni àbí eni tó báa gbà á sílè? (The looters or their abets?)

Where from should one start
Rewriting the story of this country?

Àbí e ò rórò bí? (Can you see?)
Òrò n bá rò ma ròfó, èfó n bá rò ma mún jèko (that this issue begets another)
Irony nlá leyii je, it is a big kàyééfì (this is a big kayeefi, irony nla leyii je)
Form: ABC


A Day Late and a Buck Short

Wanting what I can’t have,
That seems to be my M.O.,
Why I keep doing it I’ll never know,
You’d think I’d understand that I can’t have it;

(Yeah yeah yeah,)
(Go ahead,)
(Make a blonde joke,)
(I’m not even blonde dumb ass;)

But no,
I still go on wanting it more and more,
I want what someone else has,

(Yes, I know,)
(****,)
(Shut up;)

I want what’s too far away,
I want what doesn’t want me,
I seem to want the impossible,
And then,
Outta the blue,
Something wants me,
And of course I get excited,
But then there’s luck I got,
Something always comes up,
And I always end up a day late and a buck short,
Story of my life,
It’s not just that it happens with something important,
No,
Of course not,
It’s with everything,
I can’t seem to get a break,
No matter how much time I have,
Or how many 20’s I got in my wallet,
It always ends up short;

(Yeah,)
(Go ahead,)
(Laugh it up,)
(I said short,)
(I know,)
(Smartass,)
(You aren’t helping my situation,)
(So just shut up,)
(I don’t care,)
(I’ve got bigger issues to deal with;)

Because I don’t seem to have enough of somethin’,
And lemme tell ya,
It ain’t fun not havin’ it;

(Not that you care,)
(You’re busy makin’ wise cracks,)
(Doesn’t really bother me though,)
(So get over yourself, a’ight?)
(Why am I even bothering?)
(I’m not writing this for you;)

I’m not writing this for anybody,
I’m just writing it,
Just putting my pen to paper,
And letting the ink write whatever comes to mind;

(That explains the ranting, eh?)
(Yeah,)
(Bite me,)
(I’m having enough problems without you,)
(So could ya just lay off for maybe five minutes?)
(Somehow I doubt that,)
(But one can always hope;)

It’s not my fault I come up short;

(And don’t even say it;)

I am who I am,
With or without whatever’s missing,
No,
Strike that,
Because if I had what was missing,
I wouldn’t be me now would I?
The thing I need,
Wants me without whatever’s missing,
But good luck finding that,
And we all know how my luck goes;

(That’s it exactly;)

A day late and a buck short,
Ahh the universe loves me;

(Don’tchya think?)
(What?)
(You don’t agree?)
(Can’t imagine why,)
(Well, I guess I’ll have to put up with you,)
(Lucky lucky me,)
(Nothin’ I can do about you;)

At least not now,
Not until I got an extra penny,
At least,
And I’m half an hour early.

Premium Member Happy Or Depressed

………………………………………………………………
H
Ha
Hap
Happ
Happy
Happy o
Happy or
Happy or d
Happy or de
Happy or dep
Happy or depr
Happy or depres
Happy or depress
Happy or depresse
Happy or depressed
Happy or depresse
Happy or depress
Happy or depres
Happy or depre
Happy or depr
Happy or dep
Happy or de
Happy or d
Happy or 
Happy o
Happy 
Happ
Hap
Ha
H
L
Li
Lif
Life 
Life i
Life is
Life is a
Life is a b
Life is a ba
Life is a bal
Life is a bala
Life is a balan
Life is a balanc
Life is a balanci
Life is a balancin
Life is a balancing
Life is a balancing a
Life is a balancing ac
Life is a balancing act
Life is a balancing ac
Life is a balancing a
Life is a balancing 
Life is a balancin
Life is a balanci
Life is a balanc
Life is a balan
Life is a bala
Life is a bal
Life is a ba
Life is a b
Life is a
Life is 
Life i
Life 
Lif
Li
L
S
So 
So e
So ea
So eas
So easy
So easy t
So easy to
So easy to s
So easy to sl
So easy to sli
So easy to slip
So easy to slip a
So easy to slip an
So easy to slip and
So easy to slip and f
So easy to slip and fa
So easy to slip and fal
So easy to slip and fall
So easy to slip and fal
So easy to slip and fa
So easy to slip and f
So easy to slip and
So easy to slip an
So easy to slip a
So easy to slip  
So easy to sli
So easy to sl
So easy to s
So easy to
So easy t
So easy 
So eas
So ea
So e
So 
S
M
Mo
Moo
Mood
Moods
Moods t
Moods th
Moods tha
Moods that
Moods that f
Moods that fa
Moods that fal
Moods that fall
Moods that fall c
Moods that fall ca
Moods that fall can
Moods that fall can r
Moods that fall can ri
Moods that fall can ris
Moods that fall can rise
Moods that fall can rise a
Moods that fall can rise ag
Moods that fall can rise aga
Moods that fall can rise agai
Moods that fall can rise again
Moods that fall can rise agai
Moods that fall can rise aga
Moods that fall can rise ag
Moods that fall can rise a
Moods that fall can rise 
Moods that fall can ris
Moods that fall can ri
Moods that fall can r
Moods that fall can
Moods that fall ca
Moods that fall c
Moods that fall
Moods that fal
Moods that fa
Moods that f
Moods that 
Moods tha
Moods th
Moods t
Moods 
Mood
Moo
Mo
M
………………………………………………………………
Wait for tomorrow’s new day
© Mark Toney  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Shape

Premium Member The Coward

Cowards die many times before their deaths…
Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene 2 ~William Shakespeare

spouse 
a souse 
classic grouse 
a big girl's blouse

portent ominous 
assertions blasphemous   
obscure and anonymous 

his skulking is nefarious 
utterances acrimonious
and implicature often dubious 

uxorious but still pusillanimous 
**********************************

An example of a rhopalic verse.
Rhopalism: A rhopalic sentence is one in which each successive word is one letter longer than the previous one. In poetry: where each word is one syllable more, or it might increase each line in a stanza by one syllable (per my example), or a metric foot. 

IN THE SAME CATEGORY OF CONSTRAINED WRITING
The Rhopalic Couplet, also called Wedge Verse, was first used by Homer in the Iliad (3.182). It is a poetic unit of 2 rhopalic lines where each word progresses adding one more syllable than the preceding word in the line, for example, 1, 2, 3, 4 … syllables. The sequence of the syllable count can be identical in the second line, or it may be reversed. The couplet does not need not rhyme.
_____________________________________________________________

In The Coward, stanzas are broken up along the syllables of the end rhymes: spouse, souse, grouse, blouse; om-i-nous, blas-phe-mous, a-non-y-mous; ne-far-i-ous, ac-ri-mo-ni-ous, du-bi-ous & pu-sil-lan-i-mous. 

LEXICON
acrimonious: (adj) (typically of speech or discussion) angry and bitter.
a big girl’s blouse: British idiom, meaning someone is ineffectual or weak; someone failing to show masculine strength of determination
disposition: (n.) inherent characteristics.
grouse: (n.) one who complains constantly. 
implicature: (n.)* the action of implying a meaning beyond the literal sense of what is explicitly stated, for example, saying the picture frame is nice and implying I don’t like the picture. 
innate: (n.) inborn, natural
nefarious: (adj) (typically of an action or activity) wicked or criminal.
portent: (n.) 
1. a sign or warning that a momentous or calamitous event is likely to happen, an omen.
2. (literary) an exceptional or wonderful person or thing. [‘What portent can be greater than a pious notary.’] 
pusillanimous: (adj) showing a lack of courage or determination; timid.
souse: (n.) a drunkard.
Form: Other

Kris Kringle Kisses Kalliope

"Kris Kringle Kisses Kalliope"

A Dream: the 4th Christmas.





deck the halls 
with memories
poets whisper pasts
that are ne’er forgotten

where presents 
a life 
that’s neatly wrapped
and attempts at 

frostily forgotten 

tucked under
that big 
beautiful
green fir tree

where all the dreams
of poets go
gold starred, tinselled
and angel mounted 

ripe cherries 
kissed
crassly
under mistletoe

Ah Christmas 
capture me up
in your safe
magic arms

let me sip 
the nectar from 
your sweet eggnog cups
like Puck’s flower flows

on sultry lips
and eyelids
“love-in-idleness”
"The juice of it 

on sleeping eyelids laid
will make man 
or woman 
madly dote

upon the next 
live creature 
that it sees”
poet or pup

crimson berries crushed
against a velvet tongue
bedazzled and 
bewitched

fires crackling 
logs like legs
drop and wrap around
the flames

while in my dreams
I await beneath 
the sugar coated 
blankets of a bed

charmed by snowflakes
dusting houses in a row
through misted windows
where “paper people....

dream 
their cardboard dreams”

“how unreal 
the whole thing seems
can we be living in a world
that is made of paper mache?

Everything is clean 
and so neat
anything that is wrong
can be just swept away”

inside is very still...
not shaken 
like a snowglobe -
surreal 

damned be
the dams of
Love-in-Idleness 
where eyes reflect

your shadow 
in my dream
like opium smoke
across cracked glass

remember how we 
all once were 
some beautiful happy
if we could just pull the chord

so fresh out of ...
class

rewind our time 
rewind it 
to yesterday
like a toy

across the 
ocean bobbing 
like a buoy
an Iceberg keens and cries

Nutcracker twirls 
Sugarplum 
Kris Kringle Kisses 
Kalliope

Oberon...

reals 
Titania in 
Slo mo’ 

Magic

mmm
Romance

lacy 
frosty
melting
snow.

An iceberg cries
in time with 
Christmas eyes


(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)





“Paper Mache” / Dionne Warwick
https://youtu.be/85TK2Bia6w8











"There must have been some magic in
That old top hat they found
For when they placed it on his head
He began to dance around"


Premium Member O, Light

~ Oh, maiden of light cracks the wispy air open ,
wandering around viscous spaces
like virgin shadow caressing the edge
of sleep… and the days stretch longer,
taller than guava trees dreamingly shedding
laces of northeast streams when
songbirds, orbits, and a pageant of flowers listen
to a single humming breeze…  and when all else
is sprawled quiet, waterfalls marry her certain 
lingering star straying on mouths of gentleness
past eons bound by nuptials in iridescent realms…

*O, ilaw, sa gabing malamig, wangis mo'y
bituin sa langit… O, tanglaw, sa gabing tahimik,
larawan mo, Neneng, nagbigay pasakit. Ay! *

Somehow ,curlicues drape a fragrant smoke
leaking out a folk sky;  dancing in the mirror
of the mountain pool…  a serenade weeps;
quivering, moaning along the inland pass that
someone said morning becomes electra,
that learning how to hear  her blossom  or
pearl stone unravels the very skin from
which it was born is allowing time to
shed her purity  far beyond unknowing a
water’s need to keep still:  the juice spills…

**Gising at magbangon sa pagkagupiling 
sa pagkakatulog na lubhang mahimbing;
buksan ang bintana at ako'y dungawin, 
nang mapagtanto mo ang tunay kong pagdaing. * *

 Peeling new faces of time, shaping the width of
endless rhyme in sprays of endless mystery...
like so, a thousand times before and after,
twilight and daybreak entwine… oh,light elusive,
passing through calm eyes of young maiden’s season

is love’s way of coming back to itself. ~



--------


* O, light, in the cold night; you're like a star in the sky
O, light, in the quiet night, your picture, Neneng,
makes one ache…. Oh!


** Awake and arise from slumber,
from your sleep so deep.
Open your window and look out to me
So that you may understand my true lament.


~ this poem is inspired by a harana,  a traditional Filipino serenade. The suitor
 is accompanied by his friends who back him up both vocally.
  At first, the woman's window is closed. The man calls out to her
 and if she's interested, she'll open her window.
Singing harana originated during the Spanish
 colonial period in the Philippines.~



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYueJU0Ufws&feature=related

---------

For Debbie’s Bi-lingual Poetry by nette onclaud

Premium Member Last Night On Earth - Strange Is Truthier Than Fiction

11/4/1991, KENOSHA, WI – Police say a man wearing a fake goatee burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a fake goatee?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a goatee, it’s a van dyke,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

12/9/1996, IMPERIAL BEACH, CA – Police say a man in a Buster Keeton mask burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a Buster Keeton mask?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not Buster Keeton. It’s Buster Crabbe,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

6/26/1998, ODESSA, Texas – Police say a man affecting a Spanish accent burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you affecting a Spanish accent?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not Spanish. It’s Catalan,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

11/25/2006, SHREVEPORT, LA – Police say a man wearing a Mitt Romney campaign button burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a Mitt Romney campaign button?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a campaign button. It’s flair,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

3/6/2007, SEATTLE, WA – Police say a man wearing a satin vest burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a satin vest?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not satin. It’s velour,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

2/12/2008, VIENNA, MO – Police say a person dressed in a nun’s habit burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you dressed in a nun’s habit?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a habit. It’s a vocation,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

6/18/2009, MARLTON, NJ – Police say a person riding a scooter chair burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you riding a scooter chair?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a scooter chair. It’s a civil right,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

3/27/2010, KING of PRUSSIA, PA – Police say a person holding a bottle of urine burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you holding a bottle of urine?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not urine. It’s mine,” then punched him in the nose and fled.

Fascination With Etymology

the roots – i.e. genealogy of words long held me 
   (no pun intended) held spell bound
e'en upon fertilization of ova and sperm viz – conception, 
   an acute sensory means n'er got drowned
out via the bubbling, dribbling, huzzahing...
   (from within and without the womb) while in utero, 
   especially when me then young spring chick hen ova mum, 
   and cock strutting cock 
   (doodling his due tee) oft testes handsome dad found
their coop t'would be increased by another 
   (at that time no means prevailed to foretell gender, 
   but an old wives tale hatched 
   since time immemorial stubbornly persisted 
   if the husband put right heir (ear) to the ground 
accompanied with petsmart skills of a blood hound
   a close approximation could be discerned, 
   whether the swelling abdominal mound
would yield a son or daughter, 
   which second guess passed thru 
   the umbilical cord shaped grape vine as re noun
splendor – giving participants planning a baby shower 
   purchasing and showcasing an infant gewgaw 
   costing no mo' than a best seller by Ezra Pound 
   or a couple rolling stones,   
 preferably those flat versus being round
with assessment sans prediction per sex of offspring 
   offered slightly greater hedge Tibet 
   with recent introduction of ultra sound

nonetheless genesis (unbeknownst to either parent – 
   trapped in that role for a life time)
this fetus took a fancy to imbibing verbalization 
   that transpired between when shine
warmed the cockles and muscles of this parasite – ha – 
   expanding his vocabulary prior tummy birth in nine
teen hundred and...(th beh so thee ya haint tell in – 
   go ask aunt Roadie) or...find someone name Stein
beck, and give yaw self a pat on the back faw trine
plotting a tentative addition to family tree or 
   (what would turn out tubby more apropos) a vine,
cuz ma late mum referred tomb me as her little monkey
   who when born deeply engrossed reading about urine
thence, when the pediatric doctor snatched the book – 
   BOY DID I WHINE

which out shrilled any wailing police car, 
   or emergency hospital siren
thus...i got christened RED (for short), yet code named 120 db
which translates as the decibel threshold for pain 
   even afflicting the dead poet Byron.
Form: Bio

Tortoiseshell Cats

Tortoiseshell Cats 

Aroun’ came a kittycat, it was so cold
Slept outside to save her sole
Staying outside might do her harm.
Gotta do summin’ to keep her warm.
Got her a pillow, got her a mat.
But she slept on the chair just where I sat.
Black and brown, she’s a Tortoiseshell cat

Won’t come near, just shies away.
Won’t let you pet her to save the day.
Open the door – what can I say?
What can we do to make her stay.
Gonna feed her summin’ to make her fat.
Put out some cat food, she did like that
Black and brown, she’s a Tortoiseshell cat

Where goes little one, she’s not aroun’.
Search all the neighbors, search all the town.
We get a little worried, we get a little sad
What did we do to make her mad?
It’s been a while she’s been away
We keep lookin’ both night & day.
No little kittie, we worry about that.
Black ‘n’ brown, where’s our Tortoiseshell cat?

Then comes a time - what a surprise!
Two more little kittens with big yellow eyes
Mama Cat, baby cats, they’re all so sweet
Gotta get some food for them all to eat.
Two little kittens just a running around
One from the country; one from the town.
Kittie, kittie, kitten; where you at?
Black and brown they’re our Tortoiseshell cats

Rounded them up & off they went
Off to the Vet where they were sent.
Then home agin, home agin; back to the norm
Home agin, home agin; without any harm.
Open the cage to let them go
Scared they were as so ‘n’ so
They’ll be back in mos’ nothing flat.
Here they come, our Tortoishell cats

Runnin’ & jumpin’ in the morning dew.
Can’t change nature for these two.
Chase each other, chase a bug
Won’t let you give ‘em even a littl’ hug
Sleep all day & then play mos’ night.
Somethin’ about this just seems right.
Longer and taller, but they don’t get fat
Two big kittens; each a Tortoiseshell cat.

Now open the door with a little invite
Come inside to the warmth & light.
Creeping around noisy as can be.
Still so shy – please don’t touch me.
Still gotta outside, still gotta roam.
Inside, outside – their new home.
Getting’ mo’ friendly – scratch on the mats
Yes, you know, our Tortoiseshell cats

Food to eat and I’ll come back
Put down summin’; like a paper sack
Still gotta outside just gotta roam.
Inside, outside – their new home.
© Don Turner  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Circa January 2010 Bell Tower and Carillon

Twittered Via Chilled Wren
At Valley Forge, Pennsylvania

Prior carte blanche to confessing illicit
     extra-marital affair
I embolden tomb ache
     elicit, and baldly bare
faced laid out some
     of the sordid details clear
embarrassed at one escapade
     in particular constituting dear

peppy's questing randy romping caper
     necessitating vigilance 'ere
a park ranger, (or other unsuspecting
     winter weather way
     Farer attired in gear
adequately bundled
     cold as a witch's tit
     seasoned trooper) 
     reluctantly repeated here

(unforgettable if only be
     cause this "FAKE" Casanova ace
thee Missus i.e.wife)
     did conversationally chase
beseeched, hen pecked,
     and implored me NOT to erase
boot to recount with (itty bitty)
     Monty Python glory, a straight face,
that one particular amazingly grace

obviously penned up, 
     and not in the write
mind (pre poetry daze),
     which scurrilous anecdote
     did (and still does) in vite

guffawing, sans
     peculiar public philandering,
     with atavistic cave man
     designs tried to unite
where daunting phallus spite

confronting Arctic Vortex when right
lee let loose from pants
     froze like a little popsicle quite
purposely remained flaccid

     leaving me in a penile plight
when trying to hump
     (standing up like a good Knight
comically ridiculous travesty)
     With Barbara B****, light
of adventurous Green Beret spirit, the
     Unabashed MILF about average height
fifty years, whose busty bosom

     silicone breast implants
     tell tale viz radiation
     and chemo therapy fight
(resulting from post
     Ductal Carcinoma in situ)
needless to tell
nary an erectile spell
Asper tinker soldier
     tailor spy didst quell

basic animal instinct,
     and feral gonadal horniness
with intent to consummate sexual intercourse
     according tummy ought to occur,
     cuz that blustery air
     mirroring said day when hell
nearly froze over invoking
     intervention from Cain and/or Abel.

Thus when prick remained
     limp and nearly frost bitten
(at a boulder christened cock rock),
     aye frostily smitten
slogging wet sneakers, thru
    knee high snow...now, no mo' tubby written.
Form:

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