Long Mock Poems
Long Mock Poems. Below are the most popular long Mock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mock poems by poem length and keyword.
Alice in Unreality Land
Tweedle Dee was acting frivolously dumb,
Whilst Mock Turtle’s face sullen and glum.
Not unusually White Rabbit was late,
Alice grew large compressed in a gate.
Absent minded Dodo, helpful so polite,
Gryphon has wings but cannot take flight.
A Cat from Cheshire grinning ear to ear,
The Queen has a King, so kindly my dear.
Remover of Monsters our Lizard man Bill,
Caterpillar smokes Hookah with obstinate will.
March Hare so ridiculous, loudly insane,
Dozy Dormouse in Teapot doesn’t complain.
Unbirthday parties of a Hatter so mad,
Duchess is curious, neither good nor bad.
Lewis Carroll wrote a surreal world of confusion,
A curiosity tale filled of unreality and illusion.
Written 8.10.18
AH! POLICY ...
Politicians mock politicians
Democracy groans every day
and the people vote without thinking!
WEATHER FORECASTS
Rain comes, heat stifles,
unpredictable phenomena
predictions always fail
ON THE MARKET ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE
On the market, on the stock exchange
despair, euphoria... analysts
They only get it right when they get it wrong...!
OVERVIEW OF FAITH
Hanging by a thread
surviving hard times
balancing on a tightrope!
P E T S
House animals
pure, innocent happiness
happiness goes viral with them
HAPPINESS !
When we are lost
the greatest happiness consists
find our way back!
OH IF IT WERE POSSIBLE!
How extraordinary it would be!
how wonderful it would be,
old be young again!
Standing high upon the knot
In my ladder years,
I claimed to be the king.
Now, the crown horrifies me.
Still some gentle cruise is within me.
Like Saturn turned upside-down.
Would we notice the madness in the crème?
If there’s anyone that’s going to point the way for you it’s me.
Not out of self-aggrandizement, out of pure love,
And full, final redemption for all my short-comings.
How do I stop the avalanche?
Why do I feel I need to stop the avalanche?
Is it really an avalanche?
Or do I like playing with visions,
Responding to my own antics with mock melodrama?
Let the bizarre stay bizarre.
I’ll be in the corner selling coconuts.
Soldiers Called
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
In a strange Land, in a far-off Sea, ships set sail to scar Man and Earth.
When diplomacy fails, shattering Hopes for Peace, hate propels War’s unwanted birth.
Months and years of mock exercise and drills to check complete.
To prepare for a War that may never come, but is born when tyranny’s unleashed.
On that tearful day when Soldiers called, break formation to say goodbye.
Children rush out to clutch Soldier’s legs, tremble, and start to cry.
But Soldiers know, they have to go, to keep play soldiers safe.
From yet another tyranny, in yet, another place.
On embattled shores where fallen foes and heroes fiercely fight.
The battle ground will be sanctified by those who die that night.
Through the grime, and with sweat, and with blood, and with tears.
Through the horror of War, sometimes frozen with fear.
From battle to battle, fighting shore to shore.
Nothing escapes from the Hands of War.
Men killing Men with all of their might.
Unchain a Bomb with a blinding light.
When a long, brutal War finally ends - claiming it’s broken and countless dead.
The Boys that charged as a spirited Godsend - return dazed, War hardened, Iron Men.
And when some Soldiers come Home, they’re never quite the same.
Because their silent War rages on, every Night and every Day.
On Veteran’s day with the cheering crowds and the waving flags.
They celebrate the Soldier’s sacrifice in a very special way.
But a Soldier’s mind is just a flash away.
To a place called Hell where they died that day.
Now, with the Soldiers worn and their bodies bent.
A once embattled foe has become a friend.
And when the Day comes, to blow the final taps for all.
The old Units will be lined up and ready - for the last Roll Call.
TOO WISE TO BREATHE!
I don't know this feeling, a stranger's guise,
Appreciate, contradict, beneath my eyes.
Deny, agree, a hollow, echoing sound,
Mock, express, on unfamiliar ground.
Direct, assert, yet feel no fire within,
Confused, detached, where do I begin?
I act these parts, but why no empathy's spark?
My fights for others, lost within the dark.
Am I not me? Echoes in the room,
This knowing vast, a curse or a boon?
They don’t see how easy it is
to live without thinking,
to spend without counting,
to die without wanting.
A simple joy where hollow echoes bear,
That you can laugh, where I can only stare,
A lightness found within the heavy air.
This endless abyss, where shadows play and blend,
I know the answers, but they bring no end.
A bitter truth I can’t outrun,
I decode it all, yet come undone.
Bold enough to unveil the unknown,
Lost in the depths I call my own.
High enough to grasp what you conceal,
Misguided enough to drown in what's real.
~Pallavi Pandey
Mumbling, stumbling, inaudible rambling,
The pity, the pain all but Biden now feel,
A spent man bereft, resorting to grumbling,
The fishing line out for opponents to reel.
How did we now reach this insufferable place,
Where a once wily Joe spun his fine web,
Enticing, enveloping with street gotten grace,
His mock Irish banter making folks fall in step.
The ravage of age, that indiscriminate scythe,
Lacking compassion, blind in its grasp,
Cutting down poppy's both lowly and high,
Never once stopping to ponder or ask.
So it falls to the man, with loving advice,
To know when to pen those few final chapters,
Leave it too late and it's a roll of the dice,
A legacy lost and good name in tatters.
Blind pride a sheer folly at most times in life,
Obscuring the path that shows us the way,
The one to traverse with safety not strife,
Avoiding its grasp, not falling its prey.
Country the goal before lowly ambition,
Wisdom and service the call for each day,
This is America's greatest tradition
The foundation from which no leader should sway.
The lord of the earth, the ruler of the world
You were once adored by Heaven and all
Most gracious Lucifer, the pride of the Almighty
Now lower than the basest of trash without pity
I wonder why you did it. I wish I could talk to you
I wish I could hear from your point of view
The version no one sees or hears.
I wish I could tell your story to who cares,
The hypocritical world, which has become a vestibule,
Will mock and say I ask the impossible
Curiosity drives me like a herd of cattle.
And I dance around like a snake’s rattle
Knowing as the Devil you were once an angel
Makes me know trust is overrated like a diamond bell
I do not judge you. That isn’t my job
The truth will be unwrapped someday like a cob
I do appreciate that you dared to be different
Though it made your membership card to be rent
Judgment for us is around the corner like homecoming
I extol not Satan, but the Son of the Morning
Peter is joining us for lunch in the cafeteria. I met him on a crowded Saturday morning at a coffee shop. He’s from the flammable, paper-dry, sagebrush hills of Malibu and grew up overlooking the hazy blue Pacific Ocean. He says Mel Gibson’s drunken Nazi rant, when a cop pulled him over for a DUI, put them on the map.
Poor Peter is fashion challenged. He’s 25, too tall, and too thin. Reading glasses hang around his neck. His too loose-fitting clothes are all variations of brown, like tawny, penny and wenge. He’s wearing a battered tweed coat, brown corduroy slacks and tortilla colored mock turtleneck. He’s adorably shabby-fancy. If he fell in the dormant, straw-yellow grass, we probably couldn’t find him.
Peter has a serious aura of experience about him. His cheek bones are sharp, his hair is an explosion of uncombed black, his skin is pale - bleached - by over exposure to library lighting.
He lives in a different world - the prosaic, laissez-faire universe of research - where students are left to their own devices and expected to self-manage.
Right now, he’s being vetted by one of my roommates, Leong. His student lanyard marks him, but she wants specifics if he’s going to hang around. “What’s your major?” she asks, her eyes squinting like the Chinese lie detectors they are. “I’m a doctoral student in applied physics,” he says.
I pat his knee, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I say, reassuringly.
Ignorance
Industrial tyrants wield ungodly power
Polluting oceans and jungles and skies
Apathy betrays a hungry desert flower
Gold and addictive oil the chosen prize
Broken promises fail to save the whale
On center stage mock tears glaze eyes
Venomous stifling gas newborns inhale
Ignorance drive beings to their demise
09/03/2013
2:54 p.m.
Venice, Italy
"Aboard a cruise liner"
alternately titled: 207th leap year since 1582
the year Pope Gregory XIII world leader
(i.e. essentially paterfamilias among
Roman Catholic flock)
timely maneuvered around calendrical rock
and hard space implementing
viable system tracking years ad hoc
out of sync and lock
step by one day
with astronomical calendar,
slated more'n acceptable tick tock
off kilter around the year of 4818
after common era making mock
re: regarding mankind organizing and
witnessing global chockablock
Democratic celebratory anniversary party
millenniums after Republican dynastic deadlock
thoroughly walled imponderable gridlock
worse fate than quaffing hemlock
practically snuffing out lock, stock
and barrel constitutional birthrights
thirteen original American
founding fathers ghosts experiencing shock
how initial inalienable rights
activists sacrificing life and limb
united with linkedin armlock
said freedom fighters shackled
within crowded jail moldering cinderblock
cold upon hemorrhoid riddle buttock
diehard libertarians unified, pilloried, denounced
legion with repulsion as Shylock
purported, reputed, touted playwright
(William Shakespeare's sited anti semite
The Merchant Of Venice) doth mock
Judaism in vogue four hundred plus years ago,
smoldering think white supremacists i.e. skinheads
violently aiming to knock
non Caucasians upside the head
courtesy pistol whip,
and/or emptying gunstock
into human flesh disenfranchise scaring up
one after another racial and/or ethnic aftershock
aforementioned celebrated bard unwittingly
strictly opinion of me:silly poet -
despite hashtagged as laughingstock,
(plus vitriolic objection taken)
voiced by Shakespearean expert defenders,
yours truly reckons mine thought provoking
regarding storied, lauded, and feted Globe theater
literary King my interpretations not crock.