Long Mode Poems
Long Mode Poems. Below are the most popular long Mode by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mode poems by poem length and keyword.
I swung with a vengeance but missed that damned fly
The breeze I’d created caused him to pass by
My electric racquet in underarm mode
Still failed to make that bluebottle explode
It filled me with hate as it buzzed round my plate
I swung and I swung and became more irate
That foul little demon was soon to be dead
As soon as it took itself off of my head
Now, I’m not a coward in anyone’s book
But I’m in no hurry to smell my brain cook
I angled my zapper to strike as it rose
And almost set fire to the tip of my nose
It flitted at speed like a Pac-Man on heat
But I am a human… I will not be beat
My dinner was cooling and it wasn’t salad
I’ll murder that fly and then write me a ballad
Overarm, underarm, back-hand and flip
My energised racquet was firm in my grip
At one point it landed on chandelier-high
And I had to wave that light fitting goodbye
My sausage was cold (can we please keep this clean)
And I had become a fly killing machine
A back somersault and a cartwheel or two
My electric racquet had flashed neon blue
Poor little Tiddles, she trusted me so
Her recuperation has some way to go
But I’ll give her cuddles and snuggles and then
I dearly regret that I zapped her again
Twas kinda Dick Whittington, but in reverse
Tiddles left home and I don’t know what’s worse
My poor little kitten is out on her own
But that demon-fly is at rest on my phone
How great the temptation to say what the hell
And batter that fly and my iPhone as well
But then it took off and it sped through the air
I swung and I swiped and set fire to my hair
Okay I confess; just a few hairs got singed
But I don’t have many and that’s why I whinged
In anger I swiped at the sound of its hums
Which came close to giving me two deep fried plums
How bloody long can a bluebottle live
My electric racquet and I cannot give
Yet more gymnastics to vanquish our foe
As I shoot some volts through my right hand big toe
I whirled like a dervish and now on a mission
I swung like a thing that had infra red vision
But, boy, did I cheer at the quiet little ‘phut!’
As that fly took a window to find it was shut
***
But now I feel guilty for I’ve done okay
Though I don’t know who saw me swinging away
I owe my new job to that small airborne menace
My local school wants me to teach the kids tennis
Kim (one of my BFF) brightened with inspiration, “Oooo! Send him a sexy pic!”
“I’m NOT going to sext a guy out of the BLUE,” I grumbled, indignantly.
Kim turned to her phone, “No, No, of COURSE not.” She said as she texted.
“Come on” she said, as she pulled me off my chair and out the door. We raced over, on foot, to my friend Bili’s house (two houses away). We entered without knocking (as usual) and ran upstairs.
Bili lay on her stomach on her unmade bed, fiddling with her phone, ankles up and crossed but she twisted up to attention when we came in.
“What should we do first?” She said, as if there were a million things to do.
They set upon me and had my regular clothes off in a heartbeat. Like all makeovers, this had a prelapsarian purity - the ritual stripping down to blankness before rebuilding.
They quickly went through about half of Bili’s closet - selecting just the right combination of trashy and classy clothes designed to seduce.
They finally settled on a black slip under an ivory peignoir, stockings with garters and black strappy heels.
Kim twisted my hair up into a loose “Gibson Girl.”
“Hold still,” Bili said, as she grasped my chin and expertly blended red, gold and black glittery eyeshadows followed by lip liner and gloss. “This is just a quickie job,” she reminded me.
I stared at this strange version of myself in the vanity.
Kim frowned and looking around, she spread a pink scarf over the desk light to give the room a rosy glow. They went into studio mode - posing me in various ways from coquettish to bored lounging - suggesting expressions and taking endless pictures with my phone.
Finally, they were satisfied and handed me my phone.
“Shall we go through them?” Bili asked
“Naah,” I said, “I’ll go through ‘em and pick one - or two.”
Later, at home, I looked through them - I looked SO different - and I had to admit - sexy even. But was that ME? I cringed, what if my mom saw these trashy, Kardashian-like photos somewhere?
I never sent them. I thought I’d have to explain it to my girls.
“HA!” They laughed, “We KNEW you’d never use ‘em” Bili said, as Kim shook her head “Nope.”
“It was fun though!” We all agreed.
.
.
.
NOTE: This is a pre-pandemic story from August 2019. I was 15 - the idea wasn’t to seduce this guy, it was to get his interest so he would ask me out . =]
Chains, hay forks, knives, and a hollow whisper,
become more true and sinister.
Halt in the middle of the moon light,
and a waver image soon is no delight.
Voices run a muck in the head,
so not calming you wish you were dead.
Gushing blood through the eye
not an image that you would rely.
Nails stuck on your neck with such pain
so your paralyze just little life sustain.
Hoodlums terrorizing people running a muck
did not really know they are in luck.
More dangerous beings are out their
to commit such act and with sinister stare.
Laughing with haunting echo's through
is an aspect of fear can imbue.
The wind changes direction to smother
the echoing sound of laughter.
The panicking state that you are in
soon drives a knife within.
Blood rushing out of your vain
a crucial part of your life dropping like rain.
Running without a destination
you will never reach anyone of your relation.
Sliding your body on a wall
keeping your fall in a stall.
Red eyes you can see it at night
is soon devouring you with little bite.
Changing your belief with tonics of relief
and it is to late to turn a new leaf.
Ears start to deceive the animals sound
eating limbs are chewing around.
Slowly your red eyes steadily getting heavy
is starting to take your life with a levy.
Dropping down with no attitude
and your life force slowly loses altitude.
Breathing comes not so easy
smelling flesh seems so beastly.
The change comes a desire
with frightening red eyes of fire.
Comes more lethal than the hoodlums
your heart beating like drums.
Your hand becomes all fury
claws come out and your howl with furry.
Trance your in with no one to blame
a rage thats hundreds of centuries of flame.
Rising from a slumber of long lust
a animal instinct that you can trust.
Tearing things apart with no meaning
is a trait that is so deceiving.
Red eyes at night you see in a window
like a poisonous black widow.
Keeps you in attack mode of insanity
that takes all your vanity.
Ferocious emotions eating away
the soul that you had once betray.
The echoing sounds of loud thunder
breaks away the armor with sunder.
You fall once again to torturous agony
the feeling of one self is so lonely.
Shaking in the corner you are found
with blood soaked skin you drowned.
The night becomes day cruel in some way
your memories go in disarray.
The hunters with torches and sinister look
had parted way their hands shook.
Found the G.E.C.K and a genius super mutant named Fawkes
It's the lone wanderer, were their truly any doubts
On his way back, the enclave stun him cold
It's the lone wanderer, they must truly be bold
He wakes up to the face of the man that murdered his father and his dream
The lone wanders promises to severe the head from this fiend
They made a mistake and set him free
He lets off some steam and goes on a killing spree
Hoping to find the fiend, instead he finds a computer
It claimed to be president Eden, the leader of the future
The lone wanderer couldn't believe the stupidity
It gave him the F.E.V virus and claimed it was the best for humanity
The lone wanderer then remembers he found a self-destruct code
He told president Eden he was a whole
Laughing while he activates It's self-destruct mode
Running and gunning to his P.I.P boy radio
Listening to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' to fit the scenario
Turning Enclave soldiers into mashed potatoes
By the time he escaped the count down hit zero,
The lone wanderer stood in the background looking like a hero
Reunited with the genius super mutant Fawkes
They now have matching toys to take back to the house
Deciding to stick together for a noble cause,
They return to the Citadel after unloading a few hundred shots
The Brother Hood Of Steel commended them and gave them a round of applause
Time now to suit up and release a giant robot
'Now we take back the purifier!', Cried Sarah Lyons
'Take everything you can because only Enclave shall be dying'
The lone wanderer refuses their power armor and instead pulls out his Gatling gun
Him and Fawkes bump guns and are already for some fun
They rush through the gate behind the giant robot shooting a vertibird out of the sky
Running through the carnage seeing Talon mercs pass by
Barging through the front door of Jefferson's memorial
Spraying Enclave soldiers in a effortless tutorial
Beams from vengeance making clean incisions
Rapid is its fire with precise precision
Even if the lone wanderer had no vision
Fawkes and him could easily wipe out colonel Autumn's entire division
Now approaches colonel Autumn's final hour,
Without hesitation the lone wanderer draws his sword with power
Striking colonel Autumn dead and sour
Before his head rolls into the water,
The lone wanderer convinces Fawkes to play a little soccer
She needs to feel in love to drive aside the night,
I love to feel in love, ONE source of joy and light,
When love is not at home, she’s sad to be alone,
When love is not in sight, the world is mine to roam.
Beginnings bring disquiet, thoughts that might implode,
Anticipation puts my heart in singing mode,
A friend’s departure makes her shadows fall,
But I hear stranger’s voices lighting up the hall.
Experience has made her doubt her heart it seems,
While all my failures just enrich unending dreams,
Her mounting fear makes her the slave of every rule,
My foolish faith makes me a 'dead' God’s guileless fool.
She stands alone in following the crowd du jour,
While I’m more fascinated by a life impure,
Imputes blame to the victim’s of life’s latest farce,
While laughingly I stoop to kiss God’s ****.
Responsibility can’t live behind her door,
It must be me, (I know I’ve heard this line before.)
One lesson learned (defining sensibility),
Seems all that happen’s my responsibility.
So childlike in her need to feel that all is well,
It fills my soul to tell her, ‘Things are going swell,’
And though it’s true her doubts at times can cause me pain,
I hunger for the chance to tell her so again.
Oct. 12, 2014
Poet's Notes:
Man's redeeming strength, woman's affirming weakness! What makes the world go round! I find it works for me! Even when it's reversed! Viva la difference, viva la diversity! May we ever aspire to the giftings of those we love without jealousy, men learning that bending is not always a sign of weakness, and women learning to trust the strength that comes from God.
The lines...
1. My foolish faith makes me a 'dead' God’s guileless fool
is meant to be tongue in cheek, i.e., even if you thought you could prove that 'God is dead' I would continue to believe in God, your proof of no consequence. I am a questioning but mindless devotee I am afraid. No God is worse than death!
and
2. While I’m more fascinated by a life impure
simply means I take to heart Christ's teaching that no one has ever reconciled himself to God through his own effort, i.e.. justification by obedience (except Christ). If God/Christ can love the sinful you and I, shouldn't I? So yes Merov Tac (PH's resident Troll), that means I feel called by God to love even you, even though I personally hate your behavior.
When does a child become society’s child?
Some children are forced out of being children
Some are put back into children mode which is hard
The fact that this happens is because of parents not thinking
The parents either separated, divorce, or worst case died
When a child is faced with this it is hardship it can’t recognize
When a child either lost or got separated from parents, why?
That’s when society takes the child and moves them
But at that moment of time the child does not understand
Children are forced to rely on their own thoughts and Idea
Which is very young and not as factual, but they still know
The child has to grow up fast, its just nature its protection
The growth of emotion excels beyond a child that has parents
The point that I am making is that the child needs the adult
The symbolic of guardian, safe, reliable, kind, lovable, informational
The problem I am going to explain is that it is not always there
Children that grow fast, has fifty, fifty chance of growing normal
But adults are to blame after taking this chance of mentoring
Sometimes the adult belief is that they are too young to know
But it’s not that, the problem is growth of emotion and idea
Without limitation that they can see in front of them
Children out grow their physical body in mentality
Parents is the key to limiting the emotional growth of a child
There is no doubt that fostering and adoption has been great
But this does not solve all the pain and sorrow that the child has
It is bottled in there soul, I do not know how to heal that yet
But in theory loving them and showing them gentleness
Is what they need, but Society does not have room some times
Because of this children that has parents still have problem
It’s needs to be known that parents should even go to classes
To have a child is to have knowledge of the child expectations
Society gives lots to parents that need it, but they need education
If a person wants a child they should at least go to class
Once or twice a year to see what motivates them to have the child
It is not always money; it is friendship, love, care, and the need
Humanity is always looking to get closer to each other
This includes children who do not have parents, singled out
Society is made of people and people who do not have a child
Well, they should be able to foster one or adopt.
Remembering Mrs. Sully always makes my face break out into smiling mode.
Her face was as craggy as a grave, there was an aluminum tooth on the left.
When she smiled, it gleamed with pure happiness, making her stories even better.
When I first met her, her ferocious stories kept my gentle side terrified, for hours.
I thought she was the Hansel and Gretel witch, because she looked like my vision of her.
There was a unique smell around Mrs. Sully, an earthy, vegetable-type smell.
She was always in her garden, killing snakes, big black ones, with large mouths.
She relished showing us how she whacked them with her hoe, hacking them to pieces.
Although short, stooped over and old, she was a force no snake wanted to encounter.
Her stories were full of spit and vim, anger, and devilishly mean murders and such.
If you decided to share a story, she did not hear it, she did not pause if you wanted to talk.
You had to walk along beside her, acting like wearing two or three house dresses
over each other under a pair of overalls was normal, seeing the bibs and lace stick out like crazy.
Her expertise was incessant talking, not waiting for social cues or societal nonsense like that.
She knew about all the hangings that had ever happened in the county, and relished telling
About them in full-force detail, hoping to keep us on our toes, ripe with worry.
All you have to do is mention the words Mrs. Sully, and the old-timers smile, remembering
Those awful hangings, and what happened after the rope was yanked, because we all knew.
Sometimes I swear I see her in her old black hat, pulled down nearly to her eyes,
Stooped carriage, pushing a rusty brown wheelbarrow full of produce, from one farm to another.
We were lucky, our house was smack in the middle, so we would run out and hear the tale of the day.
She owned two properties, a block and a half from each other, one of them had goats.
If we were really lucky, she would have one of her mean goats on a little leash and we could walk our block with it, as it butted us with its angry head.
Rumors said the goats slept in the house with her. It did not matter to me, she was a character
I will never forget her, sometimes picturing that amazing aluminum tooth, which told excellent
Stories. Stories I do not dare tell my own sweet grandchildren, as they stay up too late already.
About several years ago
I had a car accident in my sporty fancy car
the car was clean and full with gas
I stopped to make a left turn
a few miles away from home
on that day, I was alone
possibly, my Mother and Daughter, or other were to go with me on that day
somehow, I think that they cancelled as I went on my way
I imagined if someone was in the car with me on that day
Oh Lord, what would of been if they was there
you see God knows your life
it was a miracle that I survived it all
after being hit from the back as I can re-call
an elderly man driving so fast
the noise was so loud as it quickly lasted
the back end of my car was dented all of the way in
as I got out of the car and looked so surprised
I said to myself, It is not so bad
until I looked at the back end of the car
half way gone totalled out, as I could of shouted!!!!
But, I thank God that it was not me that was damaged
I can get another car, my life was in a surprise mode
I am so glad that my seat belt was on
someone said that if I did not have my seat belt on
I could of been thrown, maybe long gone
some people started bringing my car parts to me
gathering around at the car accident scene
as people were standing by
the driver was there too, he was okay
I am glad for us both we made it through
I asked him later at the hospital
What happened? He first said; are you that Lady that was driving the car?
I replied yes, He said that he just did not see me
I said to him God is good
Angels were there on that special day
a extraordinary way was made
I was guided into a parking lot and the car then stopped
after I was hit, I wonder if this man was lit
I just knew that I was a survivor and he was too
the Lord spared me on that most terrifying day
All I can say is Thank you Lord with Praises
I could have died or maybe been paralyzed
my neck was so sore after that scene
I went home later that night after being tested
it was a day that I'll always remember
I am here this day to tell this testimony
I am here for a purpose I made it out alive
Until this day and always I am thankful and greatful to GOD
I am in my right and sound mind.
By: **Catherine Jackson Townsend.
~~I was spared. I am a survivor of many many obstacles in my life.
It was said of old, 'Truth lies open to all', but today
perception is all; no one is perfect but perception
can cure all blemishes, avoiding the fate of being hero
to zero that brittle celebrity promises in life, in posterity.
What a vicar would be shocked to hear, to see, as though
these shock jocks of life and death are maiden aunts who
have never lived: after their demise what a media shock,
what a surprise that these puritans had a love life being
charitable on the sly, belying their dark clothed strictures.
Prim and proper Betjeman's Fifties pose metamorphosed
into a lamentation that he wished that he had more sex
unlike Greeneland's adventurist aunt who had no need to
fabled in the Sixties: our time for ever and always for everyone.
Making our moral dilemmas not confusing morality
with law, hating injustice but being unjust by being
self-righteous becoming our own judge-pentinents
before the fear of ourselves more than this wicked wide world
of wonders defying cynicism by imbedding in us scepticism;
not just of the hypocrtical red- tops that only rarely have a
kernel of truth besmirched by lawyers some of whom not
not having their chopped heads off are a sure defence
of the powerless and true. Even when perception is as
broadminded as the times while being full of righteous
outrage if time fast forwards the past obeying a new
morality old, dressed in new garb.
Who riots? Who occupies? Who wins? Who loses?
We see darkly as we shadow the mote in our
own eye until we can see we are all in this together whether
we are together or not; when hidden charity characterises
us in not in righteous mode in nor complacent commode,
so that one day, for all living on this oblique spheroid,
we can all truly say that, 'Truth lies open to all', on the good Earth.
[Continued from Part Two]
The elder took no notice of risking life and limb.
Hither, thither ran the children, glancing up at him,
while indulging mindlessly in each impulsive whim,
with no apprehension of the future looking grim.
Their chances for salvation seemed increasingly slim…
That aged man’s deep compassion filled him to the brim.
The father knew the children liked any strange device,
exotic playthings, trinkets, whatever would entice.
He needed now to improvise a mode, in a trice,
that could capture their attention— something to suffice
to hold their young imaginations— to be precise,
a mechanism marvelous, no matter the price.
He had stores of immeasurable wealth, beyond doubt,
and his warmhearted love was impartially devout.
Just then the elder had the thought that not in the least
would his limitless riches and reserves be decreased,
even if to a kingdom vast he were to dispense
his overflowing fortune… so why shouldn’t he hence
give out his wealth directly to his progeny all,
before the children’s catastrophic deaths should befall?
The aged man reflected on what tactic to pick—
an expedient means that was sure to do the trick.
He told the children of exquisite toys he possessed
along with lots of precious carts of the very best
craftsmanship and quality, that all had been designed
expressly with the youngsters’ own enjoyment in mind.
The elder next, in order to persuade them, stated
that right outside the house at the entrance awaited,
to suit the young ones’ fancies skillfully created
goat, sheep, deer, and ox carts, ornately decorated.
He said that they must rush to leave the mansion, in haste,
and he’d give them everything— there was no time to waste.
Then the children finally fulfilled his desire
and scurried in a race safely out of the fire.
The father beamed with bliss that the urgency had passed.
They had securely left the burning building at last!
When they’d exited and scampered out, they all sat down
on the dewy earth and asked their father, with a frown,
where the toys and carts were that the elder had portrayed
for their own special likings to have been tailor-made.
The youngsters had escaped and the elder’s heart was eased.
But now each one of their capricious wants must be pleased.
[Continued in Part Four]
~ Harley White