Long Molotov Poems
Long Molotov Poems. Below are the most popular long Molotov by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Molotov poems by poem length and keyword.
King Vlad is anything but Democracy’s man of the hour.
Rather, à coup sûr, he’s really Stalin’s nasty little boy
who ironically parades "svoboda" and "glasnost" like
he really means them—actually he means them not.
King Vlad’s political traditions and pronouncements
are well-known among those who are sadly aware
of his tapestry of treachery and deceit—oh so slovenly woven
for all to see, just like some of his fellow-gangster favorites:
Lenin, Stalin, Beria, Molotov, Brezhnev, and Andropov.
King Vlad is anything but a real world leader . . .
His "Kind" are an open book for all to see and understand
what they are and what they mean for all who strive
for openness, decency, and real compassion in the
twenty-first century world order.
King Vlad—just like his Dracula name sake,
is a man without a soul, without a conscience,
who shall never shudder, wince or cry
at the piercing death rattle of a Kalashnikov.
King Vlad is truly no friend of Democracy,
sounding even at times not unlike Hitler;
he’s a demon leader with innocent blood on his hands,
always quick with the old Soviet reply:
Lie . . . Deny . . . Accuse . . . Reject . . . Criticize . . .
all tools of this redoubtable master of prevarication.
King Vlad should know that the Heavenly Souls
of flight MH17 know the "bitter truth," gorkaya pravda,
surrounding his lies, treachery, and deceit—all pejorative
attributes to a man with the mask of a real monster who
had the very best Soviet teachers.
And so Generalissimo Stalin . . .
How do you like your nasty little boy now???
He’s right up your alley, right???
“Putin” has five letters just like “Devil.”
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (August 9, 2014)
(Free Verse)
Artfully dodging explosive solutions
pretending shackles restrained prisoner
lobbed pseudo Molotov cocktails
kindly, loosely, and mutinously linkedin
liberal short (make believe) chain
leashed faux abysmal isolated confinement
former courtly poet,
who consumed prison fare
equalling bread and thin gruel
poetical, quizzical, and rational thinking
wrought eventual gladness!
Meanwhile elsewhere within
another complex edifice
Stormy (Daniels) reign
came and went
accompanying barren
cruel don, trumpeting
issuing expansion fiat
wielding, gesticulating, brandishing...
ironclad golf club spouting art of the deal,
whereby might versus right
simultaneously Putin on the ritz
song and dance routine
crooning Ivana mock up Earth,
especially figurative roasting statesman christened
Elijah Cummings, an American politician
and civil rights advocate who served
in United States House of Representatives
for Maryland's 7th congressional district
from 1996 until his death in 2019.
That oversized ego freezer
with pouffed hair,
who shall not be named
made abominable destiny manifest
regarding eminent domain
dominion, he forcibly
relocated natives to Cajun shelters
charging them admission fees
manumission granted serving
white supremacist conveniently optioning
kids as scapegoats
re: Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA)
labor away migrants
grunts passive pluperfect targets
no matter forbears indigenous
to America unfortunately
been man-date to bite bullet
within badlands of El Paso
meanwhile oblivious hermit aging
barnacle encrusted manacles
absorbing cumulative dampness
no longer granting resistance
to life nor limb
timely manumission lovely bones restored
swallowed potion frothing colorful brew
contrived exquisite firearms.
Ah redeemed character
(any resemblance between
initially mentioned unfortunate soul
and living persons purely coincidental)
mentioned at outset of poem
broached out Alcatraz replica
free and clear fresh air revived
fifty shades of gray
immediately sieged moment
weakly hollered carpe diem
elixir imbued immunity
against taken hostage at gunpoint
freedmen impressed into service
while waved magic wand
whereby enslaved women
retaliated hashtagged misogynistic
took appropriate revenge
as apprenticed warrioresses!
I am not the girl for you,
I will destroy you, she promises.
Man undettered waits for perfection
To get her head straight, but too late
She still doesn’t find you appealing
So stop squealling about her disgust
For you and play a russian
Roulette of dating big city dames. again
You will find that special someone who
Suprises you like Molotov coctails spew
Flames over broken heart. Shame
She can’t turn and yearn for you,
tomorrow, maybe baby, but today
Stay away.
This happens so save it don’t pray
It will be a happy ending
Spending days under rays
of glazed eyes her feelings ice
your thirst becomes worst but
Fine wine and her cuisine yet tasted
Sweetly your energy well wasted
Form:
"AWOL in The Ixnayed Days"
Pieces of me
were stolen
long before
the war
cluster f****d
its way
into the
world today
The peace of me
swallowed
in the coma
that had settled
where the buried
mines and bombs
in the silent streets
of your mind lay
Triggers
for
The Others -
treason is a gift
never to be
considered
PSYOP
sleep walkers
trip wired sleepless
grenades shot
from a mouth
Spitfired Hornet
burns the well-oiled
Molotov hurt away
wired the triggers
to trip away in tune
tap dancing fingers
express
the internal glitch
a torn soul, split apart
morse code signals
over keys, notes attache
attempting
soft diplomacy,
Kalashnikov all the way
awol’d in the ixnayed days
with the poetic legion
and their gorgon demons
dreaming of a time
long before the poison
spoon fed from that monster,
Betrayal,
had its way
a note pinned
over the heart
X
target
for a clean mark
painting pictures
in numbers -
give it your best shot
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“I Appear Missing” / Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/C9OfBcjyxKY
"Shock me awake
Tear me apart
Pinned like a note
in a hospital gown
Deeper I sleep
Further down
A rabbit hole
never
to be found"
LYRICS/ "I Appear Missing", Queens of the Stone Age
https://genius.com/Queens-of-the-stone-age-i-appear-missing-lyrics
Congressman and senators forewent
all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers
and firearms as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold
more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs
and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and cock knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint
against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
and verve espoused by fellow delegates, and his hologram ghost bloody
from battle scars outside and/or inside
the halls of government where blows bashed
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate
as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis
of the twenty first century
during the term of Donald Trump
who throve on the cutthroat frenzied
internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon any hope for civilians to escape bloodshed
spilled from without vaunted halls of justice,
the approach of doomsday
writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed
with uproarious coup d’etat,
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
Form:
Young women give me back my heart
We were both walking down the aisle
(In a supermarket not a church)
I caught a glimpse of that sweet smile
Those brown eyes and black hair
I didn’t mean to stare
(but it was a volatile heart moment)
With you and me there
Passion spreads like a Molotov cocktail
Fires spread across my heart
The face of Venus, the space between us
Closes as I get closer to your grocery cart
I drop a note and get your attention
And say “Excuse me is this yours Miss”
On down the aisle and looking back at each other
(We are in a moment like this)
The note reads:
I am so glad you took my note
I wasn’t sure how to get it through
I am glad (though spontaneously)
(As summer winds gust) to have met you
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing
with powder puffs sans canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble, and liberal took a page
from playbook of Pandora, and took an aimless swing
at the root cause of melee by hurling objet’s d’art
at the pompous trump ping
Septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric that made America great
wantonly soup peer egg go whist tickly
reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when Whistler Blowers
getting water boarded and aching
deigning to implement dictatorship
of the Proletariat as a capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths
viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic
twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by the New York Nicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries
with limping bodies spent like derricks
Oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice in Chains and
Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.
Some say don't fear while others fret
On all of the happenings
We've struck a match to our past
"Now the house we've built is burning"
Our forefathers built with blood, sweat, and tears
The foundation we have here
Well into two hundred years
"What lessons are we learning"
The contract in which they wrote down
Constitutes sacred ground
Flick the Bic and burn it down
"Not worried over who we're hurting"
Generations yet to come
What will we be teaching them
That hard work makes great kindling
"Does anyone else find that disturbing"
Overtime it was bound to run its course
Now we know why Miss Liberty carries a torch
We tossed a molotov cocktail onto our own front porch
"Now the house we've built is burning
It’s Personal—
Two hundred and fifty years—
dehumanized, shackled hell.
40 acres, a mule—
The Baited Deception—
Freedom’s lie,
unraveled fast—
no ground to stand,
no stake, no soil.
Just free—to serve,
the bitter coil.
The Trick—
Sharecropping,
slavery with a smirk.
Chains faded,
but still you took, still you choked.
The Loaded Gun—
“Be thankful,” they spat—
block tenements,
stamp rations—
branded worth.
Bars replaced chains.
Drugs bused in—
rotted minds,
bodies, souls.
Children bused out,
scraps of opportunity—
but real access? Your joke.
The Eradication—
Babies shot down,
families split—
debt replaced the whip.
Toxins poured, veins tested,
dialects drowned,
hope gutted,
names scratched out,
truth burned from pages.
The loud ones?
Examples—crushed flat.
Entry—unapologetically denied.
The Arrears—
Count it:
days, years, centuries—
labor stolen, unpaid.
It sears our bones,
boils our veins,
screams through locked jaws—
no land, no mule,
only us—left to wear the pain.
The Molotov Cocktail—
You dodge it.
Scrub it from your mind—
erase the stain.
“Much too long ago.”
“Never happened.”
Well—not.
Your greed built this roof,
and now it tilts.
Here we stand—
Brown is rising,
the tide is turning,
the debt’s still due.
Rabbi Lehrfield wrote that he's afraid of what can ensue
walking the streets of Denver with a cover on his head
subsequently called by a stranger "Dirty Jew",
Plus a Molotov cocktail left one woman dead.
An Israeli woman moved to a Vermont small town
where doors are unlocked, its safe and clean.
back in Israel bombs and knives were going down
But her neighbors now say Israel's an apartheid regime.
(chorus)
Places once safe, now cause fear
Spaces are shrinking, danger is near
Much of the world is a no-go zone
A place where you can't be left alone.
Michael Sachs moved to Tulsa, where he can breathe,
He had to escape Canadian hate
He says lots of Canadian Jews want to leave
Police there leave them to their fate.
Gaza is discussed in small towns in Britain
And in the universities, and by the activist class
Simon Montefiore tells us this, I ask where it is written:
That Jews don't get a pass.
The population of Gaza is more than before the war
At least that's what the CIA handbook lays out
It's not just projections, and not lies at the core
Though civilians die in war, of that there's no doubt.
Maybe for you things are going fine.
But the writing is on the wall
Heed the canaries in the coal mine
Hear the echo of their call.