Long Ning Poems
Long Ning Poems. Below are the most popular long Ning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ning poems by poem length and keyword.
I. e., this unfortunate
mere erred reflection,
aye re: zine
(pronounced Syne),
cuz you Matthew Scott Harris
act like an old curmudgeon,
does nothing but whine...
this one dimensional mere silver,
copper film and multi layered shine
of waterproof paint
on back surface doth deign
as merely superficial float glass fine
visualization cannot detach itself
(analogous to a Siamese
twin engine eared ensign)
sullying for all the
world wide web to see mine
capricious, facetious,
and inglorious rotten chine
(vis a vis via,
sexually seedy, Nein
dynamic, salaciously scabrous,
spicily shamelessly pine
ning sultry rhyme
(without reason) attempting
to wax eloquent as nonpareil poetry
by futilely try'n
to make a silk purse out of swine
(actually a sow's ear), meanwhile dine
'n high and mighty trump
petting haughtiness hoping to line
up ducks in a row at mine
(your poor reflection), hmm...wondering
mebbe I can latch unto a stein
way praying for some means
to become divine
very aware that
no mirrored reflection can exist
from a corporeal entity,
who cannot ever hurt or kill me,
but,...yeah go ahead,
and take a fist
also aware nothing can undo
that banal, carnal, and offal dreck,
which materiel could be ideal grist
for erotica such as Hustler,
and/or Penthouse, where prurient
Lady Chatterley's naked lunch evocations
conjured behind wordy myst.
Dexter has a dark uncontrollable need to take human life.
He's a serial killer psycho path most certified,
but innocents need not fear dark dreaming Dexter.
He satisfies his bloodlust by only killing other killers.
He channels his darkness where he believes it will do the most good,
eliminating predators who victimize innocents in his neighborhood.
He's not trying to be a hero vigilante or protector of the public.
He hasn't any delusions of being a superhero. No evidence of a God complex.
Quite frankly, feelings of conscience, remorse or any feelings at all
are quite alien for Dexter, but he must fake them all.
The only time Dexter truly feels anything
is when Dexter stalks and kills his next victim
and he must satisfy his craving again and again.
He kills only killers who like he haven't any feelings at all
because Dexter believes that's his best option at never getting caught.
Dexter is a Showtime TV series,
and despite it's darkness, it's also at times very funny.
http://billythekidsters-antisocialclub.ning.com/forum/topics/billythekidsters-dexter-page
'Pon gleaning lasses,
and sir really not alright
not "FAKE" lads
grievousness doth bite
Love's Labour's
(Romeo and Juliet)
Lost sequel - colyte
(an emetic) more
bare hubble despite
abdominal cramps
(post colonoscopy),
where this poetic soul admits,
the latter doth not
hole hearted lee excite
yet, countless plaintive verses fight
ting despair espied
by unsuspecting readers
(such as yours truly),
no shining knight
ruminating squelched, spurned, light
ning and/or soiled
paramours hurtful might -
bitter byte size pill
deters peaceful night
methinks tortures teariness plight
unstoppably, vicariously,
and wickedly quite
this veritable stranger experiences
lamentation toward each right
or left word thinking
youthful earthlinked, sad sight
fractured gnarled hotmail in tight
fitting pants, and/or
ill humored gal uptight
an afflicted aching,
thus this paean I write
availing thyself
for those who cry
(game lee), and perhaps
feel like they wanna die
unsure how to help
fracturing soul I espy
unable to heal,
but on a whim
this idea didst fly
unsure yar bitta
bing banged psyche
ja wanna entrust this guy
kindle ling emotional pain hi
underwent during mine
almost three scores years my
body sashayed round
the sun well nigh,
now within avast
delicate web I ply
tender tinder tumblr
full spilling sadness sigh
lent lee self cannibalizing
vulnerability, yet try
in vane unable to heal
airing youtube whatsapp
without me asking why
only this papa of two
near grown daughters
intervention likened
to race against time, -
viz being potential
dead serious life saver,
this yang doth not not lie!
NO ONE SEES HER
her essence
flickers in the shadows.
camouflage
green, addictive eyes
cobwebbed
in the corner
of a seedy porch,
alien.
is it terror
that bellows
from this balled up
figurine,
has the devil
hollowed out
her inner light?
should she be brought out
into the day
would we hear her vampiric scream —
the sun like a cross.
the shock
of a youth who stares
with glossed over eyes,
bundled up,
so no one will see her
the clink of light-ning fast shoes,
chatter and laughter
like gloom. nameless
in the darkest place of noon.
no one sees her
but me.
10/5/2019
DECADENT = ten teeth
CONFUSION = against melting with intensity
DEDICATION = a vacation in the afterlife
PURPOSE = Kitten posing while purring
INFORMATION = soldiers on parade
DELETED = Getting rid of Ted
FEATURED = An adventure about walking barefoot
SYLLABLE = Funny antics of a bull
CLASSICAL = A student eating a popsicle in class
MORNING = A lot more ning
PREVENTING = Before letting out air
PERPETUATE = Average for each pet you ate
ASSOCIATED = Your bum has social skills
BEAUTIFUL = Beauty filled to the top
REPRESENTED = Announce Ted is present again
PARTICIPATE = Average part in your hair
CONSISTING = Against your sister's hurtful remarks
WEAPONS = Small chess pieces
DEPARTMENT = Leaving your apartment
SENTENCE = Uptight delivery
PUBLISHING = Getting drunk in a bar
THOUSAND = Your beach
CANTALOUPE = Unable to run away and get married
IMPORTANCE = Buying ants from another country
DEFINITIONS = Hard of hearing finitions
EXPECTED = Ted who used to be hen pecked
GOVERNMENT = Vote for Vern election ad
POPULAR = Dad's favourite pew at church
© Jack Ellison 2014
Disappointed Devil - Hood Das Fume And Fret
'Curse darned demon
of that thar
underworld nudged me abet
as a permanent solution
to a temporary problem
i.e. principally no money
and rising debt
not for a long time didst
I feel so distressed didst,
where no amount of
optimism could get
back joie de vivre ebullient elan,
that oft times fines me jet
ting hither and yon, to and fro,
until spent energy met
fatigue, whence sand
man gave his pet
tickle yore sleep inducing
sprinkling granular set
tat heave, albeit
non off fence sieve tet
deep slumber didst
hone like a whet
stone, less drastic alternative versus
welcoming grim reaper, yet
eventually, aye reckon
this human machine
moost give up the ghost
boot not now,
cuz this moment hike ken boast...,
an immediate diminution
of anguish, viz unlike as told
yesterday, the monthly doled
social security automatic direct
electronic deposit extolled
joyus relief, viz checking account
death rattle didst sense a gold
din shimmer and em bold
qua slight monetary profusion
lowering destitution,
asper dearth of monies
allowing ease to un fold,
which severe dire straits rolled
forward respite
with money for nothing
oppressive full (rick kitty)
full Nelson neck
i.e. near choke hold
rejuvenated brittle psyche mold
during self feeling auld
also attendant temp
purred critical pull
away woe decreased yielding
(all "talk" and no action),
following thru with desperate,
sans destructive (irreversible)
actions unable to hold,
metaphorical tiger of despair
by the figurative tail,
where soul of mine
almost got "sold"
for a pittance (NOT penitence)
to the Prada devil
(or similar facsimile thereof)
rational self didst scold
spewing idle "FAKE"
hollw we ning suicidal threats,
not necessarily bold
cuz, this scribe did not write
his last (nor first,
second, third...) will
and testament before death,
would hove found
me stiff and cold.
The Long Drought
A raging drought is running, causing pain
Beneath the scorching sun, the barren plain
The river’s gone, she’s ceased her mighty flow
And bushland trees no longer thrive nor grow
The dams are low and dry, it pains my heart
Our town will slowly die and friends depart
No bales of straw or hay for starving stock
As more succumb each day, my dying flock
From hills of broom and land of dark”ning strife
He came to find a better way of life
The call of peaceful bush like magnet drew
In this sweet place my father’s dream came true
Beside a spread of bright and golden grain
A link was forged anew in our strong chain
Where ‘roos abound among the fields of corn
On this fair land, it’s here that I was born.
Work started for me at only fourteen
Became a sheep drover, still wiry lean
The days long an’ hard, the burden was light
The soil rich and dark, the future so bright
The farm became mine when my father died
Then came the dry clime, lost all of my pride
Long years of hard graft while still holding trust
Til lack of good rain turned soil into dust
The bank took our farm, I wished I were dead
Dark thoughts of self harm flood into my head
But senses prevail, I see them so clear
My darling wife, my young son very dear
I give you my hand, long time cobber mine
Take care of this land, it’s your dreaming time
Adieu my friends, for my time here is done
I'll pray for you all as the drought rages on.
poetically, and zealously
oozing, gushing, bubbling over
with faux snobbish suave re:
pulse sieve literary fatuous
haughtiness, and ludicrous narcissistic pre
ning all the while chuckling to me
self, and indifferent if
some anonymous browser
with Dutchman's breeches rolled up
upon cresting wave over Zyder Zee
disparages mine harmless
badinage, hence if ye
might qualify as such nitpicker,
who doth cavill - dee
crying wading thru
quagmire of verbiage,
a gentle reply to thee
might be more wise to turn energy
toward, how in many another country
the village people haint so free
spouting, sporting, and spoiling,
vis a vis intellectual sparring
(albeit innocent) black
barbs hatch chee
ving, and raising urgent
attention against he
(who whiz squelching
constitutional rights) re:
pressing, rescinding, reviling,
et cetera access toward key
underpinnings within these fifty
constituent United States
of America beckon alacrity
for obliging citizens across
all points of the compass to alee
v8 his indiscriminate flee
sing, sans bedrock nation could tee
tear on the brink of calamity,
which political plug quite inadequate
to staunch hemorrhaging, viz upending
many a sacred liberty,
and foo to you reprimanding
against any agree
gee us objection to pen about polly lee
ticks and/or religion!
Ugh, Why Must The Missus Vacuum At The Crack Of Dawn?
(circa: early December 27, 2018 morning)
There appears to be a
virulent (possibly deadly) strain
of housekeeping virus
Hoover ring in the air
asymptomatic tentatively linked to rein
deer droppings (micro-organisms) blare
ring and trumpeting beyond
the threshold to humans, though plain
lee send audible wavelengths
to symbiotic species clear
as a bell, which organisms don
nano size MAGA hats, and main
lee set up shop in carpet threads,
and chiefly thrive on deer
pellets, where one bee bee
gun size bullet serves long lane
of critters unseen can easily
make headway into ear,
eyes, nose, et cetera other
orifices, and Kane
inject unsuspecting vacuum sealed
byproduct to forswear
unsightly piles of dirt, debris,
dust bunnies, which Jain
Dharma would find
appalling horrifically glare
ring at desecrating supposed germ
carrying pests calling utterly inane,
the constant effort
to keep house beautiful heir
ruled ding disinfectant resistant,
whether mite tee Germaine,
or itty bitty teensy weensy siblings
many named Oh Fair
Roe One Wade for me, nonetheless seek
out porous fleshy terrain
allowing, enabling and providing
pinhead size portal
i.e. vector to engineer
transmitting a fast
acting alien entity
without any explain
nation, an immediate urge to spruce up
the place applying interlinear
trigonometry (of course adhering to
Feng Shui when rearranging), without drain
ning, lessening, zapping,
et cetera, but meer
really loose sing a whirling dervish
(mini tornado) fiercely
finding the spouse on feverish spree
to clean entire apartment chain!
When I was little and my world was small,
I had a fascination with island storms’ call.
As moist hot air ascends the skies and dark clouds form,
I grab my storybooks and set up my dorm.
Dorothy had Toto; I will have my brown book
For I never know what will happen to my nook.
While my folks prepare for the uninvited visitor;
I hardly mind, rather I get ready for pleasure.
Before the wind blows and the rain falls;
Grandma would serve meals and fill our bowls;
Lest it will be cold and tastes no good;
When darkness hit our humble abode.
Light(e)ning forks spread the cloudless skies;
Draw vivid images and emotions high;
I wonder then Noah was calm!
For us, children, we'd shriek and run!
When the breeze starts to whisper a humming cry,
We would start to gather ‘round father and sigh;
It is a cue for a tale to be told
And Pa always has stories untold,
Trees swirl, sending gusts whimper against the pane;
Violent waves tossed Crusoe’s ship to our brain.
Storms make stories in its marvelous form;
Stories birth silence and awe midst a storm;
As the wind howls in the stormy night,
Stories, like pray’r, make us feel alright.
6/30/2014