Long Octane Poems
Long Octane Poems. Below are the most popular long Octane by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Octane poems by poem length and keyword.
The end of everything
The master of the old tank ship that resembled a schooner
sat fretting in his cabin; for twenty years he had been
the master of the ship, a friendship between the animate
and the inanimate had developed.
During the war years, the ship delivered high-octane plane
fuel from the USA to Britain, with him on the bridge in storms
and calm; they had seen ships blown up by torpedoes both
on the starboard side and the portside, it was as the ship and
he breathed in unison.
For five years, they had traversed across the Atlantic except for
a few times when she was in dry dock for maintenance and
when everyone had gone ashore, he stayed onboard, keeping
her company.
So many faces, too many to remember, had crossed her decks
no one stayed long, she had no comfort to offer, narrow cabins
the shower units were connected to the cold sea; didn’t they
see she had kept them alive?
It was over now she had been sold as scrap, he, homeless.
Once the king had given him medals, he and the ship had
been extolled in the papers that said she was a lucky ship
and him they called a great seaman.
Soon enough, he would go to the mystic island were sailors
and Nirvana’s Ocean cleanses the memories of the departed.
Yours is my sacred non-zero soul
core center shared
within
Surrounded by your robust
fertile
masculine energy
Not to exploit
and yet not too shy
Not too retractive
nor extractive,
equipoised
Anticipating
our cooperative re-investing,
powerfully ebbing
and succulently flowing
further enculturating future.
So, I do not cheat without you
in my most polypathic
panentheistic imaged way,
Always knowing we must each
separately
and full-clothed return
to yet another Patriarchal
White Capitalist dominant
LeftBrain academically
monoculturally anthro-supremacist
Straight Day
Our monotheistic Way
on Earth
waiting for full
and edifying thrusts
of and from
multicultural indigenous EarthTribe trust
in octaved sensory
resolving light
and musical resounding sound
Imagining
engaging
co-empathic RightHemisphere senses heard
and felt
in nonzero whole-sum
resplendently glad non-choices
CoEmpowered both/and opportunities
CoInfested
hot and hasty
awaiting win/win economic
and political play.
Doing my wholesome
whole sums
holy nonzero full of life
so not so win/lose unwholesome
empty entropy
unbecoming
Is not here where Eden
promised my wounded child
GreenPeace
restorying panentheistic
omniscient
WholeSum Systemic
yang-yintegral
resilient health pay ways
Way to say
You are the egocenter
within my ecosystemic
copassions gay
Taurus full-octaved
yang yintegral octane
regenerative DNA
poetic display
noetic fray
In a land-linear
and a deep sea-full
of repercussive 1/0
co-binary fruitful
erotic
sacred organic
double-binding fun
In between EarthPowered yintegrity
and HeavenLighting yang sun
Solar systemic enlightened
by indigenously sun-powered EarthTribe
Healthy selfcare flowing fun...
Inside/Outside pun...
Ego/Eco systemic run...
PolyCultural languaged plum...
Yang/Yintegral polymathic
polynomially polypathic
polyvagal neurosystemic
nutrients of super-positive health
Balancing ecological green wealth
living
organic Whole Systemic
language voices
nonviolent win/win
optimizing trans-connecting choices
So, in a way
I could not win cheating on your loss
in our most polypathic
panentheistic win/win privileged way
polyculturally healthy
within this singularly wealthy
gay day.
The end of everything
The master of the old tank ship that resembled a schooner
sat fretting in his cabin; for twenty years, he had been
the master of the vessel, a friendship between the animate
and the inanimate had developed.
During the war years, the ship delivered high-octane plane
fuel from the USA to Britain, with him on the bridge in storms
and calm; they had seen ships blown up by torpedoes, both
on the starboard side and the portside, it was as the ship and
he breathed in unison.
For five years, they had traversed across the Atlantic except for
a few times when she was in dry dock for maintenance and
when everyone had gone ashore, he stayed onboard, keeping
her company.
So many faces, too many to remember, had crossed her decks
no one stayed long,« she had no comfort in offering narrow cabins
shower units connected to the cold sea; didn’t they
see she had kept them alive?
It is over now, sold as scrap, he, homeless.
Once the king had given him medals, he and the ship had
been extolled in the papers, saying she was a lucky ship
and that they called him a great seaman.
Soon enough, he would go to the mystic island where sailors
and Nirvana’s Ocean cleanses the memories of the departed.
we cannot pinpoint the day nor time when God created all that we see
but we know when fire was introduced as a part of mankind's destiny
fire gave birth to many things it's a blessing and a burden as well
it has many good properties but it also burns in hell
that which has the most potential for good has the most potential for evil too
but as long as we don't abuse fire it's Godly purpose will stay true
now Pentacost was the day when all men were on one accord
a Feast of the Harvest to celebrate the goodness of the Lord
on that day a mighty wind rushed over everyone
and all were set on fire by the Holy Spirit of the Heavenly Son
the Holy Spirit is the comforter and the essence of God's kind
the Holy Spirit is the presence of God that soothes our troubled minds
set on fire a burning bush was what Moses did see
in the presence of God awaiting direction for Israels' destiny
set on fire those three young Jewish men when into an inferno they were thrown
for refusing to bow down to any other only to the God that they had known
set on fire to remove the dross and impurities in life
set on fire by the Holy Spirit of Our Lord Jesus the Christ
baptism by fire to be purified by the spirit of the Lord
like on the day of Pentacost when all were on one accord
to be cleansed of all anger, all hurt, all bitterness and all of the pain
now filled with the Holy Spirit energized and enlightened in Jesus' name
an internal combustion has occured for from within you've been set on fire
a new passion has erupted for by the Spirit you've been inspired
now powered by the Holy Spirit infused with the octane that is Jesus Christ
set on fire with the need to live a more Godly life
Pentacost the day when all felt the presence of the Holy Lord
set on fire speaking in tongue yet all were on one accord
Alright have to admit that whole drole Bazball or Baz Bat cool cat vibe…rabbit out of hat tribe.. is taking its toll..sunk in a hole..losing it’s goal and soul..not being a vitriol troll..maybe need to mull over a cull of this rigmarole..
Can’t pretend..is the end of this spangly jangly new fangled trend…nothing off the shelf…just express yourself…won’t spank you..will almost thank you.. if you tank…bonkers fools rules you can’t bend…must always go stonkers.. all cool no old school…when you shan't defend and depend on a blend of soft conkers and tracks to conquer..
Let’s explain there are many ways to play and entertain…the lotto of the Baz grotto..no dull lulls …no more bore score draws…one motto…just high octane insane where seemingly the sole means to control is a flat track that blunts and shunts how every attack does bowl..
I know..have already banged on..had a go at the pitches…feather beds so flat you can bat gung ho heave ho from the get go.. no wear and tear..glitches or hitches.. despair to stop the flair.. no real movement in the air or off the square..the Bazball pest…Bazbat conquest..effectively saying no we won’t be surfing the crest of a true test contest of willow and leather..hey ho nonny no…to the real deal Test fest..tally ho..
No pretension..apprehension of the lacking dimensions and few mentions of the best Test tensions..
Also must rebuke how they have turned the duke ball from a serious nuke which would spook.. enthrall..now reliant on a cherry that gets so soft you need a fluke ..well Dukes will be compliant as England’s their biggest client…we saw our copper haired laird no longer..stronger defiant..again came a cropper..and this was hardly a proper whopper green topper..
It seems kitsch Bazball rule needily greedily avoids any glitches or hitches in batter’s riches which in turn.. does spurn and bewitches merchants of seams and stitches..
Well it can be dicey to make your tracks at home too spicy..get in a lather…at the palaver as runs become rather pricey..when you could goad..milk that ilk as you explode on a silk road..
Our selector trifecta…the three wise men..Baz..Bob and Ben.. know if there is no speedster thuggery… no Geoffrey jaffas…bunsen spin skulduggery..they will be the gaffers with some Bazball muggery..
Day-193 “Very Bad Santa Crawl”
Once upon a time
I wandered upon this scene
Was quite a jolly bunch
Down in New Orleans
Down on Bourbon Street
Where bad boys and girls come to play
Some say it‘s for charity
Some say it’s for fun
I say it looks like they all
Just wanta get drunk
What would Santa think
If he really knew
What was in that brew?
Whoa there Rudolph!
Looks like fun’s about to take place
The children will have to wait
Cause I’m gonna be late
Octane for two Please
Poor o’l Rudolph
Needs a little more juice
He’s up on the roof top
Stealing a feel and
Stomping his feet
Out of the Bijous
They stumbled
An army of Santa’s
All dressed in red
Drums and trumpets
Tambourines and cowbells
Crashing the scene
Without a theme
If you know what I mean
Poor o’l Santa
His hair all a mess
Lipstick on his beard
His cap borrowed for a kiss
Fell flat on his face
Up on the roof top
Rudolph was all a miss
His nose all shiny
His antlers aflame
Cried out to the crowd
Bring o’l Santa back
We have places to be
With a jug in his hand
And a silly grin
O’l Santa crawled back
To his sleigh and with a grand
“Hi Ho”
Off the roof top they flew
Now all you mothers and fathers out there
Never tell this story to your little ones
For they will wonder where you’ve been
When you come home stinking of gin
Before Christmas Eve ends.
For there ain’t no place like
Bourbon Street when
Santa comes to town
Yaw Hoo! Bring on the cheer
Lon 12/23/2020 #195
Spring takes me for a long walk in the park:
with emerald trees
swaying in the breeze.
And I hear the chirps of a meadowlark;
sung to captivate,
and attract a mate.
A bushy-tailed squirrel scampers up a tree;
and then immediately starts scolding me:
and I can't help but smile.
The grass feels ticklish under my bare feet:
wet with drops of dew
as I wander through.
And after Winter's white, green is a treat;
a feast for the eyes
under clear blue skies.
A plethora of wildflowers is in bloom,
each blossom flaunting a colorful costume:
and I can't help but smile.
Inhaling a fresh breath of perfumed air:
my heart skips a beat,
for it tastes so sweet.
Spring's innate beauty is beyond compare:
wherever I go,
watercolors flow.
A time of jubilation and renewal:
for although Winter can be long and cruel;
Spring's super octane allows life to refuel.
I've walked about a mile:
and I can't help but smile.
It felt so good, like we were movie stars
You were with me, my friends, in my suped-up car
Through the village street at such high-octane speed
Tyres screech, car screams, girls see.
Bump the kerb, skid through the bend
We are men in a car, driving like this mission won't end
Police give chase, blue lights flashing behind
This is where the night changes from fun to wild
Now forcing harder and sharper at corners and bends
One mistake now and it all ends.........
People gather near the pub
Streetlights shine over the blood
Car is dead, crashed into a wall
Friends are dead, seat belts and all!
Policeman is the last one I see
Pain, blood, metal sticking out of me
He winces when he sees the bloody mess
Looks into my eyes with a sad grimace
I hear the siren of the ambulance come
I turn my head to see the paramedics run
I turn back to see the policeman in the cold dark rain
With tears in his eyes he asks me my name
I smile and before I can speak it to him
The sounds all around and my sight go really dim
Then blackness as I hear my father cry and my mother scream
My brothers are so sad, my kitten yowls on my bed in the night,
he can't sleep.
A photo of me when I was in the scouts
A young smiling face with such promise and dreams
Over a coffin with me in.
My father still cries, my mother still screams.
They ask me if I got game
I tell em no worries like Curry my shot nasty insane when I spark from the arc & let them shots drain
No safety f*ck it let the shots rain when the Glock bang
Feeling like the wolf on Wall Street, bout to stock change once the stocks change
I kick fire like a gas stove, coiled springs in hot flames, raw gas 94 octane
Higher than a eagles as*hole, drugs burning on that foil bling boy oh boy the joy it brings once the torch scorches in a hot flame & make the rock change
These demons I'm entangled with straight mangle sh*t but regardless I still win, I swear to God they could cripple the heavens but I'm just trying to triple my 7's watching the reels spin like a slot game
Whipping in the kitchen, these hot flames got the pot stained
Everybody wants Pac's fame until they get shot on the block or get they clocks rang
That's when the plot change & they get to spitting, given up opp names to avoid sitting in locked chains
F*ck the opps name, instead give me they low I wanna know where the opps hang
Pull around, lock aim than let it pop bang
Than you can catch me with ya top dame, getting that slop brain
Rolling around while she going down like dropped planes
F*ck around & take your smile away from a mile away when the red dot hot & I lock aim
Don't approach me with a cup in your hand asking if I got change cuz I ain't got change
I'm f*cked up as a man so get the f*ck out my face, I am not sane
And even though a lots changed I am not changed
It's like I'm stuck running in place cuz everyday I dwell on my past asking myself how much longer in this hell I can last, cuz when sh*t goes left I go way right trying to steal back time like it's daylight & the clocks changed....
In the rural green field far away from city cacophony
the lure of sonic extravaganza rose from the virgin soil,
reaching far and wide across the urban pop culture
with the tantalizing tunes of grass root country music.
In the early years of the high-octane rock and roll,
a mighty musical revolution that burst out of nowhere,
shaked the one-time edifice of melodic perceptions,
while generational upheaval veered onto an obsession.
Words floated fast in the quiet neighborhood air,
a band of the third generation country musicians
would captivate the wilderness with rockabilly songs,
an upcoming experiment on the art of musical fusion.
On the grass laden pristine pasture off the highway
assembled the music enthusiasts, young and old.
“You rocked me” resonated in the tune of verdant land,
for some in lyric of dream, for some in rhythm of memory.
March 14, 2020
A Brian Strand 1098 Contest