Long Olde Poems
Long Olde Poems. Below are the most popular long Olde by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Olde poems by poem length and keyword.
In a shroud of darkness
Her stallion neighs , leading death to
where death preys.
As black as the night as cruel as the day
Her aura speaking , in different shades of
grey
Steadying her steed ,the stench of fear
she inhales,
A smile so malicious , in comparison even
Hades would pale.
In blood soaked linen she prowls the
streets
Watching and yearning for hatred to
spill free
For blood to seek blood for vengeance to
covet thee
In the darkness of the shadows she
patiently waits
For when death calls, even fate makes
haste.
In the valley of death,
A golden gate is all that stands in the way
Of greedy wicked souls and judgement
day
Peter's gates seal shut And death stakes
it's claim
With a reign so great even the Roman
empire of olde, would in fear,disappate.
It sends forth its flails
A sentence to forever serve,
For when a black soul is captured
Only it's charred flesh remains unburnt.
Into the flesh of the damned it sinks it's
ravenous teeth
Untill their black hearts
have no blood to bleed
Christened with the power of Hell's
unrelenting Prince
To the depths of the underworld each
soul is dragged through hell 's fire,
forever to stay
Alas! Not even the most powerful can
conquer death
Their wretched lives full of fear and hate
Can never compare to their gruesome
fate
They scream in agony, fuelling hell's
vengeful fire with their pain
Their burning bodies for all eternity , in
hell 's fire will remain.
No bad deed, remains hidden,
no soul left unturned.
For when death stakes it's claim
Time shudders and in the name of destiny
you will disappear.
Once death's icy grips stain your foul soul
You will learn that even an infant ,
suckling on it's mother's breast, is not a
pure soul.
Form:
Glinting-proud yachts, sun-boasting, deeply invested
in their mirrored moorings.
Floating checkers on a liquid board,
slowmotion pirouette on bank-heavy anchor chains,
holding position in wind, wave and water.
Furled masts attend like stiff antennas,
line-brushing the breeze in signal-search of clicked,
clipped messages from unsighted seas.
Barnacles bunch and tap out morse code
on the hard hidden hulls, sending syphered
wishes of 'Bon Voyage!' out into the tentacled currents.
A steam-forgotten train, olde power mist-swept out to sea,
once rattle-puffed and rolled over incoming waves.
The frail-fallen bridge, prostrate as the vertebral bones
of a fossilized dinosaurus, its ribcage of pylons exposed
in rusted spines, grips with a last grasp, down
into the sucking mudbrown silt. Only its bent,
buckled back heaves above in the tide flow.
Fingerling fish, flash and race to beat the washaway waters,
shoals break the miniscus in silver slivered eruptions,
shattering the glass-still surface into a thousand shimmering
shards of luminescent liquid to splinter-splash, then sink
to the swaying, submarine sedge.
Come down to the lagoon with me,
and we'll whisper our names into calling-cone conches.
Hold my hand, let's cross this bridge over the waves.
Our spirit-sails filled to billowing,
sail with me from the lagoon-safe harbour,
out into the blue deep where salty, scimitar
gulls will screech warnings.
Words_ in my garden@ the edge of thorns.
Population cultivation of shrapneled bones.
My thoughts, mine, alone.
My as she helixed the change
of elixired kool aid and iced earth,
Ayahuasca tea to drink under the crystal sun;
To be or not to be undone.
Dangled as a charm over my eyes,
walled popularity,
that rivit ring resurrection machine gun
@A rising force of risen suns,
from the sea of emptiness
@circlet chain fire testing this blue toothed,
teething proofs of brainwashing that is being done.
Cutting me tooths on techlobotomy future suturies,
filling with bad blood,
of milk undone into channels of soured diversities.
Blasphemies abreast of Bathory, Borden,
Mystopheles.
Metaspinions on bile for birth of strange aeons and late night gerd.
Storied olde.
Waking death, rebirth, federation,
mental masturbation, folly, jolly rogered
as if it depends on.
A friend, so I have heard,
fair weather turns cold.
Yesterday, I took out my new quill pen and
a bottle of ink.
I sat down at an antique table,
lit a half-burned candle and dipped my quill;
I wrote on a yellowed pad of calligraphic parchment.
Swiftly jettisoned into the past as,
the room began to change;
the table appearing to be brand new,
sported different legs.
The candle sat burning in a silver holder
instead of a cheap aluminum one.
This had happened before;
this visit to the past and
I had found an ancestor there.
This time, I found myself;
a writer in a past life;
penning olde English…
imagine that!
Flying Saucers, Flake, Bar Six
Country Style, Gobstoppers, Twix
Arrow Bars and Sherbert Dabs
Sweet Tobacco, Lucky Bags
Toffee Crisp and Dairy Crunch
Grand Seville and Milky Lunch
Beta Bars, Loot, Candy Floss
The mysterious chewing gum flavour loss
Golden Crisp, Nut Crisp and Fuse
Extra, Bliss and Trebor Chews
Caramel and Raspberry Ruffles
Drifter and Milk Chocolate Truffles
‘99’ Flake ice cream cones
Zooms and Fabs and Toblerones
Coffee Break, Bitz, Victory Vs
Cadbury’s Special Recipes
Swisskit, Gold Mine, Apple Jack
Tiffin, Feast and Caramac
Welcome, Skippy and Sultana
Nutty, Banjo and Cabana
Chewing Nuts, Cough Candy Twist
Butterscotch and Butterkist
Crunchie, Topic, Fudge, Mintola
Super Mousse, Crazy Joe Cola
Golden Cup, Fruit Flavoured Rocks
(The secret of) The Black Magic Box
Floral Gums and Cherry Lips
Olde English Spangles, Walnut Whips
Kinder toys encased in plastic
Necklace sweets linked on elastic
Butter Mints, Fruit Polos, Yorkies
Sherbert Lemons, Sherbert Strawberries
Bazooka Joes and Liquorice pipes
Lollipops with swirly stripes
Mint Cracknel, Taxis, long red laces
Texan Bars and Funny Faces
Winter Mixture, Rainbow Drops
Jazzies, Kit Kat, Pips, Ice Pops
Toffee Bon Bons, Drumsticks, Rolos
Amazin’ Raisin, Aztec, Mojos
Barley Sugar, Chocolate Limes
Daims that changed their name from Dimes
Jelly Babies, Jelly Tots
Milk Gums, Munchies, Mars, Pear Drops
Coltsford Rock and Anglo Bubblies
Sugared Almonds, Frozen Jubliies
Peanut Brittle, Prize, Ice Breaker
Dolly Mixtures, Old Jamaica
Kop Kops, Wine Gums, Laughs and Treets
Jap Desserts and whistling sweets
Fishermen's Friends and Hacks and Zubes
Pineapple Chunks and Cola Cubes
Everton Mints and Pontefract Cakes
White chocolate mice and jelly snakes
Refreshers, Teacakes, Swizzles, Pacers
Toffee Logs, Fruit Gums and Waifers
Rumba, Dipped Flake, T Bar, Tunes
Fry's Five Centres, Macaroons
Bars and boxes of Milk Tray
Milky Bar and Milky Way
This ‘Pick and Mix’ is yours to share
With all sweet lovers
everywhere.
That long empty shop where they used to cut hair
Where all that remains is an old barber’s chair
The creak of the hinges might give you a scare
Should you care to recall what they say occurred there
The power’s been cut which he didn’t know
The candle he found gave a dull feeble glow
There must be a draught for a sound from below
Sounded so much like a voice saying Go
The keys he’d picked up from the real estate feller
Did not include one that would unlock the cellar
So just for the hell of it he turned the handle
The draught spoke again and it blew out the candle
Outside a car passed the open front door
It’s lights caused a glint on the dust covered floor
In the dust was a key and he got quite a shock
When the power came on and the key’s in the lock
The front door slammed shut which at least stopped the draught
But the cellar door opened… and somebody laughed
So with his pulse racing he made his way down
Was he mad to open in Olde London Town
He glared at the sight of four wide open freezers
Each packed with the remnants of dismembered geezers
Were his friends having a Halloween laugh
Or was that them chopped up in that old tin bath
Those stories weren't true but made up for a lark
And yet he still froze when the whole place went dark
There’s no way that this shop was once Sweeny Todd’s
But a voice in the dark chuckled… ‘What are the odds?’
Changes, for the sake of nation!
Better take it as a child
Takes new toy, in pure elation
Happy with its childish mind
What was settled, gone forever
Reconstructed for a change
All that looked a bit too clever
Challenging the present age
No more compromise with these
No more aids for the backwarded
Stuff more wars, and talk of peace
Changing times, we’re all rewarded
Yer olde habits will die easy
Stimulated by the law
Cig in hand, we looked so cheesy
Stamp it out, and puff no more
Changes come from outer space
Like a virus, most contagious
They derange us all to waste
Changes, for the sake of changes…
Once I joined that club for fun
Changed my mind, and changed my plan
No one noticed things I’ve done
So I changed them back again.
There's an island paradise located in the blue Atlantic.
No place on earth is quite as charming and romantic!
A shangri-la where beaches are pink and everyone smiles.
The place whereof I speak are the quaint Bermuda Isles!
There are no streets with mundane names like Elm or Main,
But you will find Shinbone Alley and Old Maid's Lane,
Or Aunt Peggy's Lane and unique Featherbed Alley,
Where quaint shoppes welcome you for a spot o'tea!
Brave tourists straddle motorbikes to go for a spin,
Perhaps stopping for a rum swizzle at famed Swizzle Inn!
Or if it's something delectable they desire to munch,
May stop by the Hog Penny in Hamilton for a leisurely lunch!
If looking for a sheltered beach on which to cavort,
There's no finer than Tobacco Bay nigh St. Catherine's Fort!
Ah, to spend an evening at Ye Olde White Horse Inn,
Slurping Bermuda fish chowder and sipping tonic and gin!
At night the shimmering sea reflects the magnificent moon.
Dulcet calypso music wafts from across the glassy lagoon.
Bermuda is known for its lilies, onions and friendly blokes,
And for the beauty of its sunsets the Master Artist invokes!
Entry for Thvia Shetley's "Foreign Travel" Contest
When they begin to erect new building in an old town
everything cowers, hunkers down except the ugly.
The ugly is in the concrete even before they pile it up
into office space and loft apartments.
The library and the townhall shrink.
Residents tend to scuttle faster
between the modern high-rise constructions.
The classic frontages, the Greco/Roman facades
once were the pride of a small town
now marble is only used for kitchen-tops.
Mid-West towns are not Manhattan
the sky here is too wide,
history gets brushed away under parking lots.
Nothing fits when the modern gets squeezed
into main street
or when it rubs against the sides
of traditional shop fronts.
Locals are told its progress, but even the ginger cat
who sits in the bay window
of 'Ye Olde' antique and yarn shop
knows better.
He scoffs at our joyful noise
The good spirits we invoke,
As he passes by with grim poise
Thinking this holiday is a joke
Still, we make the time brighter
We go about in a cheery stance,
Making lives a little lighter
While the years give us a chance
We sing a carol of Christmas
With wassail in our mug,
For you cannot stop us
You dear, olde humbug
We shall wish a Happy Holiday
To every miser, bum and stooge,
So, with all our might we say
Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge!
Date - 11/29/2022
Writing Challenge - Write A Christmas Poem - Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Constance La France