Long Patrolled Poems
Long Patrolled Poems. Below are the most popular long Patrolled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patrolled poems by poem length and keyword.
The guards patrolled the Chinese wall
As they did every day
They did not pay much attention
Seems to be the usual way
A clink disturbs ones peaceful stroll
A three armed hook appears
Catches on the parapet
With one of its ears
The guards are so outnumbered
There is just one thing to do
Set alight the warning fires
For the coming of Shan Yu
In the Palace of the Emperor
Panic reigns supreme
The calm tones of the Emperor
Voice of reason it would seem
Send messengers out far and wide
Conscript or volunteer
Take one from each family
Then bring them all back here
One old decorated hero
Zhou from the clan of Fa
He was one could hardly walk
For sure below his par
His daughter Mulan took him home
She has another Fa in mind
Her father asks no questions
He is sure she's being kind
She goes alone into her room
Her tresses start to fall
She continues cutting til
There's not much left at all
Then dressing up in rough male clothes
The palace to attend
I am the volunteer from Fa
The only one they send
Mulan is not a boy's name
That will have to change
Ping is one she thinks of
From a quite restricted range
Li Shang leads them into battle
Takes them head on to the fray
Against the army of the Hun
That has got bigger every day
The small defending army
Uses rockets for long range
The advancing Hun just pours along
With very little change
Now Ping espies a mountain
With quite an overhang
She sends a rocket to explode
Start a landslide with the bang
Buries the attacking Hun
It seems the job is done
Then the worst thing happens as
They climb out one by one
First the horde attacks the Palace
Takes the Emperor in hand
Kill him and his leaders
Then spread throughout the land
There is only one can stop them
It is the girl Mulan
She needs to kill the great Shan Yu
In any way she can
She faces him with threat of sword
But just when she seems beat
A friend that has been helping her
Sends fireworks and heat
And so Mulan she saves the day
Everyone bows down
The Emperor gives her Shan Yu's sword
And his own medal of renown
She takes them to her father
After shock he feels at peace
The worry and frustration
He was buried in can cease
Buck was a tough man
very fast with his gun
always just one step
ahead of the law
He rode from town to town
never staying all that long
because as soon as word got out
the young gunslingers would come
Now Buck was not a man
to go looking for trouble
but it seemed that some how
it was his middle name
Really all he wanted to do
was marry his sweetheart
and raise a fine family
to live peacefully with them
He had a small hideaway
high up in the Rockies
a simple log cabin
where he could hole up
Not the place to take a bride
far too isolated and bare
talking to Betty he asked her
to purchase some land
Make it down in lush valley
he told her, we can raise cattle
a few horses to start a herd
maybe some hens and geese for eggs
Betty found a prime piece of land
with a cool bubbling spring
trees to shelter and give shade
sweet green grass to feed them all
Buck and Betty got married at last
soon built a fine house and barn
with a corral and stables
yet all too soon their bliss shattered
Young gunslingers heard where he was
dropping by to chance their luck
ending up in wooden coffins
because Buck was real fast
Until one day the townspeople
rode out to see Buck
they wanted him to be their sheriff
to protect them from the bandits
Buck agreed to wear the badge
and rid the town of the bad guys
each day he patrolled the territory
many baddies he lay to rest
Yet he felt he had no real peace
that his life was on borrowed time
he wanted to live his life quietly
tending to family and his ranch
This seemed a wistful thought
as still yet more gunslingers came
one day he knew he'd meet a faster gun
and end his life face down in dirt
One day while build a nursery he got
Betty to chop while he held the logs
well Betty missed and got his fingers
cutting them clean off only stumps left
It was his gun hand that was hurt
soon the word went around
the young guns stopped coming
no sport for them now
Buck finally got his dream
and lived to a ripe old age
siring five fine children
and many grandchildren
Against all the odds
he died quietly in bed
his last words to Betty were
"That was the best miss you ever made"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It’s not just bricks and mortar
Nor a distant memory
But the ground roots of our livelihood
And our future destiny.
As this place prepares to close
When the final bell will sound
To mark the end of education
On these few acres of ground
So as the winds of change
Whistle down St Andrews Street
Time to take a look behind
Before it beats the last retreat....
To days when health and safety
Had not bound us up in rules
When “clackers”, “chinas”, “conkers”
Were all the rage in schools.
Chocolate crunch with strawberry custard
Was “ haute cuisine” at dinners
And monitors patrolled the room
Catching non-veg eating sinners !
Then there were school productions
That often caused a rumpus
I was told I didn’t look fierce enough
As a pirate in Columbus
It’s where I learnt the facts of life
Red faced at every showing
We gathered in the dining hall
To watch “living and growing”.
Girls in groups around the field
Playing games with white elastic
Or spinning tubes around their heads
Making noises quite fantastic
And on those heady summer days
In the shade of orchard trees,
I’d have my packed lunch and my drink
Smelling hops upon the breeze.
Groups of boys in mass migration,
Was quite a common sight ,
Swarming like bees round honey
To the battle cry of “fight!”
“Top cat” was on the telly
And so was “ Hong Kong Fooey”
We all brought board games into school
On the feast day of St Louis
Queuing up in tennis courts
Then marching to assembly,
I doubt they had such crowd control
For the FA cup at Wembley.
The changing rooms down by the pool
Were not far from the gym,
Where ropes and box and benches
Were designed to do you in.
Bassets sherbet from the tuck shop
A treat beyond belief
Matched only by the popping
Of “space rocks” on your teeth
So when the corridors are empty
And the babbling voices still,
Theses echoes and these memories
Shall future musings fill .....
For it’s not just bricks and mortar
Not just a place to swat and cram
It’s where the building blocks of selfhood
Turn the boy into a man.
You hope that university will answer all of life’s questions, but nope.
I don’t know, 1.
There was a guy who’d been hanging around outside our residence lately. Too consistently. At first, I thought he was someone’s friend but he’s always alone. He wasn’t doing anything or bothering my roommates but that asymmetry set off my alarms.
He looked at me once (which I suppose isn’t a crime), I think, it was quick - a blink of sharp curiosity. I mentioned it to Charles who took his picture. The next morning he said the guy’s a legit student who has no criminal record, so maybe I’m all wrong.
Every girl’s encountered a creep or two before. They’re seemingly everywhere, as if mandated by law, like auto insurance. Most girls develop a sixth-sense, a creep-dar. Nowadays, creeps have a new name, “incel” ("involuntary celibate") and they’re a recognised, online subculture. Next, they’ll have a coat of arms proclaiming, “We Would if We Could.” It’s as if awkwardness, a normal human foible, has been distilled into something dangerous.
Although the campus looks like a garden or a perfectly manicured ‘stepford’ park, we joke that it’s really a locked-down, patrolled, surveilled compound, with guards, cameras and card-key access to everything. Which, I suppose, is all to the good.
Our creeper wasn’t there Friday, and he wasn’t there today, so maybe he was nothing.
I don’t know, 2.
I was in Sunny’s room. We were going shopping in a few. There was a little pink book on her bed - a diary!! I’d never seen it before and it was open, about three-quarters of the way. She too-casually moved to scoop it up, like the neglected book of a sorcerer.
My *GOSSIP-dar* Alerted like a class bell. “Hmm” I humed, head-tilted, then I laughingly lunged for the book.
Sunny’s eyes went wide for 3-billionths of a second and she snapped it up with the speed of a striking cobra, “That’s MINE” she said, rigid with seriousness.
“What’s going ON?!” I asked, but she shoved it into her night table.
Another mystery!
‘Sleeping dogs,’ I thought to myself.
Troll Lake was slowly filling, after the dam and bridge were finally built.
But, it was close to the city, and kids were coming nightly, without relent!
Bad things were going to happen, if we didn’t stop those, partying fools.
The Trolls scared most away, but the wilder ones returned, definitely not cool!
With all the fun and hardy partying, they weren’t even close, or ready to resign.
Then our actor Trolls came home, with the paparazzi tagging along, behind.
They kept lurking around bushes, and we smelled disaster, coming really soon.
So we put up a sign, ‘No Trespassing! Danger! Creature From The Black Lagoon!’
They all laughed hilariously, not believing it could remotely, be possibly true.
So we had to devise a plan, to scare them off, that’d added a wallop, to the boo!
Now, as the lake had filled we’d found we’d acquired a Monk Frog, on a lily pad.
He helped us with meditation, yoga lessons, and advise… that was totally rad.
He told us of his Gold Fish friend, who thinks he’s a shark and would happily fight.
But to all those skinny-dippers, his nibbles had been like, the bark without the bite.
So we borrowed Grandma Trolls’ Large false teeth, adding more bite to his delight.
Someone got bit, as a Troll jumped up, snarled, and lunged after the kids in the night.
This made the kids scramble wildly for their lives and to protect their manly parts.
They say, they ran all the way home, still naked, till they hit their own front doors.
The Police found them to book them, for trespassing, and basically running amuck.
The paparazzi, got it all on tape, selling it to the newscasters, so all were in luck.
The film of the creatures’ outline coming out of the water, made it more profound.
And rumors ran like wild fire, to not swim in our mysterious lake, so spellbound.
Even the paparazzi, backed off, wondering what other dangers, might be around.
It’s amazing how great we could be, when we get together, and our ideas abound.
PS. A happy, little shark patrolled the lake... nightly, from then on…
Celluloid produces, like robots, many superheroes,
Who, like rat-snakes, in real life, is cowardice zeroes;
A Tamil-hero, for instance, catches flying bullets,
Re-sends them and massacres many villains, like pullets...!
There's heaven-hell difference betwixt real life and reel,
Though both, for human life, are like vehicles and their wheel;
As savior of the victim drowning, the reel hero acts,
Real hero saves the drowning and protects moral pacts...!
Superhero is a bolt; millions of armies in one;
Police, thieves, engineers, doctors... all into a stern-gun;
Phoenix Jones was Good-Samaritan in fantasy form,
Doing good to the troubled, was his genuine norm...!
Benjamin John Francis Fodor (less known), born in Texas,
Witnessed vandalism involving cool criminal nexus;
Common public, to crimes, like buffaloes, stood feeling-less,
They witnessed incidents; did nothing; stood as though helpless...!
Son's legs sliced; car broken; neither for his nor his son's sins;
Friend assaulted; he found his surroundings once again in ruins;
Trying desperately to reach the safe-guarders of law,
Left looted, found a mask fall on him filling him with awe...!
It's with this mask he took his new birth into Phoenix Jones,
Designed appealing outfits that suited his skin and bones;
Prowled around like a lion, breaking, cracking and thrashing,
Harming the criminals; not the innocent kids splashing...!
He patrolled in streets of Seattle voluntarily,
Destroyed criminals, like lion or tiger, merrily;
Fed the hungry; clothed the naked; sheltered the shelter-less,
He wished the entire humanity to grow fetter-less...!
His actions, (full of good intentions) inspired young and old,
To the Superhero Movement many their names enrolled;
Thanatos, Nyx... many such real life heroes stood still,
Taking oath to clean the society, of its evil...!
14 August 2022
Superhero or Supervillain Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
LE TRE SORELLE
My favorite spot in Italy, and perhaps anywhere, was Ristorante Le Tre Sorelle
in Positano. It was at the bottom of at least a hundred stone steps, just on
the right, and right on the beach. A hundred steps seemed like ten, with
delights for the senses on every step. Chic bikini shops with tan young clients,
tiny pastry shops, ice cream vendors, mini-galleries, and lone musicians, all
bathed in the soft bright sunlight of the Amalfi Coast.
Le Tre Sorelle had affordable pasta and a priceless view. Between
checkered tables and cobalt sea marched the ancient beauty of humanity in
every form and state.
Over espresso, we created names for people in this parade, to suit our
fancy. “There is Mr. and Mrs. Cold Obtrusive boring Mr. and Mrs. Kind
Receptive.”, we might say, or, “There is Mr. Old Fat Rich failing to interest
Miss poor Young Georgeous.” Sometimes we would separate our unwitting
victims into “should wear bikini”, “maybe should”, and “never should”
classes. We made up other rude categories depending on how much wine
we could afford with the affordable pasta.
The challenge of youth in Positano was to find a place to sleep for free.
Step one in this quest was to find a pretty girl who also had a hotel room. Step
two was to persuade her to share it. Step three was to sleep on the beach.
But the beach was duly patrolled by the Beach Patrol. So the trick was
to dance in the last-open disco until everyone, including the Beach Patrol,
were too tired to care. Then with luck, we could borrow some fisherman’s
boat cover for the night, until the fisherman went fishing. Still, this meant
one or two good hours of sleep.
Besides, at sunrise, we could swim in the sea and chill ourselves awake, just
long enough for the first espresso of another beautiful day, at Le Tre Sorelle.
In spite of youthful nonsense, the crushing beauty of Amalfi, both human
and stone, pressed it’s lovely wisdom deep inside our souls.
1862
TWAS IN THE SUMMER OF '62
WHEN MEN WORE GRAY
AND OTHERS BLUE
WHEN SOUNDS OF MIGHTY BATTLES RAGED
AS WAR BETWEEN THE STATES WAS WAGED
OH WHAT YOUNG MEN WERE WE
FULL OF LIFE AND FANCY FREE
BOASTING HOW WE’D WIN THE WAR
A DAY OR TWO, NOT ANY MORE
AND ON THIS DAY WE START OUR VENTURE
MARCHING TOWARD OUR GREAT ADVENTURE
ALL DAY WE WALKED ON DUSTY ROADS,
THE SWEAT ON BROW FROM HEAVY LOADS
THEN DAYS END ON THE RIVER BANKS
WE FINALLY CAMPED AND GAVE OUR THANKS
STORIES WERE TOLD AS THE PICKETS PATROLLED
THE SARGENT WAS THERE
SOME GRAY IN HIS HAIR
THE SCARS ON HIS FACE
SO EASY TO TRACE
AND SO WAS A BOY
JUST 15 NO MORE
HE ASKED THE SARGENT
JUST WHY WE’RE AT WAR
THE SARGENT LOOKED UP
WITH A COLD MILKY EYE
AND SAID SON I’LL TELL YOU
AND IT WON’T BE A LIE
THE STARE SO INTENSE
THAT CAME FROM HIS EYES
HIS VOICE STAYING SOFT
HIS WORDS WERE SO WISE
WHEN SOULS OF ALIKE
ARE NO LONGER TOGETHER
WHEN ALL TALKING STOPS
LIKE YESTERDAY’S WEATHER
WHAT ONCE WAS FORBEARANCE
THAT THEN TURNS TO HATE
WILL TAKE A GREAT MANY
TO THE DEVILS OWN GATE
WAR IS A THING SON
IN WHICH WE ALL SIN
WAR IS A THING
NOT TO BE IN
WAR IS A WORD
THERE IS NO DELIGHT
TONIGHT WE’LL HAVE PEACE
AND TOMORROW WE’LL FIGHT
TOMORROWS THE DAY
HE SAID WITH THAT STARE
WHEN BOYS BECOME MEN
AS SOULS BECOME BARE
YOU’LL KNOW WHO YOU ARE
IF YOU LIVE THROUGH THE DAY
YOU’LL KNOW WHAT YOU ARE
BY THE MEN THAT YOU SLAY
WHO AM I THOUGHT I
ON THAT WARM SUMMER NIGHT
MY SENSE OF IMMORTAL
HAD NOW TURNED TO FRIGHT
AND AS IT TURNED OUT
I WAS NOT SO ALONE
A CHILL RAN THROUGH ALL
RIGHT DOWN TO THE BONE
AND SO THE DAY ENDED
NOT AS IT BEGAN
OUR THOUGHTS NOW SUSPENDED
OUR WILL NOT SO GRAND
NOT ONCE COULD I SLEEP
NOT EVEN A YAWN
IN FEAR DID TIME CREEP
THE MINUTES TO DAWN
It was a rainy night. Sondra was watching a soap opera when she heard steps outside her house. Sondra called the police. Policemen patrolled the surroundings of Sondra's house, but they did not found anybody. She recently testified on court as witness for a crime she witnessed in a park nearby her house after returning from work. The killer strangled a woman who was making exercise.
Sondra went to sleep. She woke up with a nightmare. Vividly, she saw in her mind the crime.
A new day was ahead. Sondra woke up and took a shower. She got dressed for her work and prepared waffles, coffee and orange juice for breakfast. She left to work. Sondra worked in a modeling agency.
Sondra decided that afternoon to walk in the park nearby her house. She wanted to conquer the fear she felt after witnessing the crime. She heard a stranger call her. A tall man was near her.
Sondra felt fear. His eyes reflected lust. She decided to run to the police station that was located a few minutes from her house.
Sondra told to the police the event that happened in the park with the strange man. The police surrounded the park. They found the man and arrested him. He was the serial killer that strangled the woman in the park recently. His name was Lee. He escaped from prison to search for Sandra. Lee was put under arrest and returned to prison.
Sondra returned to her house. She took a bath. Sondra decided to wear a flannel pajama and socks. Turned on the tv to see the nightly soap opera. Later, she decided to read the local newspaper before going to bed. While she was turning off the lights, she heard steps outside the house. Sondra thought that she was imaging the steps. She decided to go to sleep. A hectic day was waiting for her.
1-10-2016
THE AL-ANDALUS QUARTET: PART TWO
CÓRDOBA / QURTUBAH 950 AD / 339 AH
From Madinat al-Zahra
and the City of Córdoba, the roads
to the Renaissance are renamed and
traveled, patrolled and protected, routed
and projected by the Umayyad Caliph
and the frail conviviality of constituent
cultures, which like the white light of
day and the lace veil of night, are somehow
connected in the shadows of evening and
the gray skies of dawn but in fundamental
opposition define one another
An astute Sephardic rabbi
said the culture of Islam in Al-Andalus
is like a cataclysmic flood that abuses
the land, rearranges its features, nourishes
its soil, eventually disappears through
evaporation and runoff, leaving folksong
and legend to chronicle its passing
The transmission and enhancement of
Classical knowledge, philosophical
erudition, the patient diplomacy within
the righteous framework of an arrogant
tolerance are like a brilliant sunrise in the
medieval world but even the sanguine
observer hears the clashing of swords in
the far mountain passes and the whispers
of betrayal at clandestine meetings and
knows that, bright as it is at this high tide
of impact, the culture is fading, not like
day into night but like the moment of
noon into the moment thereafter, that
sunlight and flood, both powerful and
magic, are receding in concert, slowly,
inexorably, through the Taifa mosaic,
the slow-motion shattering of a
stained-glass window shining colors and
light in a thousand directions, then fading
through evening toward midnight and
darkness, illuminated by stars that,
in spite of their beauty, will later be
remembered as light years away
Emanuel Carter