Long Playboys Poems
Long Playboys Poems. Below are the most popular long Playboys by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Playboys poems by poem length and keyword.
To want something strongly felt
is to admit how the fire is burning...
until it suddenly explodes inside;
and if it leaves one hanging,
express it without thinking twice:
could it always remain silent?
From one lover to another
my enthusiasm has turned sour,
not showing my charm to smother,
to deceit and have fun;
I fed my ego of mad fool,
taking all and breaking every rule...
while my true intention
wasn't to be faithful to only one!
I hate this refrain sung to me,
" Silly, silly man this is hilarious,
a satire is not written for someone free
who sees himself as invincible as Eddie:
a person far from kind and generous!
From one lover to another,
the circle has gotten smaller,
nobody trusts me, they think I'm Othello;
they avoid me, they don't say a single hello!
Don't threat women the selfish way I did,
don't leave a trail of undesirable regrets;
romance stories aren't written by pretty playboys,
by cheaters who build their castles in sea sand!
chieftains trade their loyalty behind the clouds
high mountain king Carrantouhil commanding his Macgillycuddy Reeks
men of begotten rank, scheming skulduggery
secrets hide out of sight, Comeragh mystery shrouds Coumshingaun
flighty earls flee from the Lough Swilly shore
priests conspire, a king, a queen, a lord-protectorate exact revenge
imported evil stalks the land and soul of Ireland
near-on half give way, massacre, starvation, transportation and slavery
annexation by stealth, abomination
exposed Shannon artery, remorseless draining through lakes of tears
solidified karst corpses dissolving
into central mireland, ringed by coastal ramparts and remnant towers
turloughs disappear where the ground is leaking
playboys drink from black frothy pools of humour where the craic is good
where sad refrain gives way to rhythmic distraction
where song, stories, poetry, plays and dance merge in murky island brews
native chiefs are stripped of their Ulster lands
to control, anglicise and civilise a rebellious region
the area most resistant to English rule
official and private plantation, top to bottom colonisation
Gaelic hands across the channel disrupted
Scottish and English incomers, presbyterian and church of England
town and country, protestant domination
Irishmen uniting for briefest moments on higher ground
descent into cold depths of history
the Cliffs of Moher plunging from The Burren's bald barren bleakness
disfigured fingers pointing blame, shame and guilt
like the peninsular lands, Beara to Iveragh, Mizen to Dingle
stretching out to a new land of migrating hope
escaping hunger and abuse of long-robed men and women
the stifling heavy hand of implanted culture
two main layers of tradition now overlaying an unfathomable past
I had a cat that marked his territory right
into our TV – fried the whole thing
But I will not graffiti my alleyways with
crude phalli,
Spewing armchair warrior slogans across the concrete
My best friend growing up was a real whore,
in the kiss-and-tell sort of way
A real ladies’ man... He was a real bastard,
I’ll tell you that
But I will not line the walls of my den with
taxidermied lovers
Nor will I cage my dove for fear of a hawk.
Does the absence of glimmering swords
Take away from the radiance of her smile?
And what good are these powerful minarets,
Without the sweet, sweet song that echoes across them?
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket.
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket that will dart away
Never to be seen, if she ever touches the
sea again...
Which raises the question: why the bucket?
I have no interest in the bucket.
I have no interest in being the fisherman.
I bait no hooks and reel no lines.
I would much rather be a sea horse.
We can all learn a thing or two from the sea
horse.
So enough with this nonsense of honor and
chivalry
Enough of this predefined manliness and
rhetorical dick-waving
Enough of cages and lures and foxes in the
chicken coop
I see a lioness and her fawn under acacia
shadows
While my thirty-something year-old
compatriot playboys
Are on the prowl for pretty young things in
search of a fantasy
Wearing cravates of woven chest hair resting
over shirts not quite buttoned,
With Ralph the Polo Player getting bigger
and bigger
I have no fur coats, and I won’t sport any swag
I have no car horn to honk at your skirts,
No sly comments to mutter as you pass
No scarves to force around your heads
No honor to vest in your purity
I have only my faith in love
And whatever flaws that may bring
So what is it then,
to be a man?
Haven't you stolen enough kisses
and broken too many girls' hearts?
Haven't you played crazy games
with beautiful and rich dames?
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
Charm lasts through youth,
then it fades from the eyes
and becomes bitter untruth
as age is shown on the faces!
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
What can happen to a playboy
who still chases after women?
Will he be satisfied completely
and settle down with one woman?
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
After a playboy has fun with a lady,
he searches for more, he will ignore
the one who loves him and waits at home;
and betraying her, he hurts her deeply!