Long Podiums Poems
Long Podiums Poems. Below are the most popular long Podiums by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Podiums poems by poem length and keyword.
In endless quest we sought seclusions peace
hiding in the mystery of a strength always thought weak
and so denied the hero the still of death’s parade
waved surrender’s handkerchiefs to fill his empty grave
relied upon the charity of victory’s feeble thrill
struggling to rise above fresh bloodied horror’s sound.
Relentlessly the ears decry the loneliness of empty sound
as furtive eyes no future seek in fear of war, in fear of peace,
the agony of their disgrace, the joy of living without thrill
they know they’re strong, they know they’re weak
for somehow evading battles grave
to march in fiction’s harsh parade.
Solemnly on hush of wind, wars ghosts, in shadow on parade
march to history’s retold lies, leave no footprints, make no sound
for they will not resign their fate to earthen shell of shallow grave
nor will they let it slip behind the fragile wall of unearned peace
returning to a world in which we are perceived as weak
malign them with contrived disdain, condemn their sacrifice as thrill.
Podiums will hail the cause, cheering crowds create a thrill,
rolling drums will precede taps, politicians will parade,
orators with fiery words that make us neither strong nor weak
echoing across dead ears jaundiced by the painful sound
of promises that never are the troubadours of peace
and fall, as soldiers fall, alone upon a grave.
Newsmen mumble, double talk, of situations grave
amusement parks entice us with a death defying thrill
fire crackers, waving flags, noise to celebrate a peace
heads will bow when passing by war’s endless parade
the young will even shed a tear at taps lamenting sound
grit their teeth and know that honor’s tears don’t make us weak.
For freedom is the resting place for the bravest of the weak
who stand in freedom’s honor when the threat is grave
and rally to defend her, to keep her promise sound
not seeking to be heroes, nor the deception of war’s thrill
just honoring the memory of those still on parade
knowing there’s no solace in seclusions peace.
At heart we know that all are weak, that war is not a thrill
that those who fill the graves are shadow soldiers on parade
that the melancholy trumpet sound is the exhaled breath of peace.
John G. Lawless
©6/19/2014
Heavy shootings and more,
Primitive lead Automatics and their ancient songs, Contemporary Lasers and
these sights of your futuristic DNA-CONTACT-ELIMATOR and more,
Please lets speak to Rome....The very place the revolution will erupt,
Where in this filthy universe will earth's volcanoes gather to Feast and Campaign,
Solitary Military base stations...oh! My lord do take my mind off all these waste,
destruction and sacrificial human flowing blooooo...
The world has gone Deaf and Numbly cold...Alas! All of a sudden she belches a
deep belch,
She has becomes so sweet,warm and cuddly,
My fists have clinged this tight to my wise Quail,
Do Imagine a situation where quails deactivate your high profile bombs like
knockouts or popped chewing gums,
The purge...Our upsurge neither your salient Beards nor Your aged eyes will
hear nor witness such Grave Wars, Disasters,Hate,Destruction,Madness
and....such truthful Bliss...
On later Stages..Pulpits..Podiums and on your fiery Pages shall we uncover the
mystery of those unborn generations who will see tears as flowing blood,
Salute my Napoleone,your Hitler and many kisses to adore this Satanic cool
YANSH,
We the 'Kings of Rome' have seen our impending Doom,
Tell us Now Great Sir...What next steps shall we take,
What shall be done to a-tone for the World's excess iniquities and more,
Maybe a consortium of like minds writing to drive away looming angry clouds,
Still... must there be jacob's troules?
Tell my Grandmothers that we will never take them too far away from their
brooms and Quilts,
Granddads must all cherish those moments Smoking pipes,
In a way, Tommorrow's mind must drift,
Goats must learn to eat minced meat and Salts,
Tell Gretel I love Smoked Salmon along with the freshness of Coconut liqueror
and plumes,
In those Fiery steaming Jungles of tommorrow did i see Marijuana prepared like
Stewed Chicken soups along with a glass of Strong Shepe,
Marijuana broths eaten along with one chicken,Two Mice and a Happy Bowl of
spiced Coconut Rice,
My waists are heavy with Dance..do come lets Prance! to those days of Perfect
Bliss,
Perfect Bliss...Salient Peace after..and only after the Coming of that Revolutionary
Purge.
A portly partridge, a kale coloured koala and a lecherous lion were climbing up a snow covered precipice in a first gear shake. The beating of the engine spike of deathly chills and the iced tipped trees stood erect and only spoke once a day in such adverse weather conditions. Timed well was the trotting mare and hound who signalled maneuvers with hooves and paws which were then simultaneously broadcast in silhouette style across the vast landscape. Thus ensuring that the need for appropriate shoe wear was obsolete and the desire to change into a curtain was quickly alleviated for the rug proved to be a warmer and safer option at this time. Optionally optics opened orifices ornately. And powers arrived in a small jar of white whistling whiskey then whisked was whiskers waiting, warbling and walking. Wallingford castle and heritage began. In a snapped swapped series shown on a watch on a break. For audiences of many many podiums were clapping but assaulting the many written deeds which were then swept up by a six inch metal cuckoo clock. Magnify that then. And the snore from a mn abominable bull was businesses beckoning business in a pound dollar Yuan style but printed paper playing poker was arguing with a simplistic grinning cheese board in a cavern furnished to a very high standard. With a tank of fish overhead. Sharks. A swimming pool. Heated. Like a pool. A large sealed off chamber with an entrance under a road going up up up. And that was the land of the vegetable man with bulbous eyes, the bull in tight fitting suit and the snooker champion with an insect head. Round round round goes the house in a heap. Clapping clams chasing cauliflower club. Haha digital data dog. Haha fork fried xxxxx opticromistical Z z z Z
Form:
i just want to sit around,
drinking, sniffing things, scratching
myself, getting high.
just watching my pen
fill up a page.
do whatever it takes
to become a 'writer.'
a 'poet.'
something i admire, but
never really aspire to.
i just don't think i'd fit in.
they write poems about insignificant
relations and parallels to the
most trite of insights.
so here it is.
my poem about nothing.
about Pyrrhus and his futile
fight against tyranny,
how krebs will never fit in
either.
we've both survived a war
that's killed us.
'another victory like that
and we're done for'
'for Hecuba!' but
who is either to any of us
that we should keep
burning their name,
a revolutionary backfire,
Orc consumed in his
own final livid flame.
even your own wings cannot soar
so high past the wax-melting maze
of the sky, past this
palace of wisdom.
the house shifting finding
for you another pit,
with clouds round rolling
the mighty choose to reside,
hidden in their labyrinth,
behind their podiums, judicatures
& wooden caricatures of humanity-
writing poems about nothing,
terrorizing imagination &
out-lawing sanity.
will you be my Valentine on that day?
we'll be spurning christ's terrene body
watching the whole demon-built-world
descend as our flesh melts away.
let this mortal loss gain immortality.
let them puzzle over this for
centuries never fitting the edge
pieces together, if they do,
make room they'll be muzzled
& burning too, our doom
obstructed by Crass Casualty
dicing Time into eternal mansions
once this beast called man is surpassed
and the illusions are masked
in the mirror of life imitating art
imitating wilde paradoxes,
such a poetic heterodox.
We are quarreling over a graveyard of great ideas
Wandering under skies filled with flying political spears
Ideas are rotting under the soils dug by the unscrupulous
We buried our true identity and our mourning is pretentious
The commoners with good intentions are called riffraffs
The undereducated with concerns are labeled bellyachers
The elite have a sense of entitlement that exceeds their competency
The clergy have cloaks covering hands reaching out for the treasury
When Jesus tells us to pray in private, that’s when we fill up stadiums
Or that “Lord! Lord!” won’t get us to heaven, we still climb the podiums
Our inaction disguised as faith and oblivious to the endowment of freewill
We are blind to nature's blessings and God’s delegation of power for us to realise his earthly will
Amidst the vastness of our resources, blossoms a narrowness of minds
If challenges delay our goals, a compromise sprouts, as success gets undermined
Our failures don’t roll up our sleeves for more efforts but for belligerence
Our tongues have become viperous easily inciting division and violence
We are guilty of killing the messengers
We have silenced voices that threaten our favours and status
We prefer fellow tribesmen and forego what statesmanship seeks
Distrusting progress of shared thought and embracing the selfishness of cliques
More deceit continue to deface our identity
Take heed of the manipulation of verities
Individualism is not selfishness
Patriotism is not self-praise
Salvation is not prosperity
Electability is not authority
Our leaders are just a reflection of society
Changing the mirror won’t cure their corruptibility
Pivotal not to pivot a pickled pig. Playing in a plait. No no plastic garments. Ha said a garden ornament. Release of structure. Sky dance. Planes move like a huge whale. Motionless static of a hairy bee. Leaning on a gate. Harlequins have hairy horses humping hyenas hastily happily.vandals van hop. And a ship waves at a passing tray full of blooms. Go in the oven then. One two three. Pod of podiums. Hahahaha said a field mouse. Oh to the wandering tree bark who makes it's bed in a vestibule of yogurt. But it is best to be a wire basket than a sealed basement cat as caps can be launched from very tall beams and dogs say hello to a tiny worm in a miniskirt. Hahahaha. Cornish crabs craving crayons. Nefarious nun neighing. Investigations into an ants nest is akin to jumping into baths full of baked beans and tomatoes. But with timely cue a fashionable basketball wears a hat and speaks a sentence of one hour. A centipede of iron is never happy with a sandwich of onions. Yet one must extinguish a large burning combustible fire with an ice lolly. Indescribable atomic orbs gathering grapes. Slinging a bowling bow then. Wisdoms of wheels. Rolling a duck egg. Very very heavy toil. And brush a yard with a toothbrush. Hahahaha epidermisation xxxx z. At a 0 % * gone. Xxxx. Domestic dome. Xx
Form:
How dare they think to diss our Flag
and disregard our Anthem song,
when this great country gave the chance
for them to move and rise headlong
into the limelight of renown,
be part of teams respected wide
and honored by sports fans galore.
Why from their country must they hide
and take a knee when glory calls
to then respect their land of free
that gave them status in their field...
this land of opportunity?
They gladly sign their contracts, though...
those multi-million, three-year deals
supported by their fans that cheer
with pride in our country's ideals.
Why even all Olympians
with their own flags march in the crowd;
on podiums with medals show
pride while their Anthems play out loud.
And why has N F L now caved...
our Anthem banned at many games.
Teams, win or lose, will bear the cost
as followers condemn their shames.
When pride in country disappears,
to play for money, the main goal,
it leaves sad emptiness within
each patriotic heart and soul.
September 16, 2018
~NA~
Contest: Unsheath Your Sword
Sponsor: John Lawless
Contest Rules:
"UNSHEATH THE SWORD – HACK, SLASH, PARRY, THRUST
WRITE WHAT YOU WILL – WRITE WHAT YOU MUST
WADE INTO BATTLE – BLOODY THE PAGE
POETS ARE WARRIORS – REGARDLESS OF AGE"
I have seen them
strutting like cockerels on podiums
sweating like pigs in their ill-fitting suits
words bubbling out of their snake forked tongues
-democracy!- development!- unity!
I have seen them
lock themselves up in their posh grave tomblike cars,
is it to avoid the dust of the potholed roads
or the sight of poverty ridden comrades
who crawl along the streets like sprayed bedbugs
I have seen them
prancing along the corridors of power
thirsty for more, more and more
always more while their comrades get less
-Salaries – Allowances—Terms
I have seen them
preach peace but sow strife
scream democracy while muffling fundamental rights
promise development while worshiping corruption
I have seen them
torch the nation with careless words
fanning the flames of hatred amongst comrades
destroying – always destroying!
I have seen them
stamped like buffalo herds
on the foundation of the nation
till it stands on shattered and battered grounds
constitution amendments – always amending!
I have seen them
do all these and more – always more
but like a man condemned
I stand on the sidelines
watching—only watching!
Whose Words?
By Mark Stucky
Hissing whispers in the garden
twisted the warning words of God.
A shadowy tempter in the wilderness
shouted enticements to the Word made flesh.
Twisted words whisper and shout today,
from screens, podiums, and even pulpits,
spouting conspiracies and misinformation,
pushing discord, division, and condemnation,
promising power, fame, and friendship,
flaunting false pleasures and successes,
but leaving hearers hurt and angry,
or lonely, anxious, and depressed.
Listening instead to words of Jesus
centers us on truth, love, peace, joy,
and working together
for the good of us all.
So many voices clamoring for our attention,
a noisy din of distortions and contradictions,
a continuous cacophony of words.
Some resulting in harm, some in healing.
Whose words will we heed?
Whose path will we choose?
(First published in Agape Review, 19 April 2023. See also my poems “Tweeting the Truth in Love” and “What Would Jesus Tweet?”)
(Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com.)
“We were right the world is wrong.”
Declare the Siamese twins
joined at the hip of policy of lies.
Bush and Blaire, that friendly pair
demanding, pounding fists
on podiums of Red, White and Blue.
The dynamic dual declare
“listen people we two alone,
know what is best for you.”
They are protecting you
Your mothers son
This is why we need our guns
Fun guns
Jet guns
Flying high beyond our sun.
CNN reports
Evil knocking at our global door.
Bush and Blaire assure
Evil lurking everywhere!
Do not discuss your unpatriotic views
With your friends or neighbor
Over phone receivers
Those wireless
Government monitors
Of UNBELIEVERS!!
Key words have been computerized
and memorized
They might be terrorized!
Don’t say them
Spell them
Code them
Think them
Big brother he still will find them.
Bomb
Policy
War
Freedom
Peace
Rights
These all turn the tape.
What you thought was private
In freedoms name
Has all been raped.
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