Long Populist Poems
Long Populist Poems. Below are the most popular long Populist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Populist poems by poem length and keyword.
And there the story might have ended
But the bite on Suzanne's thumb
Throbbed and became distended,
'I must say, I feel a little rum',
she said and lay down on her bed,
but as she fell asleep a patch of fur
started growing on her tum.
She slept a light and fitful sleep
Full of strange hypnotic dreams
in which she leapt from branch to branch,
speaking in a stuttering chattering scream.
When she awoke she felt warm and cosy,
her bad dreams had all gone away,
The clear bright light of dawn was rosy,
She was looking forward to the day.
But looking in the mirror her face turned a whiter shade of pale,
for now, coming from her lower back was a thick and bushy tail!
Her two front teeth were now so large they stuck out prominently,
And somehow she was not quite in charge of an urge to act, well, more rodently!
Now instead of inspiring her yoga class
With her incredibly flexible poses,
These days Suzanne is sure to be found
In the park, (only partly obscured by the roses),
Listening intently with her pointy ears for the sound of a poor unwary fella,
that sits down to munch on a nutritious lunch
of sandwiches filled with nutella.
For Cyril had imparted a terrible curse,
He was a ware squirrel you see, man,
and what is worse, his thumb biting curse,
had passed on his populist schtick,
and now she's a big Daily Mail fan!
In her throat comes a lump
at the mention of Donald J Trump,
And austerity, well now she's all for it, ha!,
Let the poor rot in hell,
And the disabled as well,
Katy Hopkins she follows on Twitter,
She's the chair of her local EDL group,
Since she abandoned her candles and crystals,
At night she culls badgers, just for fun, with a whoop,
And owns shares in a frack site near Bristol.
Could this be the end for our white witchy friend?
Can the curse of the ware squirrel be broken?
Fear not dear reader, there's light round the bend,
these few verses are merely a token,
Soon in hushed tones by crusty old crones of a miracle will it be spoken,
how Suzanne the fair, once cursed by a ware
Squirrel was magically spared from this sorry affair
by our old Jedi mate Oby Wan of Conorbyn,
for it 'twas by him that she was awoken.
“Truth isn’t truth,”
that’s what some Cap’n Obvious toady recently said
He was pissy mad, when his angry tears wet the bed
Lieutenant Rudy Brown-Nose
a has-been sniffing the swine caboose breeze:
Loco breath wafting
between sulfuric methane, prune puckered lips —
sphincter pie holes half-closed
Politrician power tools pocket plugged into their patsy roles,
says with dark chaos authority: Everything is under control
Public trust pirates,
dressed in
populist parrot disguise,
love $inging tavern song$
Foaming out the frothy, dark-amber lager lies
Iscariot getaway chariots
be karaoke squealing yellow snow —
highway robbery melodies
Money green
dollar rain
golden showers
On silver cloud vapor piles,
sticky six-finger flies
be spitting out
buzz-kill dung beetle cries
Butt of the jokes be the wench reward
for the stumbling,
power-drunk whores
Wet froggy kisses
scraping the sky
for a few rubles more
$ee the neon $ign $potlight in the $ky,
it’s showing some Two-Face, penny-wise liar
(Riddling?)
Ritalin up the final justice score
Bat-crazy, Commish slum lord
got the Lewd tenant
boot-licking
filthy lucre crumbs on the floor
Dog whistles got the railroad cage bent ...
Wall Street woofers on a barf paid, carny bark yell
Every foul commodity bowel movement
do slug leave a regurgitated profit stench vomit trail
While the vote suckers are on the slow buy,
their Good Ship Lollipop is on a quick sell
“Truth isn’t truth,”
is what some Cap’n Crunch croaker just said
That’s a mouth full of self-serving, apron purse ties
Sweet Georgia boo pecan pie is tasty cow pucky lies
Go on ... take another covetous slice,
and a couple more burglar bites
Wet froggy kisses
scraping the sea below
for a few dollars mo’
Spitballing Prince of Tides
love muddying the waters so
Sold old truths as new lies
“Truth is truth,”
ain’t what some Cap’n Ahab toady just white lie wail said
It crocodile aqua lava seems
the Cap’n Nemo Lying King
is gonna sleep well tonight, on your hot Pompeii water bed
My golden ego soars higher than yours
I can hold my breath longer underwater
of course,
because my publican lungs are stronger than yours
I can outshout your taxing voice
to the heavens with a prideful text roar
I’m the big button lying king,
that’s for truth ducky sure
Everything I have is bigger than yours
Exaggeration is a lawsuit I wear well,
fancy-laced shegnanians is the shoes I boot you with —
Patent leather pardon free get-out-of-jail
Put a deflecting shine on the witness stand,
make the gullible masses
see me as being smarter than I really am
I bigly roll with the donor class society swells
I take a bigger leak from my Wall Street
inside trader executive bathroom Tower mole tell
My greed is bigger than yours ...
Got great white sharkey needs,
on little flunky guppies I love to gorge
My cyber jaws are bigger than life,
that’s why
Tricky Twitter Moby Dick I
voted for myself ruble roulette twice
I’m a most unpopular populist prez
with no moral boundaries
Don’t try to fence me in,
make me chicken scratch fake news little again
My nihilistic narcissism is bigger than yours,
you best believe
I can sexually harass
better than Willie Boy Clinton
could ever achieve
I’m a business caveman
whose twin brass clubs are bigger than yours
I’ll take your woman,
and with a misogynist leash make her walk on all fours
My serial debts
are bankrupt corrupt much bigger than yours
I bowl a perfect money laundry game
with a mob marked counterfeit score
Mine covetousness is so much bigger than yours
Got more trophy wives than you do,
so king me on the divorce checkerboard
My nuclear button boasts are bombastic bigger than yours ...
and I’ll blow you out the water onto barren refugee shores,
if you don’t lip bow unbutton inflate —
Balloon buffoon infatuate on the dreams I daily tweet snore
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Form:
Abominable holiday season greeting to the have-nots me and you
Bombshell tabloid sleigh bells got those ear holes ringing
Cut the tax gift wrap ribbon, only good cheers for the wealthy few
Ducky Little Donald beaky wacky-quacky curse caroling
Ebony epithets, Latino canina lobs, Palestinian and Muslim sobs
Freeze the Access Holly Would frame, hear the locker room talk
Get smart, dummies ... Populist Idol adored by Wall Street snobs
Hate not the playa, love the con: Eraserheads don’t need no chalk
Incense of Uranium burning, napalm is pissy incendiary to touch
Jingling cash registers be jiggling twin money-makers below and above
Kiss the ring of the Don, you poor stiffs ... just don’t ask for much
Let not the blue chips, white gems and red jewels make you a begging fool
Make the payments on time, or he break your legs with loan sharky love
No Festivus is complete without the test of strength Labor Party feats
O, deary me, Hercules Putin is cancelling from the main event
Proof is compromising truth, we don’t eat no tainted Trump red meat
Questionable straight partners sexually, fake news getting bent
Risque business dealings, tiptoe thru the financial tulip inquiries
Stake your illegit claim, skim a little off the top ... fattening grifter butt
Take a little less scrutiny, a lot more thievery ... no legal worries
Ultimate year end declaration: Shed that slothful image of a Jabba Hutt
Vacant morality, rampant gluttony ... gotta do what the lust belly says
Wiggle weight-loss room is minimal, doing the right thing is optional
*** expose, another failed marriage on the way ... oh, happy dog days
Young bacon tenders is ripe for old Porky Pig, innocence is so sellable
Zinc adulating is the best White holiday blues lip service Rudy brown-nosers do
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Listen to the chumps,
listen to the rubes,
screaming that democracy
is going down the tubes
But every wise guy knows
when the fix is in
To put all their money down
on the one who has no chance to win
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Guess your vote didn't matter much,
now did it son
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Getting out the vote don't matter much,
canvassing woman
Seems like all the talking heads
got it wrong from day one
Not just another election cycle
with politricks being done
How does a populist person,
who doesn't win the popular vote,
win the presidential election?
It's the electoral college, you dolt!
It's an old arcane system,
set up way back when
by rich landowners putting
their thumbs on the scale back then
They couldn't let the peasants dictate
all of those really important policies
Just counter balance the popular vote,
always keep an ace up your sleeve
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Guess your vote didn't matter much,
now did it son
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Getting out the vote don't matter much,
canvassing woman
When the man of the people
doesn't win the popular vote,
it's good to have a sure backup plan
Don't you get it by now people,
or are you still missing the boat
Power was never placed in your hand
It's the art of the con,
the art of the con
Where less popular is more,
and vote shortfall comes up tall
It's the art of the con,
the art of the con
Guess it really wasn't rigged after all
This poem was originally posted on 11-16-16
— Romantic Warrior
Listen to the chumps,
listen to the rubes,
screaming that democracy
is going down the tubes
But every wise guy knows
when the fix is in
To put all their money down
on the one who has no chance to win
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Guess your vote didn't matter much,
now did it son
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Getting out the vote don't matter much,
canvassing woman
Seems like all the talking heads
got it wrong from day one
Not just another election cycle
with politricks being done
How does a populist person,
who doesn't win the popular vote,
win the presidential election?
It's the electoral college, you dolt!
It's an old arcane system,
set up way back when
by rich landowners putting
their thumbs on the scale back then
They couldn't let the peasants dictate
all of those really important policies
Just counter balance the popular vote,
always keep an ace up your sleeve
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Guess your vote didn't matter much,
now did it son
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Getting out the vote don't matter much,
canvassing woman
When the man of the people
doesn't win the popular vote,
it's good to have a sure backup plan
Don't you get it by now people,
or are you still missing the boat
Power was never placed in your hand
It's the art of the con,
the art of the con
Where less popular is more,
and vote shortfall comes up tall
It's the art of the con,
the art of the con
Guess it really wasn't rigged after all
"Do you listen? I am a star
I watch you all, though I am far
For centuries, are in my view
Whate'er different people do
I know the world with no human
No religion, race or slogan
Water was blue and land was green
The face of earth was crystal clean
My friend, the Sun, was proud of earth
Before it gave, to human, birth
Human came with destruction plans
Race, wealth, norms, frauds, oppression, clans
Where strong are masters, weak are slaves
Who have no life, rights, shrouds and graves
Where arrows pierced human backs
In wars; brutal, fatal attacks
Where color decides high and low
Downtrodden have no right to glow
Where so many were cut like cakes
In name of God, rev' and mistakes
Where of needy, no one takes care
Man is in dark, and there's no flare
Where Jack sleeps in Kin's spousal bed
When Jack's on work, his wife is red
Where beauty sleeps in arms of wealth
Whose every smile is just a stealth
Where dad can't feed his kids with pray
Where taxes are more than his pay
Where ideologies make a mess
Which cannot help someone in stress
Where commune, social, populist
The way of peace, always resist
Where freedom means the right to cheat
Where the same robbers just repeat
Where statistics are kept in dark
As to public rage, they can spark
Where all your thoughts follow a streak
And everything, I cannot speak."
When a nation cries, death rides the reaper is a stride, the loss of reasons in a Ludacris season, where men of nations think they can control the population, the feminine wild, bound to a white populist ideology of ignorance and irresponsibility.
The skeletal hands grace this nation, as technology is at play to pull its strings and prime mistakes, a nation tires to hold the flame, to regain a simpler reason a singular season, but is lost to passion parades of progressive expressions, the right hand of the fool the left hand of man, the one to bring insurrection to the crown, to our country, our town and trying to bring the nation down…
The seat of our heart, the home of our brave, we cry black tears, as the nation is bound and freedoms truncated, we wonder why our freedoms are called into question and lost to the Idiocracy, to attempt to enthrone a false theocracy of lies and hypocrites as we sit ide, hands under ass as we watch or celebrate the death of our democracy.
When a nation cries, something of ourselves dies, and death reaps as it strides, in this loss of reason, we fear a coming dry season, where men of nations think they can control and destroy, the legacies of lies, hypocrisies of the things that divide, blind us to our hearts and minds.
The truth shall prevail, the rights of humanity will be victorious, we shall not go gently into that goodnight, but reap our rewards, into the total of our dedication. The coming white will overcome. The facts will set you free!