Long Posh Poems
Long Posh Poems. Below are the most popular long Posh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Posh poems by poem length and keyword.
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Form:
The grand madam wore double strains of opal perils,
Around her collar of white lace, in eloquence personified,
She’s cultures Lady of utter refinement, curtsying to noble
And high brad’s aristocrats alike.
In fragrances of memories I’ve drifted backwards,
To a time of Lillie’s corsages tied upon white gloved
Wrists, long gowns of silk that trailed behind ladies
Of status and grace.
Glided carriages adorned with opulence’s wealth,
Lined these main streets busy thoefairs,
Drawn by horse powers elect.
Pulling these beguiling vessels beneath oil lamp light,
Did the pampered horse flesh travel, delivering the
High born royals, from fancy balls, to posh dinner
Parties and the rich man’s society clubs.
Gentries Gallant dapper Dan’s went a courting,
Seeking beauties ungloved hands, with sweet kisses
Of vows promise, yet a dowers riches blinded their
Eyes, to the spoiled countesses true nature, so these
Court Jesters with mouths full lies deceptions,
Got their own back lashings tongue, in the end.
In these arena of wealth and fortitude, did Madame
So travel, amongst the crimson carpet walking
With prides stride, holding her head held high,
Never exposing the lower birth from which
She’d been birthed.
For she knew the truth hidden behind these
Fanciful fans of lavender and lace lay masks
Of masquerades charades, and games of
Fortune were played by dollar’s gains, not
The feelings of heart.
True class exudes not from ones pedigree,
Or families wealth and power, but instead
It comes from within, honor, duty and a
Soul’s valor of spirit.
At the evenings final climatic hour,
This mistress of the wise, seeks her humble
Shafto’s warming bower, sitting in her chamber
Of isolation, she smile at the portrait hanging
Above her mantels fire place.
Whispering slowly, soon beloved, she blows him a
Final kisses farewell, then drifts into infinities
Drifting realm of for-get-me-knots.
Behold its Madame’s last curtain call,
Let us all throw red roses at her feet,
For if a lady of true elegance ever existed,
On this earth of ours it was her, Madame
Of lavender and white lace, let the opal
Chains of perils thus be broken, as her eyes
Of classes distention, close for the last and
Final time
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
How much does it cost to say yes
how many teardrops… do you want to see flow
how many curses …do you want to hear
how many sunsets do u want to pass in regrets
how many sleepless nights should I have
how much torture should I persevere
before you understand my sorrow
Look into my eyes and see the fire in them
feel my heartbeat …..
No one else makes it beat this fast
listen to the language am speaking
how often do you hear
a man utter so many in understandable words
Tick tock time moves
just when I hope you will stop looking at him
with so much passion,
you even go further to kiss him more
how it used to hurt!
Now I try to make it fun
assumptions are what dominate my life
a kiss to his score sheet
become a tick on mine.
Just tell me what I have to do
so that you recognize me.
Is it the money that he gives…
world trips he takes you,
the posh car he bought you yesterday
title deed for the beach house
Or even better!!
the slaps he gives you in the middle of the night,
even better the other woman he has in your
house.
How inferior he sees you’
just one of his lady servants
he thinks of you
his expectations of you
to smile even if nothing is right?
Thoughts and thoughts have circulated my
mind tried to win a jackpot
am afraid that doesn’t happen to the needy.
Only one thought to solve this puzzle
the only thought that ends up in smiles
caddling each other
under the moon light
outside our hut of peace
the only thought
you disagree most with.
let him burst us.
You say “he will kill us”.
For you, I bet he will
make it snappy out of anger
that’s better you’ll be home early
prepare our sleeping place
for I know he will make
sure he kills every nerve
one by one that has my DNA
till his pain goes away
then and only then I will come home.
See baby,
a win- win situation his anger gone
and our souls will find happiness
yes if only you’d agree
just let go
let go of the materialistic you
listen to the joy of our jeering hearts
lets go home
Aniruddha: Knowing too much might overturn you, completely.
Do you even know that?
Revati: Then perhaps,
it is better not to know too much..right?
Aniruddha: Knowing this way is quite irrational.
It is quite impossible as well.
You may say.
If you have to know,
know the whole truth.
So that you may decipher
the logical and the illogical too.
Know them both.
Revati: Started knowing all about that, gradually.
Started knowing you.
Knowing your reasons.
Your debates and unfolding stories of life.
(Empty teacup,
left alone with stains of leftovers.
Leaving behind the unended resonance
of spoken words,
stories foretold.)
Aniruddha: I am almost finished here.
Now, it’s your turn to speak...
About you.
As you truly are.
Intrepid, genuine and unambiguous.
Revati: Your words seem so familiar!
Exactly fitting and perfectly making sense!
Aniruddha: Is it so? How is it so familiar?
Could you be a little clearer?
Revati: Those psychiatrists also treat
almost all patients this way.
Exactly the same way!
Aniruddha: Wait a minute!
What makes you say so?
Why are you so prejudiced with complex?
Not everything rests on the food plate
of that tasty potato smash,
you know that, right?
Revati: Yes, indeed.
I know that for sure!
As long as there is a possibility
of landing at the posh airport,
is it not?
Higher-end dedication,
humming with a wise thought of placid height!
Aniruddha: Okay! Quite a word there.
Are those your own words?
Revati: Exactly, what else do you think?
Could you also be a little clearer?
Yesterday, Aniruddha posted his last mail.
His mails are glimpses of the heavens.
A cherished rainbow in dreams.
Killer cancer did not spare his body.
He had to return, one last time.
His last words were exactly this.
Even after reading for a thousand times,
Revati felt those words.
Those words were exactly this!
“How many death penalties are there
in one lifetime
you and I are not sure about that…
Perhaps one day
I will meet
at heaven's gate
To pick up the answer.”
Where there is a will, there is a way.
(Empty teacup,
left alone with stains of leftovers.
Leaving behind the unended resonance
of spoken words,
stories foretold.)
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
Ho, ho, ho, the Christmas vandals have struck.
Where you might well ask?
Felixstowe,at the beach huts.
Three times now, those blinking vandals.
Have struck at my beach but there.
Is it not too much to ask them.
Too vandalise elsewhere?
I mean three times my hut’s been vandalised.
And it’s not cruel to anyone.
Mind you, I might be later on.
If I catch those vandalisers!
Doing what they do for fun.
I am slightly annoyed.
I am slightly perturbed.
I am also blinking mad.
You’ll have to take my word.
I will repair.my beach hut door.
It will look quite posh, you know.
Then, when I put up for sale.
Up the price will go.
Felixstowe may not be Southwold.
Where beach huts are worth their weight in gold!
But the amenities at Felixstowe are increased, so I have been told.
Children have a play area, it is very nice indeed.
There are posh toilets and a shower to wash off that sea weed.
Kiosk selling cakes and drinks coffee and tea I mean.
Another sells seaside novelties and lovely ice cream.
I think I’ll mention all this in my advert for my beach hut.
But I will leave out them vandals no publicity then I will give.
I only hope without the fame, they can really live.
I have the wood, screws and nails matching paint as well.
And if I see those vandals!
I could nail them down as well.
I’m booking all my expense; it could be quite a lot.
So when those vandals are caught they can pay for it, I certainly will not.
Of course there is no CCTV, and witnesses there are none.
Of those dear blinking vandals, having so much fun.
And as Christmas is coming and if they caught you know.
I’m sure the magistrate will be lenient and let them blighters go.
Personally I would lock them up and throw away the key.
Then my beach hut would be safe from the vandals, do you agree?
Mine was not the only hut they did vandalise so.
I’m sure they had a good time at the seaside you know.
Playing kick the door in, smash the windows too.
Trying to find something to steal, I hope it wasn’t you!
No, poets are nice people, they really are you know.
And on that note, I must finish as it is now time to go.
Form:
The world had taken everything
and left the man as broke.
When anger rose up in his gut
and this is what he spoke:
I've given my life for everyone
who only sought to take.
And now that I have no more luck
it's time that I forsake.
He tore off all his clothes to say:
"I'm naked in the street".
While others stopped and stared at him.
Their shock to be his treat.
He stood there just as Adam did
and waited for his sake.
The people thinking he was mad
and called the cops to take.
He didn't have to wait for long.
His plan was working well.
The ride to come as quickly
as this taxi was to Hell.
They wrapped him in a blanket first
and put him in the car.
These chauffers posh to say the least
were armed and trained to spar.
The drive was one of comfort
for his mercy being there.
And the blanket now his clothing
warmed his heart were he to care.
When soon the ride had ended
that they'd finally reached his home.
A mansion having 13 floors.
It's windows lined in chrome.
The orderlies had come to greet him.
These servants to prestige.
Him wondering if they'd come to realize
how they played into his seige.
With escorts he'd travail the halls.
Their pathways feeling spacious.
Soon coming to the elevators;
the doorman being gracious.
They rose up to the Penthouse suite.
It's atrium well lit.
Where off they whisked him to a room
with pajamas made to fit.
When dressed they moved him to another.
six doctors there attending.
Assessing him for moving on
to one nurse for an ending.
The nurse to give him their decision
injected him with health.
All free for being there as their guest
despite his lack of wealth.
They offered him a bed to sleep
with fresh sheets and some drapes.
And told him he could get some food
for just a little traipes.
The cafeteria there to serve,
he always got a meal.
At night he even got a snack
as justice got more real.
Soon workers offered him their service
and got him an apartment.
The government sending him his cheque
each month from their department.
Right back to where he started off;
he smiled at what they'd done.
but felt the only difference being
too high to just have won.
It was Christmas time in Anansi’s house
But Anansi was snoring loud and deep
While all the house was up and busy
Sneaky Anansi was pretending to sleep
Anansi imagined lying on the beach
Soaking up some hot Jamaican sun
Christmas time with all its merriment
For Anansi was never, ever fun!
Poor Anansi - it’s such a crime
To not have fun at Christmas time!
Last year whist fixing the Christmas baubles
He was jumping up, extremely mad
Because all the baubles kept flying off
And the crooked angel looked very sad
When he tore off the wrapper from his gifts
He always hoped for a nice surprise
But every year his presents were the same
Eight pairs of socks and two colourful ties
Poor Anansi - the church bells’ chime
No fun for you this Christmas time!
And Christmas dinner was never enough
Because his wife entertained the whole town!
Cold scraps of dinner left on a plate
And a squeeze to find a spot to sit down
And playing party games was such a bore
Card games he never had the knack
Charades would leave him a little confused
Legs tangled with Twister or stuck on his back
Poor Anansi, you can bet a dime
No fun for you this Christmas-time
Never anything good to watch on TV
And the Queen spoke too posh and too slow
He didn’t even have a favourite book to read
Poor, poor Anansi with his Christmas woe
But there was just one thing about Christmas
That Anansi couldn’t wait to partake
Every Christmas his wife would prepare
The most delicious, scrumptious Christmas cake
Every year he sliced the biggest piece
Leaving his family to fight for the rest
Delicious, scrumptious with a scoop of ice-cream
This Christmas cake was always the best
Anansi made sure that everyone had gone
Before he scurried down for his Christmas treat
He looked in the oven, the cupboard the fridge
But couldn’t find any Christmas cake to eat
“Surprise,” said his wife from behind him
“We are having fruit salad for a change!”
Then she handed him a large Christmas bowl
Filled with tropical fruits of all range.
Poor Anansi - it’s such a crime
To have no cake at Christmas time!
To have no cake at Christmas time!
To have no cake at Christmas time!
The wonders of the world,
The clouds barrel into the pools of blue, crashing into golden sunlight streaks piercing through the sky,
A canvas of colour full of shades you cannot clarify,
As it floats by just above the likes of you and I,
Perched on a grand oak tree the birds soulfully sing,
Chirping a conversation, to us its a tweeting tune and the flapping of a wing,
The squirrels soon notice me,
As they scurry away up the Acorn tree, Watching and waiting from a bountiful beautiful branch,
Until it's safe to come thundering down the tree trunk,
To continue filling up their cheeks and arms,
The bunnies bashful and shy bolt for the bushes in the blink of an eye,
Unlike the bold butterflies that flutter brazenly through the skies,
Despite being delicate delights, full of vivid colours brightening up the sky, Just like fire flies burning bright in the nights eye,
The Lakes shimmer glistening in the rays of sunlight,
With a solid stillness that's glass like, Until a single ripples ride causes the surface and dark depths to collide,
We will never behold the secrets the dark depths haven't told,
Up above the geese are gathering getting ready for a good gaggling or perhaps they're giggling,
One things for sure they are certainly chitter chattering
The swans slide in silence paired with pure panache,
They are the Royalty of the water praised, poised and posh,
Ruling with regality and gracility and conduct,
Often looking down their elegant elongated necks,
At the peasant quarrelsome quacking ducks,
With utter distaste and disgust,
Flashes of yellow from Spring daffs sway away,
Dancing in the Whispers of the winds, a beautiful array
Petals from the Violets and bluebells amongst the lavender fields enhance what the emblazon earth's birthed,
The bees buzz in between the Floral display,
The nectar is their nicotine a bouquet buffet,
What wonders our world has to behold from for us to nurture,
The Creator blessed us not only with nature,
But every Acre each creature from the Grand Canyon a magnificent crater, to the Icelandics glistening glacier, everything is a fantastic feature,
We are blessed, to walk amongst the wonders of this world.
Good Christmases never come with chipped teacups.
Good Christmases don't kick,
bite,
suck,
tease,
wheeze,
pain,
complain,
but pack woolies for chilly bodies, familiar carols tickle hearts.
Good Christmases present gifts under a tree, lit and tinseled and capped.
~
Better Christmases have prized porcelain.
Better Christmases are toasted by chalices porting posh pink wines.
Better Christmases, jumbo stockings fill so carelessly, each could be a single Santa sack.
~
Best Christmases require us two for steaming chocolate.
Best Christmases outlast seasonal cadences - when Spring fires back and snows arrest, you and I’ll be swaying in Summer, fiddling leaves around Fall.
Best Christmases, we share like flirty diplomats talking in turns,
between laughter,
through gazes;
in narrow words,
immense phrases,
sincerely hopeful,
all together.
Hopalong was a frog
Who dreamed of a better life
Dreaming of a kiss from a princess
Who he could take for a wife
Now, dreams don’t often come true
But this was his lucky day
It just so happened quite by chance
That a princess just came his way
The princess was being pestered
By some bothersome dragonflies
While she was trying to picnic
Hopalong heard her loud cries
Dragonflies, it has to be said
Was this frogs favourite meal
“I’ll get rid of those dragonflies” he said
“For a kiss, do we have a deal?”
The princess did hurriedly agree
So Hopalong gobbled up every one
It was only a matter of seconds
Before every last one had gone
“I’ll give you a kiss” said the princess
“But, first give your mouth a good rinse”
Hopalong did and then came the kiss
And POW! he turned into a prince
Now, you may think that the end of the story
Sad to say, this was not the case
Sure, the relationship bloomed for a while
But, Hopalong just lacked the grace
The king and queen were not happy
They did not approve of his past
Hated the fact he was once a frog
The relationship was doomed not to last
Meal times, they were the worst
The posh nosh he grew to despise
Oh! for such simple pleasures
Like munching on small bugs and flies
Then the arguments started
Over their planned wedding day
Hopalong invited his parents
The princess alas said “no way”
That was the final straw
The relationship they decided to ditch
Hopalong packed up his belongings
And sought out the towns local witch
The witch with her wrinkles and crinkles
And warty skin and long nose
Said “A prince wishing to become a frog?”
“Well, it makes for a change, I suppose”
The witch mixed up a strange potion
That included some animal brain
Hopalong took just the one gulp
And POW! was a frog once again
He thanked the witch and hopped off
Back to the place of which he was fond
Who needed to be a prince anyway?
When he was already king of the pond
Now, Hopalong is completely contended
The happiest he’s been by far
The moral is, it’s alright to dream
But, be happy with just who you are
©Gary Wayne Hill, 2019