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.
Style smiles
Word wild
Dear child
Work wiles
Seek sight
Dance dear
Craft cheer
Live light
Be bold
Leap loft
Speak soft
Fear folds
Save space
Nudge noise
Vet voice
Frame face
Buzz booms
Craze chokes
Play pokes
Big blooms
Posh plate
Sweet stakes
Wounds wake
Green gates
Be bright
Nude nudge
Taste touch
See sights
Lines loom
Strip strange
Ripe range
Zest zooms
Gain gall
Stretch sense
Taut tense
Free fall
Take turns
Seek sweet
Moves meet
Bear burns
Hurl hurts
Peak pain
Voice vain
Ditch dirt
Dupe dance
Freeze fate
Laugh late
Crisp chance
Leon Enriquez
02 July 2016
Singapore
small forest
The small forest or the woods by the white road
made of crushed sea-shells, was a place of enchantment
Squirrels played here and had no fear of lone dreamers
stumbling over oak roots.
I used to walk there when cows had
been milked, fed
and the mucking out was done,
fresh strew strewn
in stalls, and the barn had contented animals
I could do so many things in the forest, be an Indian or
take out my pocket phonographic book,
the milkmaid
gave me and masturbated.
especially drawn to pictures of cunnilingus women
seemed to enjoy this form of sex, I was horrified when
told this was not a manly act, ye the pleasured faces
stayed on my mind.
A year later, I drove to the forest
it was a private estate
high walls and posh villas, but the squirrels had gone
I laughed out laud
The good people in the villas will never know my secrets
here, where I dedicated and trained for a hearty sex life to come.
An edited version of my book: The Collected Work, of
Poetry, Vignettes, Humor and Political Statements
Mr Dennis...grimace..what the Dickens is going on...the menace
Inevitability of a celebrity on every terrace at the tennis..
The profanity and insanity of rampant vanity..
The gist..a D list tryst to bathe in the narcissist mist..
Blame.. tame or maim same lame fame name game shame..
Rich pickings at.. every look at me.. Wimbledon balcony..
Phew..is it too late for me lanky mate Stew..
Can't be ignored...a SW19 ticket you scored..
Hard to beat....pip..a meet and greet with the cheat elite..
Don't scoff...hats do doff...before we skip off on a toff trip to Crete..
A bit cranky..give me a hanky...he's gone a bit swanky.. wa**y...
Great..hanging out...lurking on board with the flawed fraud..
Applaud the encored smirking adored or abhorred hoard
Bored.. tanned trolls..champagne sippers in velvet slippers
Vain planned inane scrolls..no proles lost souls or nippers
Just skanky Yankee dolls & spank me molls maraud..day trippers
My Lord..thought your were berserking..working class..
Not the farce of up its own a**e..shirking VIP pass..
P.S just for you Stew..an ickle fickle tickle josh.. off my trolley volley..rhyming sickle...about you at some jolly posh tosh.. in a golly gosh wally folly pickle..
But still.. luv you bruv..you are the Guv..
Life is a ballad
Much like a salad.
A mixture of greens
From newborn to teens.
Then adulthood blues
In various hues.
Once years are golden,
It grows some mold in.
Sins lurking in seeds,
Sprouting up like weeds.
Mélange of all spice -
Of virtue, of vice.
Too proper and straight?
Add nuts to the plate.
Posh palate to please?
Grate sheep truffle cheese.
Life's rich fibre zest
We strive to digest.
No need to panic
If not organic.
Either way when lost,
Turns into compost.
Salads taste the same,
The leaves aren’t to blame.
The top secret is -
What it's garnished with.
Lush evergreen muse -
In dressing we choose.
Flair of creation -
In variation.
April 27, 2022
Goodbye Alfred
I had not seen Alfred for a while, had been busy
selling off my donkey farm, with this down I drove into town
but couldn`t find him and his flat had been rented out to others.
Found him in rundown old peoples home, four old men to a room.
What the hell are you doing here papa? Well, it’s about the money, he said but get me out of here. Alfred who had now accepted me as his son was wealthy his grandfather had been in oil, and he feared Olga- my mother-
Would take the money, had placed most of it in Portugal.
As he had given me the power
of attorney I got him out and into a posh private home for the aged.
Alfred look frail, his wavy hair was reduced to a few strands of
White hair and his unafraid, one could say arrogant, ways had gone
The home had phone number should he get worse.
The call came in his room sat Olga she embraced me called me my son, my son.
Sitting by Alfred’s bedside, I fell asleep only awoke
when a nurse said Alfred had slipped away, strangely Olga had disappeared also, but
in a way I was content, it had not been an imagination, they were real I had a family,
although it must be said that Olga’s vanishing puzzled me and the nurse said there
had been no visitors other than I.
Alfred`s last wish was to have his ashes strewn over Portugal I hired a helicopter and had it done. It was a sorrowful time, yet I was
glad that my dreams had come true.
The slump
My doctor, like many medics, knows little concerning
diabetes, but she does her share of guessing and gives advice according to her assumption
Cheer up, she says, you look sad.
Depression is a part of the illness, walking on a treadmill of illusion to stave off a coma that hangs onto the sick like an ill-fitting cape, a heroic actor will not be seen dead wearing
Beans! She says triumphantly is good for diabetes with
meat and veg, pauses, and suggests walking is good
Diabetic ice cream, she says, must be good on a hot day
it is full of artificial sugar, I say. No, I'm not about to help her
I know what she likes, should I invite her to a classy restaurant, it must be posh as she goes to her hairdresser twice weekly
Do you still smoke? No, but it makes no difference Tobacco, has nothing to do with diabetes
She grabs her pad and writes out some tablets to be taken
twice a week
and come back in six months.
Looks out of the window and asks herself if you are still alive!
She knows I'm a mind reader.
They won’t stop
I mean my friends
May be, we won’t stop
Think that is better
But for my Gunner friend
Charming light-complexioned
Fine boy, we all know
A smooth talking orator
An Engineer with a rare wisdom
With a posh car to cruise
Heaven was let loose on them his preys
A Gunner indeed,
Lost count of his prey cousins.
Cock barely crows
Before he landed on this day
Defying the heavy down pour
To come to a friend slaughter-alter
Smiling radiantly . . . un-endlessly
Suddenly became nice unusually
Why? Oh! He came for his prey cousin
She it who is at a friend’s wedlock.
His prey cousin whose name I know not
For her, he salivate . . . savor to Romeo
But he already has a Juliet
The one he ringed five moons ago
A dark-complexioned Queen
He ignited with a protruding belly.
Oh! On this day for the prey
He looked sportingly smart
In a Jean, T-shirt and a fez cap
He waited endlessly for his cousin.
Feigning to be calm
But obviously not cool
Despite heavy clatter of water above
For he desires desperately
To run gun shot on his cousin
What kind of cousin is this?
He paces round the Abattoir room
As her voice echoes in his ear
“I’m sorry, I’m coming
Please, wait for me love
I’m still in the wedding”.
Perturbed, yet pretends not disturbed
For there was no sight of her
He hissed countlessly
It was five hours past noon
Before I yawned twice
Time ran off me like a wild fire
Darkness took over the firmament
It dawned on the Gunner
No cousin prey to gun down today
A brighter day for the potbelly Juliet
It was a bad day for the Romeo Gunner.
When love strikes
Love or the emotion of infatuation
is a disturbing feeling, making us
willing to risk humiliation
I have met and loved several women
In my life, but I have been in love once
That was when I was middle-aged
but quite unaware of my years
She spoke English wonderfully
Was it her voice I loved or herself?
The wife I had was English, too
but didn't like to live in Portugal, Liverpool
the place where she thrived
We got divorced, which I didn't mind
thought I had found the love I needed
In the woman who spoke wonderfully
The beginning was a lovely time
I even met her posh mother
The abar was where she drank heavily, but
I sat about rescuing her
To save someone who doesn't want
To be saved is a waste of time
Behind my back, she began an affair
With a Dutch person, why is that
Race tall and wear unrimmed glasses
For a while, I took up drinking, which
I'm not good at it; it makes me confused
I tried to unlove her, but she is still
in my heart as a sweet memory that
Once upon a time, I was young
Tides will ebb and they will flow
But my love for you will only grow
As steady as, as steady goes
Nothing regarding you is faux
If you went away with me
I'd plan something for every day
Most other folks would think these strange
But I'm not like them anyway
Abandoned houses, bridges too
Old apple orchards long since bloomed
Stately, still with dignity
There's beauty in a tree deplumed
I don't need fancy, posh hotels
Let me sleep beneath the stars
Time with you does not compel
The nights are young, the days are ours
I love you lots my little dove
We'd fit together oh so well
Sometimes the hand, sometimes the glove
Stitched perfectly, no seam could tell
Accidently in Paris
From the bus station in Paris, I was taking a taxi to a posh
part of Paris, the driver a Moroccan didn`t know the way, but I had a map
he could not read, so I navigated, first left, second right and so one.
We got there after three hours, I tried to pay, but the driver would
not hear of it, made a U. turn and shot at me, he was a lousy shot
I stood there in the street of houses ready to expel anyone
who didn`t behave rich and since I walk like a penguin was accepted,
They say a blond girl has much fun, but I tell you a bald man has
more fun at Molin Roughs, (wrongly edited.)
Synchronized dancing and I was thinking when are we going
to eat? Someone a woman I was temporally in love with, arranged
so I could have soup. It was a feathery show, and I sneeze a lot.