Long Premises Poems
Long Premises Poems. Below are the most popular long Premises by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Premises poems by poem length and keyword.
Gonifs and gossips revisited
since originally being crafted
approximately half dozen
dirty deeds done dirt cheap years ago...
Abound and lurk
within every nook and cranny
analogous to some annoying pest
harmless though one reside here,
when off his meds goes berserk
here at Highland Manor Apartments.
They snatch and snitch packages -
meant for other than themselves -
think Grinch who stole Christmas
plus snoop, i.e. eavesdrop
big Dumbo ears as listening devices
(batteries not required)
or serve as rumor mongers
to don self importance
and trumpet "FAKE NEWS."
We (yours truly and his misses)
dwelled at aforementioned residence
July first 2025 will be eight years,
and no sooner did both of us set foot
on premises than hearsay
immediately promulgated
(metaphorically swirled about our heads),
and passed like greased lightning
thru the robust grapevine
purportedly wife of mine
brought in live snakes.
Oddly and interestingly enough though,
I never actually never heard nor saw
a fellow resident
talk (or whisper in hushed tones)
about me outright.
Rather than badmouth other feisty folks,
which leaves unpleasant virtual
aftertaste described as phooey zook,
thus comeuppance to reprobate recipients
I activate viz cluck
king silly reasonable rhyme,
(so keeps head up
for urbane adverse city slicker
you better watch out
(...better not shout...) just duck
and run for cover cuz poet took
effluvia enroute spouted by word huck
stir, he avoids naming
(chatterboxes whose lives
so devoid of meaning,
they figuratively kickstart tittle-tattle),
who vocally ramp up
some juicy tidbit with any luck
taking page from former president playbook
letting their lips uncontrollably run a-muck
totally oblivious to credibility factor being a schmuck
buzzfeed initial kernel of truth and truck
outrageous zingers suitable for National Enquirer,
tragicomical, cuz mistruths
courtesy tenants exhibit chutzpah to pluck
farfetched outright lies and innuendos
rolling of tongues of then occupants such as:
"Bible Thumper/Holy Roller,"
"Bingo/ Phat Cathy,""Crooked Old Man,"
"Curvy Girl/Thunder Thighs," "Frumpty Dumpty
"Mush/Smash Mouth, "Snaggletooth,"
"The Bodyguard," "The Fossil," "The Schvartze,"
"Winkle," and last but not leased "Zha Zha”.
Give me fruit flies, mice
and/or roaches any day,
or give me death!
1. This ole world is cavalcading escalading, towing down;
Falling down into the premises of unusualness;
Solid confines to the missions hell bent;
Loss in its shame, borrowing time;
Everyone everywhere is swallowing sin;
While the naysayers keep welcoming them in..
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
2. Image now, how would it be, could you be free;
Left alone drinking miscalculated teas;
Raisin cane and eat manna breeze from the trees;
What does it mean is it a dream?
And all these things again, mention above;
Where is t he love?, what? where is the love?
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
3. Missing mountains and trail condescending;
No one is gathering everyone meandering;
What must I do to love and embrace you;
Shovel in my hand standing in the sand;
Feeling the heartbreak of mankind demeanor;
Leaving hatred in a container of oven cleaner;
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
4. I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
Mysteries and non compliances and misguided judgements;
All but a dream, every hates no love in their hearts see what I mean;
I have a motion that we won't judge them;
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Written word by James Edward Lee 1974
Arranged music by James Edward Lee & The Corinthian
From demo album "The World May End Tomorrow" 1970,1974,2017 (c)
(In a 19th-century legal judgment studied by all who
learn the English common law, Sturges v. Bridgeman,
the court found in favour of a "nice" doctor over a
"common" manufacturer, for reasons of pure snobbery.)
The Candyman Can’t
Some legal battles have the power to thrill,
while others never have, and never will.
Some touch on human themes which really matter,
and some do not. We’re dealing with the latter.
This present case is hardly OJ Simpson:
it lacks dramatic shape, and simply limps on
listlessly, with abstruse reasoning,
no sex or violence to give it seasoning.
One Mister Bridgman manufactures sweets,
in premises where Wigmore crosses/meets
its neighbour, Wimpole. Eighteen seventy-nine
of our salvation, two lives intertwine
when Doctor Sturges takes consulting rooms
around the corner. Disagreement looms,
for Bridgman’s grinding, pounding candy line’s
destroying Sturges’ peace, fragging his mind.
The law of nuisance really is quite funny.
It says, “he did you harm? Well, here’s some money”.
What if you’d rather dodge the damage, and
defer the dollars? How to countermand
the duty-breach-then-damages regime?
Suppose we interpose a better scheme?
Instead of “you must suffer, he must pay”,
we stop the harm? The problem goes away!
This ruse is known as “equity”. It functions
by granting prior relief (they’re called injunctions).
So Sturges stemmed stentorian sweetie sounds
by order of the court, and Bridgman found
his business gagged and bound by hoops of steel,
for no good reason. What to do? Appeal!
(For thus advise the lawyers. Such affairs
drag on for years. The lawyers? They get theirs!)
Said Bridgman: “I’ve been cranking out jujubes
for decades now. It’s all gone down the tubes
because some quack dislikes the earnest hum
of my devices. Why, then, did he come
to Wimpole Street? He wants tranquility?
Go hang his shingle in Highgate Cemetery!
I have a remedy for Doctor Sturges:
it’s swallowing his antimony purges!”
But Bridgman lost. One cannot help but feel
that making toffee wasn’t quite genteel
enough. Their Lordships said behaviour
that’s unacceptable around Belgravia
can find a home in Bermondsey. The latter
has lots of lowly types. It doesn’t matter
if they have noisome noise, and have to live
in filthy fumes – for they’re not sensitive.
folks, there is a brand spanking new
kind of idiot
that walks amongst us &
no,
s/he is not a ****ing zombie---
some film mustered creature who
erupts from the dead like some
fictional biblical ********
to wreak havoc on the rest of us
who deserve to suffer at the hands of
something that thanks to
Romero, O’Bannon, P.Jackson & the
Halperin brothers, we have to
endure.
the idiot in question of course is the
rich individual who has taken the time,
effort & moola to create anti-zombie
fortresses in the US, to protect
themselves from the
“zombie apocalypse”---
a special example of american
stupidity,
which because of the few random events
in the recent past, where morons
full of bath salts & meth have
gone on to a career in
munching on the face of their
fellow
delicious-looking, human,
has plagued the minds of those who
have nothing better to do &
nothing more to worry about
than the impossible attack from
a work of fiction.
while not much different than the
rich christians who go to such great
lengths as giving money to senators
who will push the further armament of
Israel, as well as always supporting
any kind of instigation brought on by
the good ol’ US of A, in the
middle east, with the hope that it will
bring about their “armageddon” a
little sooner,
these fanatics doing their damndest to
fend off zombies
(rising from the dead & for some reason
showing up on said idiot’s doorstep)
have gone the extra mile to invest in
what are often referred to as
“modern day castles.”
ranging from $600,000 (drop in
the bucket) to $12 million (steep, but ya
know we are talking about zombies here
people)
these dwellings o’ the delusional
bear such amenities as fully
fledged moats surrounding the premises,
underground missile silo bunkerdom,
personal air strips, panic rooms, safe cores,
helicopter landing pads, sniper towers &
even windows rumored to fend off
missiles as well (because apparently
zombies choose from a wide range of
violent killing methods) &
to add to the hilarity (hopelessness) of
it all, now they are being put on the
market for whatever reason…
maybe said rich imbecile has had a
bad string of financial luck, maybe they
are moving on to better & brighter
anti-zombie apocalypse compounds, or
maybe,
just maybe,
they have come to their senses?
Nature made convenient sluice,
when pool water did wend
down the gentle slope
describing gargantuan wetsuit vend
er steadily chugging, chiseling,
and channeling straight away
blindly coursing upend
ding (mankind imposed)
property boundaries demarcations tend
with futile diligence,
asper the whimsical barenaked lady's
propensities, viz mother nature
made short shrift send
ding hours of surveyor labor down
into the behavioral sink also rend
ding inhabitants within the flood plain
to vacate premises and return,
when storm didst abate
comically shaking angry fist
at darkening non sheltering sky -
faux imitating to berate
meteorological processes
many complex systems create
the downpour seemingly
appearing (to me) rainier date
then years gone by scattershot memories,
(which figurative, somewhat unreliable
yardstick of boyhood) did equate
climate affecting
Southeastern Montgomery, Pennsylvania,
registering *****sapiens ultimate fate
burgeoning population, which impact great enough
for this lix spittle country bumpkin to ejaculate
(not prematurely) Hawaii hate
to reckon my environmental impact doth irritate
fragile ecosystems, and
holistic lifestyle aye would trade
(hint...mebbe ya know
of eco-centric intentional communities)
even (yes absolutely)
necessitating sweat of brow spade
work agreeable to this sometime joker
renting from management Grosse and Quade,
who primarily bolster increasing monies to get paid,
perhaps partnership incorporates hiring maid
service for their own households,
no doubt beds get properly made
yet, this regular John Doe (dependent on
social security disability because
debilitating panic attacks undermined
ability to function found (yours truly) laid
up (prior to acquiescing strong suggestions
to accept prescription medication), where grade
to cope much less steep, plus un huff frayed,
now rowing tha old skiff to destination
for to long not fostered and delayed
(christened matthew scott harris) to feign charade
nod duh so merrily lee down the time stream.
Aspirations are a self revealing Impress,
peeping in gem facet placeholder-
of ruby glimpses
of
Fairy tale covers,
covertly-airbrushed by the atmosphere,
over genuine zirconium expectations.
In inner light magistrate cache cow-
in the crystal stereo
of the now and here,
flashes impetus clear like a streaker revealing
to illustrate, the daring, self inspiration of its baud rate
of liberation-ad-here.
Geniing the busy body of it's own needful premise
of seedful impetuous implication, promised on premises.
A banner at happy hour suggesting intoxicating ingestion.
Drunk with in-advertising
getting premonition of-promotion, imbibing
the "jasmine in your mind."
Relation-ships moon causes the roiling sea
to gem carats of her sparkling sirens.
Alluring rocks to dash you to pieces
in drawn compliance..
Unsown light can give you the creatures of her disease,
calling bluff to serve her touring manifestations.
With marked cards to lay down in flush that had lay dormant but surfaced up from the sleeve
and from the seep of pasts saved ante ups.
They are a whiskey shot at a saloon.
Liquid courage that causes you to bark at the moon.
Tide a naked ride tied to the back of a train,
of bad ideas, after tion, ction and igeon
blows your cover, like sudden electrical storm
over the rainbow over landover and hot air,-
balloons like a mushroom
clouded idead ideal that transports you into the stratosphere of her thundering strutopeels.
Her bubble puts you in her hair brained funny papers, periodically.
To keep you sober, from occupying
a van down by the river. (Which sounds good to me) incidentally, but that's neither here nor there,
immaterial, witness,
these thought bubbles-seductively
siring, serial 'vamped vapor round firing
like a ghost mistress who puts you in a stupor
on the grounds of desiring, her consecrated things.
What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Knowledge might at least try
to include the humility of Wisdom
as leftbrain dominant thoughts
co-arise rightbrain subversive feelings
We have not truly hoped
and actively prayed for wisdom
in our poured out words
as in our paltry anthro-privileged deeds.
They, on Othering hand
and wing
and side
and hemisphere,
demand and invoke more
more
more knowledge
to overwhelm with debate
about indecent deeds
using words like toxic weapons
of predation,
too often ballistic,
hate a nation.
We yearned
and burned to argue
for more cooperative education
systems for accumulating healthy principles
and first co-invested wealth premises
about primal naturally-spiritual things,
sterile when merely written down
and out of remembering
multisensory
regathering body
If not LeftBrain published
then less worthy
for creating seminal
culturally ingrained
unresolving win/lose ZeroSum
closed and traumatic
ecocidal knowledge
Compatible with narcissistic
nihilistic despair
and anxious feelings
echoing through closed anthro-privileged views
of Common Sense
for capitalism,
and patriarchal neglect
of Commons Health
and Earth-Safety Development.
Younger amused voices
citing wiser Elder choices
might win/win remember
our best and brightest peak experiences,
no less spiritual
for becoming sensual
and kind spirited
and passionately inspired
multicultural embodiments of Earth
and Sun,
empowerment
and enlightenment,
circulating blood and sap and waters
and bipartisan breath
Provoke deeper sacred vestments
infesting fertile co-creation,
wisdom of compassion,
personal knowledge passion
profoundly restoring peace
through unconditional warm
amusing mind/body
song and dance communication
Mentored
in co-invested Wisdom Schools
inspiring health-wealth pools
transforming unspoken feelings
Yanged out and revered Yin in
flowing mused brilliance
of co-binary thought/felt resonance
Invoking fused EarthTribe's
Wisdom Echoing School
for deep and widely skilled
amusing spirals
Planning polycultural
ZeroZone seasons,
ch'i balancing reasons,
root-systemic win/win legions
nonviolently communicating
co-enlightened green
organic
fresh found resilient
brilliance.
Höchstzal 25 Worte!
I hear, I listen, I read, I observe, I sense; there are words flying around everywhere and from everyone including me, at an awesome pace.
There are things in life that don’t add up and make a perfect equation, or the equation is correct and we can’t understand the math?
I hear the rustle of the leaves outside my door, a coolish Spring wind pushes on the tongue of the tubular chimes to ring softly.
Crickets singing in the evening, their drone serving as a rhythmic background to the other sounds of fans whirring in the house, natures soft parade.
You are a light that I’d not seen before, though your presence was always there, and when we did meet, your light laid me bare.
A soft pale shadow traced a signature sly smile around your slightly parted lips, a greeting of eyes met there; time took its humble bow.
During my time of resplendent wonder and love, I suspended all reason in order to pursue an ideal of friendship, expressed as an untethered heart
Happiness hovered over their conversation, its essence as pure water, a spring bubbling over in gestures as sublime as a spider’s web bejeweled in dew.
At this age, of which I have alighted at time’s behest, I am attempting to throw the shackles of chosen conventions out, for further browsing
A thread of lusty exuberance spread across the sky, crackling electric spear-like bolts earthbound, melding soil and soul adjoined in molten union.
That svelte black leopard teased out a ‘yes’ from me, her tight look and glassy eyes sparkled so alluringly so guileless, yet smart as pavement.
I’ve never see the sky yawn so earnest and ravenously as it approached the dawn, the night sky quickly evaporating into a waning black thread.
Listening, the rustle of leaves nervously quacking, winds caress entwining branches, their closeness abandons convention, freeing all frontier, swept clear, cool airs inhabit shady premises.
There is that place, that space, that offers a gentle soothing warmth, moist as the tropics, sweet as ocean sugar, hooked on the lip, caught.
The skin, the canvas, the block, the stone face, ready for the etch, the brush, the chisel, the needle, vulnerable to the artists peculiar passions.
National Panic Wednesday March 9th, 2022 actually... every day
Founded by Tom and Ruth Roy
solely to acknowledge hardship
of A. R. Harris
and her husband M.S. Harris,
who cope poorly
(even courtesy medication)
with anxiety attacks, especially when
violated, probed, interrogated courtesy
Highland Manor inquisition,
which traumatizing event happened
on aforementioned date
included with poem title.
J. G. and P. F.
constitute management team
under jurisdiction of Quoss
(pronounced chhath tt) and Grade,
who espouse principle laissez faire
but whose exhibited heavy handedness
pertaining to the married couple
named in the third line of this poem.
Either one or the other gals
who attend these premises
here at the Schwenksville location
(I won't mention
the state as penile solitude)
alluded to a peculiarly nasty odor
emanating from unit B44,
our man/woman cave.
We received a twenty four hour deadline
to get into shipshape the disarray
messiness even Pigpen
would find abominable,
yet upon receiving both
oral and written admonition,
me and the missus
buckled down and kickstarted
frenzied whirlwind one bedroom
apartment cleaning spree
zoned out like zombies of Sugar Hill
when the clock struck bewitching hour,
more specifically that alluded time
synonymous with midnight.
No matter we felt dead tired
whereat neither option
to acquire additional time,
nor desist existed,
and yet nearly impossible mission
to continue, but appealing
to temptation of sandman
out of the question.
Deep sleep for the weary
appeared oh so heavenly,
on par with plate
of powder milk biscuits,
our mandate (analogous to pilgrims
adults and children -
forced to fight in crusades)
forbid cessation, thus to plod
and plow onward
despite overwhelming urge to plotz,
(not the slang definition)
found yours truly
blissfully in dreamland
when me noggin hit the pillow,
Not for a minute
could yours truly
sit down and take a breather,
despite severe lower
(rightside) back pain.
Said dull throbbing ache
diagnosed as tight muscles
by Doctor (physical therapist)
John R. Mishock,
he would not countenance
(approve, comply, honor...)
I popped one Ibuprofen.