Long Prong Poems
Long Prong Poems. Below are the most popular long Prong by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prong poems by poem length and keyword.
Fixing our own mistakes can be quite a vexatious trial
Laughing at our errors often brings us a humorous smile
Asking others for assistance is not a sign of weakness
What it shows is a humble nature known as meekness
Because of our human imperfection we get things wrong
That doesn't mean our resolve and patience is not strong
Seek to find the solutions you may have known all along
It just takes some trial and error to go that extra furlong
Procrastination is not the answer, for it will only prolong
finding explanations for problems that gather in a throng
Get to it! It's as simple as stabbing meat on a fork prong
You will be elated with your life and singing a new song
Don't digress. Be determined to dissuade dense denial
Upon a first reflection, no human achieves perfection
Even following direction, we still need some correction
Fixing our own mistakes can be quite a vexatious trial
Word Pairing: Trial and Error
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
February 2, 2016
4X4 Master Rhyme Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Deposited, held in Amazon's Adonis arms
Hidden inhospitably stashed, kite shadow
Curled furtive, stairway stupefied windshield
Hallucinations lag languished in amusement
Monkeys freeze, screech scamper scratch
Egg smooth roof unscathed cubby abode
Jagged gaps hang fur curtain climbing mates
Swung carefree in cramped homecamp humid
Aghast lopped log rest exhales raggedly
Snapped propeller askew salutes defeat
Wing bent lungs transform fortitude into fuel
Crushed accordion bodied anaconda swivels
Lock jaw latch tight to jungle gym frame
Liquid flow flanks scale, giant slug glued
Fork tongue tastes rain drip following day hope
Fangs prong Coconas sour tomato gold codicil
Cluster juice burst berries, bittersweet bulbs
Knobs of Contreu twisted tangerine vitamin
Fibre feeds faith indispensible, thin torsos entwined
Fight against forbode of abandonment, exhausted
Anonymous Minor Survivors
Middle of Jungle June
Ache in soul, O prophet?
The world is horrid hell.
Tracheotomy Tophet!
Suffering a-swell!
Gale, crash with titanic force!
Roil the ocean bad.
Ship that I'm in, blow off course...
That will lurk, O lad...
Horror, thou art with us.
Volcano, just explode.
Mayhem, madness, ornery cuss.
Bitterness, fate, ode...
Cry of a dying warrior?
He must have got hit square.
Poisonous and on the pour!
Blessings, be thou bare.
Grim and grateful, hoary, high.
Machine on the move.
Doom and Death, deliver! I?
What have I to prove?
Clash of giant armies?
O warlocks, bombs away!
Never mind the charm! Cheese?
Just dessicate and flay...
Pray, O poets, not too long.
Come on not too strong.
Best to stay where you belong.
Potentate, thy prong.
Song of banshee, sirens, wail.
Never end, O tale.
Hollow, are you, garbage pail?
Blizzards contain hail...
Issued paper fibers mirror those of the straw bale,
The waters of the great canal through the morning sail.
In spite Venezia was tied, the chairlift was jostling,
Twisting its way through the small calli in haze whiting.
It's safe to say man has a qualm, despite his skin tone,
The Earth spins around, put your location out of zone.
Informal suburbs have been overrun by strange walls,
The laws of the rulers, custom breeds devotion calls.
It's amazing how people fall for lowering strife,
Then residents achieve bad habits and lose their life.
Identity loss roots our quiet closed eyes, curdle,
Teams were the source of hatred for every step hurdle.
Its clogged and stuffed bowel burst, the young boy died of filth,
They stole his liver, kidneys, and heart, killing his health.
Idle boy's heart beats in a guest's chest; mom's tear-soaked veil,
The boy is dead or lives couched in flesh tombs as was frail.
Its tearful child asks his dad, "where does sorrow stem from?"
The sorrow you get is the kid of joy, if not some.
It's not just the sun's rays that draw forth the elixir,
The Oceans create clouds and those clouds from storms austere.
Isn't the fragrance that lures butterflies, but the same scent,
The flower that would a lover pick for his content?
It's not the light shining on your flesh in the mirror,
The light chases the reverse side's shadow to shiver.
It's when you're glad, know that it cost others happiness,
That you're enthralled recall it's someone else's sadness.
Individualism fails in vain, that's a grouse word,
This may never know how your fault brings oddly well-augured.
It opens endless doors to be tough, profound, and strong,
Though no book or teacher can teach you a complete prong.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 23 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
1ST Place Contest Winner
Written August 30, 2022
Dot Your I's And Cross Your T's Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Hilo Poet
Verified and checked with HMS.COM, with 13 syllables in each line.
Helena's Torment - The Villanelle Of Skies
Helena couldn't stop thinking about skies
They were just so strong and long
But she could never forget the rise.
That morning, Helena was shocked by the device.
She found herself feeling rather headstrong.
Helena couldn't stop thinking about the skies.
Why?
Later, Helena was spooked by an arise
She tried to focus on a crowd
But she could never forget the rise.
flies
Gabriel tried to distract her with an enterprise.
Said it was time to start thinking about a pong
Helena couldn't stop thinking about the skies.
Why?
Helena took action as an advise
Skies were like a toxic prong
But she could never forget the rise.
Helena demise was otherwise
Her mind became dangerously wrong
Helena couldn't stop thinking about skies
But she could never forget the rise.
7/4/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
The blade penetrated the flesh
like a prong to a pitted plum
he had played with war
toyed with war
yet the gun
well the gun didn't have balls
Not for him the sterile
three shrouds removed
expunging of visera with a gun
sissy pistols
pansy takers
Stick um good
part the seas of red
wake and feed the hounds of war
plastic pop-guns shatter beneath the heel of Mars
Man UP, raise the staff
and shove the pig sticker into mother's child
Oh man, war, Old Man War
do you visit him each night as you enter
what should be the path to love?
Have a poke little man
just remember, all that was is ...
and will be born again.
Dedicated to a constant friend and inspiration Chris Aechtner
Inspired by his write "kids use toy guns'
I wanted to be her
So that everyone will like me
I decided to hold my guts together
So I can be the bird set free
I tried and tried and tried
But no one appreciated
My own soul became my other side
I forgot why I was created
Then one day she was proved wrong
And maybe so was I
Maybe I scraped my own self with the fork prong
And filled her in hope of something high
I forgot no matter what
I am good and will be good
I don't need to be someone I not
As long as I stood
I totally forgot I will be I
And she will be she
From now on when I look at the sky
I will wish for the six year old me
Stolen from story book disbelief
Leather cape swoop, hooks my veins
Fork prong fangs drink, blood drains
Bubble in ruby bead eyed thief
Gurgle as furry gargoyle fills
Helicopter hurricane flurry vanishes
Clutching my haemorrhage damages
Explosive throat, dizzying thrills
Attack on this dreaded day, theorise
Opened as old time, musty pages
Terror in an unexpected text message
Dirty diseased creature in disguise
Heroic helper - no - unobscured horror
Giving me a role in rancid plot
Grave digging past reveals rot
Historic vampiric bombastic bother
Haunted Taunted
Spooks Peek
Last of October
Barren like broken coral
I wander the desert alone
a nautical map in my mind
of sand’s gristles coalescing
Fins and snorkel thirst for wet
suit and pursuit as bubbles
disappear in quick sand and
sink holes glisten and simmer
Down at the ‘see bed’ right next to
Atlantis rings in sunken dreams Oasis
looms and teases a free flowing spindle
drowns hope in foreshore’s drought
As dunes of loneliness grind my lungs and ponged prong
remembers to chill in the perspiring heat I am ambivalent of
whether it was a good idea to trade my life buoy for an anchor
Sprinkled over time of passing he finds legacy’s fathomless treasures
Finally he comes across a few pages of his father’s diary from the War
Loss fear survival battles a bullet here and there and grinding demise
Longing for home land and loved ones scripted in Russia’s wide open planes
Glory Defeat Unspeakable Blood Who is to Judge
If One has not walked in those military boots
And yet this is history a personal narrative a segment of the son’s truth
Hard to forgive but not to forget in the quest for understanding and light
He has not fled himself from chains of tanks crushing not only miserable frost
But comrades in arms receiving recompense for invasion and perpetration
There were concentration camps in his way what Did
He do what Did he know and how and or what Did he fight
A belt buckle survived and the offspring wore it at Dad’s last journey
Had always believed it was the Army’s with Swastika and inscribed
With ‘Blood and Honour’ as a pledge to insanity and conquest’s decree
Tight around waist and courage for a cause thankfully fallen between cause
Research has found a new meaning and the prong for the
Strap had been the emblem of Hitler Youth’s torched madness
Why did his father hold that memory so dear was it pride recall un-reformed
Delusion and what other remembrance has beentaken to an uncomfortable grave
07th June 2018