Long Punch Poems
Long Punch Poems. Below are the most popular long Punch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Punch poems by poem length and keyword.
"Novitiate"
Wading through
turgid mainstream
Novitiate makes her
way to the bottom rungs
of the Clean Team
Where dreams are
captured a.m. p.m. .
on the run with
weeping neutered minds
zero sublime
same old, same old
Asks herself,
“Where’s the substance?
Am I gormless too?”
rewards are Molasses,
Sugar Plums and
Glory, if that's you
It’s like dipping your spoon
in Alphabet Soup
re-arranging letters.
Shirley Temples with
no flaming
Bombe Alaska clue
pour the brandy,
light the flame.
Ignite something,
heart, mind or soul
covert intelligence
wonderful electric
minds pollinating
intellectual beehives,
"where's all the dripping
honey?"
Novitiate dreams
Go punch a hole in the sky
block all emotional rissoles
it’s not a question of
do or die
the Game is called
take-the-ride, at all times
avoid blood-sucking Vampires
Strict insects in an
ultra strict machine
watching their wings
flutter pretty, all beat
in time bang against
a silent wall
koutou three times
It aint about numbers baby
nor who’s who in the Zoo
it’s about writing your story
lock, stock and smoking barrel
keeping it true
Cover all mirrors
old is dead
born is new
Mornings rise with Sun
Fold your cards,
Hearts are trumps
Win-Win
what's done is done
time to de-robe and run, run, run
You're a novitiate skating
daily in your black
Nun's habit, it's way way
tragique, it's all a bit,
"La députée a raconté
une histoire très tragique",
find a new Boo.
Passports,
TRANSIT LOUNGE
Airport
Escape the Zoo.
Time to Do-the-Do
Novitiate throw
off your Black habit
Perfume
Rouge lipstick
New shoes
Yeah, put on your
Kavorka
New You
Double Deluxe Choc Chip
take the double cream
and cherry too.
Escaping the Zoo
True Romance.
OUR STORY
Me and You
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
"Temple of Love"/Johnny Hollow
https://youtu.be/p64wbdRBzjk
Observing Mr. Trump
By Franklin Price
10/18/2015
It's really quite hilarious
Observing Mr. Trump
Other candidates not laughing
When the Donald takes the stump
He's not a politician
To the eye and ear quite clear
Yet he does the song and dance
Has done so all this year
If they try to dis him
When a stupid thing he states
He points to all the polls out there
Shows them how high he rates
When they come right at him
You know the Donald doesn't duck
He takes the punch and comes right back
And wallows in the muck
Many ask the question
Is he doing this for fun?
Or could he be the president
To bring this country back, the one?
Politicians have not done it
Of this I'm very sure
All they accomplish is much BS
Up to our necks with their manure
Be careful weighing options
When you think about the Trump
Boards not strong within his platform
Could break and throw us in the dump
The choices not the greatest
No matter where you look
All candidates have their pros and cons
All try to set the line and hook
Republican or Democrat
Think hard before you vote
The Donald or the rest of them
Who best to keep the boat afloat?
(my acknowledgement
to the loose canon of Robert Frost)
An above average snowfall
heavily swathed sage heather
followed by substantial unusual rainfall
punctuated months before, during and
after the growing season
delivered one of the
most hearty crop yields
in living memory
within the generations of men
of this (or any neighboring)
Norwegian bachelor farmer
long time residents
feeling like the sole housekeeper
of Lake Woebegone,
who can remember
the Edenic pasture with reluctance
raw bits and pieces mending wall
experiencing crushing childhood's end
weathered by their parents,
who as kids themselves
(during the worst
fear full Depression
in thee United States of America)
when countless farmers forced
by circumstance declared bankruptcy
locked out of hearth and home
no recourse 'cept to sell rural legacy...
family property deeds
(traced back to original settlers)
contrasts sharply with
plentiful, crucial, and
over abundant annual
precipitation, whereby these vestiges
of rural quaint lifestyle
awash with expansive lush cornfields,
whose silk like tassels
synchronously undulate
(sparsely dotting pastoral landscape),
blistered, calloused, and damned,
whether weathered by blizzards,
or pounded with powerful (one...two)
top notch pugilistic punch
topographical scars permanently earmark,
where Ole man winter relentlessly socked
or Mother Nature slammed a wall of water
saturating freshly mown hay,
which pungent odor
belied teeming flora and fauna
(albeit many organisms nearly invisible)
yet keenly observable to hawk eye,
also tempting black crows
to carrion camping
while a flock of seagulls
swoop down upon unsuspecting
school of fish,
and/or scurrying varmints.
Two thorny vines slow down visitors rushing headlong along rain forest tracks.
Their thorns grab and hold stranglers by clothes and hair entangled.
Vines hanging like groupies waiting to clamour and grasp at pop stars and pope.
But why belay your delay to thorns and vines, when your own paws have claws?
Pause to contemplate, linger a little longer and wait just a wee while.
Touch on the brakes to ease down the slopes and round the curves with pleasure.
Add wiggles to your path, pull eyes off the ground, step slower, and hear sounds right out
Hear the end of the chime, the punch line sublime, the echo of all bird-call stanzas.
In slow motion, you'll feel the breeze,
See the stars, smell the daisies, and touch surfaces with caresses
Pausing here are there to quell for a spell,
Enriches and enlightens, and like taking a drink refreshes.
You have time on your side, so wait for a while, and linger a little longer.
my everyday motto
Every morning till Midnight
I Sing a song
A song made of words
words that are joined together
together to form success
My punch lines will forever say
"No matter what i will never quit I rather rest"
Though I'm resting in a shadow made of Forever blues
I wanna be classified as The first Young black poet
from Limpopo
who ever served success
I wanna be identified as Xeezy
and not xeezy as just a name
But a story behind success
I'm Creating a beautiful story of my life
for the next generation to follow my footsteps.
For I am the Road
and God shall be the Light
Everyday and every night
A Badge and a Gun
A gun and a badge makes you macho and brave
A chain and a whip makes another a slave
The past can’t be forgotten as much as we try
Two hundred years on and people still cry
Ask yourself why you do, just what you do?
Punch the innocent who stand in front of you
Instead of being the person for what you are paid
You taunt and hurt and shoot and degrade
You have the badge and it gives you the right
To arrest the guilty and we understand your plight
But there’s bad apples in the barrel of every gun
And you stand and you aim, hoping they’ll run
Your allegiance is noted, the president smiles and gloats
Hides in his bunker, while a sycophant takes notes
In your ivory tower, with your thoughts and your tweets
While your mistakes and crimes, hide under white sheets.
David cox 05/06/20
In a world decayed by tyrants and greed,
Serving the human for the human mans creed.
Separation and conflict, the terms we now know
Where once The Last Bastion “Hope” used to grow
Defensible positions push further the lines
Where once the Hearth kept us warm through the times
The surety of plenty now fallowed with salt
Our Promised Land lays dormant, brought to a halt
Successor and Succor were once the lands governed
Brought low by obsession, greed is now covered
By laws and amendments they do what they will
Never giving care to the blood that they spill
A spearheaded tactic, to punch through the lies
Conviction and reason, the common ones cries
To once again see a world of solace and care
To take away hatred, and an end to despair
So with this, The Last Bastion “Hope” you can see
The salt lifted from a land that was once diseased
And never more daunted by an endless abyss
With “Hope” Comes “Love” and in the end … is “Bliss”
This was the first seaside holiday that we had
Memories of a happy time with mum and dad
Pictured in a photo in black and white
Faces beaming with pure delight
We traveled from the country in my daddy’s car
The journey took forever; it was oh so far
I can see the sea; I can see the sea
Excited giggles from my sister and me
We ran down onto the soft gold sand
Sat down by the Punch and Judy stand
Punch was teasing Judy, Judy was hitting Punch
Dad brought vanilla ice creams for us to munch
There were donkeys on which we did ride
Then we paddled in the water in the low tide
Watching as the water ebbs and flows
Frothy white waves tickled our toes
Golden sand stretched for miles and miles
We built sandcastles with happy smiles
Then searched for pretty seashells on the beach
Mum and dad sat close by, always within reach
05~15~15
The Call of the Sea
The ship breathes lightly,
pushing with a sway,
away from the dock
to glide towards the call
of the seas and a watery ease.
The ship slips across a
shimmering polished body,
waiting to be clutched by
wind, wave and welcome
folding into a blue, muscular rhythm
surging, urging towards distant lands, distant sands.
The sea patterns and pulses,
whispering secrets from its depths,
“What you can’t see is what you don’t know!”
Then for hours, the ship is gritted with determination
shuddering, stretching, straining its low bow
in search of a hidden horizon
but, instead, uncovering a punch of a storm.
In time, night follows surreptitiously
in the vessel’s wandering wake
painting a thin, watery darkness
while the storm’s aggressive beauty…. drifts,
leaving lightning behind to scratch the heavens;
offering a brief pathway of light.
The ship, with a sense of swagger,
a lilt of shashay….rhythms onwards.
Ian Souter
Yellow-green May
Loving blue jay
Land in love with water at the bay
Heartbeats in the sway
You are so handsome
Green-blue sea
Splashes against you and me
Bubbles colored in glee
Offer us the key
To let our hearts go dancing
Purple robe in emerald nest
Tulips in their pinkish quest
Soft and white the chickadee’s breast
Let’s move to shade for rest
From dancing to a little blossoming
White cloud cuddles the sky
Run away glances in your eye
Birds in the orange stimuli
The gondola stands by
Passionate circumstance
Beggars sing in the street
Boredom in the escort’s feet
Blue and green are incomplete
Wounds, soul-ache and defeat
Sadness darkens in the blossom
Rhododendrons in white bunch
Green chilli with the lunch
Tipsy on a sweet fruit punch
Your flavor lingering in the munch
So fulfilling is nature
________________________________
May 23, 2016