Long Punk Poems
Long Punk Poems. Below are the most popular long Punk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Punk poems by poem length and keyword.
planning
The other day Anna created a Pinterest board of wedding ideas (Cheesy, she knows). “It’s time to hop on the bandwagon,” she said. She insists every other girl she’s aware of - except her weird Yale roommates - has one.
We think her girls back home (in Oregon) - who didn’t go to college, are matching up with the Larrys and Gregs who stayed home to become auto mechanics and carpenters - and are now serially getting married. This trend seems to be exerting an odd, psychological pressure on Anna.
“You may be jumping the gun,” Sophie observes.
Anna’s never even had a long-term boyfriend before, but she wishes she had one now. A part time BF anyway, because who has time for more? Anna is self-proclaimed awkward with guys, especially cute ones.
She created a tinder account and uses it to see how many matches she can get - but she refuses to meet any guys there because she says she’s not “desperate.” She thinks everything about tinder screams awkward, unless people are just hooking up there - and that idea, in her mind, is absolutely disgusting.
saving the planet
Late last Friday night, a graduate friend of Peter’s threw a party at his house - far from campus. The house was packed with people and the music was thumping, the crowded rooms jumping - practically humping - in time to a Sacramento horror punk band called “The cramps" that was playing on loop.
I made it through the living room mob to the kitchen, which was oddly empty and well lit. There was a disheveled girl gripping the island bar with one hand, like we’re on a rocking ship, while trying to light a cigarette with the other. I gently wangled the lighter from her - so she didn’t set her hair on fire - and gave her a light.
Afterwards, I slipped the lighter into her skirt pocket, and noticed half the island had coke spilled all over it. “I gave it a drink,” she said, slurring and wavering on her feet, “it looked thirsty.”
That’s when I noticed her now-empty rum and coke cup next to a soaking wet little cactus plant, two ice cubes now lodged in its dirt. I reassured her as I helped her onto a chair, “you were saving the planet.”
By different lovers I’ve been kept,
some skillful and a few inept.
I always respond, unafraid.
I rather enjoy being played.
A Spaniard picked me up one time.
His classic strumming was sublime.
Notes poured from me like a cascade.
I rather enjoy being played.
That man released me, and soon I
was picked up by a strange punk guy
who stroked me roughly. Though betrayed,
I rather enjoy being played.
My strings broke often from his touch,
yet thrilled was I by his thrum. Such
unique new tunes from me were made.
I rather enjoy being played.
He gave me over to a boy
who makes my strings vibrate with joy
I climax with each smooth glissade.
I rather enjoy being played.
With him I hope to have remained
in years to come. His love’s unfeigned.
Although I know at times he’s strayed,
I rather enjoy being played.
By Andrea Dietrich
For nette onclaud's "Sound Madness Poetry Contest"
This is personification of my favorite instrument, the Sexy Guitar!
I'm a Pitbull Clown, so you know what I bring/
To the stage every time I perform with a string/
My guitar work is flawless, my bass drum is lawless/
I never second guess so my vocals are noisy/
I have animal instincts and a clown attitude/
My music is wicked, so they call it Devil food/
Longitude or latitude, I rock shows/
Magnitude a thousand, so I rock globes/
Put me up against the best and watch who the fans choose/
I'll gamble on myself, this is not a fan duel/
I do what I say, and say what I want/
It's a freedom is speech, so my foes I taunt/
I'm the chosen one, the best, it just comes as a gift/
These metal heads are pressed, so I give them a lift/
I work the graveyard shift to give people what the want/
Making The Death of My Soul on YouTube was easy/
Making You can't Punk My Metal on YouTube was cake/
And since I succeed, everybody mad at me/
A Pitbull Clown and I play both sides/
You don't wanna see neither, like the tale of Jekyll Hyde/
Jekyll Jekyll Hyde, Jekyll Hyde, Hyde Jekyll/
A Pitbull Clown and they label me a rebel/
Can't Punk This Game my music on YouTube rebellious/
Red alert, Red alert, Ring the alarm/
Armed with my vocals and I come to play/
All the politics, I stiff arm, so get out of the way/
They don't want me to shine, so I turn the night to day/
With this little light of mine and I'm on fire/
Burning up the air waves they want me to retire/
In a rocking chair with a pipe in my mouth/
But when my days are done, I'm hiring a scout/
To carry on my legacy, finish what I started/
And put these other dudes in check/
Competition only come around every so often/
So I won't stop till I put the game in a coffin/
I stay on the grind, I get better with time/
The longer I'm here, I get better like wine/
I keep working hard, because I want what's mine/
A Pitbull Clown, so I'm pushing the line/
I am not a violent person
in any physical way,
but if love were a fight
I would fight you this day.
If love were a fight,
I would fight you all night
under twinkling stars
by the full moon light.
If love were a fight
I would fight you near the Ocean,
where the rolling weaves
are poetry in motion.
I would fight you in the depths
of the deep blue sea.
As your lover,
I would fight you
for every moment
you spend with me.
If love were a fight
I would fight you in the desert,
as twilight sets fire
to the sun baked sands,
I would fight you
across the mountain tops,
I hope you understand.
That I will never tire in my desire,
nor will I seek any rest.
Fore I will give it my all,
and fight you
with my last breath.
If love were a fight
I would show no mercy,
give no quarter,
respect no time line
demarcation or border.
I would kick Godzilla in the knees.
Call Goliath a punk.
Resurrect Houdini
and leave him
trapped in a trunk.
If love were a fight,
there is no limit
to what I would do.
But I would thank God,
I'm fighting with you.
Made Clothes from burlap bags
and used burlap and old tires to
make sandels and flipflops
she shared a song about
the remedy her husband made
when she had a cold
said he put, sugar and a crushed
clove of garlic mixed with honey and brandy
to knock the germ out.
one day I was wearing my flipflops
decked out in my burlap clothes
had a the flu
and was drunk.
That dang punk wanted us to still
go out there and sing.
Hhe so cheep
he still used these ways
even after he sign with
Moif Music Company
and got that sign on fee.
We aint get knowthing out the deal.
Told me: wear the Burlap suit and
don't move around so much on stage
cause the price of thick thread
had gotten expensive!
That's
what he said ask FFuge. He had
that specail order Epoxy Gutar
that (@$!!#11) made for him
I can't mention his name cause
we weren''t entitled to
people outside of the Orchastra's
names due to Contractual
agreements. He can sing: ya'll know the man can
sing: but if the show
wasn't on and he
had to pay for it, he wasn't at all interested
in doing anything that would take
away from the budget. His management skills
seems unoorthodax;
cause the way he was raised:
but he can surely sing!
A wee bit of humor based on this Mark Parisi cartoon.
Chasing me was a cop flashing red and blue lights
I refused the breathalyzer, so he read me my rights
He didn't buy my excuse of having had the zoomies
He said, "In jail, you'll have lots of zoomie roomies."
I told him I'd cooperate and would walk the line
He agreed to that and said I'd just have to pay a fine
for doing seventy-five while driving in a school zone
and if I past the inebriated test he'd throw me a bone
I took his comment to mean he was being sarcastic
but I just smiled at him and said, "Gee. That's fantastic."
I grabbed my beer and took a one last long guzzle.
He called me beligerent and reached for a muzzle.
He said he had no pity for such a disrespectful mutt
I kept laughing and saying, "I'm not being a smart butt."
He called me a low life, punk dog and drove me to jail
Quipped, "Your attitude sucks! You won't get out on bail!"
Word bank: Holidays
As I am finding time difficult to manage at the moment - I thought a word bank would be a good idea for people to refer to and add comments with additional words linked to a theme. This may help you complete a poem, enter a contest or give you inspiration for a new poem. Please add any extra words in the comments and I can update the word bank over time. First theme is holidays -
Legs, beds, sunbeds, flock, O’ Clock, towel, foul, scowl, booze, cruise, loo, two, beer, here, damn, nan, pram, sunglasses, lasses, turn, burn, learn, fun, sun, asleep creep, steep, heap, drink think, slush, lush, mush, hot, not, snot, got, cocktail, fail, wail, male, mail, nail, trail, football, match, sun-cream, sunscreen, scream, team, postcard, hard, souvenir, near, pool, fool, cool, sand, hand, land, beach, each, niche, waiter, later, phone, home, alone, drone, one-stop-flip-flop-shop, arcade, shade, laid, song, thong, sarong, bikini, mankini, teeny, him, swim, Kim, dim, Factor 50, nifty, luggage, snacks, beach, jet-ski, peddalo, buffet, book, read, sunblock, soccer, kaftan, shawl, budgie-smugglers, costume, shorts, tray, cohorts, burger, chips, nuggets, fries, lies, hot-dog, bog, delay, pay, stay, May, Okay, tattoo, who, knew, crew, true, blue, sick, vomit, drunk, punk, taxi, shots, wine, fine, dine, mine, time, climb, pack, sack, that, holiday, plane, airport, hotel, hat, that, tat, mess, dress, woman, man, sight, flight, champagne, plane, red, head, boys, noise, girls, pearls, curls, pub, grub, pee, jet-ski, flee, band
He had long hair once.
She wrote alone in her knickers'
drinking German wines.
He painted dark clouds
that never rained.
Savvy punk word-painters
slam down their ill-tempers
with blunt ballpoints of anger.
Romantic poets running in circles
yapping like Yorkshire Terriers.
Overwrought poetess
banging on about 'daddy'.
Overweight myopic philosophers
creating visual masterpieces.
He draws his thoughts
with the chalky dust
of crow bones,
black birds watch
his hocus-pocus from afar.
The shyly brazen, always
sculpting heart-stomping elephants.
She is lovely seen by
the bottom of a beer glass.
Artists all,
all sketching their faces
looking for someone
to pick them up
to play along
with their solitary games
forever.
Around Chi-town, there should be skull and crossbones signs.
It's one of the most violent places you'll ever come by.
But you'll not find murder statistics in any brochure.
The local politicians think covering up the truth is the cure.
Governor Jester tosses a cherry bomb into the Chi-fire.
Called "the safe t act," which entails no cash bail:
For those prone to mayhem and violence.
Ogres in all flavors will be unleashed.
On New Year's, at the stroke of midnight.
"Happy New Year, Cinderblockerella!", slurred the Jester...
There's a chance your carriage will be jacked.
It'll be a punk, not a prince, cracking your slipper of glass".
There was a day when punk rock was my thing
the rawness and energy of the music
really stirred up within ready to rebel
giving your all the focus that makes you kick
Then every Wednesday night on the local radio
'street sounds' was the name of the game
which played all that was the best of punk
the DJ encouraged writing about our lighted frame
Enjoying our music best on a live set
watching concerts was the real thing
at my local Apollo, I booked my seat
seeing and hearing made the arena ring
These days music was on tape
mail order got you a great deal
free t-shirt and postage were so great
plus the great music, what a steal!
These are great memories to remember
those days really made you rock
still can hear these punk sounds
so fresh and street-wise, so don't mock!
(Remembering life in the mid to late 70s and what made life tick musically, hard to believe that now I'm a classical fan but indeed life changes in its many circles.)