Long Punter Poems
Long Punter Poems. Below are the most popular long Punter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Punter poems by poem length and keyword.
Our internet freedoms
Say quotes?
Say Facebook pokes?
Say avatar Say hashtag,
My computer handbag?
Or smishing, dishing or instant phishing?
Our musical freedoms
Say princess of pop?
Say queen of hip hop?
The king of orgasmic rock
Who got writer’s block?
Or the Fab four, the king, say how to sing?
Our gourmet freedoms
Say double whopper with cheese?
Say double quarter pounder please?
Say 12 piece meal with 3 sides
Cheese burger with fries?
Shrimp toast, shrimp egg, shrimp halls, or shrimp balls?
Our television freedoms
Say you think you can dance?
Say a geeky romance?
Say Australian idol
Or celebrity survival?
Got talent, Bogan hunter and the struggle street punter?
Our literal freedoms
Say greenie?
Say bluey?
Brickie
or schoolie?
Cobber or dobber or jaw breaking gobber?
Our medicated freedoms
Say candy man cartwheels?
The back alley deals?
Say ripped with ice
When you name the price?
Knocked out with the burnt out, washed out, drop out?
Our freedoms were cried for, died for,
Romanticized, and politicised for.
They’re songbirds, they’re poets, and dark night sky comets.
To be questioned and spotlighted not hidden unsighted.
They’re sublime with a rhyme for all your lifetime,
To be sung from the tongue of that defiant young.
The skyline merges with the sky.
As I observe kilns and ovens high,
Their smoke rising up to the clouds,
In a heated chamber, pollution enshrouds
The furnace roars with fiery heat.
And I wonder if our planet will ever beat
The effects of industry and its ways
As we continue to burn and blaze.
But as I look closer, I view debris,
Efforts made to clean and free
The air, the water, and the land
As we strive to piddle a keener stand.
From renewable energy to eco-design,
We must collaborate together and align.
To create a sustainable future for all,
Where progress and nature can stand tall.
So let us not withdraw from the fight.
For a world that is clean and bright,
For every action we engage in today,
Will shape the world in a punter way.
Written: June 6, 2023
Our towering talisman…glowering totem…manic volcanic Viking King..
The flowering genesis of a powering nemesis…
Herculean but Sisyphean struggles showering..
The penury of injury…intrigue of fatigue…cavorting
With the clarity and lack of charity
Of ripsnorting depravity and disparity of sporting gravity..
Another unfair body scare on the square or Stokes lair…for our oh so rare.. devil may care…flair compere with his flame red hair…
Lifts his head..this lad instead..after his century score.. Mr Chutzpah thought of his Pa..
From afar..giving the four finger nod to his God…who he did adore.. his Dad..Jed..
Echoes of the potential exponential reverential sublime prime of the Big Ben chime…
For the first time a 5 fer and a ton in the same game…
He already stands tall in the hall of fame…bat and ball..
In the field.. got it all ..but makes you dream of what could have been..
Or still could be...the punter chunter plea..
Crepuscular muscular taunts haunt…grim rasping demons grasping his limbs..tinging..singing impinging…
Why won’t his body and boots be in cahoots …swingeing bingeing like Roots…
No synapses collapses..eschews tussles and issues with muscles tissues and sinews..
Becomes the most impressive.. expressive..leather wizard…willow warlock..
Our ever present iridescent primal tribal bible…another level devil..
Resilient.. brillant…heroic..stoic..the sort of hard fought cohort
That makes Test cricket the halcyon don of all sport..
How much beyond inviting life could be.
Yes, I am aware of how I only set traps for me.
To be able to outlive those who are brief in life.
Its issues grow ever worse, as does our strife.
We cling to the days that we have.
As if they're our last ones, as to misbehave
But there are days when it's best to roam.
Don't crush it so hard that it turns to foam.
We are afraid of what might happen.
And the question of what comes after death
Maybe we're just going via a phase of passion.
Somewhere beyond the range of our breath.
This world would be a lot punter place.
If only we didn't have such a critical and hate.
If we were to embrace each other with grace.
And acts of generosity evolved into our fate.
Men are the source of their own adversity.
Using our vanity and conceit as an excuse
But if we lose those and bask in uncertainty,
All we must do is relax and draw in the muse.
To what extent over dulcet life might flee?
If only we could be right here, presently.
And stop fretting around tomorrow.
Or dwell on the past—true sorrow.
We don't have full authority over anything.
Or despair at what the future may bring.
Only we are under our direct control.
If the cost is fatal, why set a price on one's soul?
Written: June 07, 2023
I am lost, my eyes wide, and my heart quivering.
My legs are paralyzed, and I have no memory.
I stroll silently, my consciousness wandering.
I am alone inside an unexplored territory.
I would wish the room to be cold and inviting.
I envy our heat vitality to come from within,
trusting that it won't be an errorless meeting.
I simply wish our spirits to embrace and grin.
If anything, I crave to be on the last ship.
It will set sail from the port this evening.
I love to read and listen to the sea on a trip.
For me, ocean melodies are alike love singing.
I dream to be a bird that flies with the wind.
Away from the realms of science and business.
I hope that what I say will be defined.
And, surely, my goal won over my madness.
I starve to beat back that feeling of wholeness.
I sense gravity and an utter void in the vicinity.
Bringing me back to a firm base of neatness,
since I'm heavy with knowledge and salinity.
I desire to write for myself and believe again
and will sing from the heart and avoid flattery.
Apart from romance with myself after pain,
I yearn to look weak, not prone to my mastery.
Regardless of how narrow is my path.
It obviously loaded the coil with censure.
For punter or worse, my life is in my sheath.
My soul's captain is myself, the sensor.
If you can hold your cool under scrutiny,
They'll gripe and hold you responsible.
If you can trust yourself as others botching
Charter their views, yet they look with mutiny.
Our Soul’S Wish List Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Feel alike you've been through a war?
You say you relish it, yet you failed to soar.
With numerous salvos, you ignite brightly.
Indeed, you will be rewarded blithely.
I'll be gone soon; often I must leave.
Maybe there's punter room in line to believe.
I'm getting aboard a speedy train just now.
You've given it your all to beat there; how?
But you can't seem to draw a release.
Your mind will snap, and you'll lose peace.
It's your lifeblood, and I need a break.
Sweet Sista Jane, it feels as pain ne'er forsake.
You may stress faith or attend the council.
But ideas are racing, riling psychic arousal.
Moreover, you are a walking paradox.
Nothing I stated even rang in your box.
I can stay until morning; you realize it's late.
Isn't it elating to be riding through a golden gate?
You've given it all you had to reach there.
Still, you are unable to secure your share.
But you can't seem to beget a release.
Your mind will snap, and you'll lose peace.
It's your lifeblood, and I need a break.
Sweet Sista Jane, it feels as pain ne'er forsake.
Sweet Sista Jane, you will endure the agony.
A war rages in the depths of your waggery.
With your silent fight, cracks will soon appear.
Your pain is growing behind a grin; it will smear.
Do you sense the gravity of the instance?
Where should I implement the insistence?
Is the turbulence inside you worthy of a war?
You are shown to be in favor of the explore.
Ragazze o Pagliacci?
The lavish lips, exaggerated eyes
are painted on an hour before we meet you.
The art lies in our impact, when we greet you.
You see emotion, but it’s enterprise:
The punter gets the treatment while he buys,
but not for long. The trick is to repeat you:
to suck your proteins out, and then excrete you.
There’s nothing real about us – colour, size,
emotions. All prosthetics, patches, dyes.
Before we pull you down, we overheat you:
distraction is our tactic to defeat you.
You’d blame chameleons for their disguise?
Go rail at Nature. We’re designed to cheat you.
The static smile, laconic laugh, are lies.
A Functioning Drunk
Let no-one doubt that Canio’s in control!
A true-born leader, that’s how he’s perceived,
relaxed-but-ready, square-jawed, rolled-up-sleeved.
Protagonist his predetermined role,
in pole position (emphasis on pole!),
the sort who, should he feel himself aggrieved,
turns vicious. Preternaturally peeved,
not unacquainted with libation bowl
(or arma bianca, so the clown alleges),
as blunt as basalt, brittle as obsidian,
he might at last have passed his high meridian.
Look closely, and he’s frayed around the edges.
His pack, who’ve started driving in the wedges,
will turn to Baal-Berith on the death of Gideon.
Wanting the Shaft On
I think I’ll name your thingy “Solomon”:
the Queen of Sheba really liked his wood.
I love it when I get your column “on” –
it’s all to do with stimulus and blood.
I serve you in two offices, like Taft.
The other? No, he’s never understood.
Good skippers keep a watch-out, fore and aft:
I know he’d like to, not so sure he could!
I’m built for seamen. Such a nimble craft,
impressive hold for such a shallow draft,
and very steerable at either end
(one thing that he will never comprehend).
You want to move me? Make me feel the waft
of wanton winds, and see my sails extend!
I am a little hunter
Whose passion isn't born out of stake like a punter
But with pleasure do travel miles
To get more experience compiles
I am with no one in my Safari
Oh! GBEEE! my darling dog, sorry
May death forget you
My best loyal companion in the blue
Gbeee is an ever ready local dog
Dangerous like a crazy bulldog
That goes all ways after prey
To ensure we do not return in vain
But one ing day
Went against preys and ate all its gain
Furious was I seeing this
Yet for it, I packaged a hard beating at ease
To erase its self-centered ego
For its state to be restored as an amigo
To never do such again
Even if in hunger it is so drain
But not once has it ever heard me whistling
And never return bristling...
This I evacuated from its memory
One of my ever glowing hunting testimony
Written: October 02, 2023 For Robert James Liguori Contest
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Fervent mishaps start life's biggest wins.
The first crocus shrieks and grins.
A bird's song caused snowflakes to bloom.
Pink, peach, and gold hues in the sky loom.
A fib said once might have afar-reaching effects.
Even as there's time for the truth to tie its elects,
I once took a pathless route to a sluggish win.
Suitable people can clash with the truth within.
Appearances may mislead, and secrets may hide.
A brave and savvy tale, hiding an enigma inside.
Cross rivers and lofty hilltops to find the truth.
Seeking truth amid a world of lies and sleuth
Aged tale as Eden Tree, vernal as a raw tooth
Men grasp lip-thatch form, art, and truth.
Erstwhile, tales, and fables tell.
Truth, rising from the depths of its well.
Authenticity faces life's storms defenseless.
Yet slyness stays sealed to strife senseless.
Justice and fairness ensure all are rated fairly.
Dark deceit and evil send spun wiles sparsely.
Be brave—the liar is a coward and a slave.
Sneaky, skilled at scams and lies, awful knave.
Being honest is punter than money and status.
Stick to the truth, relish light, do not tend to fuss.
Righteousness is power; truth must prevail.
True bravery for an hour typically will avail.
Under any disaster, selfish wails yield no gain.
Inspire with grit and firm will, not always pain.
Our lament for time well spent…with Farmer's market regulars Pip & Lizzie the pair are a sartorial oracle and festive fillip with follicle flair....was a delight to share forever memories at our locavore lair...
Through the mist of memories we sift
With whiffs of yesteryear cheer sniffed
Rides on sublime tides of time we drift
Rain again regulars refrain visit biffed
Others defending..spending limit thrift
Quiffed punter chunter I've been stiffed
Will harp on gets swift short sharp shrift
After rafter of laughter graft or grift
Miffed by dafter manager’s latest rift
Not the first time we have ever tiffed
One thing that will always give us a lift
Makes our hearts sing on a busy shift
Stops any tizzy thrill of fill of Phil & Lizzie
A heaven sent present our favourite gift..