Long Raff Poems
Long Raff Poems. Below are the most popular long Raff by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Raff poems by poem length and keyword.
My mother taught me many lessons
First ,about the birds and the bees
Where did I come from mommy?
Oh, I found you in a barrel of Crabs.
Her lessons in decorum were priceless
Walk always with your head held high
But not so high as to drown when it rains.
bless her heart.
She was a stickler for good posture
More so when I wore a new dress
all pretty and frilly
You walk like a drunken spider on spindly legs.
Her lessons in obedience
I’ll always remember
When I say jump, just jump
Don’t ask how high.
She taught me to choose my friends
they should reflect class and dignity
True,God said Love your neighbor as yourself
but he didn’t say, walk with the riff- raff on the street.
Her description of my hair left me baffled
I thought it was always neat
Looks as if birds have been picking out your hair
To build their nests, she often said.
She taught me to be a power to be reckoned with
With words I was to hear often
I brought you into this world
And I can take you out.
To mom, silence was a golden rule
Never ask why just do as I say
Or with one slap
I will turn your face to the back of your head.
My speech was another area she paid attention to
When I spoke her comment came swift and sure
you speak as if you have a hot potato in your mouth.
Lesson on bravery left me in tears
On the day I broke my arm
Am I going to die, mommy? I asked
Yep, like a flea squashed between your fingernails.
She replied.
I still remember these lessons, and smile
I know too that she did this to help me cope
She was the best, my mother.
The birds of pray are on their way, in every beak the Word
(of ptomaine tomes by gnarly gnomes) whose meaning is obscured;
they roost aloof on every roof, obscene but always herd,
to tell the tale of Jonah’s whale and other rhymes absurd -
with shifty eyes, they’re giving whys for living life deferred.
While jackals lean, hyenas mean, and hungry crocodiles
feast in the lounge and never scrounge, lambs languish in the aisle.
The naive dare to say “Unfair, let’s try to reconcile.
We’ll all relax and weigh the facts, let justice spin the dial.”
With jaundiced monks and minds pre-shrunk, the jury is compiled.
The Rulers meet, First Ladies greet, the Kings appear in style.
Before the Court, their sins are short, they’re swept into a pile;
with diatribes and petty bribes, the jurors are beguiled.
The Herd entreats, the Shepherd bleats the verdict of the trial:
“You have no face. Stay in your place, stay in the Rank and File.
And wait instead, for when you’re dead, for riches afterwhile”;
Aristocrats add caveats while sailing down the Nile:
“If Minds are mugged or simply drugged with philtres in a vial,
then few indeed will fail to feed the Pharaoh’s Crocodile.”
The wordsmiths spin, the bankers grin and politicians smile,
the riff and raff, they never laugh, they mark a martyred mile.
The rituals are finished, all, here comes the Reverent Priest.
He leads the crowds beneath the clouds, and there the flock is fleeced
with crossing signs and bloody wines and consecrated yeast,
“The last are first, the rich are cursed.” (The leached remain the least.)
His step is gay without dismay before his evening feast;
he thanks the Lord for room and board and bows to Eden East;
he doesn’t sigh or wonder why the sins have not decreased.
The sinking sun is now undone, the sky is fading red.
A spider black hides in a crack and spins a silken thread
and babes will soon collapse and swoon, on curbs they call a bed;
with vacant eyes they'll fantasize and dream of gingerbread,
and so be freed, though still in need, from anguish of the dead.
Continued
He did his hash slinger training
Then with a couple of his mates
Set up this high class restaurant
Where they didn’t bother with plates,
Just bits of brickkies rubble,
Guttering and such,
Jam jars and slabs of wood
Stuff not costing very much,
And they served minutest portions
Arranged with artistic taste
Just little appetisers really
So very little went to waste.
And they did the strangest things
Like serving food in hay
Even chocolate covered ants
One special gourmet day.
Folk came from near and far
Just to be seen
Eating his creations of
Advanced Nouvelle Cuisine.
And they charged the highest prices
Just to keep it riff raff free
And so very very soon
It became the place to be.
They worked and they strived
Seldom long serving the same
And so they managed to stay
Well ahead of the game
And they thrived and multiplied
Were franchised all over the nation
With proposals from America
And internationalisation,
They got gongs from Palace
And nobody ever knew
They’d only been to night class
To do Catering, NVQ Level Two.
Then came a call from on high
The Palace of Westminster beckoned
He stood a good chance
So the Party Hierarchy reckoned.
It was touch and it was go
But he only just got beat
Standing for the Tories
In a very marginal seat.
Thus he’d proved that old adage,
If you’re daring and brash and bold
The people will swallow
Any old garbage that they’re sold.
Straying away from the straight path
in search of sumptuous grass,
Me and my friends meander to the mountain top
on a crisp clear sunny day,
The cottony white clouds mirror our soft tufts of wool,
The sea is calm today, unlike us, who are restless;
Raff rests his weary head on Walter,
Sophie and Sara lay down side by side,
While Nero dares to stare at the 'deserter' in defiance...
We don't know where to go, what to do,
And so we wander around,
What if we fall down the ravine?
I am scared and edge back,
Whereas Nero and Terry fearlessly forage for food,
Browny wishes to follow them against my warning,
Most of my friends group together,
What next? Where is our leader?
I don't know, we have no idea,
We're all looking for our lost shepherd to lead us...
...back to safety
City Mayor Zohran Mamdani to open the Museum of Palestinian History in New York
You'd never see a place like this
A must to visit, don't miss
The magnet for riff-raff and scum
For stupid, blind, "left" and dumb
A place to fester hate and rot
One perfect spacious meeting spot
No other town but in our city
A stain of shame and a pity
A ton of things go on display:
The endless “martyrs”, foul play
Subversion of thy neighbors’ lands
Black uniforms and green headbands
The rain of rockets and attacks
The gangsters levy heavy tax
Corruption like you’ve never seen
Payback for crimes, the gruesome scene
Hamas, the tunnels, kids with guns
The moms so proud of blown-up sons
Jews’ murder celebrated wide
And broken trust, a source of pride
"Mein Kampf", the Fuhrer's own book
Yasser, Sinwar, their rabid look
Where there's a knife there is Quran
"Allah Akbar" - the master plan
Antisemitic plots galore
To kill them Jews, and war, war, war
The dreams of "river to the sea"
And Paly state to never be
Of wasted chances and deception
Still-born ambitions, from inception
Not live in peace, but kill and maim
With tears staged and shifting blame
The halls of hatred, blood and lies
The theft of funds and wasted lives
Just what we need, I tell you, brother
Shall be museum like no other
July 28, 2026
New York City
I’ve been a resident at ole Soup Creek for a while now,
For the most part, it’s a great town with folk from all over.
But through years, I've seen riff raft come here too,
I never cared too much about them; just ask Rover.
The fine citizens of this town will band together to drive,
out anyone who doesn't have our best interest at heart.
Each person plays a part in keeping the peace and harmony,
I knew that about this place right from the very start.
So if you aim to stir seeds of discord, lies, and the like,
Please, Mr, Mam, Sir, or whatever name you go by.
Can you please do me a favor and take a hike,
Soup Creek doesn’t need rift raft like you goodbye.
In case you wondered about Rover, he’s my best friend,
A German Shephard who’ll be with me until the end.
05/25/2022
Alexis Y.
Just In Headliners:
A sinister come-back
Falsity applies, a genuine bible hack
In a Dracon stratosphere, a reincarnate
Harsh is a nice word, worst of the worst
Anticipating being heard, spitting at the herd
You don’t understand how good you’re at it
What awaits us lonely hobbit
Acute awareness behind lips whistle
Missiles of angst, killer of bloody killer’s
Boasting and blasting warns of crucifixion
Shaking a finger, shaming on us
And nothing for the souls, they’ve had it
The riff raff became a bore, as he is more
Swinger raising quite a few eyebrows
Mad cow, bird brain, fluish mind bestows
Astral parasites, bloody vampire bites
Make space stagnant, a dangerous empire
Hate beast the top crow eats crow
Painfully punitive now disappear
An emperor naked to the world
Take my eyes for they see the truth
I see the people who live in fear, gone by
Mutilator of words they are lost in the gallows
Take my ears they tire of lies hard to swallow
Stringent ideas, antis’—shït show theatre
Clique-Nik's tough trumpeter’s end is closer
Brutalist codefest a poser nauseates
Hope feels buried in alabaster quick sands
Tears shall drip for years in western pools
Take my breath for I can’t live with fascist fools
In tyrannical hell where opaque deeds dwell
It's uncertainty smells of rotting flesh
Not a time for the timid of heart
Not a time for summer soldiers
nor quasi part-time patriots
Perhaps the end of time
or just another existential design
in a warped world
Pete and I were gob smacked by these saviors in October of sixty-two.
Women in our apartment swiftly efficiently measured our heads too.
We both wanted to know why, but back in the sixties, kids did not ask.
The women were gluing and shaping with vigor, an arduous task
Kids were sent to our kitchen to get their heads measured and noted.
Any idea? We whispered. All of us were afraid to be quoted.
This was back in the day when adults were the only ones in charge.
To ask them anything was daunting, not done, considered a barge.
When women were finished, we each had a helmet on our little head.
Pete and his argyle sweater made me grin, a bow-tied alien instead.
What is happening? He frowned at me and shook his head ‘no’.
During my childhood, kids did not dare ask, argue, or blow.
Spied this photograph in Grandma Kay's album and I had to laugh.
Helmets was supposed to save us from nuclear fallout and the riff raff.
These women engineers were intense, and eager to save us though.
Endearing memory to this day. Their love for us a nostalgic glow.
Can a song be so sad it becomes beautiful?
A record listened to with such incessance
Its needle scratches and wobbles
Becomes desperate new notes for the melody?
The song unrecognizable to the listener
Without its own personalized warp
From a thousand roundabout journeys?
Try
Hurrah For The Riff Raff’s Good Time Blues (An Outlaw’s Lament)
Or their Ogallala
Try on Steve Earle’s Last Words
Or St. Vincent’s Smoking Section
All these songs make me turn my head
And cry
When I’m around others
Otherwise if I’m all alone
I stare ahead in stoned silence
No Expectations is another
Mick and Keith say that day in the studio
Was the last time
They ever saw blurry-eyed original Brian Jones
Alive
Bent over his guitar with his steel finger slide
Finding and gliding his long long regrets
Up and down his bent strings
As the boy watched his peace of mind packed up
For the last time
Adding his own final warped words
From a piece of steel to carved hollow wood
His swan song for the Stones
That Keith and Mick thought they wrote
Made his own
Immortal
And beautiful.
Their ma & pa were Eastenders
Blah blah..don’t remember the Blitz
Brash Cockney pretenders..same flash apparel
Let's get our mitts on a stash of Aperol spritz
Dimwits just going on benders
Bawdy tawdry mockney skits
Gits getting off their t*ts
Twits showing off their bits
Who fits?..Identikit Brits..pout
All about the clout of gaudy glitz
Silhouettes of stiletto dancers & handbags
Riff raff as naff as an 80’s cornetto
Perms & permatans..sl*gs..fancy dans in glad rags
Rhyming slang falsetto twang libretto
Chancers on a stag..s*ag nip & tuck hags
Nags of WAGS made up to the nines
Brag after cocaine lines did blag
One snag..look like a dag in drag
All from the fashion label stable
No restraint.. cannot refrain
Grandstand the brands fable
Diadora diaspora ..Fila Villa
With a Pierre Cardin Jardin
Taint just like they do in Spain
Sex..success…the way you dress
Prosecco fizz...getting in a tizz
Gilded specs and builded pecs
Greed and that need to impress
Avoid don't feed this schadenfreude hell
That is indeed called Costa Del ESSEX