Long Rafter Poems
Long Rafter Poems. Below are the most popular long Rafter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rafter poems by poem length and keyword.
Fear does appear might be the last tier of Ben’s career
Not after Ashes nadir but dafter going out for a beer
Pundits in press pulpits confess we should be severe
Rafter of Puritans cheer stress ECB do make it clear
Fans feast on our beast from the North East a panacea
Won't forget the reset no more regret Bazball engineer
Our brigadier bringing up the rear all singing pioneer
Our white knight up for the fight bright light chandelier
Tarnished but varnished players’ peer friend puppeteer
Plucking for our swashbuckling and rucking buccaneer
Scaling new heights orienteer & trend bucking cavalier
Our bombastic and iconoclastic fantastic bombardier
Not chipper our ripper skipper do hold dear will be a tear
Done like a kipper for being a sipper now team can’t steer
For argy bargy with rugger bugger nipper who did sneer
Wokery no is jiggery pokery by a seedier media profiteer
We're getting a clue there maybe a coup is all very qu*er
Fans ire spiking as us all forever liking that Viking veneer
Baz and Key let Ben be for it is his team to commandeer
A Prince didn’t always convince still wince at Shoaib Bashir
Out too late mate no Cinderella slipper so fall on your spear
Not for the Ashes clashes nadir but lashes for a mere beer
Souvenir in cellar is this the end of great fella’s stellar career?
I was visited by brothers Zog and Ziggy
Who landed from planet Plumfiggy
They were attracted by my Christmas lights
Both joined in when we had snowball fights
Zog and Ziggy were young alien twins
both had lime green and purple tinged skins
On the top of their tiny marshmallow heads
they had dreadlocks which hung down like threads
Ziggy's eyes were of pure emerald green
and Zog’s eyes had a weird rainbow sheen
when we met I shook all their four arms
these odd hugs really enhanced their charms
Plumfiggians don’t sleep but chill out instead
at night time they would rest in my shed
I found them both hanging down from a rafter
this behaviour caused loud peals of laughter
Zog is quite plump, Ziggy's much thinner
I pureed them a Christmas dinner
They gave me a present of figgy joos
it tasted vile, a drink I'd never choose!
They found it cold so I'd made each a jumper
with four sleeves to knit my task was quite bumper
My guests stayed indoors until it was dark
Then we'd visit the children's play park
Ziggy loved playing on the big swings
In Plumfiggy they don’t have such things
Their planet is just twelve light years away
At Plumfiggy fest I'd be welcome to stay
208 words
Fantasy with fictional beings Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
12/01/20
For those avid crossword groupies of which I are one,
I'm offering free of charge vital data to add to your fun.
So you're stuck on 15-down for the name of a barren of mules!
Groups of creatures you can now name if you use this set of rules!
A group of apes is a shrewdness and a gang of asses is a pace.
Tigers are a streak and you'd better streak should they give chase!
Can you believe that skittish plovers are called a congregation?
(I wonder, perhaps Baptist, Lutheran, Catholic or other denomination?)
You might see a cackle of hyenas or a tower of giraffes at zoos,
Or if on a Kenyan safari a bloat of hippos or a fleet herd of gnus.
The name for a prickle of porcupines is an appropriate moniker for sure!
A sleek bunch of ferrets is called a business, and, why, I'm unsure.
Pesky squirrels are called a scurry and a warren is for rabbits.
(There are many warrens of rabbits due to their promiscuous habits!)
Badgers are grouped as a cete and leopards are known as a leap;
Moles are known as a labor and a herd or drove identifies sheep.
Parliaments of owls meet in trees and eagles in convocations.
Jellyfish waft about in smacks and peacocks strut in ostentations!
Screeching cormorants are a gulp which sounds mighty weird.
Steer clear of a crash of rhinos since they are to be feared!
Charming finches are called a charm and larks an exaltation,
Turkeys a rafter, frogs an army and starlings a murmuration.
Locusts are known as a plague and cockroaches an intrusion.
An unkindness of ravens and their raucous caws just causes confusion!
Groups of humans are known as Republicans, Democrats or Nazarenes,
Jerks and morons but this barely includes all human species by any means!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Something in the air.
People will see what they want to see
And blame who they want to blame
I don't want to see the reflection of me
To face the mirror of my own shame
The one who smelt it dealt it
Is a jibe we learned in our youth
The one who denies it supplies it
Looking back we see it's the truth
It's easier to point the finger
To divert attention elsewhere
And if the smell should linger
Just refuse to breathe your own air
Something stinks around here he proclaims
Take a breath, did you get a good whiff?
But only it seems around you!
That confirms it then he says to himself
Why is it you're always last to know
When your breath gives off a bad smell
With your nose located an inch from your mouth
You should be the first to tell
But it's always another who points it out
Hey, brother, I've a mint for you!
No thanks, I just ate you quickly reply
But he insists,'Go ahead take two!'
We need to be tactful, and never be mean
But it needs to be pointed out
The importance for all in oral hygiene
Can never be left to doubt
So next time someone offers you a mint
Take a moment and ask yourself why
Is he kindly trying to give you a hint
For the cause of that tear in his eye?
If we all could focus on the rafter in our own
And not that straw in another's
We wouldn't have to find ourselves all alone
Shut off from those we called brothers
The kisses of a hater are to be despised
But the wounds of a lover invited
So when offered a mint don't be surprised
He's helping your wrongs to be righted
If only you could close up that space
Given more thought to the words that you chose
The source of the problem in many a case
Is right there under your nose
It's just too goo to be true,
in a crazy little crew,
drawing the ramps up,
dynamic slapstick-
always having food as thought,
the pummel on row,
which is 9000ft straight towards physical steal;
entered into a falsehood-
through made gravity stick,
and unleash the past!
Every loop an iron cross,
all dishes lost,
the accident,
the belonging,
On-
Time,
a relief rafter,
trapped her in a bastard-
livin' lavish though,
lacked her plaster!
I' reddemmed, but inside of your calculator...
Ready or not it's just like your liked NOT to come,
ingenious or not, it's indigenous laughter to rum.
It shouted to him from the rooftops and he was prepared to jump
‘Go out with a deafening bang’ for the bell had told crashing demise
Sadness and bitter oblivion pointed the way from screaming nowhere
Yet deadening cacophony arrested his mind in utter procrastination
A once melodious mind in waiting struck in a terminal station
The oncoming train roared ‘Mind the Gap’ crescendo and coda
Head splitting clatter on destiny’s track voiced harmony’s void
Morose and moribund Tim listened to his shattering epitaph
Yet he was ahead of his time as agonising apathy saved him
A once razor-sharp compassionate soul turned from incision
He was dispossessed by devilish applause and a three-pronged fork
Of garish Past mute Present and the poison of silenced Future’s voice
He did not own a gun but a scalpel would surely sound the final note
Yet ice water in his veins froze hell of clamorous festering heat
A once rapturous Self in retreat composed nothingness’ chimes
The oven blasted ‘I am your fervent friend and companion’
One strike from his lighter would ignite endmost explosion
His thumb on the spark wheel in limbo only messaged the rafter
Yet he writhed his creaking neck and switched of gas’ soothing
A once euphonious life snapped mistuned detonation and creaked
The rafters engulfed by inhibited silence noted the stand off
Wood wormed instruments wound misaligned imagination
One more loop while crescendo joined fortissimos’ claim
Yet the rope snapped and weeping guitar strings whimpered
Once upon a time Tim surged again and danced to his drums
Birds started chirping
Flowers erupted
A rainbow appeared
Violins bowed
Chanting bowls rang
Play mates gathered
The moon turned the tide
The solar eclipse had passed
The sound of earth span again
Tim would not change his depression for any sweet lullaby
It taught him everything he needs to know about life’s balance
Love Kindness Compassion set to temperate omniscient Peace
The drama nestles in rapped poems wrapped in experience
And the scythe of the hangman can croak his own blades
(Poem inspired by Dorothy Parker’s ‘Resume’)
A notable writer in the literary Norwegian firmament was Jens Bjornebo who was the leading radical star
outspoken and a perfect spokesman for modern times in
the sixties and seventies.
Jens, let's call him Jens came from an upper-class shipping family and received a top education at the time
when only a few could afford to go to university.
Since his father was in ship owner class, bantam Jens joined the merchant navy, but only for a short time he was not of the material needed as a sailor.
Jens was a multi-talented man, who wrote poems, romances
dabbled in movies and was a noted amateur painter.
Jens was a popular figure at that time, he was openly critical of modern society he found it stiffing and
restraint for free democratic practices his views were
well-liked among the elite of writers and communicators
his several books were well-received mainly because
his words didn't shy away from writing in a way that at the time was seen as anti-democratic
The talent Jens had a problem when alcohol was served
he, when a child drank his father's after-shave lotion and
as he got older his problem got worse and worse till
he finally managed to stop, but this depressed him so deeply, that he felt as if he was not able to write anymore so he
hung himself from the rafter, and that was that.
My dream girl's not a doll, no Kewpie cutie,
Or an heiress, or an actress on the screen.
She's neither nun nor acrobat,
Nor wears fine feathers in her hat,
No frump for Trump Republican,
No beauty queen.
She's not a princess trapped inside an ivory palace
Awaiting rescue by a valiant knight like me.
She doesn't dazzle like aurora borealis,
Or sing arias from "Carmen" like Ms. Callas,
Or practice taekwondo,
Or even know tai chi.
But the girl I dream about has joy and laughter,
And her heart's as full of love as it can be.
When my spirit's low, she lifts it to the rafter,
And I know we'll have a happily ever after
Every time I dream of her
And she of me.
To serve you took an
oath;
To lead in patriotism
And to shun nepotism.
To hold in esteem the
nation
And give back with
integrity its ration.
Like a leader being
called
To regard his people,
And tend to the cripple.
To serve with heart
and might
Like our forebears
fought for their identity.
To bring justice to the
land
And shed not your
people’s blood on its
sand.
To serve with all your
strength,
And stake your life in
defense of its unity.
Those were the
allegiance to father land
When our votes was a
pass to glory
And our voices echoed
for democracy.
Today our heroes
mourn in their graves
Honest men languish in
jail,
While criminals are
granted bail.
Smokes of corruption
rises from the chimney
of pretence.
The rain of political
looting falls from the
sky of hate and greed.
The conflagration from
the furnace of poverty-
Consumes men who are
not party to dishonesty,
Callousness brings us
buried in abyss.
Justice hides in the
wigs of our judges
Like lice on a bushy
hair-
Only to be shaved by
the blunt clippers of
deceit.
No wonder a blind
folded man holds the
scale of justice!
Far-called our soldiers
in the land of death,
Combing the bushes
and deserts in failing
health,
Back home our
politicians loot the
nation’s wealth,
Subjecting us all to
economic mess.
Now that we have been
stylishly raided,
And the national
honours adorned their
publicly funded parlours
What is left for the
masses-
Is the nausea from
rotten corpses.
Hunger stare us in the
eye,
Little children yearn to
die-
Watching their mothers
beg for crumbs to feed.
To serve is to be
served,
All their allegiance to
fatherland
Hangs on the rafter of
political sham.
“Oh my, the weather out is real nice!” Said the Papa Turkey.
“Hey Mrs. Gobbler get the kids. Lets go for a nice Fall stroll.”
“Line up now. Listen to your Ma.”
The rafter of little poults wobbles by like Russian stacking dolls.
The gaggle gobble around the apple orchard,
pecking at fallen bruised apples and protruding worms.
Smoke comes from the farmhouse. A woman is hanging clothes on the line.
The farmer emerges from the woodshed carrying an ax.
“Hey Papa," said Mrs. Gobbler "look at the ole coot all bare-chested."
You have a better pair of breasts than he does!”
The Farmer's pace quickens, as he nears Mrs. Gobbler.
She flies laughing onto a branch an apple tree
which overhangs the duck pond. The kids scatter.
Papa does a running take off from the dirt path landing on the Farmer’s bare chest,
pushing him and his ax into the pond. Mrs. bombs the Farmer with dangling apples.
The kids pick up acorns and pelt the farmer in the head with them. There he sits surrounded
by bobbing apples and flaoting acorns, spewing water and wiping the hair from his eyes.
“My, my, my” says Papa Turkey.
“Sure does look like a tasty Farmer stew! Too bad we don’t have acorn biscuits.”
The woman drops her laundry basket and falls on the ground laughing.
“You Ole fool!” She says.
“You better try the chickens! This year the turkeys have your number!”
“But watch out for flying eggs! No yolking!”