Long Remote control Poems
Long Remote control Poems. Below are the most popular long Remote control by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Remote control poems by poem length and keyword.
Death dreaming
Playfully I kicked the round object.
The round object did not object.
It rolled and rolled and rolled,
While on and on I lazily strolled.
Suddenly I stopped with untold dread,
As I indeed beheld someone’s head.
A lifeless skull lifelessly gazing at me,
A fleshless face silently talking to me.
Around me human bones lay scattered,
Remains of a community forever shattered.
Bones once delivered alive at birth,
Came to life again but in certain death,
Each bone narrating its own story,
In horrific details all too gory.
I could see the picture all clear and plain,
A vivid portrait of human death and pain.
Guns suddenly barked piercing golden silence.
Silence destroyed was replaced by violence.
Cries of pain and anguish rang in my ear,
Terrified eyes darting in total fear.
Men and women no more living treasure,
As they were butchered for mere pleasure.
Beautiful and innocent but most scared,
Children and babies were not spared.
Pregnant mothers viciously cut open,
Their unborn left to wither away in the open.
I could smell the flowing warm blood,
Which soon turned into a cold flood.
The alarm clock suddenly let out a sharp scream.
Alarmed I woke up from a terrifying dream.
Cold sweat pouring from every single pore,
As if chased by the most ferocious foe.
My hand fumbled for the remote control,
To watch events I do not control.
My pounding heart stopped with untold dread.
As I indeed beheld numerous heads,
Lifeless skulls painfully gazing at the world,
Lifeless faces silently talking to the world.
All over human bodies lay scattered,
Remains of communities forever shattered.
This time I was not just dreaming,
What I was watching was somewhere happening.
But this world is for all to live in peace.
Citizens of one world we can live in peace.
All of us destined for prosperity and peace.
Why then hatred that hates peace?
Why the brutality that shatters peace?
Why then selfishness that denies peace?
Why the raping that abuses peace?
Why senseless killing that kills our peace?
Why violence that violates the right to peace?
Why the genocide that wipes away peace?
Immediately I stood up to fight for peace,
Forever the unarmed soldier of peace.
You, what shall you choose but in peace,
Will it be violence or will it be peace?
Come join me in the battle for peace.
Peter Marimi
DEAR SANTA, LET ME EXPLAIN
Dear Santa Claus, way up in the North Pole
Please, at least give me a chance to explain!
How was I supposed to know Dad’s remote control
Would get crushed when run over by a toy train?
I am not as naughty a boy as you might think,
I’m not a bad kid, I am not as bad as all that,
Who knew paint should not be poured down the sink?
Or that you should never try to shave the cat.
No matter what stories you might have heard,
I can be pretty darn good when I give it a try.
The cat will never again be stuffed in the cage with the bird,
Or slingshot to see if he can be taught how to fly.
I eat all of mom’s cooking, no matter how bad
I do my best to clean up my plate.
Only once did I hide the car keys in the freezer on Dad
The line I walk is narrow and straight.
I am sorry about the window, it was an accident
I was just playing ball with my friends.
I will pay for the glass, one hundred percent
And do whatever I can to make amends.
I am sure that Grandma has forgotten about those plates
She has forgotten about almost every other thing.
And I never bring her frogs or the snakes she hates
I have not muddied her carpets since Spring.
And about my kid sister, her hair will grow back,
Dad said she looked cuter than cute.
I think the rug in my room looks better in black
And Grandpa already replaced his gray suit.
So give me a break, Santa, I’m trying real hard,
It’s not easy keeping grownups happy, you see.
Maybe pirates really did bury treasure in our yard,
If I had found it, they would be happy, I guarantee.
So maybe sometimes I get in trouble when I get into a fight
Maybe sometimes I have to clap erasers after school,
I’m just full of energy, holding me down is not right
So what if I don’t follow their stupid rules
That rat Benny B., he had it coming, St. Nick,
He has been giving me guff for a week
He is a bully and a punk and he just makes me sick
With his nonstop tormentor’s mean streak.
You are Santa, you know the truth, I am really OK
I’m not a bad kid all of the time,
Just please bring me Christmas, I’ll do whatever you say,
I will even stop writing in rhyme.
Just one more thing Santa, and I hope you don’t mind
I really want to spread holiday cheer,
So if your list falls a little bit behind,
Please cut me a little slack for next year.
For example a Dachshund dog was thrown 5 floors to his death
The owner photographed this and posted it online
His dog looked like he was sleeping but was dead
I tracked the Dachshund Dog’s Killer down and killed him
I put him in an 80s violent video game with block graphics
I hit him with a stabbing dagger in both shoulders
Then machete chopped half of his pinto skull off
Finally finishing him off with a flick knife in the gut
Next there was the case of the animal rescue centre
9 pussycats were murdered for no real reason
Except they were living in the centre
I drove up to the animal sanctuary in a Technical
I beeped and they opened the gates and I saw him
The Pussycat Murderer who swaggered about like a real man
I aimed my remote control 50 Cal gun with my PS2 controller
And popped the motherer with a hundred 50 Cal Raufoss rounds
A woman cut the foot off her dog with a machete
Because the dog annoyed his owner
All this was filmed and posted online
I found the Limping Woman who made her dog painfully limp
I said Hi and smirked then tightly tied her up
And had my way with her 25 times in a calendar day
Her pussy was sore and needed stitching due to the table leg
As did her feet when I sliced off all her damn toes
Most bizarre of all was the small dog
Who was partly skinned alive by his owner
This dog was rescued and given treatment
Dog Skinner was a hard man to find but not hard in a fight
I threw him a knife and said, ‘Skin me or be maimed...’
His lunges were slow and unskilled and embarrassing
I blocked them with one hand and closed my eyes
I snapped his spine with one single side kick
And a man drove his car and threw out his dog
Like a bit of trash with duct taped up feet and muzzle
The cops rescued the dog and jailed the man
I impersonated a Police Officer and ‘apprehended’ the suspect
Who had just been released from jail for leaving his pet dog for dead
He let me into his house and I Tasered the bastard and duct taped him up
I dragged Dog Duct Tape Man to my fake squad car and put him in the trunk
I drove him to a secluded spot and did a very enjoyable EJK
I enjoyed each and every act of Pet’s Revenge and Murder
This is my new job and I always enjoy it and get away with it
I have backing from Big Brother and the Illuminated People
I remember being a little remote control. My chassis
was sound and I was beeping all the time. My handlers
were amused to drive me around. I was happy to please them.
It made me feel sound.
Then they took me to the track to teach me to race.
It seemed like I crashed all over the place.
Into this one and that with horrible splats.
Then they made us sleep on these crazy floor mats.
There were speeders who were so cool and fast
and I was easy enough to pass.
They laughed at me and I felt like a fool
but my handlers wanted me to be in school.
Then there were those who ran very slow
They ran like trucks with things to tow
And it seemed like I was getting bogged down too
with weights like dummy, drip-nose and pugh!
As I got bigger my engine grew
and I quit banging into you, you and you.
And occasionally, I'd stop to take a fight
and settle a score or show my might.
But mostly I went cruising about, flexing
my muscles, lettin' it all hang out!
Showing off was really a very great thrill
especially when a girl liked my shiny, chrome grill.
There were some who liked me and polished my chrome!
And I sometimes thought I should take her home.
Then there were those who lied right from their heart,
they made me feel bad and my engine wouldn't start.
It hurt bad to feel like a broken go-kart
and they didn't care if they broke my little heart.
It made me angry and I wanted revenge.
I thought of ancient powers from darkest StoneHenge.
I wanted to hurt them down deep inside but something
stopped me, I think it was pride.
They just weren't worth it somehow I knew
and I waited with grace until I met you.
You were shiny and white with chromium delight.
Colors and stripes all looking right!
I couldn't help but fall in love
with a car that resembled a spicy, love dove.
My headlights beamed and my motor purred
I couldn't stop beeping while my oil was stirred
I raced around and pulled up straight away
and said, "hello there darlin' I'm sayin hey, hey!"
You smiled and laughed and made me feel at home
and we sparkled and shined no longer alone
And I realized it was nice to be in this place with you
even though we both were no longer new.
What a special time of year....
I,Santa and my minion of elves
making a gazillion toys for all
the giddy girls and boys.
Just what are some of the things they
will find under the tree? Let's see !!
Colorful cars that go vroom vroom
and twin engine planes that zoom.
Remote control trucks that
tumble around the room.Oh these
things simply can't come too soon!
There's the cute little doll house
with a canary canopy and the stocking
stuffed to the brim with sugar coated candy.
Oh my, what about the indestructable
tank with the turret that pivots or the
tried and true toolset equipped with
screwdrivers, pliers, hammer
and yes, even a rack of rivets.
I almost forgot about the long-legged dolls
with their fancy silk sweaters and dresses.
Oh how girls love those that talk or cry,
or ..... yes, even make little messes.
Then there are teddy bears,dolphins,
monkeys, ...stuffed animals of all kinds.
Oh, is it possible for the youngsters
to get these tantalizing toys out of their minds?
Chutes and Ladders,Candyland, Twister,
Guess Who, a smorgasboard of board games.
Oh yes, after this Christmas Day,
nothing could ever be the same.
Then there are cd's, dvd's,mp3s
you name it, even cell phones to call.
And no, that's certainly not all.
Catchers mitts, frisbees,yo-yo's or
better yet, a new leather basketball.
Robots, Light Bright,Spirograph,
we are busy making toys for tots.
And I don't think I need to tell you
No matter how you slice it... there's alot.
But I'm running out of time here you see
and there's no limit to what
can be found underneath the tree.
Every year Christmas provides a new story.
I know I hold a special place in
the hearts of people both young and old.
But I will be the first to admit
Christmas is not about me or what's
under the tree, but might I be so bold
as to say we must not forget that the real
Christmas story is all about love.
It starts and ends with the gift of Jesus
sent to us from His Father above.
For without that very "special delivery"
Christmas Day we wouldn't even celebrate.
No, as a matter of fact, December 25th
would simply be just an ordinary date.
The missus brings me high test coffee...
A cold wintry January 53rd, 2021
at Highland Manor apartments
picturesque snow covered landscape
safely ensconced within Unit B44,
we (yours truly and wife)
occupy bedroom and
television room respectively
comfortably numb and toasty warm
at sixty degrees Fahrenheit
courtesy climate controlled environment.
I practice crafting poetry
(seeking posthumous fame)
while the spouse busies herself
channel surfing putting
down remote control
after espying satisfactory movie
(Fatal Attractions),
about which she knows
every single detail,
and can rattle offer personal tidbits
about cast of actors and actresses.
Aforementioned regular routine
predictable until
onset rites of spring,
where warm weather perfect balm
to allow, enable and provide
antidote to existential woes
coping with being quarantined,
though sensing optimism
regarding president Joe Biden
green lighting living social pursuits
possibly revisiting
following favorite pastime.
Recalling contra dancing
as palliative against bashfulness
life as high school wallflower served me
without any budding female friendships
until lo… agent tulle nudge, yes
my mother over mollycoddled
then uprooted me
mein kampf familiar
bedrock level road terrain,
which venue offered groundswell
to blossom forth into
golden sterling resplendent rod
of natural equipoise,
(an unbiased opinion) and balance
with freestyle improvisational swinging motions
unchained from moors of formality
lit figurative saint elmo’s
Sesame Street Big Bird
winging fiery dance
allowing, enabling and
providing shy awkward self
during his young adulthood
to cast away four ever
self embroidered handsome
straight as an arrow
naturally high as a kite young guy
buzzfeeding like yellow jacket
liberating spontaneity
that je ne sais quoi joie vivre
clamoring headlong toward pollination
healthy packing heat overflowing
testosterone bin laden well nigh
erupting pistol (stay man)
toward opposite gender,
whereby bravado donned as key
to hoe field of whet dreams
fostering initial albeit late blooming
roll in the hay hormonally
rooted rutting squeal!
A template swap is a switch over to a swimming sword. Swordfish are very pleased at this and dunk their noses into goblets in a godlike fashion. Such etiquette in a swim. Formational framework finds format. And even a small pinnacle of cake icing could dance down the highways. So ignoring the wraths and word of woe it is wise to take out a pretty smiling biscuit. Place it carefully on a plate. Then climb up the hill and over the rope bridge. Very high altitude causes biscuits to be afraid so they must be calmed with soothing words and beats of breath. When the other side of the mountain is reached the biscuit must be harnessed securely using over twenty ropes. Then and only then can the abseiling begin. Wow aren't they travelling with speed, courage and optimism but optimism is neither an original orifice nor an octagonal oversized overspill objective. It is really then the sway of a ninety thousand foot toothbrush that can announce the time with no need of amplification via a microphone or a tannoy system. Wow. How intriguing is the belligerent hard yard of a semi dressed riddled jester? And how time consuming is the ongoing rashers of tinned and sliced ham? How delegated are the powers that are worn around and around and adjudicate the environment? Thus thwarting life in its structural natural weave. And a giant beehive hairdo must be re worn as a signal to a hive. Hide then. Hideous hags having heaping heads. And legs like little tables spin and rotate via remote control. Similar to a plate of writhing meal worms and a workshop of controlled chapel chaos. Big birthday balloons bring balls banging. Circumference of circulating capital charms. And a diameter of a diagram is a dare in the deeds. Castle that then fortify but do not attempt to fry for to fry is to form fiendish frolics. And to frolic is just not a fashionable way of wearing a peel is it? Hahaha the sausages are listening to their cousins today. Hahaha I want a cup of tea and a toast too said the little bluey green lamp. Xxxxxx parasympathetic parody xxxx xxxx etymologies z z z z z at twenty one full meals of porridge in a bread pan to twenty sequences of serving cereals to a six inch bowl. Z.
Form:
It was 1988
And things seemed great
I walked off the stage
With a degree at the right age
There were changes abound
As I entered life’s next round
One happened a few years later
When bowl games needed to get things straighter
On New Year’s Day Night
The Orange Bowl was colleges big time sight
Granted on another network sugar was being splashed
With this game that could springboard one to nice professional cash
With a nice halftime show
It was a nice way to let last year go
But there was one network’s selfish greed
That tarnished the gridiron holiday gift underneath the tree
They wanted it all
And stopped at nothing including putting the parent company’s store in the mall
Due to this obsession
Athletics saw nothing that would define the word recession.
More bowls were put in place
To allow every student athlete a chance to build their talented case
But it was the Orange Bowl who had a foe
Direct from Epcot France featuring the French Quarter drunken trance.
New Orleans had the party the night before
Hours in front of midnight when they showed the old year the door.
Someone in a yellow jacket made the shift to compete with the King of Orange’s tropical gift
Now the viewer needed to do a little remote control clickering
To ease the family’s bickering.
Today King Orange will stay out of the way
Of New Years Day
Instead they play a day before we say goodbye
To the year that gave a good try.
With a team from the VA that will need a good military strategy to find the winning way
And another team from the north part of the state it should be a nice game that is worth the luring bait
But it is that wonderful halftime production
That has found itself through the years getting reduction
They have tried everything
Including getting celebrities to sing
To combat this couple minutes of rest
That makes the players ponder on how well they are doing on the gridiron final exam test.
In closing good luck to the two teams
As they deal with tropical greens
Finding out what everything means
While playing this game in their dreams.
As the darkness reaching out for the darkness,
her black scalpel eyes met mine across
the crushing divide of a revelling throng.
The amateur axe band strangled a bargain basement
hard rock song, born of a talent cremated at birth,
deservedly consigned to ashen oblivion.
Her prurient, feral crimson gown bore precipitous
neckline plunging down, stopping some small distance
short of her succulent, perfect navel
I imagine.
As if the marble finger of an ancient god of dreams had
stabbed the "mute" on some cosmic remote control,
the squeals and howls of wolverine party animals, the blackboard
screech of lousy rock and roll, cut abruptly out of frame.
Silence kissed my eardrums with lips like sudden death,
I hardly drew a solitary breath, only stared, locked upon the
twin abyss' of her black hole pupils, ebony irises,
feeling myself magnetically reeled and reeling in.
Electrical conductivity skittered epileptically about my palpitating heart;
a faulty blue laser skipping and sliding upon a scratched cigarette-burned CD.
Damned screaming skulls and "Auld Lang Syne" despotism
jump-started this momentary glitch in time's fabric.
Harsh trespass of cacophony, acute and violent,
aural assault and battery exploded on this reverie.
And in a sea of human chains, a soup of sweating limbs and torsos,
of shattered silence,
she was gone.
As arcane ditties were ritually slaughtered on a Stratocaster,
my flesh turned the dying colour and texture of sickly alabaster.
I was drunk, weeping, mourning, insane,
aware I would never see her again.
The night solidified, a fortress of granite, folding batwing walls,
shutting me out of it's embrace; alone in a darker place;
spelling it out in starkest script: I would never taste her flesh, kiss
her lips or touch her face.
I wondered if she felt the same loss, the grief, hollow desolation,
writhing, burning, cruelly denied, in Hell; bludgeoned by the
ironic, knowing
the highways we walk upon this earth were cursed to eternally be
parallel...
in a cozy office in the US,
maybe at langley, or
creech air force base,
north of vegas,
there is an officer watching video
feeds of suspected targets in
“afghanistan, pakistan, bosnia, serbia, iraq, yemen,
libya & somalia,”
just to name a few.
this officer is piloting
unmanned aerial vehicles,
which operate by remote control,
allowing her/him to suspend these
drones
(interestingly named
“mq-1 predators” & “mq-9 reapers”)
for 18 hours in the air,
hovering in a manner that no manned
aircraft can,
in what the CIA terms
“an unblinking stare,”
this supposedly allows the officer who is
waiting,
to select the most opportune time to fire its
hellfire missles,
therefore minimalizing the
collateral damage due to the precision of
the attack &
a successful elimination of a target is referred to
by the CIA as a
“bugsplat.”
this “secret” drone program,
initiated in 2004 by the CIA,
has allowed the US to kill 2,551 people
in their bugsplat derby---
think tanks
like the new america foundation
in washington say that
the majority of those killed have been
targeted militants,
yet when civilians were polled,
a suspiciously different story was revealed as
“only 16% believe that drones accurately
target militants.”
with 118 attacks last year in pakistan &
50 already in 2011,
mr. obama & co. are facing
questions of the ethical nature of drone attacks---
many feel that it is ok to use drones for surveillance,
but when they are used for attacks,
the killing of innocent civilians is not held accountable in the
same fashion as regular warfare,
concerning the military chain of command,
not to mention that the supposed “rules” of
war are violated
when the officer in their comfortable office
needs to take a piss,
knowing that in a few minutes,
said target will be out in the open and ready for a
precise, low-to-no-civilian-casualty bugsplat,
but,
instead of waiting,
they push the button & then get up to run to the
restroom,
coming back after lunch to see what damage has been
done---
just like they were at home playing call of duty.