Long Reprobates Poems
Long Reprobates Poems. Below are the most popular long Reprobates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reprobates poems by poem length and keyword.
the moon commences its' illusion
it rides the crest fully
survivor of Roche's Limit
survivor of human prediction
filling the night with shadow
my early morning walks
the light in the distance
calls thru canopied jungle path
the setting moon
stepping on the soft white beach
where a silver highway plays
in the rippling water, i am
the human past who long ago
beheld such a sight
without the shaman's cheap trick
nor the cold touch of science
have accepted the moon just is
beautiful to behold
we let each other be
we are one and the same
dancing thru the universe
and when this is no more
we will be lip to lip
i do not know what God is
and have no such need
yet whatever it is
it is magnificent
heaven lives to die
and in that death
life finds itself again
my wishes, mere mortal longing
that so might i
even Rimbaud capitulated
the reprobates fear of reprobation
and i have but one question
before the empyreal throne
is there in heaven, a moon
Norma's roof Santa Cruz 95
We lost a good guy within the last week
Name of Dean Parry Val halla did seek
A full military career this gentleman had
His family and friends are now very sad
We've known Dean since the age of sixteen
When we joined a life in green
A top soldier and tradesman for sure
Serving abroad in many a war
Tommorows the day he'll be laid to rest.
From all of us you were one of the best
The current climate won't let us attend
But we will raise a glass for this absent friend
You join Andy perks at the bar in the sky
Leaving us behind wondering why
We know about demons that you had
Now they are gone and you can be glad
Our condolences to your family
I hope it goes well. as well as can be
R.I.P Dean Respect to thee.
From all the reprobates of 87C
Champion Squadron
Champion Recruit troop
1st Sept 87
Look out for a Scally getting pally in an alley
Or a boy from a Welsh Valley going doolally
Watch out for a Gadabout in polished brogue
Keep tally of reprobates mates out on a rally
The Rogue knack seems to be back in vogue
King of the bling castle that Rascal debacle sparkle
Why possibly be a flunky if you could instead be
Punky freaky funky sneaky spunky cheeky monkey
Wastrel with Scoundrel and a Ne’er Do Well revel
Grins sparking at sins of fancy dans and Harridans
Twins of long pins dance spin with larking Larrikins
Drifter Imp or Grifter pimp do scrimp always a cad
Unravel dishevel like a Devil from that lower level
Had by a champ Scamp Artful Dodger to crafty lad
Fond of Rapscallion swearing Vagabond & medallion
Delightful tomfoolery wearing well frightful jewellery
Drunken Scallywag swagbag brag of sunken galleon
Blighter sounder Bounder all rounder fighter & stallion
Villain scouring vulture devouring souring culture carrion
Tyro on giro Rake or Tyke on the take always a Herbert
Hasty helluva pasty fella but tasty & stellar as fresh turbot
Can't cellar or curb it not a hermit more animal than kermit
Shan’t enslave a fave Knave or Snake who crave a sherbet..
I haven’t seen “Melania” -
To do so, I’ve no plans,
For I am not, in any shape
Or form, one of her fans.
It’s just another instance of
A move that’s gauche and crass,
To rub into our faces
All the bad that’s come to pass.
Our country ruled by tyrants,
Lowlifes bringing fear and strife
And now 40 million dollars
Spent to showcase one such wife.
Just to think of all that money
And the homes that it could build
Wasted on each White House lily,
Which just reprobates would gild.
When I checked “Rotten Tomatoes,”
Which rates many movie picks,
I was not surprised to see it rated
With a lowly 6.
Called self-serving and pathetic,
Boring, dull and bad and bland,
Critics hated it but not her fans,
Who grovel on command.
the moon commences its' illusion
it rides the crest fully
survivor of Roche's Limit
survivor of human prediction
filling the night with shadow
my early morning walks
the light in the distance
calls thru canopied jungle path
the setting moon
stepping on the soft white beach
where a silver highway plays
in the rippling water, i am
the human past who long ago
beheld such a sight
without the shaman's cheap trick
nor the cold touch of science
have accepted the moon just is
beautiful to behold
we let each other be
we are one and the same
dancing thru the universe
and when this is no more
we will be lip to lip
i do not know what God is
and have no such need
yet whatever it is
it is magnificent
the heavens live to die
and in that death
life finds itself again
my wishes, mere mortal longing
that so might i
even Rimbaud capitulated
the reprobates' fear of reprobation
and i have but one question
before the empyreal throne
is there in heaven, a moon
Norma's roof Santa Cruz 95
"Blue Avians and the Poetic State of Mind
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures.
they had a keen sense
of the poetic.
without speaking,
they intuitively
understand
the misunderstood.
The Blues
shot right through
to the heart
of the matter.
Triangulation.
seated in
lapis lazuli
Merkaba
thrones
they fly
in fierce squadrons
sharp eyes, and minds
surveying the In-Between Place.
extra sensory perception
they lock into targets
reading signals hidden
under the radar
the cloaked
co-ordinates
of the Draconian
the great pretenders,
finding weakness
in the criminals’
fading camouflage.
slippery scales, light weights,
the Draconian
are bird bait;
too shiny,
inherent and inherited
reptilian, lizard minds
unsettling reprobates
in false light armour;
their dangerous enabling
supporting the
underbelly of it all,
their brother,
the venomous
Arachnid army.
The Blue Avians
saw deep inside
the Necromancer’s
deep indigo heart,
the blue heart of true mother.
they were for her
with faith
every time;
for like them, after all,
she also could fly
with the full strength,
the force of will in her mind.
they would fly
by her side. anytime.
they held no fear
of her motives,
her just moment,
her calling mission
for return of her child,
in the fullness of time.
they see
and they feel
the fierce call
of the Necromancer’s
true mind.
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures,
they possessed a keen sense
of swift justice.
they read
without speaking
truth in
the poetic,
a unifying
undying
poetically alienated
state of mind
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset;
I am the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night-sky."
"In the sphere I am everywhere the centre,
as She, the circumference, is nowhere found."
Eye of Horus.
Horus.
Thoth.
Nuit.
Barbed wire seems a 'thorny' subject on which to opine,
But there arose a need for such for people and beasts to confine!
Cowpokes cussed as they worked with it mutilating their hands.
Sheepherders fussed with cattlemen as it spread across their lands!
'Tis said back in 1874 Joseph Glidden, who 'bristled' with the idea,
Was awarded a patent for barbed wire to provide a cure-all panacea!
Split-rail fencing to outline boundaries was rapidly becoming passe',
To keep neighbors' straying goats, horses and other critters at bay!
Sheriffs found barbed wire handy to enforce a judge's firm dictates,
To confine hoss thieves, cattle rustlers and other such reprobates!
Inmates trying to scamper through the wire were apt to rip their pants,
Or worse, might end up in 'boot hill', caught trying to scale the fence!
Alas, sinister uses for barbed wire were found beyond bucolic meadowlands.
'Twas used to enslave thousands of innocent souls behind its menacing strands.
Thousands of men, women and children were consigned to death at Dachau,
Triblinka, Buchenwald, Ravensbruck and Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Among its many other diverse uses it has even marched off to wars,
To protect gallant American soldiers on far too many alien shores.
Mister Joseph Glidden was doing mankind a great favor, he thought.
Were he alive today he might say, "My gawd, what hath I wrought!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Insidious, insipid, id-inebriated imbeciles
incite impetus into inevitable immolation.
Bombast, bluster and bluff: blunt batons of barbarian bullies;
backwards behaviour blackballs baronial breed's burdens and bonds.
Weasely, willy-waving warmongers wage wanton war of words
without wit, wisdom or worldliness, whilst we weakly watch and wait.
Regrettable, repugnant reprobates ravage refined realms with
reprehensible rapier-rattling and rancid rhetoric.
Clash of corrupt, contemptible cutthroats carves calamity 'cross
continents and culminates in catastrophic conflagration.
Pointless predatory and political power-plays pale as
pirouetting pariahic pyres patently a pyrrhic prize.
------------------------------------------
(16 syllables on every line, checked with howmanysyllables.com)
14 October 2017
The Devil’s watch has started and the time is consummate
A strange and tranquil calmness mocks our terrifying wait
There, just beyond our window moves like fearsome reprobates
A pair of tortuous demons meant all Hell to perpetrate
We will not yield in panic! We will not abdicate!
The oaths we swore, though did not know what fortune could mandate
Then all at once the door explodes like Hell’s infernal gate
And from its raw primordial wound two creatures detonate
A thunderous commotion rings as demons orchestrate
Concussive pandemonium ‘til heads reverberate
Our precious things and property? Just grist to lubricate
The cogs and gears of ruin in their trek to decimate
All supplications fail to slow or cause to deviate
The terrors’ stupefying quest to misappropriate
It seems no thing that we hold dear shall realize escape
Each second’s an eternity, yet hours accelerate
And suddenly as it began, the anarchy abates
Back to their lair they are recalled and though they hesitate
To disobey their Master’s voice they dare not contemplate
So final mischief they perform then through the door gyrate
Perdition’s gate they seal once more, no fear can infiltrate
Now silence will return again and we’ll recuperate
In time the fear will disappear and doubts evaporate
So order once again returns, our world to dominate
Yet in our minds there still exists (though we equivocate)
Confession for the origin of this despairing state
For harsh parental curse once made we can’t repudiate
What went around has come around to now reciprocate
Thus progeny of progeny is ours to expiate
We can’t take back what Nature in its wisdom still dictates
"I hope your children grow up to be JUST LIKE YOU!" still grates
And devil’s laughter is the fee we pay to procreate
Date: December 19, 2018
Contest Name: Give Me Goosebumps Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Catherine Bryan
1838-1918
Thy swan song will be kept short, for thou
And ye, faithful friends of Whittier’s Quaker enclave,
In stout shock, thy anger scolds the town,
For ye know, in heart and soul,
Thee and this old maid did not approve or agree,
With ye establishment of said saloon,
And its mad proprietor, with mustache in tow.
To God, in his holy anger, thou sayeth:
Do not spare ye town of Whittier,
Please, kindly show no mercy, as ye sinful township,
Heads into the uncertain evil times,
Cease not to spare the damaging quakes,
From thy emblazoned temper in seasons ahead,
For ye Whittier hath dressed obscenely in clothes of mustard yellow,
And hath exchanged them for the proper, black regalia of the righteous,
Yes, proper and good accoutrements for thy people in worship!
But now it is time for the old woman to say:
Ye Whittier! Thou hath forsaken the highest God!
For thy immodest music and dancing,
And thy indulgent viewing of sinful cinemas,
In the darkness of Hades itself, at the Optic,
Ye den of corruption and vice,
Hath spat upon the face of the Lord!
Whittier township, a dead woman says to ye future generations,
From this black place in a forgotten grave:
Ye are damned heathens in thy midst!
Ye reprobates! Ye are not the chosen people!
Instead of worship, and disciplined prayer time,
Ye sit in the dumbing darkness and find Lucifer,
Dreaded star of the morning!
The Optic be damned!