Long Richard Poems
Long Richard Poems. Below are the most popular long Richard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Richard poems by poem length and keyword.
In the news today
I watched in despair
I saw Michael Jackson
With gnats in his hair
I wish this would end
This media plight
Take all the evidence
It will all end tonight
He arrived a little late
Had a warrant for his arrest
Whatever he receives
He'd best not contest
For his fame will not conjure
Neverland is no more
Not for nothing he still is
A media whore
He once was a black man
A key member of the Jackson Five
Transformed into a white woman
In prison he won't survive
They'll take away your jammies
And you can't wear your coat
Your cell mate named Bubba
How soon he will gloat
Does he really molest children
In his own amusement park?
What, does he lure them in
By telling them:
"I'm afraid of the dark"
Martha's no longer there
So you won't have no friends
For the boys hate molesters
Your life soon may end
In the after-life for you
There will no be no pearly gates
Only Bubba in a thong
"I now pronounce you soul mates!"
Now the news is over
I've heard enough for one night
You're going down Mr. black/white man
Hope you have sweet dreams tonight.
Collaborated by father & son.. Richard & Jared Pickett...
Asavvy1
2004
False winter—deceitful—fuels the unrest.
Paris preyed upon; men’s anger coalesced;
guns frame the debate.
Pride and despair fan the unholy flame.
The dispossessed grab weapons and take aim,
do words or actions desecrate?
Twelve dead in Paris—and a free press denied,
mourn for the loss, when faith and guns collide.
To men with no life, there’s only death.
Fathers and mothers, daughters and sons cry;
the workings of men leave no time for goodbye.
Shout, “Vive la liberté” with each breath.
False warmth stirs a hornet’s nest, of dispossessed
on Boulevard Richard le Noir, hate crests.
Guns frame the debate.
Words are warriors, oh there’s might in the pen
what do men die for—ideas council men.
Loss, want, and hate dictate.
With bombs, knives, and guns Europe-wide
strike concern where complacence was decried:
no homes, no jobs, unrest,
societal problems in oversupply.
Your eyes, open your eyes, the dead cry.
There must be more than death.
First Published in here/there magazine UK 2015
He makes me see in color
when I’m enshrouded in my grey.
His hues of happiness twirl and dance
and my life takes on a different stance.
~~~Beauty birthed in blessings believed~~~
He gifts to me...
reassurance in reality’s revelations!
His color blind eyes
make my truth blind ones see...
My words are wonderfully wise
Passionately poignant
Honestly heartwarming
Sensually scintillating
Oh la la lacious…simply delicious
vibrantly colored in vivacious!!!
These are the word colors
he mixes on my page’s palette
with his own signature artistry.
He embellishes the plain canvas of my mind
a kaleidoscope revelry….I see
This color blind poet,
this mentoring friend
is a man who carries a name
which says it all...
Lamoureux: the one who loves
He's a lover of colors he cannot see
because he’s gifted them...
He’s gifted them all
to me
Eileen Manassian Ghali
For Richard Lamoureux's Contest
Who Do You Think I am
September 26, 2015
You paint your pictures, on the canvas of my mind.
Ebbing and flowing, as your thoughts become released.
Texture and color, are displayed with every line.....
From another poem
If I could see in color.....
Richard Lamoureux
I tell you I like, that Wayland a bunch
He'd be the guy, to be there in a crunch
Not afraid of humor, he paves the way
With clerihew words, he loves to play
Let's talk of Eileen, the Queen of passion
Her verses of pleasure, will not be rationed
She causes men to rise, women to weep
Many a farmer, have stopped counting sheep
Then there is Shadow, who is a bright light
Her name suggests darkness, but that isn't right
With a pen and paper, she loves to play
Out of the Shadow, poems brighten our day
There is the woman Donna, she is filled with charm
For her animals, she'd give her left arm
Still here in the soup, she adds her own spice
She's a little bit hot and a whole lot of nice
When it comes to Eagles Montery's the last word
She's not in a flock she's a solitary bird
With her strong wings creating a breeze
Verses dance on the wind with the greatest of ease
I can't forget about Richard, now there's a man
He teases Eileen, just because he can
Yet within the humor, his clever exists
His poetic talents, impossible to miss.
My friend Vicky T, has brought me to tears
She possesses insight well beyond her years
A voice from the wilderness, please take heed
Wisdom resides in her poems that we read
When it comes to nature, our Nette is the girl
She makes mountains quiver and pretty leaves twirl
To angelic worlds she causes us to travel
Brooks are helpless she makes them all babble
Our Andrea she is well beyond great
Her words are profound they carry such weight
Regardless of form, many contests she wins
She's top of the heap, before she begins
Becca's a doll, with a sensitive pen
She writes of the now and also the then
Her words magical, a muse guides her pen
Capturing my mind again and again
This place amazing, a Mystical Rose
A unique handle my creative friend chose
Perfect for her that woman has style
A perfect seven at the top of the pile
My buddy Drake he has really mad skills
With words like honey the airways he fills
If you are lucky he'll let you co-host
To him I raise a glass to happily toast
Others must wait I'm running out of Rymes
I will write of them some other time
Until then I must wish you all goodbye
Have a sip of my soup, give it a try.
Inspired to try my first Clerihew by
Wayland Bunch. Hopefully I have got it right.
I am a rag doll
Pliable, and gullible.
I believe you
So tell me your truth and your lies.
I will not discriminate
Move me into places you want me to go.
I am flexible, and there will be no argument
I will listen to your tales, and believe wholeheartedly.
There will be no laughter.
I will attempt a smile.
It may not happen
You see someone else broke me.
They pulled off a leg,
and they punctured my eyes.
I cannot see now, but I can feel.
I will lie with you quietly,
and if you could but
rub my back
I would believe
you loved me
and that
would
be
enough
Written July 16, 2019 Contest: Move Me Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
If I could I would return to a time of knights and kings
Of castles, dungeons, wizards and mystical magical things
I'd see Little John, Will Scarlett, the merry men and Friar Tuck
I'd stay away from the sheriff, I'd rather not push my luck
Robin was a hunted man, but he beckoned at her calls
For Marian he'd risk everything and climb the castle walls
His loyalty to King Richard made his men and he outlaws
They hid in Sherwood Forest, fighting for the cause
The king was in the Third Crusade unaware of the unrest
To become ruler of all England was the sheriff's quest
Through all this two lovers would light the evening sky
For Marian he lived and for Marian he'd die
A romance for the ages, A love that would never die
A love for all eternity to make the angels sigh
For King Richard his loyalty, for Marian his heart
To save the crown and England, Robin played his part
Richard returned to England to claim his royal crown
Robin triumphed in Nottingham bringing the sheriff down
There was peace and happiness all throughout the land
Robin knelt upon one knee to take his maiden's hand.
Robin Hood and Maid Marian.
Speculative, the owl of Minerva,
fires up the brain of childhood.
Word pictures of war and death,
love and nature...and God.
Psalm twenty-three, Trees,
O Captain My Captain, and
Richard Cory on the top tier.
I begin to express my inner world,
the preponderance of imagination
and emotion spill from my inkwell.
I script as death takes hold -
a precious pet, uncles,
grandparents.
Into the throes of poetry,
stimulated by an online class, reading
Poe and Plath - dark and yet
so stunning.
My virtual pen like an EKG -
once in a while flatlines,
but then my heart restarts.
I’m so in love…
with mine, with yours, with ours -
intertwined revelations of us.
2/23/2019
Sponsor - Silent One
Poetry and me Poetry Contest
A Roman, Cavalier, and a Lady in Grey
were all sat in the old Bell Hotel,
the customers round didn't know they were there
but could sense a peculiar smell.
The Centurion spoke first as he put down his pint,
“ I can't say I've been doing alright,
I've haunted this place 'till I'm blue in the face,
I'm put down to 'a bump in the night' “.
“ I know what you mean” said the sad Cavalier,
“Haunting is much harder than you think,
I've walked through pub walls,
waved my sword in the hall
but the locals put it down to drink”.
The Lady in Grey shook her head in dismay
“ I've spent two centuries on these stairs,
but it's always the same, the photo experts blame
dodgy negatives, nobody cares.
So we all are agreed”, as she stood up to leave,
the door opened without turning the knob,
“we make known our desire that we're going to retire-
Richard Felix is out of a job”.
(Richard Felix is our local paranormal expert who runs Ghost walks in the city, and has been a regular on TV series 'most haunted' )
Ivanhoe had just killed Sir Brian de Bois- Gilbert,
I watched him and felt the hilt of my sword,
perhaps I could change history without a word,
we spoke and he said that you can call me Richard.
I said that I was from the future and needed him
to dispose of Isis in the Middle East 2018,
he looked at me and said:' Would you wish
me to leave the Lady Rowena to do this task?
I said that I would because he was a winner,
we now needed to remove infidels and sinner;
we rode together - now I was in the book,
there was hope as far as you could look.
Those arrows would now be banging into the gates,
there was a chance we would rid ourselves
of fools everyone hates.
to splash …
words like watercolors
dialect, dripping …
a canvas of cognition
soft-stained with dreamy notion -
tinged with tender twilight
and sins invoiced …
oh, to throb a heart
or draw the briny issue of an eye …
to mutter of the ages
or a meadow of highland heather
to change a mind
or a world
with phrase alone …
what more could a soul ask
but (gently) this?
no blushing reach
or starry vault
could e’er match the wonders
of simple pen and page
put to task by one
foolish man’s meandering …
and his child’s heart
I …
of all such beasts
am blessed …
indeed.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 10, 2022