Long Ruck Poems
Long Ruck Poems. Below are the most popular long Ruck by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ruck poems by poem length and keyword.
This poem is dedicated to the one I love
Today I walk a million miles.
I walked a million miles,
I hump this ruck all day
I hear the small bing and ding as the straps begin sway
the sound of the desert winds begin to blow.
the sand begins to swirl.
I walk a million miles for this I do not know,
As Tiny drops of sweat begin to roll, these tiny drops of sweat are much like us you know, as these tiny drops begin to flow, they roll down my neck arm and legs for where they go is just unknown.
I walk a million miles
For this, I do not know
I feel so very tired and begin to slow, but with each step, we press on, with each step we must keep marching on, step after step searching looking, searching for what it's really not known.
I walk a million miles
the feeling of fear is really clear, the feeling of fear is thick as smoke and stench begin to fill the air.
the sand is blowing and swirling all around.
I walk a million mile for what, it's really not known, we hump these heavy ruck's that cut you to the bone.
I walk a million miles for this, you will never know, but as we keep marching, humping these ruck's
sweating tiny drops that roll and go to places we do not know
we keep praying, that we will make it through the day.
I walk a million miles, for this I do not know, protecting freedom land
For this Is, I do know.
I walk a million miles as bullets fill the air,
the smell of sulfur is thick in the in the noonday air
I'd walk a million more so this you will never know.
I walk a million miles, for this I now know, I never want you to see these things, or smell the stench I've known. I never want you to feel the pain or the hardships that I've endured.
I've walked a million miles but I'd walk a million more, to save you from the horrors to keep freedom on our shores, for these things I will endure keeping the enemy away if it takes my life to ensure this it a small price to pay. I've done it all for you, the ones I love the most so you will never know, the ugly horrors of war, for this I have endured
to keep freedom on our shores.
But I've done this all in love for you and I'll walk a million more
to ensure ole glory never falls and the bell sounds of freedom never fade.
Duty Honor Country I'll walk a Million more
Tracy Scott 2/18/2015
Form:
Court hiss sea hove The Irish Times,
this hum mere ruck can bloke
kin esse spy climb mitt till impact
desiccation ravaging with choke
hold thee aim rilled isle,
which haint ok key doke
cuz won hoot rook froom sun
whelps like heretic burned at stoke!
- - - - - - - - - -
More to the point (meaning jaw
ken minus **** faux
hackney poetic strung bow
Willy Wonka barely understandable
twanged and twinged) accent
hen reed how, accomplishment
in garnering alarming
news-worthy ailment
while this Unit Aryan ensconced
within beef hoar tee four comfortably
numb burred battlement,
here at Highland Manor,
I pay (if totally tubularly pennies rolled)
approximately equaling bedazzlement
17,500 viz copper cent,
per month gratuity clement,
sans Grosse and Quade
associates co-management
offered rental assistance congruent
(predicated on social security disability)
to occupy one bedroom
apartment kept air
conditioned 60°Fahrenheit
perfect for concupiscent
activity, albeit unfortunately marriage
shot thru with celibacy
suppressed sexless existence
more difficult to control
than catching a tiger by the tail,
hence this damned delinquent dependent
Dickensian dada cooly cruising thru
cyberspace espying embodiment,
how measurable heating up
Gaia, i.e. Mother Earth (she) evinces
no illusory figment, and just by a fluke,
the spontaneous Google search,
keyed revealed tumy mine eyes,
wretched webpage showed
stark rising temperature gradient
Dublin, Ireland experiencing
worst drought since
records began 168 years ago
where Irish Water (utility)
warned Dublin would run out of water
in 70 days, a “worst-case scenario”
necessitating hyper-efficient
protocols immediately inherent.
(sung – in a round pussy willow warble - to the tune of --
Oh Where Oh Where has my little dog gone)
With a flam boy hunt deft jais nais sais quois
firm lickey split tongue
and two bell yule yar pissant
little nappy ruck berry filled up paul ling sacks
viz peppy la pew doth not peter out,
and weathers clawed rained swipes
from hello kitty when faux pas gets swung
assisting climbing Jacob's ladder
(without pussy footing,
orb bing a putz like the president)
advancing quick to attain orgasmic rung
while heading into a slippery sloping sluice
(with prickly endeavor emitting cleat trill
smooth sailing along a ****
re coarse upon phallic shaped pung
crossing la brea tar pits (peppered
with lai bee ha tricky bridge over the River Kwai)
comprising ideal place de la resistance
to woo tang clan foreign nee Kate,
where two puckered rill lee fleshy ruffling rills
tinged pinkish lips overhung
a challenging escarpment,
where many a brave Tom, Harry or Dick get hung
up, particularly while searching for fabled “G” spot,
cuz portcullis hamstrung
even the most fiercely determined
Engleburt Hump per dink
necessitating the moist risky ski maneuver
as most studs know tubby gelandesprung
though booby prize wool worth any slimy setbacks,
where sticky gook gets flung
from angry cat,
who does not in the least find amusing,
and if further pricked with rage
not averse to hurl dung
gar (with) ease at snaky,
retractable hardened beastie boy twill clung
for dear life and limb (er, or twig and berries),
while applying crampons (bivouaced
within his maxipad), viz bung
gull low, essentially a ball peen size cove
hammered out by Dashiell Hammitt, where coiled,
kinked follicles strewn tightly inlet among
pheromone laced verboten fruit.
Form:
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
The grandstand is gelid by a sharp wintry breeze
Carried off from the field are the last of dead leaves
The shrill of the whistle, muffled calls from the crowd
From the tunnel stampede, metal studs echo loud.
With high, flick-tossing coin each Captain his reason
To kick-off with his mates a new rugby season.
The kicker announces starting ball high and long
And on lumbering wind sings a rugby man’s song.
Fifteen players below impatient stand waiting
Eyes fixed to the heavens, the ball falls rotating.
To arms of the hardest with sweetest possession
Grueling match has begun— the rugby obsession!
Steaming bodies in scrums, deep grunt of engagement
Weary boots grappling earth now frozen like pavement
By tackle-ruck-lineout, each man one-and-for-all
With a powerful push a try-bound rolling maul.
Players leaping for joy, heads of others hang low
Elation, deception such do rugby games go.
So Grand Final is here, a long winter has passed
The crowd and the speaker say it happened too fast;
Cut-throat right to the last; Wing, Second Row to Prop
A try, then conversion, to make every heart stop.
(Far left of the uprights flew last quiet ball spent
but with westerly drift over black dot she went!)
…
And with sweet summer grass blowing crisp in the sun
where butterflies frolic, spider webbing is spun
White sidelines are missing, fields all ripe, rich ‘n’ green
Rugby season has passed, but young spirits are keen
A rugby ball punted, a lone boy, polished boots
To play for his country, his dream built on grass roots.
-------------------
Alexandrine Poem in balanced six syllable cesurae for each 12 syllable line
I started this year with a bid to get fit and healthy
Loosing at least a stone -that to me is wealthy
So, to a gym, swimming pool or zumba
..do I lumber
Absolutely NOT - let’s be radical and try Army Fit..
High intensity training - don’t be soft - don’t be a t..
I’ve not down experience for a while
But this, making my muscles ache makes me smile
No fancy equipment, just mats, weights, ropes, tyres and balls
Which although bones achy - helped me walk talk
Six weeks in -then disaster struck
I felt I was at the bottom of a 6 Nations rugby ruck
A simple sprint at the end of the training session
Was an unbelievable lesson
Of how sport can sometimes not be good for you..
Bang went my achilles in my heel
Which started the unfortunate medical wheel
Although I tried going to work the next day
After driving, trying to concentrate, I did have to say
I’m temporarily giving in..I’m in real pain
Work have been great
I and they recognised I am in real state
Scans and X rays lead to crutches, bandages, a boot and pain medication
And now sitting with my leg raised on the sofa - that is my new and boring station.
However, I have to try and be positive- firstly the pain relief has got to go
It’s making me sick and head slow
Then I will begin to think clearly
And go to the Physio - and learn exercises that I will hold onto dearly
I’m down but not out
And although my aim was to be lean- I might for now have to carry on being stout
Until of course in time I will return to being healthy
I will again think stealthy
Of a new way of being fit and mentally wealthy.
Eight authors were killed today,
some of them, somewhat prominent,
and an unknown number were injured,
when a very large crowd of words
came rushing toward them, and
crushed them under the throng
Hundreds of onlooking readers were aghast
at the sight of surprised writers,
running from the tens of thousands
of words, phrases, and stanzas shouting
loud rhyming, some carrying sharpened prose
A bloody mass of heaping humanity
was cast over the civil edge into
a brownish-reddish swaled blog beside as
poets, slammers, and lyricists fled
Many widows and orphans sat beside the ruck,
weeping softly near the edges of their pages,
stunned, stupefied, even utterly dumbfounded
as multi-syllabic words flashed their anger,
and chased the writers to a gruesome end
Diphthongs and anagrams on the scene said
that they'd never seen such a riot of language
or a plethora of grammatical constituents
rise up against their mortal masters
The literary community is expressing
their deepened sorrow and angst with
a spontaneous outpouring of pens, pencils
steno pads, and small digital tablets
left at the scene of the rampage
Editors, secretaries, and linguists unified
to say that the guilty will be found, caught,
and expunged from the lexicography of
modern civil discourse and authorship
"Words cannot express our feelings" they said
© Goode Guy 2013-02-12
Silent waters always are said to run deep;
And looks often end up in deception
As venturesome finds do in exception
Bring forth reward to cherish and keep
A trekking crew found on an desolate hill
An odd tree with feathery leaves wide spread,
And plump, tempting fruits coloured red ;
For a while the dazed gapers all stood still ....
The younger ones rushed forth to pluck ,
Before the slower few could warn or prevent ,
And lavishly bit off with wild thrilling content ;
Wildness now overpowered the lagging ruck
Moments of ecstasy did there prevail ;
Like the Greek heroes on the Lotos island,
Each was lost in the indrawn wonderland
And every spell was slothful and under sail
Oblivion covered up the place and time
Thoughts and senses to iceberg had frozen ;
Trusted arms and fingers refused to fasten ;
Order, rhythm, and breath lost their prime
Chance and daring had brought them there
Temptation did prompt the eating of it ,
Smothering and closing all ways to quit ;
Everything lost and nothing found anywhere !
Living has its own marked margin and domain
No courage dare cross Nature's set ambit :
Taste or possession of things odd is out of wit --
Perhaps trying the forbidden fruit over again !
Damn it the planet’s on fire
Concerning..right down to the wire
Burning on its funeral pyre spire
I’m for turning.. where’s the messiah?
A heavenly choir…so we can aspire
That learning will finally inspire
An endless yearning desire
Of spurning this friendless quagmire
Discerning things are rather dire
Churning of the palaver and ire
Mother nature does surely tire
Should be the crier & trier
Of another returning frequent flyer
Corporate pariah..or so called high flier
Deranged global warming denier
You can tell its hotter...getting dryer
The climate’s changed.. you liar
Mining anything shining..find a buyer
All about earning..will just retire
With their bounty…a comfy county squire
Or dicey fiscal rascal friar
Got devious egregious previous & prior
Pampered dining on pricey lobster & samphire
Us out of luck..stuck in the muck & mire
Tampered temperatures soaring higher
But no ruck ..chuck the entire earth in the fryer
They’ve scampered…we’re hampered in the briar
Does appall …no truck with their gall…yet remain a complier
Insane what they pluck.. yet we all still call them “Sire”
Dodging one here, dodging one there,
Riding along without a care.
Three in a row, which way do I go,
I close my eyes and curse the so and so.
Oh! what a bang, the old van shook,
But at least it is still going and not in a ruck.
What is that noise? that cannot be right,
I, giving a gasp of utter fright.
Must stop, foot pedal goes straight to the floor,
And the hand brake does not belong to the van anymore.
Coast to a stop, must pull onto the verge,
The engine roars but no longer gives the van any urge.
Beneath the van the axle is in two,
With the stout half shaft plainly in view.
Side to side the rear wheel wobbles,
Not what I expected for all of my troubles.
Beware of those holes, the pot holes I mean,
Especially those that cannot be seen.
Old NED has finally been brought to a stop,
Everything seems to be going to pot.
At least I escaped the indignity,
Of watching that wheel coming off and overtaking me.
Oh! what utter strife,
It is for sure, ONE HELL OF A LIFE !!!