Long Ruffian Poems
Long Ruffian Poems. Below are the most popular long Ruffian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ruffian poems by poem length and keyword.
DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet, a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans rape
pay shuss selfish lust, when world sliding down behavioral sink,
where he doth jape
and me as distant outlier from madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the sheer inanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod -- seize whore viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
turns a third blind eye speeds away in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy, how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ass
vacuumed majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi, and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face s as his smart pet
bump ping uglies henchmen set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup bawling ashen faced deportees
whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone
fingers to the bone vainly, their american dream parched whence whet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Long story short - pondering my rental circumstance will equal net
zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic, narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three - via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting pot - with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman or Sabrina can oust him yet!
I am a real scaredy cat
and there's absolutely nothing that
I could do about that.
I'm scared of 'roaches
I'm scared of rats
I'm scared of spiders
and afraid of bats
I fear all arachnids
and I fear those gnats
Oh I fear all the kinds I find
of those creepy crawly brats!
And but what can I do about that?
Huh and who woudn't fear
a midnight rat-a-tat?
So I've resigned myself to being
a lifelong scaredy cat.
Yeah and I'm scared of heights
Scared of noises at night
Gah, I'm really quick to fright!
I'm scared of grasshoppers and even of dogs
Gosh there's hardly a thing that I ain't scared of.
But I admit I am a timid tigress
otherwise I'm a harmless human who don't hurt a fly
Normally just a normal lady, a humble poetess
I attack only when provoked to the limits
so as I'm a cat after all
I do show my tiger claws if the situation demands
or else I don't mind chickening out
of aggressive and foolhardy involvements.
And maybe if everybody was a coward like me
they wouldn't hurt each other with sheer brutality.
I guess for ladies it's not so bad to be
a bit more cowardly
In any case that's far better than being
a ruffian who's dastardly!
And oh, lastly but not the least
ah yes, I also greatly fear
any lustful male leer
I'd rather I'm invisible to their view
So I really find huge refuge
in the dear divine idea that exhorts me to
to drape and wrap myself from top to toe
in flowing garbs when I step outdoors
and that veiling attire does make me brave
as I feel vulnerable no more
and that's when I feel the transformation from lil kitty
into the big cats
from scaredy cat to formidable tigress
and that's when for once there's NOTHING I fear anymore! :)
as I go out veiled in soft armour from top to toe.
And I feel I can face the chauvinistic foe
She drowned in the late eighteen hundreds
Alone but happy because her horrible life was finally over
She had been chattel at the hand of a ruffian.
A rogue her parents married her to.
She was glad to be gone.
It was not a good life
"Hey! Isn't that your face?" It was her friend, Angel Mama.
She looked back to earth in the viewing room.
It was her face, on a dummy of some sort.
She was shocked! "It was my earth face," she said.
They call you "Anne," Angel Mama said.
Her full earth name had been AnneMarie.
But her beloved Grandma Belle had always called her Anne.
She smiled. "What do they do with it?" She asked, frightened a bit.
"She saves lives," another voice said.
"She teaches people CPR, a way of saving people who are
drowning or choking."
What? Anne was shocked. Happy that her earth face was happy.
It was the first time she thought she almost saw it smile.
That face had not smiled in a long time.
The dummy looked so proud of itself!
(for: ’niyi osundare)
the goldness of those eyes,
like the eye of the earth –
beaming, mirrors the secret softness
hidden by the ash-like depths of our souls!
many of them, brother, so learned;
o! carrying shrines of empty superiority,
as they coaxed the lads
to believe the new deities of half-truths,
and bring sweet-smelling oblations
to each black prof who looks and speaks at us;
’niyi, my brother, you know these well!
yet, when we saw your inner complexion,
we knew it well:
we, the celebrate sons born at the niger’s banks,
you’re a prof: a black prof: a twin of us!
the preciousness of those sharp eyes,
the ever-ruminant seed of that heart
which almost marked your pen, a ruffian!
are these the ingredients
in those soup of our radical celibacy?
your presence like other presences
in our village:
spoke tranquility and hopefulness
to a village full of raw anxieties!
then you twinkled away from us
not forever, no, but for a while!
brother, while our eyes, almost in cessions,
are down-turned in supplications
to the brightest eye of the earth;
our ears in remembrance with our eyes
seeing the sacred lips gaping in admonitions:
‘whenever the muse in ferocity comes:
then strike the pen as a hunter in his primes!’
yes! when we heard this lexicon,
we knew it well:
we, the sad sons suffering at the ant-hills,
you’re a prof: a black prof: a twin of us!
Form:
don’t call him a baby...
don’t make fun of his tears...
his soul’s tender —
he runs and hides,
under a chromatic beanbag
with a dark emotional spectrum.
when he returns to play Sleeping Queens,* he
sniffles, wipes tears on his sleeve (and yours)
“You hurt my feelings.”
you find yourself not unlike the Road Runner**
sailing off a cliff —
suspended in animation.
the reward of leaning in,
hearing what this little soul has to say,
realizing your fool mistake,
this time taking the time
to explain what his limited mind
can take,
then you hug the stuffings
out of the little ruffian***
but only if you can catch him.
10/24/2019
*Card Game
**Cartoon
***Here ruffian is used as a term of endearment
I love the koalas, and hate what the forest fires have done to them.
Adoring seals is easy, but the butchering of them makes me feel dim.
Seems to be a yin to every yang, have you noticed that my friend?
When will this love hate relationship come to an end?
The ocean is lovely in so many ways, and I appreciate the view.
Until a sea monster comes up and swallows my boat, and me too.
The day is beautiful a few hours before a horrible storm, but then.
The sky gets dark, and the air gets loud, blustery and incredibly thin.
There seems to be a love and a hate in almost everything we do.
I love to teach, but tackling the vast paperwork is long overdue.
It irritates me and scrapes my brain cells over in a terrifying way.
I procrastinate doing it until ten o’clock at night, every Sunday.
I love my cousin, but she is vocal, verbal, nasty and mean voter of one.
About her political candidate. A ruffian who is as corrupt as they come.
Like joy of her company, if she stays away from politics, she is a delight.
She seems determined to bring up this idiot, and it simply is not right!
Contest: Let’s Minichu on Love or Hate Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
Written 2/28/2021
As a young wife with young faith, I innocently shared –
cared and loved husband as my naivety best declared.
Then his true, young-self broke, I groped and we choked.
Now, lost and unsure, my soul is searching for stroke.
Amidst club music and noise, I saw you seeing me;
a man so beautiful, perfecting my perfection fantasy.
Your smooth approach ruffled my prim poise,
your man-boy grin did me in, hinting sensuous joys.
I completely lost my grip staring at your sculptured lips.
Your amber eyes, long dark hair and lush eyelashes
gave me intense, lust filled, intoxicating flashes.
Yes, take me, please, to privacy if your perception matches.
I don’t care where you go to church, if you hail from the north or south.
I don’t need to know how you get by, if you’re a tinker, ruffian or spy.
I just want our souls to fly as we escape convention, eye to eye,
and, united, leave life’s real cries to flee high on swelling sighs.
Let’s not talk of life’s mysteries or share our histories,
but let us own the now, take it for you and me somehow.
In the morning, disappear, but tonight stay intimately near.
My heart won’t let you in, but soul yielding coats my skin.
This night shall be the one secret in my life’s pocket.
From time to time, when alone, I shall tenderly unlock it
and revisit senses felt this night, a soul memory gift
where in private, I can relive our young escape lift.
would conveniently scare bejesus
among any hooligan tween
ready and willing to cause mischief
while prowling for methamphetamine,
or other drug of choice
one motley crew member seen
dodging, evading, fording... police
eventually cornered unlike Steve McQueen
(the late actor), who escapes behind screen
of smoke unscathed unlike
formerly acquitted, alluded mean
and aforementioned hoodlum
who suffers gunshot wound
rushed to same hospital
lay disabled fugitive ruffian took lead
fired into buttucks bullet punctured
evident by derriere oozing bloodshed
as self, both us nearly dead,
asthma doppelganger wed
did in sweat upon abdomen,
now aching pain in ass spread red
hot poker radiating throbbing inside
excruciating did quickly thread
into noggin i.e. fifty shades red
dully permeated gray matter
inducing severe agony with head,
though mustered energy to scrawl
obituary envisioning said
on same page as op/ed
gallows humor sought instead
of relief courtesy synthesized drug,
thus laughter as best medicine
linkedin chowing down unsuspected bean
dish licked plate sparkling clean
mental note made to avoid
eating flatulence inducing food
prepared Das daring "frau" faux Queen,
though I certainly also enjoy keen
wah filling up growling hungry void,
and... appealing to this bonafide android
gluten free textured meals direction I lean.
when into scaly claws, sans first
to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout, Missus Shaner,
or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably the majority
of elementary grades didst accord
accredited ancient authenticated creatures bored
(with exception of sixth)
freely exercised diabolical chord
churlish beastial animalistic
zealous yakking, wickedly,
aye (a basket case) deplored
unprintable (epithets) this then
(unprincipled urchin) puny pupil felt lord
did over whacked, sans receiving end,
viz fiendishly gruesome
hellish instructions mean teacher scored.
Assignments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period earlier
in the dawning primate consciousness.
Lesson material kindled justifiable license
in league garnered insignia heft brought pupils
to heal predicated, via warpped weft woven
wonderfully wrought writs welcomed whips
with warranty whenever recalcitrant ruffian
refused respecting reptilian rubric representative
saber rattling, where...
(The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver
of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will
Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do),
which loosely rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons freedom
granted to interpret as one decrepit, hawkish
insignia certified one beaming Eve and/or
stud deed brute soffit.
Education often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to or from Aunt Emma to this Jack,
oh napeswho never wrote back
sheesh, alas and alack.
Nefarious mean linkedin kickstarter jawboning
torturous treatment tolerated, asper imps
of pervert, mutant Ninja Turtles duty bound
antsy youthful yokel yodelers weathering ululating
sing-song quintessential precepts.
adieu:
math a hew
scott harris a gentile Jew
all ways felt like new
kid on the block isolated
in his hermetically sealed queue
pay perm ash shay watched per view
whew
at last in conk clew shun to you
from one primate within the human zoo.
Privately Peony practiced the art of purple magic
Reaching into her ruffian wand,
Lingering lovingly for a second or two
Outrageous? Sure. Ostentatious? She hoped so!
Further down in the feathery contraption
Under a peacock’s underlying ribbon of worth
Bringing a bright bubble of blue into the air
Ruffian wand wrote ridiculous on her forehead
No one had dared do that in Nam City
Kindnesses of knights would have nixed this
Coneflower her creative sister tried to explain
Antagonizing Peony in the process
Heathcote heard and had his hardy opinions
Look said Lavender, stay out of it!
Simmering softly, Heathcote wrote to Peony
Guess what? She grabbed his idea up!
No one else helped me north or south!
I appreciate your ideas, Heathcote.
Oh sure! Said Coneflower, take that ogre’s ideas.
They were enemies, she and that Neanderthal.