Long Rumor Poems
Long Rumor Poems. Below are the most popular long Rumor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rumor poems by poem length and keyword.
Was near high noon in Abilene,
Everybody was at the scene.
Sheriff was stern and standing fast,
Clueless today would be his last.
A mystery man rode into town,
Said was the fastest gun around.
A Navy Colt strapped by his side,
On a painted horse, he did ride.
The rumor was he'd killed plenty,
Some swore it was more than twenty.
Each one shot right through the head,
Left them stiff and stone cold dead.
First victim, was his older Brother,
Laid soiled hands on their Mother.
Through the years, the numbers mounted,
Even some they never counted.
His legend still continued to grow,
Wherever he stopped, blood would flow.
Women let out a piercing scream,
Became an undertaker's dream.
On this fateful day, two men stood,
The only sound was creaking wood.
Crowd was hushed, eyes widely staring,
Combatants were sharp and glaring.
The clock struck twelve, then both men drew,
Lightning quick; as the bullets flew.
One man standing, the other down,
There came a loud gasp from the town.
When the gunsmoke cleared on the street,
The Shootist was still upon his feet.
Just one more notch on his gun,
Mounted up beneath the blazing sun.
Moments later, a shot would crack,
The stranger caught it in the back.
Sheriff's Deputy, sworn to trust;
Dropped the killer, face in the dust.
The story's still told to this day,
His rotting bones rest in the clay.
And since his name was never known,
"The Gunfighter" was carved in stone.
So many times, I've held my head low
So many times, I've taken a blow
Somehow, some way, I've pulled on my strings
And found some kind of way to better some things
Take for instance, When I hear a bad rumor
I say to myself- with a good sense of humour
"As bad as it is, someone has it a lot worse than me"
Yet someone's got it worse than them; undoubtedly
I tell all my friends, my children and wife
We all need to have humour installed in our life
A keen sense of humour can help in ways
That could make someone feel better in their toughest days
Life's dull without humour, and it could be quite a bore
We all need to have humour, need I say any more
Humour has helped me to connect all the dots
When I've been tied up- it untangled the knots
Humour is nice, it often makes me smile
It's nice to hear some good humour once in a while
The rewards will reap good and most likely be kind
So, I'll share my good humour with you...
That is, of course... If you don't mind
master bait catching fear
some skipper known in whirled wide webbed
under water world,
cuz rumor did hear
auld his death defying exploits infiltrated
into the most remotely secluded lair
asper rugged crunchy captain
who didst dare
the devil with dirty deeds
done dirt cheap, which flair
subjected suffered gross distortion
due to optical glare
pandemonium ensued, sans each small hair
along backbone viz zit ting spinal tap vie
tall hetty to rise
a flickr ring shutterfly
more years than anyone could reckon, even Pi
Tha Gore Ass, hence
mystery fed legends,
any rhyme or reason asper
ruddy faced weather beaten
expert, who sailed every square inch
of the globe well nigh
cutting down to size mythologized
outrageous Leviathan sized monster
mashing machine with jaws of steel
that did wonders for the tourist industry the my
tee buck reared, snorted, twittered no lie
as truth told by Ishmael,
whom aye did befriend
(said galley hand decked the halls,
of christened ship Pequod),
who strongly attest didst descend,
despite incontestable stance,
sans supposition,
aye aver Captain Ahab
DID NOT perish at sea,
thus, his privateer life
did not meet a cruel end,
but believe his doppelganger incognito
body double electric reincarnation fiend
actually said peg legged swash
buckling adventurer of the high seas,
that saline mosh pit - by gosh
(hee...hee...hee
how blimey lame such archaic balderdash
(anyway...i gotta hunch), ghost
of spirited sailor lives incognito,
here at 2 highland manor
a this bucolic schwenksville,
pennsylvania enclave.
in affective dissention
to prepare for their
weaknesses and indecision
am I beyond mortal
my strengths separate
furniture in the rumor
allows those involve to sit
she recoils and strikes
and refuses to admit
understanding her words concerning
she in her vernacular tongue
speaks ill of others
to make us succumb
in her decset
which her vengeance heard
we listen and frown
from her every word
utter the symbols the chorus
those who speak same
gathered before
and made facts rearranged
implications of a passage
the mentions never to be undone
she despises him that he refused her
and soiled his name with filith
to make others not love him
she guilded frust
unbeknown the ancient text
of a stubborn vindictive lover
she smears his image
and takes on another lover
might nights be right
in this realistic love
then him a doubted valued person
under a workers sun
may his labors be seen as foolish tasks
the value of his labor
influlated grasped
of me might he menton
then might she take script
to undo his love
with who she see's fit
I set the clock to 1958, and raced to Desilu Studios.
Lucy and Desi both greeted me; I played with Little Ricky.
They took me home with them after the day’s taping.
We sat by the pool and laughed about everything.
They are much more fun in person than on TV.
I asked them a zillion questions, and they answered them all.
I wanted to know about other celebrities, and they gave me tidbits.
They had a swimming suit that fit me, so I went swimming with them.
They were gracious and fed me supper; I loved their food.
Everything was wholesome and wonderful.
Lucy told me that she planned to do back up tapes of her show.
It was Desi’s idea, so they would last longer. I encouraged this.
They asked me about 2020 and I told them about computers.
They were amazed, and could not believe it. So I explained the Internet.
They showed me their Word Book set and asked if it was like that.
It was difficult to explain, for there was no reference point.
There was a rumor that someday the TV shows would be in color.
I told them that this would happen around1964. They thanked me for that.
It was with a heavy heart that I said good bye; I had made three new friends.
It was a wonderful day for sure!
He once stood at the top of the line
Watching the sun creeping out from behind
Hew wals with courage in his boot, and he just
Know how to shoot, he did everything
Perfectly well and he was good at making new friend
But since he left the lion’s den he was never himself again.
Com let me tell you a story of one man’s courage and his rice to
Glory, isn’t a fairy tale or something that evolves out of the movies, it is about a man that lives in the street and how courage
Rise him to his feet, it is a similar story that you he.ar everyday but th kindness of one man’s journey paved the way.
He made salt out of sugar and coffee out to tea, and he made a lounge out od bamboo to entertain friends and company; he did everything form training the young army recruits, and teaching little girls and boys how to tie their shoe; he gets everyone to sing their own song, he was there for everybody and he made everyone happy.
We would sit in the jungle for hours, waiting for the enemy
And listening to his story and when the mosquitos surrounds us
He would use a special puff to scatter them, how much I missed that friend; he was sort of protective but never controlling, he was free spirited, but disciple; he was perfect but had room for growth, but tragedy came when the hunting knife slit his throat
That day in the woods everything change and nothing was the same; rumor had it to say that his partner of fifteen years, butcher him in the woods for a reason no one could understood
But every year on the first of May, the group holds a party
To honor the friend we miss; the murder weapon was never found but legend had it that the woman he was with was recuse form the pulpit she had a nervous breakdown and walked naked around the town but later regained her sanity, but the friend we missed never came back to us and we all let the town on the midnight bus.
The unicorn magician with the slanted eye
Let out a peep, a whistle, a plaintive sigh.
Alerting two idiot villagers, name of Guthrie and Tie.
That things were changing for the worst, bye and bye
The unicorn magician is angry one said.
Maybe the village will be painted red.
Another surmised they should all go to bed.
While best dreams filled up rapidly in their little head.
The unicorn magician is excited, another one stated.
That’s what he does when life’s being extremely overrated.
If he whistles twice, the village will be minced and grated.
They listened, alarm and horror of all kinds anticipated.
I think that’s what he does when he has a dream,
A little boy said, whose name was Billy P. Ream.
The unicorn magician is fast asleep, everything is a gleam.
Probably high in the sky on a magic moon beam.
A whistle came, and the gossipers were in shock.
They began running amok, like cats in a flock.
What time is it? One yelled, looking for a clock.
If it is midnight, let’s meet down by the number two lock.
Let’s go ask the unicorn magician what the whistle doeth mean,
Said a three-year-old child, with some sense it would seem.
The gossipy rumor-mongers preferred to wail and keen,
Predicting the worst as they began to holler and scream.
The Unicorn Magician rolled over in his sleep,
Opened his slanted eye, and gave a little peep.
All was right in his world, peace he would always keep.
For he was a good guy, with a love for his sheep.
The gossipers stopped talking, waiting for the whistle.
Some hid under the porch, one hid in a thistle.
Silly sheep they were, expecting things to be bad.
Worst scenario thinkers, creating lives, so sad.
They say my name is these same four
walls
Every hallway
every doorway
Got a story to recall
Whispers running through my kitchen air
At my table
In my chair
Like they bought the right to stare
You can talk about me
Til the paint comes off these walls
You can pull at my mind
Try to Watch spirit fall
But I'm still standing tall
yeah
I'm still standing tall
Cause I'm holding on to God
I'm holding on through it all
They drew circles round my fragile doubt
Picked my thought up
Turned em out
Tried to make me something hollow
Full of doubt
Every rumor like a sharpened stone
Threw it at me
Hit My home
But this house is built on truth
Not on their tone
You can talk about me
Til the paint comes off these walls
You can pull at my mind
Try to watch my spirit fall
But I'm still standing tall
Yeah
I'm still standing tall
Cause I'm holding on to God
I'm holding on through it all
From my thinking to my chest
To the deep place i don't show
They were reaching for my rest
For the roots beneath my hope
But every blow just Drives Me deeper
When they speak my name in anger
He reminds me who I am
You can talk about me
Til the paint comes off these walls
You can pull at my mind
Try to watch my spirit fall
But I'm still standing tall
Oh
I'm still standing tall (still standing)
Cause I'm holding on to God
I'm holding on through it all
Say my name
But it Won't shake me (won't shake me)
I'm not moving from this floor
Cause the One who lives within me
Speaks a better words than yours.
Bonanza of shamrocks will soon blanket Green Acres...
where Lassie free to run across petco junction
All across the webbed
wide esse Scott's landed wold
emerald green Trifolium
carpets harbor untold
burrows of tiny Leprechauns clover
(leaf) ways grant trifold
wishes if captured might
divulge pot of gold
at rainbow's end, and e'en mend
yar shoes, whence re: souled,
thence tread softly beneath subthreshold
of audibility, cuz unseen universe
hapts tubby microscopically rolled
with subterranean inhabited by Lilliputian
mischievous impish beings
(about bajillion holed
up could fill the Taj Mahal) even donned with
heavy coat protecting them
(usually men) against cold
yet frolic with reel delight jiggling
with inborn instinct exhibit twofold
talent to dance with modesty
downplaying (while fiddling)
analogous to some roof fiend
averse tubby extolled,
nonetheless, their popular
doth soar, and grievously scold
persistent myth anchored with toehold,
and thus do not indulge
pruriently with pixies considerably dulled,
since libido practically nonexistent told
me (under oath of
confidentiality), one Grunwald
trusted yours truly, the secrete
will not leak out,
nor spread like slime mold,
this descendant of Lemuel Gulliver
who schleps across the webbed wide wold.
Yours truly (an average
height and weight size ways)
nondescript grown
male munching kin
stands a little less than threefold
larger than full grown homunculi.
Rumor monger kickstarter
Matthew Scott Harris
posits nontrue tidbit
regarding rock 'n' roll star
who (name unmentioned)
became the most influential
musicians across the universe,
with estimated record sales
of around 600 million
as of two thousand twenty blank.
Imp possible mission
to see non elfish (pressed) lee
160 years after his Irish ancestor
crossed the Atlantic
curling his left lip,
whereby convalescing, peep ping auld
timers cavorting wax nostalgic with
itty bitty whippersnappers,
averse to any outliers,
whether hirsute or bald
an honest to goodness painstaking effort
initially stymied friendship proffered, a cold
reception eventually bedecked
hall of the mountain king
(while sharing diet of worms)
deep under verdantly
festooned knolls of Eire land.
When someone violates my trust through betrayal, theft or rumor,
I look into our mutual emotional bank account.
Is it red, limping, crying and hurting?
Is it turning harder than a gallstone?
If so, it is going to be more difficult for me to forgive
Which is not my norm; not my norm.
But, if our emotional bank account is full of playful memories,
laughter and mirth, frolicking and friendly banter,
if she is a lovely pink and green color,
and she smells like lavender,
and I can foresee many more lovely experiences
forgiveness comes automatically,
without hesitation, and this violation is easily discounted
if not completely dissipated.
Which is my norm, which is my norm.
This serves me well, this serves me well.
For I am from a forgiving family,
Whose doctrine and philosophy is
That we are all sinners, and all of us have stoned
At one time or another, or we will.
A forgiving family that understood that
all of us live in glass houses;
every single one of us.
No exceptions.
When you realize this, it is easier
to see your own mistakes, and recognize
the grace others have given you.
Which helps your emotional bank account
stay enthusiastically loving and giving.
Also helps your heart forgive, which is a balm to you.
A salve on your hurt, a salve on your hurt.
Which works both ways, which works both ways.
Forgiveness for you, and forgiveness for me.
We are all sinners; we are all hurting.