Long Saga Poems
Long Saga Poems. Below are the most popular long Saga by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Saga poems by poem length and keyword.
[This episode in the Ice Cream Gran saga is inspired by
Jennifer Proxenos’ comment on another of my poems.]
*
Ever since she saved the world, she can’t hide any place
For now her fame is global and the whole world knows her face
But from outside, she hears a loud and quite suspicious din
She holds her breath until she’s sure nobody’s coming in
Cautiously, she nears her door and opens it a tad
Three old ladies stand there, one is bleeding and looks mad
She said beneath your car we’ve found a very chilly moggie
And it’s been pouring down, so all the roads are cold and soggy
I struggle with my knees but still I knelt to set it free
I think it’s feral cos it made a jigsaw out of me
Turbo Said that car’s not mine, for I am Ice Cream Gran
And I take measures to conceal my bright pink ice cream van
But let me grab my zimmer and I’ll see what I can do
I’d better take some chocolate chips, perhaps a sprout or two
She quickly grabbed her mask and cape and went outside to help
Then looked under the car before she let out quite a yelp
Turbo leapt back from car, she bled where she’d been scratched
Her eyes were red like lasers and a vengeful plan was hatched
The wheels popped off, the car collapsed and squashed that kitty flat
But then the car flipped over to reveal an angry cat
Oops, said ice cream Gran as she beheld its cape and mask
You only had to purr at me, was that too much to ask
For underneath the car was dark, and my excuse is that
My special turbo eyesight didn’t see you, Nitro Cat
She said you are my cat, we make a top notch turbo team
But can’t you just be happy with a dish of whipped ice cream
For, yes, I know you like to be the top cat hereabouts
But you will be in trouble if you keep eating my sprouts
Edna stalked marriagable prey
the way most men stalk tigers
not at all.
Lived the majority of her years
Happily worrying about
one person's feelings - hers.
Edna remained resolutely single
happy with her hobbies
traveling carefree
Joyfully visiting China, Japan, India
Learning things other could never learn
on a first hand basis.
Edna has spent her life
doing what she wants when she wants
She has amassed wealth
She has no one to leave it to
but no worries. She has other trips.
Other dreams, and she is far from finished.
Edna falls in love at the age of seventy-two.
Her first diamond is a joy.
She is thrilled.
A new path.
I choose several cliff top properties close to home, as my gardening clients.
One; during our torrential deluging endless rain year - slipped away. Sea foliage entangled hedge intermingled with quintessential pohutukawa sentinels fell. Leaving an almost infinity pool. A few months after owners
moved, new ones moved in.
empty house with pool
duck tenants enjoy sea views
full circle of life
My next gardening visit, I had a good chuckle. There was a whole pool party of ducks in progress! Brought to mind our Real Estate agents adage:
Location - location - location!!!
location so fine
word spreads flock comes to appraise
this nest surely best
After seeing another post on our neighbourly website was determined to capture my own photo of quacker saga. To my amusement, didn't find the pool party in progress, only 3 quackers standing on edge of pool facing the sea. Making duckerly comments.
chill grey sky and sea
only one invited today
not party weather
Which beers my dears bring you to tears
Beardy weirdy freaks hipster peaks & nadirs
Slatted bar with glam flutes or bizarre jam jar
Cheers to toots & hoots hirsute tatted peers
Sham craze for cloudy ales or clear yesteryear pales
Old school IPA mule or cool daze ways holds sway
Some fools viral spools spiral amaze as they drool
Not a phase always had haze it's the cardinal rule
Or a silly quip & blip has a nip of a chilli dip in it
Knows zip flip let rip Indian trip phrase you twit
Gawking and balking because they're talking s**t
All about malty pout haughty clout of a naughty stout
Cooed am a lamb to the slaughter for rip snorter porter
Wooed by stock of stellar Bock or cellar brewed Keller
Wheat poo pooed too funkily sweet for this crude fella
Rude taking the mick trick to pick a drop in perfect nick
Chaps won't cower to the lure of cocktails at happy hour
Ruddy cheeked fuddy duddy who is perhaps too dour
Appears fake dreams it seems of a career as a critic
Slating grating ratings mapped trapped on untappd
Skeptic fears musty skunk & fusty funk that is lambic
Brett regret bristles don't fret won't let whet my whistle
Sneers debunk the rusty gunk flower glower of sour
Jeers but bet the ripple of Tripel is still the top tipple
For any cynic or pundit in their Merchant Ivory tower
Hail tale of quirky murky or another stale lager saga
Heaven forbid get rid of sweet & sickly treat for a kid
Snooty about the booty of rank dank stank too fruity
For fecks sake must forsake that milkshake mistake
If tasked or someone asked what's my perfect beer?
Not the new frontier..bask in cask ...holy grail of ale
Suggest zest from noble not global hops treasure chest
Attest not treason manifest reason better than the rest
Beer to pleasure every season that stalled then schooled
What is after all the true quest & have you got a clue test
Which is why I contest you go with the one called "Best"
Sam and Twitch, two partner cops
bust the bad guys in the chops
they found corruption
and much disruption
in the NYPD shops
Sam was big, and loud, and gruff
with criminals, he was rough
tendency to curse
sometimes even worse
he’s the first to call a bluff
Where Sam was brawn, Twitch was smart
Angles were his state-of-art
twin pistols twirling
steady aim sterling
simple logic off-the-chart
With Al, confronted evil
sometimes causing upheaval
finding rotten cops
pulling out the stops
integrity retrieval
Their story stops in interrupt
as sales were not up to snuff
sadly the tale ends
without fair amends
their end was much too abrupt.
Akin a tumbleweeds
aimlessly blowing in the wind
umlaut punctuation
courtesy of let herd Mother Nature
nsync with markie mark,
(or other faux nuke heads
on silent auction
ajudicating bidding chopping block)
or getting sparred
sum xtra mo' mints
before morphing into gamut
tuff height (against opposing
super cross currents)
bow willing head over heals
deftly thwarting encroaching
enfilade enhancing
invading army of deplorable
dust devilish debris
with full Stanley steamer ahead onslaught
opposing approaching phalanx
ta become a foo lush fighter
putting kibosh
across the infinitely open
and wide prairie land
(which wasteland fictitiously
epitomized and described by T.S. Elliot
with absolute zero relevancy here)
a barren vista ravages
metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping
along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding
and dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with up pinions
(halving smartly put irons in the fire)
deployed incognito
tub hest describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains -
a veritable no man's land
and one impossible to escape
from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fiercesome
and phantasmagoric forms
figments of imagination
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
haunt sacred house of slumber
and transmogrify me
into a loathsome madman
ranting and raving senseless
gibberish and gobbledygook
yet perceived as metaphysical
and philosophical
sane state farm mister soundcloud
syllabification stutterer
from one whoa man
World Wide Web wayfarer
(perchance yourself)
which virtual vagabond
venerates vowels...
in my yard stands a tree
lone like a hermit, regal like a monarch
its roots dug deep
its branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
sometimes its leaves rustle
overall it is silent and still
still....................
like waters without ripples
it stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
indeed a tryst with destiny!
under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
it remained uncomplaining
below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle pricks
it stayed nonchalant.
when the wind swept across
bending its branches in all directions
it stood on firm feet unwavering
it tells a tale of struggle and survival
it had stood there before I was born
now it displays every scar and every stripe
on its knotted bark as a proud trophy
sometimes I feel its pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
yet it holds an umbrella over all
who come to it in sun and rain
Placed First
A Brian Strand 1098 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Brian strand
In the late 60's it was.
In an old mansion on the
Northwest side of town.
For a brife period of time,
In a city filled with crime,
A story unfolded that would astone;
A short saga with a pleasant memory.
She was in town on a summer mission.
He was there completing his education.
The two Were drawn together romantically.
Without the presence of neither deception
Nor subtlty, it all happened rather suddenly.
Both, working in a home for wayward men,
Saw each other every now and then.
Their favorite meeting place was in the chapel
That became their llittle haven and sanctuary.
Their relationship in the hour glass of life
Appeared and disappeared rather rapidly,
But they left a mini story worth reading about.
They were pure and virtuous; and never did
They even embrace or kiss. Today's youths
Could be well served by their model.
Their best times together were spent in that
Little haven listening to a Christian radio
Program called 'Nightwatch'.
They both learned the meaning of
Self discipline, curtailed emotions,
And controlled passions. These lessons
Were learned in their getaway place,
Their little haven, their Holy Place.
Butti the tortoise from the zoo has flown the coop
Your brother Tutti misses you, you little poop
On you there is a large bounty
If found in El Paso County
Hope you don't end up as a bowl of turtle soup
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
This is based on a true story. Butti came up missing at the Colorado Springs
Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, 27 Mar 2011. He and his brother, Tutti, are Indian
Star tortoises. Suspicions are that some miscreant pocketed him and strolled
away since he was about the size of a grapefruit and weighed about a
pound. Coincidentally, a river otter named Kitchi, escaped from the same zoo
a few months ago and has never been found. If interested you can read the
saga of Kitchi in my poem of the same name. Will keep you posted!!
There was a Red Indian Chief
his name was Raging Waters
he lived a pleasant life
surrounded by his four wives
They took care of all his needs
gave him strong sons and daughters
he ruled mainly in peace not war
apart from raids on the Black Hawks
It was one of his joys to sneak up
and steal their very fine horses
and to capture some of their squaws
these he could trade for guns and whiskey
As time went on he grew very troubled
he consulted with the medicine man
who sent him to the hot bath teepee
there smoking his pipe he relaxed
Soon the visions started to appear
war was on the horizon he could see
also a squaw so comely he lost his heart
he left the teepee and sent out scouts
They scoured the lands searching for her
at last one came back with the news
she belonged to the Crows and was promised
gathering up a raiding party, he set off
At dead of night they sneaked into position
then rushed the camp catching the Crows off guard
they killed the warriors and took the squaws,
children and horses too and well tanned hides
Now there had to be a comeback from this deed
Mighty Hawk gathered his tribes of Crows
and set off for Raging Waters camp for revenge
barely escaping he fled for the mountains
There with just a handful of warriors and squaws
he set out to build up the tribe once more
when at last they had enough warriors
he set out to recapture that beautiful squaw
Never had he forgotten her soft lips on his
driven wild by his desire, he lost all caution
warned by his medicine man it would end badly
he paid no heed and set out to make war
The Crows soon heard he was on his way
and set a terrible trap in between the hills
Raging Waters and his warriors were cut down
the unlucky ones were scalped then given to the squaws
Who beat them and treated them harshly as slaves
thus a lesson was learned do not take promised squaws
Raging Waters name was in time lost in the annuals
his tribe no more, just forgotten ghosts in time
inspired by soup mail chat with Sandra