Long Sancho Poems
Long Sancho Poems. Below are the most popular long Sancho by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sancho poems by poem length and keyword.
I am the knight-errant, he sang in a loud excited way.
riding his horse Rocinante, each and every day.
his pot-bellied friend Sancho Panza continued to stay.
even though tricks were played on them here and far away.
my dear Dulcinea will be around the next corner Quixote sang.
his voice was confident, his verses happy, his melody ring rang.
his squire Sancho drummed his donkey’s saddle with a bang.
Dulcinea again, always Ducinea, this made him think “dang!”
she will reside past the windmills, Don Quixote predicted.
his sidekick wanted to believe, but they were both often trickt-ed.
the gentleman from La Mancha and his sidekick did not know
their story was touted as the first novel, and soon made into a show.
The son-in-law was growing desperate
Seeing that his father-in-law wasn't dying.
Juan Sancho's reasons were
That he had gone into debt
Taking out loans in his daughter's name
Deceiving her by saying
That the money he brought home
Was the fruit of his labor and the sweat of his brow
When, in truth, he was a lazy, crooked man
With a silver tongue and a swagger.
The debt collectors
Dressed in black like crows
Were waiting for the son-in-law to come and tell them:
-He's dead now.
Tomorrow I'll inherit and give you the money.
However, good old Antonio, his father-in-law
Who knew him very well
As if he had given birth to him
Hesitatingly told him:
-Wait a little while, Juan Sancho
Wait a bit
Until Death comes for me.
Juan Sancho, furious
Went to his mother-in-law and asked her for money
To treat the loan sharks
To whom he said:
-Damn, he's still alive.
Let's go to the hospital cafeteria
For some coffee.
Juan Sancho left with the loan sharks.
More people came to see how the sick man was doing.
The nurse who came to see Antonio
Saspitably told us:
-Antonio is already suffering in Purgatory.
Death has him ready.
At that moment, from between Antonio's legs
In the bed, already completely collapsed
Through the fly of his pajamas appeared
An erect that no one expected
And let his wife say
That she couldn't get rid of the ********
Not even by giving him a solemn handjob.
They called the hospital priest
Tenaciously reciting an Our Father
A Hail Mary and a Creed
And if you want rice Catalina!
Nothing worked, the ******** remained.
The doctor at the Móstoles Hospital in Madrid
Who signed the death certificate,
Announced to us:
-Antonio has died of a stroke
With a solemn ******** unforgivable.
Juan Sancho, upon hearing the news,
Cheerfully and happily entered the room
Saying to the debt collectors
Who followed him:
-He's dead. The devils have taken him.
The debt collectors replied:
-Now we believe you.
Start
I’m sure you’ve heard his name before
From stories of knights in days of yore
Born in village La Mancha in Spain
Was enthralled of knights, he chose to feign
After resurrection, to America he came
In search of adventures and fame
As legend goes, every knight must have a lady- love
To bestow his “victories” to her as it behoove
He chose Princess Melania as the apple of his eye
And began his quest with her name as the battle-cry
He persuaded a ‘Sancho’ to be his faithful squire
With promise of an island to govern as his gift to aspire
Obsessed by the chivalrous deeds of knights he read
He decided to ride a horse which was almost dead
In search of the helpless to defend and the wicked to punish
He began his knighthood with a resolve to fight to the finish
He soon discovered that times have changed
There weren’t any country sides where Kings reigned
Nor castles to conquer or giants to attack
His weird armor and battle cries only drew flak
Nevertheless, he charged at a parked garbage truck
Struck it with his lance using all his pluck
Construing it to be an enemy out to destroy him
But, he fell to the ground with a broken limb
Bruised and battered, Sancho helped him up
Took him to a hospital for a thorough checkup
The doctors patched him up and examined his head
Found its content deficient, but permitted him to go ahead
Resuming his journey he saw a kitten hidden in a bush
“Let’s grope for the pussy,” he yelled at his horse with a push
The horse galloped fast but stumbled as it fell
The kitten got panicky and fled like hell
It’s enough for the day, felt the Don and returned to his lady love
He took a ‘selfie’ with her sitting on the statue of a dove
He knelt before her and said, “Here are my trophies for you”
Presented the broken lance and smashed helmet, before bidding her adieu.
End
Don Quixote goes down the path in the wilderness groping the way
stepping on the dead leaves carrying the weight of the sitting sun
that is too much for him to carry on his crooked back.
Although he once mounted a horseback high with stately air
holding a spear under his arm, spurring a horse on to gallop freely
through the wilderness sweeping all obstacles away with the spear,
now he goes through the wilderness hanging on his useless broken spear stick.
Since Sancho Panza is no longer with him, he is a disgraced knight
without an obedient servant; since Rozinante is not with him any more,
he is a dishonored knight without a trusty steed.
And I go with my seedy shadow laid under his pathetic shadow
that moves awkwardly in the red of the setting sun.
...Shakespeare and his pentameter, vital after four centuries,
Cervantes and his man Sancho,
Dumas and Montecristo,
the great tales of Boccaccio,
Dicken and his fine ghosts three.
Beethoven's sonic fury still staggers even jaded minds,
Tchaikovsky made eighteen-twelve
sound utterly epic as well,
Hayden’s string quartets still sell,
even Beatles have immortal rhymes.
Newton and his marvelous brain cracked open the world of physics,
Charles Darwin shocked with his words,
Galileo far orbits observed,
Einstein showed that space was a curve,
built up our science, brick-by-brick.
A Pantheon of perfection, still grand amidst the Roman street,
Notre Dame, lofty and sacred,
Sagrada rises high overhead,
Parliament sports the Big Ben,
the majestic dome of Saint Pete’s.
Who can’t help but like Highlander games with cabers tossed every which way?
Running with bulls puts you to the test,
who can frown at Oktoberfest?
Gotta’ love those Christmas markets,
the traditions of holiday.
To think that two rather large wars invalidate the entire thing?
All mankind is versed in war,
fought in many, many before,
we’ll be fighting them forever more,
doesn’t mean you aren’t worth saving.
Now your cultures face angry foes who believe you should not survive.
Extremists who promote Islam,
socialists who get everything wrong,
‘elite’ leftists who put you on,
dragging you down with their lies…
When, in truth, Europe should grow and thrive.
Oh final stanza
Title yet required
Men of mice
Oh Sancho Panza
O Wilde
Oh Auden juicy bone clock
Oh vagueties of meaning
Speak unto me in visions
of language only i may understand
Feed me grool as spaghetti soup
Until i plead please Sir,
May i have some more
Fulfill my lesser known desires
catch me up in Dante Inferno
back draft
Beat , form , flow , glow
Stroke , poke , needle , prick
Dark , light , day , night
Love , argue , fight , make-up
Hope , faith , belief , positivity
Endless possibilities of kaos
karma reciting mantras
Oh quality
O revelry
What such sweet penalties await
When writting on muffled drum
Sabre rattling one's pen scratching
furrowed brow over tilted monocle
Whilst drenched in pools of
pensive acidic sweat from
over thinking thought
Ever still enveloped and intoxicated
by the poem's pacing through my
mind racing blindly out of control
While all the while i wishing
this was not my chosen hobby
but merely just a past time
That i could leave behind and
would let up and in so doing
free me from this cursid state
of insomniac wordplay paralysis
That blights my night's and
suppresses me from dreaming
Till all that's left is yawning and
a billion plus random word's that
don't make sense to anyone but me