Long Sass Poems
Long Sass Poems. Below are the most popular long Sass by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sass poems by poem length and keyword.
Fight
I’d fight for you, you know. But I know you aren’t asking that of me. So I’ll be here for you, to fight beside your side if you need me. Because you shouldn’t have to shoulder all this by yourself.
These moments where everything seems like it’s against you. Even your thoughts and emotions. You don’t deserve them.
But they will happen. Especially the latter. Your mind working against you, digging claws into your skin, ready and willing to tear you apart. And what should that matter when you’ve had blood on your own hands before? I won’t tell you pretty words just to brush that under the rug.
You. Dear youngling. Get out of that headspace of yours, get away from whatever is bringing you down. Place your headphones over your head, blast music into your ears. Make art. Rip paper apart. Whatever can get those feelings out without hurting yourself or anyone else.
Listen to me. You are so much more than you know. You are beauty and brains. Kindness and soul. Strength and bravery. Sass and sarcasm. You are not alone. And even if you don’t believe that, look up at the stars that will tell you how not alone you are because you are one with them. Young stardust trying to make its way. Don’t let your mind twist that. Don’t let anyone tell you differently, and that even includes that voice in the back of your head that whispers all those hurtful lies.
Don’t let anyone make you feel inferior. Don’t give up that power to ANYONE.
This moment will pass. You will get through it. You have the means to, you just have to realize it. You have to aim to kill, darling. Silence those bad thoughts. Shut the voices in your head or from others up.
Shoulders back, chin up, take a deep breath, focus, you’ve got this. You are strong, you are a warrior, you can go for the gold, you have bravery running through you, you are bloodthirsty.
Tear down the idea that you are unworthy, not enough, that you can’t be this or that, that you need to lose weight, or change yourself in such extreme ways.
And if you need to stop and take a breath from that fight. Gain some stability. Have a hand to hold. I’m here for you, always. And if you need me to pick up my sword and fight for you or watch your back, you know I will.
I will go down kicking and screaming in the fight for you to break away from these feelings that plague you from time to time if need be.
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.
You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.
"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.
Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.
You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.
You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.
You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)
When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.
I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”
You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.
We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.
A very touching version of Clement Moore's 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. A warm tribute to all dispatchers & police officers everywhere.
T’was the night before Christmas, and all throughout comm.
We sat at our consoles, expecting it calm
the Dispatchers with their headsets, the CAD in high gear.
I looked at my computer, and the phones waiting to hear.
I started my dinner, the microwave to ding,
of course at that time a 911 call did ring
An intruder was the call, per the person on the phone
My dinner was interrupted by the ole’ hot tone.
The address was given, and with a flash officers flew
their cars going code-3, Their lights red & blue
Stay on with the caller, We need more was their request,
Typical, telling us how to do our job, was our quiet jest
Now this being Christmas, Santa was hard at his job
He could never imagine, being accused of intent to rob
2 cookies from the plate, and milk from the glass
While giving out gifts, he didn’t expect any “sass”
He first heard the growl, and then the dog gave a bark
Everyone was out of the bed, quick as a lark
Santa heard them start to shuffle, and knew it had begun
When someone yelled I have a gun, and we’ve called 911.
Officers set up a perimeter, and a command post
They had a K-9 enroute, this suspect is toast.
The Dispatcher remained calm; kept the caller on the phone
Obtained a description of the man, let them know they weren’t alone
Dressed in red and white, his belt and boots all in black.
Santa said I will give you all coal, plus I’m taking your things back.
Officer’s then gave a code-4, just a man giving out toys
We figured with this shift it would be Taser deployed.
Our blood pressure came down, still maybe up 10
The family went back to bed, to sleep once again.
Santa said thanks to the officers, with their badges and guns,
He said a special thanks to those who calmly answered 911.
Thus I re-heated my dinner it was only 2 hours old
But working in dispatch, food is better eaten sometimes cold.
Santa flew over the comm. center, later that night
And we heard him yell out, as he flew out of sight.
Thank you for answering all of those 911 calls
Your pride and professionalism make Holidays Merry for all.
May you all have a safe and wonderful Christmas Holiday.
DONALD TRUMP – RE: DUCKS --
this portion dashed off
(while dry ving an open white hearse slay
so many months back before
slated him slotted the most coveted
Casino biggest win - before the political imbroglio
much more upsetting than today
- - - - - - - - - -
Axe the old don
A trump peter n piper of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
With the ha air brushed pompous ****
so the Macy jackal hound doth run
After public outcry yelps
for his hide and proletarian discord won!
- - - - - - - - - -
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination with bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed expletives
toward lass sees – especially
Fox Television news anchorwoman Megyn Kelly
inducing said personality to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults from incriminating verbal pass
so…ex post facto viz mine NO VOTE from me
thus this digital screed to disallow him
to accept the oath of office, cuz he will hurrahs
from such a snooty arrogant simian with sass!
- - - - - - - - - -
I van a try to describe while sitting on me rump
How he oh bomb in lee rages with gnashing teeth
while back a slump
Blasting Democratic nomination as a sham –
From special interest bro and sis turn pump
He, the epitomy of crass bloviation, a malignant lump
Whose rants sans presidential outcome a sham rocking red bull
in a China shop with his millions beds this,
- - - - - - - - - -
That and another woman to bareback jump
Disseminating gene pool –
Obama null lee birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
The mass media as some foolhardy charade
And caricature of a frazzled grump
This arboreal clothed ape
Erecting Taj Mahal phallic symbol where players dump
And gamble away hard earn cash
- - - - - - - - - -
For his hello kitty, as if that cachet to grind and bump
Lambasting with that maniacal leering pout
while hair rum runs rampant with red bulls
In a China shop atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed heady measly shaped
ulterior motive aimed his sights to become Pastor of Muppets
Dis eased cranial hologram
Of a cretaceous, facetious and insidious mump.
----------------------------------------------------------
By: Baron von Ivan Mal N. Ya.
Santa’s Responsibility Rap
Loch David Crane
July 2, 2006
Santa's jolly all year long
he’s such a happy soul;
but if ya ever cross him
he’ll put you in a hole.
Santa’s very red and white
he knows who's good and bad.
His character assessment
shows us what a life you’ve had.
So obey your Mums and Daddies
and the helpful officers too
then we can jail the bad guys
and help each other through.
We write laws to protect us all,
both powerful and least;
treat others as you treat yourself,
respecting all, is best.
But if you sass your Daddy,
or the officer ignore,
expect a swat upon your rump
or SWAT outside your door.
Ol' Santa reads the crime reports
on a computer he refused
to deliver to a bad boy
whose trust had been abused.
He's read your blog on Facebook
and he knows what's in your heart:
so "you better be good for goodness’ sake"
or your gifts will all depart.
Santa doesn't like bad boys
or messes on the floor.
He doesn't have to forgive you
and he doesn't have to bring more.
For Santa reflects what you give to others
and whom you choose to be;
because only a pleasant person
gets dreams beneath his tree.
A loud, or stubborn, or spoiled child
sees an empty cactus tree;
a helpful, cheerful, giving kid
is a joy that Santa sees.
You must think as much of others
as you do just for yourself
if you want to see those goodies
coming towards you off the shelf.
'Cause Santa isn't Jesus,
that's why he keeps a list
of happy little readers
and those in whom he's disappointed.
Santa doesn't love you all
or listen when you pray--
just good behavior is the key
for toys on Xmas day.
"What's the X in Xmas?"
trembling little voices cry.
X is an unknown value
until you steal or lie.
For Santa isn't Jesus,
he's an atheist you see –
he dispenses voluntary gifts
underneath his pagan tree.
He doesn't owe you anything,
his gifts are from the heart..
He judges your behavior
and each year is a new start.
As you behave, so shall you be
rewarded by St. Nick;
but if you're bad the year before
then coal will be his trick.
What goes around comes back around
and what was old is new;
When you give respect to others
it returns increased to you.
Axe the old Don, a trump peter n piper
of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
ha air brushed pompous ****
Sunkist in Macy's window
then like a jackal hound, he doth run
after public outcry yelps
for his hide leaving
proletarian discord re: pyrrhic victory won.
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
while kissing thing kith
darting forked tongue sharp as bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed
expletives toward lass
sees – especially Fox Television
news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
(quite so many ill mannered indiscretions ago)
inducing said personality
to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults sacrilegiously
maliciously, noxiously, opprobiously
incriminating, hellaciously,
desecrating opportunistically as hiss oh piss
so…NO amp pull VOTE of confidence from me
(thus far ohm host halfway to 2020 election
toward such a volt char quite rude, snooty
arrogant simian with sass.
I van (terribly hard pressed)
to describe while sitting on me rump
how he oh bomb in lee rages
gnashing false teeth
Wilma backside doth slump
still blasting Democratic nomination
(pa hill a reed) as sham –
from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome of
crass bloviation, a malignant lump
whose rants,
sans presidential outcome a shame
bullying with his millions beds this,
that and another woman to bareback jump
disseminating gene pool
birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erected Taj Mahal
phallic symbol, where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash
for his kitty, as if that cachet
to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal
like "Stormy Dan" yells
leering oafish ill pout
while hair rum
(of red follicular) bulls ad hocks
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed locks
resemble a flock
of bronzed sea gulls mocks
heady measly shaped Muppet Ox
dis eased cranial hologram shocks
of a cretaceous, facetious tocks
(sic) exogenous, insidious, and obstreperous vox.
Is she proud of me?
Is she proud of me that i continued on like she told me too?
Is she proud of me?
Because i did what she asked me to do.
I moved on.
Through the tough and the fuss.
I put some sass in my step and walked through everything with my head high.
Is she proud of me?
My 8 year old self.
The one that was beat and used.
The one that laid starving on her bed, begging for help while he.... touched her.
Is she proud of me for turning 17 and almost graduating school?
Is she proud of me for standing up for myself when my father hits me?
Its what she wanted me to do.
To stand up for myself when someone lays a hand on me.
To protect myself at all cost because no one else ever will.
Is she proud of me?
Hey, if you are, thank you.
I bet you wanna know that i stand up for myself now.
I bet you wanna know that our little brother also stands up for me.
I bet you wanna know that someone finally loves me.
I bet you wanna know that... i have anxiety attacks and panic attacks....
I bet you wanna know that i almost killed myself a few times cause of what happened to us.
I bet you wanna know that the family still hates me..
Yeah... I have to pretend to be happy just like them.
Remember when you would want to hang out with them but once you walked into the same room as them they got quiet and didn't talk till you left?
They still do that...
They laugh louder and talk more when im not around just like they did with you.
But i bet you wanna know whats been going on.
Our little brother and i are best friends again. We are inseparable again and without each other we are like a flower without the sun.
I bet you wanna know that there is this guy that actually likes us.
Yes i told him everything.... and i mean everything..
But he accepts us.
I bet you wanna know what he feels like and what he looks like...
haha me too.
I'm turning 18 soon... I'm sure you are proud of me..
Im sure of it cause you wanted me to move on and prove them wrong.
You wanted me to push through it all and live a better life.
And trust me i will, i will. We deserve that much at least, right?
I know you are proud of me. Thanks for making me take that promise.
To: my 8 year old self.
Form:
Perhaps in a row they sit on their chair.
At their small object they all like to stare.
In an upside down world, the room’s silence grows.
They sit on their chair, perhaps in a row.
With both thumbs moving, such dexterity!
Faster than cheetahs their thumbs seem to be.
Some with small headphones also are grooving.
Such dexterity with both thumbs moving.
You utter a word; I doubt they will hear.
On screens, words are better than in one’s ear.
Conversing sans screen they might find absurd.
I doubt they will hear you utter a word.
I see them in class not looking at books
in spite of their teachers’ dirtiest looks.
Tell them to stop; they just give you their sass,
not looking at books! I see them in class.
Their phones are in use all hours of the day.
Do not even try to take them away!
You might be accused of phone/child abuse.
All hours of the day their phones are in use.
I see moms alone with a child that’s hurt,
Not even giving their child some comfort.
Nothing else matters but their precious phone.
With a child that’s hurt I see moms alone.
The cell phone’s their all - their almighty God.
Anything else for them must be a fraud.
Some only text you; they won’t take your call!
Their almighty God - the cell phone’s their all.
When did this begin? Bringing phones in school?
Kids who don’t have them are thought not too cool.
To take students’ phones is likened to sin.
Bringing phones in school. . .When did this begin?
A time and a place there is for all things.
I hate at the movies when a phone rings!
Cell phones at dinner? An utter disgrace!
There is for all things a time and a place.
Sadly, much worse, there’s texting while driving.
If you’re not trying to be surviving,
do it! Your next ride might be in a hearse.
There’s texting while driving, sadly much worse.
Nothing else matters to addicts, I know.
*Every cloud has a silver lining though -
Less actual talking with those mad as hatters!
To addicts I know, nothing else matters.
inspiration from the Metallica Song: Nothing Else Matters
Written April 28, 2016 a
using Swap Quatrain style, a form created by Lorraine M. Kanter and described at Shadowpoetry.com.
The Webb’s my second Mommy and Daddy of the year ; It’s only June
Mr. Carver, the social worker rambles on as we pull into the driveway
My five year old eyes open wide as I see the giant mansion dotted with children
Ten new brothers and sisters, painfully shy, fear elevated to a joyful want of family
Sunday dinner, introductions: Mr. Webb a Fuller Brush salesman , meek and gentle
Mrs. Webb a stay at home Mom, a beautiful woman : with wicked sky blue eyes
Alice the oldest of us all, looked up to by her younger siblings ,the Rock of the kids
Virginia, frail , the twins Joe and Jim, rambunctious, Bobby, the loner, Millie,deaf
I would learn sign language. Rebecca, shy as me, William, Mom’s favorite. Dotty
The humorous one. George six month older than me, soon to be my closest brother
I slept well that night
Good morning, Harry I’m going to work I’ll be back Friday night, a chorus of Goodbyes
The nightmare begins : Harry you will call me Ma’am you snotty nosed little bastard
Alice, Joe, fill the bath tub this filthy little boy must be cleansed .Ma’am he’s only five
Don’t sass me ***** with a slap across the face Alice fell to the floor. The tub filled
The chlorine made my eyes water,tears rolled down my cheeks. Are YOU Crying?
If your going to live in this house YOU will be a man now scrub your genitals, did you
Hear me? Mom; several slaps to the head ,YOU WILL call me Ma’am, now scrub
With tears flooding my cheeks, Ma’am I don’t know what genitals are, the bleach burning
Ma’am beating me with a Fuller Brush scrub brush dry yourself, go upstairs get dressed
As I limped by the girl’s room I saw Millie, Ginny straped to their beds I started to help
Alice gently pulled me back : Don’t help them Harry Ma’am will beat you: but, but Why
The atrocities I saw that week scarred me for life Thank God, Mr. Webb came home early
Tuesday morning Ma’am in a straitjacket being put in a Police cruiser. All the children :
Heading to new Foster Homes : We kept in touch
Inspired by Deborah Guzzi”s Contest : Something wicked this way comes
Shadowland
Chained to the addiction of tempting Fate
What if I told you that my life was once like yours?
Torn between love and hate
A shadow silhouette lurking between life and death
Fuelled by an emptiness to which I couldn’t relate
Caution to the wind of besting the best,
A devious test?
Sweet sensations winning an egotistical contest
Life on the edge, merely a precarious precipice
Exhilarated ego threw flames to the flame
The fire inside couldn’t be tamed
Comforts of home failed to exist
Love I yearned for endeavoured to resist
Mind effortlessly lied, failing to grasp the illusion
between confused, lost and utter delusion
Life on the streets a means beyond the dare
Sink or swim baby, did anyone care?
Till the one eventful day when I chanced it too far
Catastrophic event out of nowhere in shape of a car
A sickening thud
My frivolous life paid in blood
My death in vain and loss of blooming years
Too late like acidic rain flowed those tears
What if I told you if you don’t already know?
The concise connotation
through electric flashes of blue and red
of the loudest despairing dread
When they zipped the bag and pronounced you dead?
And you become a glimmer that nobody sees
and the silent scream that nobody hears
Except other shadows between worlds
In an intermundane space
Torn between abstract, physical and a forgotten face
Temptation came as I sat here waiting
To switch sides, she urgently advised me
I saw through her guise, this diabolical entity
I’m not an Angel that fits in your regular category
So, I spat in her eye and called her a name
Oops! sorry Lord forgive me I know you heard
Some of my old sass remains
Still new to the game
Yes, understood, it’s a crying shame.
So back to my story
Redemption came in the grand scheme
I was one of the fortunate few redeemed
So, take heart, kid, abandoned to this shadowland
Not anymore
No more a wandering weary soul lost
Fate was not kind it was never your fault
Conducting your journey
to me the charge has been given
Through a leap of faith all is forgiven