Long Scantily Poems
Long Scantily Poems. Below are the most popular long Scantily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scantily poems by poem length and keyword.
A veteran of World War Two sat by his hearth thinking back on the war.
Through dim and misty eyes he recalled his buddies and the horrible gore.
He wondered why he survived to come home when others forfeited life,
In The Battle of the Bulge where he was a rifleman midst that brutal strife.
He recalled too many nights shivering in his foxhole with freezing feet,
Trying to keep awake guarding his post in the blinding snow and sleet.
From afar could be heard thundering cannon that was aimed his way.
"Lord", he prayed "please let me survive this night to live another day!"
He recalled being scantily clothed - hot coffee and food was very rare.
He damned those in the rear for his plight who didn't seem to care.
On Christmas Day those in the rear dined on turkey with lots to spare.
For Christmas dinner he and his buddies ate C-rations for holiday fare.
His eyes misted when he thought of frozen heroes lying in the snow,
Their grieving next-of-kin - the little kids whose dads they'd never know.
But in the midst of battle he must put all such gruesome thoughts aside,
And not let his brothers down - those brave men who soldiered at his side.
With other old veterans he talked with kids in school lest they forget,
Telling them how much is owed to those who paid that final debt!
He buried his face in gnarled hands that once held the terrible weapons of war,
Weeping unabashedly pleading, "Please God, no more strife forever more!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
There she was, a youthful beauty,
scantily dressed for show,
drawing much attention,
for reasons she would know.
I acknowledge her politely
as we pass by in the aisle,
I nod my head in recognition
followed by a smile.
I know that she does see me
close proximity as we pass,
she shoots a glance, seems thru me,
as if I'm made of glass.
My younger days, a long time past
of that, I sure do know,
back in the day I would engage
starting with hello.
Realistically, with present sight
where age becomes the barrier,
we'll pass each other, only,
as ships do in the night.
Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
I dwell amongst the byways of my past,
My heart unsettled in the present day,
Only in dreams am I correctly cast,
Performing in a happy ending play,
Where all the other players know their part,
And one, in truth, is closest to my heart.
The stage is set within a northern town,
Just one of many on the Great North Road,
The scene is grey and just a bit rundown,
With nature's blessings scantily bestowed.
Yet sweetly blooms a rose, as roses do,
And in my dreams, my love, the rose is you.
A cherry flowering midst the winter gloom,
Unruly clouds a windswept dance perform,
Upon the breeze, a summer-sweet perfume,
A rainbow vibrant in a sudden storm.
Unshared with you, they're seen as through a veil,
All joy is tempered, colours drained to pale.
When blessed sleep enfolds me in its arms
My half-life day is banished out of mind.
Your loving presence once more charms and calms,
As one forever, our two hearts entwined.
With youthful aspiration yet instilled,
Would that my waking hours were as fulfilled.
Platinum Icons
Their tale to tell is much the same
with looks that helped their claim to fame
Blonde and curvy, they got the jobs
In films and shows they flaunted their gobs
Deep, husky voices from too many fags
Scantily clothed in all the top mags
Make-up and peroxide over abundant
They could never ever be redundant
Marriage was multiple, two a penny
Own homes in Cannes, not Abergavenny
No doubt they had their special talents
In ads and the like for painted talons
B B, M M, and Zsa Zsa Gabor
Iconic beauties that most men adore
And models for women to emulate
enhancing their chance of getting a date
B B now old, the others since gone
Etched lines in face and gray, not blonde
Her love of animals has earned her repute
Her racist views we might well dispute
These women famed for enviable looks
Are immortalized in stacks of books
Although their films are somewhat dated
They’re still viewed and still well rated.
Dem Tiff Our Pikin
Child Trafficking
Her echoing screams
pierced the night
unreeling an impending woe
rousing every slumbering soul
prompting a sudden madness
The other sits then strains
looking out with earnest yearnings
scarcely seeing the distance
streaming out the tears
remembering many sorrows
as she recounts her story
This one grows weary
as her mind wanders off
overly flustered
by the seemly misty dust
stirred by roaming feet
scantily clothed
barely holding on
bemused by this troubling reality
grasping weakly
to her unbroken will
The other held on to fate
even as she alter her faith
squatting with a furrowed face
staring blankly at the beaming sun
regurgitating their last words
visualizing her lost world
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
Lord Polonius to Laertes - Hamlet, Act 1 Scene 3
your magnitude of desire is an ocean
that can only be scantily filled.
the vendors cast a net to trap thee
into their web of deceit.
you crave for fashion far beyond your means,
you project an image that belies your wallet,
why pretend and live the life of a slave?
you own a mansion that you do not need,
most spaces lie vacant round the year,
your wife smells like Arabia, with emulsions
from that far off desert land.
your children attend school that sells
the same education for a kingly price!
when in fact for the wise, all education
is free, in particular that which comes
from life.
you are a slave to their false trappings,
and run the gauntlet several times
to save for your family, although easily you can
live within your means!
borrow not to bridge the gap between
your life of peaceful contentment and the
unwanted desires of unfulfilled desires!
For soon you will begin to lean on friends
and relatives for the extra funds,
and soon you will be on sleepless nights,
for they may ask it back when you
can pay them no more! Or they may wish
to borrow, that you cannot lend!
heed my words and borrow from no one,
and likewise lend them not! no one!
the wisdom of good living is in the
freedom of thought,
in the wealth of good sleep,
in the love of your dear wife and children,
and goodwill of friends and family!
do not let money destroy your paradise
of jolly living- that comes from
living within the bounds of
money, love and wisdom.
With much trepidation I visited the local "hair stylist" today.
It was a "hair raising" experience as compared to barbers of yesterday!
'Twas thirty years since I'd heard the snip of a barber's shears,
Since my long-suffering wife had trimmed my hair for many years!
My hair had become somewhat bushy on the sides and nape,
So I needed her to thin it out and my sparse coiffure reshape!
I was the only guy there, suffering the ladies' intimidating gaze.
"Will this agony ever end?" I thought, for lack of a better phrase!
Displayed in her tidy shop were various creams, dyes and oils,
Plus a variety of glosses and shampoos to beautify the goils!
It took about five minutes for her to snip and groom my hair.
I paid eight bucks plus a paltry tip and scurried out of there!
Now, in the barber shops of old idled the usual jovial blokes,
As the barber recited a litany of the latest risque jokes.
On the walls he displayed posters of women scantily clad.
There was none of that in the "hair stylist's" shop to be had!
The barber shaved and powdered your neck among his amenities,
(After abiding rowdy razzing and very colorful profanities!")
You left his shop reeking of Vitalis and/or pungent bay of rum.
All of this for just six-bits - a nickel tip was the rule of thumb!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Ma decreed they needed some culture to enhance their sedentary existence.
Pa wasn't all that enthusiastic and offered some very stiff resistance!
Especially when Ma steered him to the city modern art museum.
He would just as soon visit the parish graveyard mausoleum!
Pa was reared a country boy and for cultural matters had very little zest,
But on this occasion he pampered Ma - he knew better than to protest!
Pa's appreciation for art was confined to barns with a Mail Pouch Tobacco ad,
Or gazing at a painting in the local saloon of some woman scantily clad!
His ear for music was satisfied by the honky-tonk gal at the local bar.
He was a poetry aficionado, reading Burma Shave rhymes from his car!
Ma once told him to wear a suit and escort her to her literary club,
But he preferred beer and banter with his pals at the local pub!
He could appreciate Saturday Evening Post covers by Norman Rockwell,
And Grandma Moses' nostalgic and simple scenes he recalled so well,
But the ghastly art he viewed in the modern art museum that day,
Seemed to him to have been crafted by chimpanzees from Mandalay!
The visit to the museum left Ma and Pa extremely cross.
Her attempts to refine him, she admitted, were a total loss.
She beseeched, "At least I wish you'd drink your beer from a glass!
I give up! I do declare Pa! You just ain't got no class!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
As another wench fails to tie tiger’s tail, the bear is let loose again.
Honey was shared, but hearts weren’t paired, so the shark resumes his top fin.
It’s hard to regret Ethiopian whets, and the taste of turmeric sticks too.
Yet all was shut down, when he polished the crown. That fool tried to place it on you.
Fondness grew.
as the absence increased, and emoticons ceased, what was left were tendencies raw. The tendencies come in various hums, while truths stay locked behind jaws, and maybe the draws, which were scantily protected from powerhouse paws.
Hey! Let’s give this sharp dame a strong round of applause!
Let’s sing out her praises, as legions once did! Let’s spring for them braids, and let’s get them nails did!
Let’s
remain sonic, ‘cause her sway is bionic, and nature will always prevail. But prepare thee to cry, because numbers don’t lie, and the scale shows we once again failed.
The tiger’s tail, tied not by the wench, means the bear has been turned loose again.