Long Sell Poems
Long Sell Poems. Below are the most popular long Sell by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sell poems by poem length and keyword.
The Art of the Devilish Deal
By Mark D. Stucky
Did Trump sell his soul to the devil in 2016?
As his part of the deal, could he lie, preen, cheat, and tweet?
Could he distort, divide, deny, demean, demolish, and destroy?
Could he make even a pandemic worse through criminal negligence?
Is the devil in the details of the deal?
Trump was understandably loved by hate-spewing supremacists,
but why also by family-values evangelicals?
How could so many lose their minds…and still not regain them?
Were brains washed sudsy clean by social media and Fox News?
If Trump did make the sale, was it an artful deal?
Was he even still using his soul anyway?
Would the devil desire such a shriveled thing?
For a chance to destroy democracy,
wouldn’t Putin and Satan have worked pro bono?
Has anyone’s devilish deal
ever worked well long-term?
What will Trump ultimately do
when that bad soul loan comes due?
(See also my poems "The 2023rd Psalm," "Bathing with Bathsheba," "Antisocial Media," and "Tweeting the Truth in Love.")
(Image by andibreit on Pixabay.)
BY GRAND MOM MOM where'd you go---
grand mom-mom she worn a veil
that covered her neck
she wore hand made knit sweater
she sits in her rocker recliner
still stitching quilts
wears open loose ankle socks
cause she's diabetic
still makes homemade soup cuts up vegetables by hand
the world needs this
where is grand mom mom now????????
by grand mom mom where' you go
municipal codes, governmental woes
lock up them elderly separate their clothes
sell their paid houses and cars
maybe after all her goods and wares are sold
just to house her spirit and body sit apart
maybe she can keep her recliner
Family and government subliminally throws her away
now you ask where is she today
where is grand mom mom now????????
by grand mom mom where' you go
municipal codes, governmental woes
being tired of being ignored and abuse
one morning grand mom mom decided to chose
not to be alone
so she went, home?
12/19/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr.2018©
Has been a concern more than a bit of a bummer after months of the dumber & dumber IPL drummer couldn’t be glummer did discern my heart did desperately yearn for Test Cricket’s return and the true start of the English summer..
“Endless spell of hell fanned with pointless strand of “IPL” brand
Fascination with the same same machination.. don’t understand
Aversion to lame tame perversion of game they sell it’s so bland
Fell don’t feed gobby corporate lobby creed.. their greed banned
Stuck in a rut more windows shut tut tut but glut will still expand
Pray tell underhand coercion we plead indeed needs to be canned
Test veneration for deeds seeds sow grow in generation spanned
Still the longest format old hat damned like cricketing contraband
Hall of Fame heed lend a hand or best sort of our sport’s panned
Don't whine if for folklore you pine must draw a line in the sand
Not T20 farce but timeless class and your members pass scanned
No obituary atmosphere soaking and stroking my pituitary gland
Plenty more days of play encore holds sway.. bar dutifully manned
Raise a glass & use a comfy cushion for your ar*e.. getting tanned
Dad & his lad peruse grand views and hues from pews in the stand
No ruse planned muse evoking a beautifully green & pleasant land”
Huddled under the Northern Michigan
Umbrellas
Popped open
With cherry bows of pink blossoms
Is our little family cabin
Not so much
Made of brown brick and mortar
Glued pounded and squared together
In the 1950s
But placed on a slab of summer sun
Face up
Shining on the tiffany tiles of Torch Lake
Built of stacked bunk beds
Ten of them
Hammered together with dad’s hands
Oiled with homemade lemonade
Poured by mom
To our baby bird mouths
Through the windows framed with leftover straw
Yes, the screen door still creaks on its rusty spring
Like a dorky doorbell from Father Knows Best
I can feel our newer neighbors salivating
With plans to expand their estates
From an upcoming fire sale
Every year they ask
How’s your mom and dad?
I douse their speculations with a quick “Great!”
But I know
And they know
Time is not on their side
I suppose we could sell to Chicago millionaires
Right now
Cash out
Like all the other generations around us
Replaced with vanity mansions of 30 or more barren rooms
And their manicured lawns poisoned with fertilizer
Dimming the lake each year to a darker shadow
Of itself
But I love our red wheelbarrow
And the cobwebs of the Milky Way
Swaying in the dusty corners
The rusty nails of our fights and screams
And wrestled nights with no air conditioning
I get up in the morning
Step over the fierce glare of sunrise
And the carnage of my folks
My brother and sister
And all those barracks of snoring kids
We will hold out
And hold on
To this sliver of light and water
If you don’t mind
Please
To wait a bit longer
Until we’ve completely and utterly finished
And then all this can be yours.
Their crossing the border by thousands
Another story they sell
Better get ready for ww3, fear,confusion
The sound of their bell
It's been that way for as long as I can tell
Running out of ideas and lies that they sell
Story never changed its now wearing thin
Love your brothers and sisters
Let the new age begin
Immigration,inflation world wars too
Running out of stories, lies that they sell
Don't play the game, goodnight farewell
You hold the universe inside your soul
Your thoughts germinate
A new reality
Your brothers and sisters shine as bright as you
All the colours of humanity
Disabilities too
Love your brothers and sisters let the new age begin
Don't harness their lies
Gateways to sin
You are the master of your soul let your love light shine
Spread love and care
Let positive energy flow.
We are extremely lucky…some would say blessed
from this moment looking back into our family tree
to be a part of a beautifully large and varied extended family.
When looking at our family…due to natural circumstances, we openly defy
the current reigning political philosophy…meaning…our family is DEI.
We come from a variety of backgrounds, experiences and identities…
Look at us and you’ll see…
We are the embodiment…the epitome…the definition of diversity.
We see everyone in our family as equals…this we happily proclaim…
meaning when it comes to every member of our family…
we love them all the same.
We love, respect and support each other…through joy and adversity…
We accept new members with open arms
happy to welcome them into our family…
And we do our best to help each family member understand…
how everyone has worth…
and how our extended family…extends out across the Earth.
How it is up to us as a family…to be kind and gentle with every kind of folk
to fight injustices where and when we see them…
Yes, we proudly say…our family’s WOKE!
The governor of Florida…for reasons only he knows why…
has repeated time and time again that Florida is where WOKE goes to die.
It’s a certain political philosophy he is trying hard to sell…
but if our family (and so many families like ours) are any indication
WOKE is alive here…and doing well.
So I have news for you governor…and all who think like you:
your particular intolerant philosophy: we enthusiastically defy.
because diversity, equality, and inclusion are not dead…
look around you…they will never die.
I was travelling by train today.
I ran to catch it,
just before the doors closed on me again.
I let out a sigh of relief
when I finally reached my seat.
I really, desperately
didn't want to go to college today.
The frustration, the anger,
it seems to grow a little more every day.
I sat across from a man in burgundy.
The ticket checker made their rounds,
and I pulled out my laptop
to start working on some stupid presentation
for class.
Then a little girl walked in.
Her regular little pen box in her hands,
trying to sell pens to the people on the train.
And just then,
the man in burgundy
pulled out a crisp 500 note
and handed it to her.
I gasped.
She looked at the note,
then at him.
Her eyes lit up
in a way I don't think I've ever seen before.
He didn't take the pens.
He just smiled.
I looked back at my presentation.
Stared at it for a while.
The same slides.
The same deadlines.
The same college I was so angry about.
And then I closed my eyes,
and wondered
Maybe somewhere between
running for trains
and rushing through deadlines,
I have forgotten what really matters.
I opened my eyes.
The man in burgundy
quietly watched the window.
The girl had left.
The train kept moving.
It's not a prerequisite, of course, but if a piece of writing is any good, chances are it's probably offensive to someone. (Paraphrasing John Irving-A Widow for One Year) So, writer beware...
Words are a writer's stock in trade,
To ply it well requires a versatile,
Not volatile, vocabulary.
With words a writer's claim to fame is made,
But words can have broad repercussions.
So when he writes
He should select them well,
Not just to sell,
But so they don't arouse the scrutiny
Of those guys who comprise Homeland Security
And become the subject of discussions
Of the FBI, the CIA,
The DAR, the DMV,
The IRS, the IRA,
USPS, the EPA,
The PTA, SPCA,
AARP or AAA,
Twitter, NAACP,
The NFL, the MLB,
The LGBTQ community,
The NRA, the PGA,
NASA or the BBB,
Ellen, Oprah, Dr. Phil,
An ad hoc Sunday sermon bill,
Or his city, county, state constabulary.
Tickets sell wickets follow fell well aplenty
Hard to swallow... feel hollow just empty
Not standing sentry the old school gentry
Real Test cricket no spin the wheel 20/20
Reel vapid vigour no rigour the trigger
Rapid slap dash rabid like the Big Bash
Flash not classy just brash brassy rash
Whinge then cringe maybe just snig*er
The oldest format has now been tinged
Always on the boldest somehow hinged
Singed by cash cow bish bash bosh binged
Just josh..lash & crass slash tosh syringed
Not a twinge blessed Tests fests impinged
Dismay 2 contests descend in just 2 days
The start of the end so let’s build an ark
Offends won’t change their strange-ways
Contend can’t defend the future is stark
Embark on another bore as ersatz fat cats lark
Dystopian myopian encore tour this does hark
Both days how many wickets & snick its a score
Velocity raw ferocity & pomposity hit the mark
Or more animosity at monstrosity on the park
Picket this wham bam glam sham don’t let it nick it
Glory of hall of fame game’s story lost in the dark
The cost of 20/20 shame its bite as bad as its bark
Past came a cropper in franchise shopper cast big topper
Blame those unwise curious sorts who chose fast & furious
Didn't tame rise of lame sports shorts did maim proper cricket
He had a beer.
He had a joint.
He beat his wife.
The pig went oink?
They taxed the car.
They taxed your house.
Just sell the weed
and tax don’t grouse.
Gov's buy bombers
plant the poppy field.
Then enslave the natives
use the kids as shields.
Take the drug money
to fund more wars
Who's the crook here
we can't be sure?
Get the little guy
the one with the roach
Forget the dirty money
going coast to coast.
"Hell yes." say I.
Don’t need no permission
No better than thou's
causing prohibition.
If the day comes
and I see the reaper.
I’ll light him a bong
and let him keep'er!