Long Serial Poems
Long Serial Poems. Below are the most popular long Serial by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Serial poems by poem length and keyword.
Unable to fear threats from
any man who actually sent
my ex husband to torch
a tailor shop killing a mass
number of elderly people
sleeping in bed Christmas Day
on oxygen machines as mushroom
clouds flooded the building do
you see special agent Alan king
asked me before hiring me to
wear wires on my unborn children
while city officials helped to cover
up mass murder I witnessed the
plotting of Ciro gargano and I
played in the silk garments in
the shop where he stored the
contents of the tailor shop sadly
corruption threatened my life to
silence me an yet I will never
ever fear murderers with badges
assisting Ciro gargano ongoing
mass murder spree a serial killer
extorting medical care for diapers
and bedding for retired hitmen
Stop intimidation arson murder
of 9 elderly people the coldest
day 1984 I will never forget
When the roosters crow at dawn
Trump the clown, the president
Who thinks he's a ser and king, a prophet
Because he always has his fly half open
Surrounded by his entire celestial court of zealots
Well protected by serial killers
What will he say, perched atop his deranged head:
-“I announce to the new day
That today, like yesterday and tomorrow
I will do whatever the hell I want
Because that's how it has to be
For the good of all nations.”
Laughing and dancing like a disabled person
He will repeat:
-“What a mental masturbation of mine is worth
Given on time here in Mar-a-Lago
Soon to the twelve best beaches of Cuba
Which will soon be mine:
Varadero Beach, Paradise Beach
Pilar Beach, Cayo Blanco, East Beaches
Sirena Beach, Fishing Beach
Santa María Beach, Ancón Beach
Coral Beach, Cayo Guillermo
And Guardalavaca Beach.
Don't fall asleep, my Cuba
Don't fall asleep, my beloved
For your Trumpist dawn is coming
Full of life and death.
To your twelve precious beaches
My criminal drones will descend singing:
“This is how it must be
Because this is what this clown
Who thinks he's a seer and king wants
Who, without any bet
Full of rage will pounce on Díaz-Canel
And, in the shadow of his own balls
Will leave him half dead
Making Cuba a great Guantánamo, once
Causing his coastal Guantanamero people
From the municipality of Bauta
In the province of Artemisa
West of Havana
To laugh and be scared on his Baracoa beach
Contemplating that enormous cock of his
Hypocritical cock made drone
Of truly obscene balls
Of a terrible and fierce transsexual
Who employs so much ardor, so much effort
In annihilating, with the Jews
The peoples of the Middle East.”
A doctor under hippocratic oath
Took lives of older women one per month
By lethal dose of morphin injection
And turned into a prolific serial killer.
He was attached to his mother having cancer
As the doctor injected her morphin to relieve pain
He saw her slowly die and the loss
Made him homicidal to take mother’s life of others.
The modus operandi of his crime
Matched with the way his mother died
He let his unwary victims hear the heavenly call
For he morphed into “angel of death”.
Sentenced to life imprisonment
The killer didn’t intend to survive long
He killed himself by hanging in the prison cell
Being branded as “cold coward”.
_______________
August 31, 2022
Contest : Dr Harold Shipman
Sponsored by : Joe Maverick
Aspirations are a self revealing Impress,
peeping in gem facet placeholder-
of ruby glimpses
of
Fairy tale covers,
covertly-airbrushed by the atmosphere,
over genuine zirconium expectations.
In inner light magistrate cache cow-
in the crystal stereo
of the now and here,
flashes impetus clear like a streaker revealing
to illustrate, the daring, self inspiration of its baud rate
of liberation-ad-here.
Geniing the busy body of it's own needful premise
of seedful impetuous implication, promised on premises.
A banner at happy hour suggesting intoxicating ingestion.
Drunk with in-advertising
getting premonition of-promotion, imbibing
the "jasmine in your mind."
Relation-ships moon causes the roiling sea
to gem carats of her sparkling sirens.
Alluring rocks to dash you to pieces
in drawn compliance..
Unsown light can give you the creatures of her disease,
calling bluff to serve her touring manifestations.
With marked cards to lay down in flush that had lay dormant but surfaced up from the sleeve
and from the seep of pasts saved ante ups.
They are a whiskey shot at a saloon.
Liquid courage that causes you to bark at the moon.
Tide a naked ride tied to the back of a train,
of bad ideas, after tion, ction and igeon
blows your cover, like sudden electrical storm
over the rainbow over landover and hot air,-
balloons like a mushroom
clouded idead ideal that transports you into the stratosphere of her thundering strutopeels.
Her bubble puts you in her hair brained funny papers, periodically.
To keep you sober, from occupying
a van down by the river. (Which sounds good to me) incidentally, but that's neither here nor there,
immaterial, witness,
these thought bubbles-seductively
siring, serial 'vamped vapor round firing
like a ghost mistress who puts you in a stupor
on the grounds of desiring, her consecrated things.
Jim sealed his love for his first girlfriend , Jo
as many star struck lovers do,
by showing the world he had found his soul mate
and getting himself a tattoo.
Their relationship failed, so for other fish he sailed,
since he didn't like being alone,
and to save on the cost of a tattoo removal
his next girl would have to be Joan.
They lasted ten days and then went separate ways
so Jim continued along with his plan,
he'd have learned, you would think but new girl and new ink,
as he courted his next girl, Joanne.
Sadly now he's paying the price
for being a serial flirter,
he's now searching all of the dating sites
for someone called Joannetteroberta.
Hating all noise and inane tv violence,
a young man sits home cringing and weeps.
Talk of a serial killer pervades the news:
how one finger of his victims he keeps.
Looking for peace, the young man goes to fish.
So glad that he finally has gotten away,
he sets up his tent to camp in the woods,
till a stranger then comes and ruins his day.
The old burly guy has a barking dog,
and he’s endlessly pounding in stakes.
The young guy tells him: Please quiet your dog.
How much more of your noise must I take?
The bothersome man refuses to budge,
so the younger man finds a new site
but finds the old man won’t leave him alone
and has camped right nearby him that night.
By dawn, the man's dog lies dead on the ground.
How the sobs of that older man linger. . .
Last straw for the young man! As he drives away,
on his seat lies a new bloody finger.
Written 5/29/13
for Roy Jerden's Enter the Poems to keep you awake at night Poetry Contest
"DRIVE"
Imperial
bulltwang
oligarchy
number crunching
serial winners
cornflake box
cracker jacks
sing some songs
that cut some flack
Pats on back helps
cut the slack from
wind ringing chimes
hot air bumcracks
anonymous blast
dredging up
saccharine ditties
from the past
tolling bells
zero oceans
fathoms
zero five
deep dive
swallows
air
chirping
feathers fly
ring-a-round-the-rosies
sing-a-song of posies
bubbling honey
bee hive.
Serious insects
marching bands
beating drums
semi-alive
hour glass
running
out of sand
Metronome
kisses
missing time
keep on working
for the Man.
Black Balls
White Ball
rolling dreams
quicksand
sinking
out of rhyme
Take a walk
in the forrest
stand tall
Rain comes
dance some
turn your face
to Number One
Brave.
Get in the car
wave
your hand
foot flat to the floor
burn the engines
face to sun
put dark
glasses on
what's to be won?
survive...
listen to
silence
DRIVE.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
White Rose Parade/Lady of the Sunshine (Angus Stone)
https://youtu.be/h0njhzs2bDA
Smoking Gun/Lady of the Sunshine (Angus Stone)
https://youtu.be/K6aLm8aY6fE
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to Kill and Plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
NOTE: The biblical book of Revelation says that Jesus will murder children himself for their mother's sins, in the letters to the Churches. But he won't stop there, according to the writer of Revelation, because after all the earth's creatures have sung the praises of God, a third of them will be destroyed in acts of bloody carnage, along with a third of human beings. That's trillions of animals and billions of people. I can't believe the compassionate Jesus of the gospels, who had table fellowship with prostitutes and refused to stone an adulteress, is going to suddenly start murdering their children and become the greatest serial murderer of all time. And how can the man who taught us to put aside religious differences to practice compassion in the Parable of the Good Samaritan not follow his own advice? Jesus reserved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, so wouldn't he have to live up to his own teaching?
Kananaskis is
four-fifths a line of haiku
Kananaskis is
With spring’s sudden warmth
serial avalanches thunder
one triggers the next
Winter’s snow melting
laughing, leaping, running to
valley far below
Green slopes banded red
dying lodgepole pine, memories
of last year’s Chinook
Golden larch quivers
as the first storm of winter
passes close tonight
As a boy, I came
to know this quiet valley
father's special place
Leaving highway to
where mountains reach to heaven
we drove the stone road
Fishing beaver ponds
dad came on bees, lost his specs
on return just bees
One night as we camp
a timberwolf comes to call
returns to dark night
On the upper lake
clouds mask the solar eclipse
but fish go crazy
One spring’s discovery
drawdown pools, teeming with trout
who won’t touch anything
A five pound rainbow
beached chasing Peter’s lure
red stripe - jealousy
Late autumn, Lake B
big browns cruise downwind beaches
only we know where
A ski resort appears
wonderland needs paved roads
we protest in vain
Twenty years later
returning with my children
to an unknown place
If you slow to look
irate traffic leans on horns
rushing to their lodge
My kids and I fish
a borrow pit now a“lake”
tourists' put and take
To a grizzly bear
roads are barriers wider
than flooding rivers
Kananaskis is
four-fifths a line of haiku
Kananaskis is
MM
A child once watched the monster call.
Where love was earned by fear’s recall.
The cradle rocked on trembling ground,
No laughter lived, no comfort found.
The hand that struck became the law,
The bruise a lesson carved in awe.
Toys lay broken, faces still,
A heart rehearsed its need to kill.
Empathy, a heart gone cold,
Stories sold but never told.
Mirrors showed a stranger’s face,
The smile a counterfeit of grace.
He learned that silence hides the crime,
That pain repeats itself through time.
Small cruelties grew to practiced art,
The hunter formed in youth became.
Fantasies stitched from mother’s cries,
Power blooming where love went to die.
The first mistake became a vow,
The mask was perfect, polished now.
He walked among us, calm and clear,
A whisper soft, but edged with fear.
He studied how the innocent trust,
And turned their kindness into death.
Each act a mirror of his long dark past,
Each life a way to make it last.
The world his stage, the dead his proof,
Beneath the calm, a shattered roof.
They called him evil, monster, myth—
But born from pain, he lived with this:
The child he was still calls his name,
Through bars, through time, through endless shame.
For every killer ever made—
a broken child was first betrayed.