Long Sheet Poems
Long Sheet Poems. Below are the most popular long Sheet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sheet poems by poem length and keyword.
‘Twas way back in them days
when the ranch owner’s ways
was just about the only law there was around
Rancher’s money was king
and gun violence reigned
till marshal Ben Miller made his way into town
Well that town was real rough
till Ben said ‘twas enough
that’s when he used his guns to bring law to the street
But there's always that one
thinks he's fast with his gun
would soon find himself face down covered with a sheet
For the next twenty years
Ben had kept the streets clear
of any no-gooders that might drift into town
Then folks started to say
Ben was showing some gray
maybe his old age had started to slow him down
The councilmen all met
said it is with regret
that we tell you it's time for you to settle down
They baked him a nice cake
a few speeches they'd make
and introduced him to the new marshal in town
Town folk gathered and cheered
told him how twenty years
was a long time to stay on this side of the grave
Ben took a look around
rode his horse outta town
with his new gold watch and the few dollars he'd saved
That is often the way
a cowboy's life got played
long ago when the country was still just a pup
When a trusted hired hand
gave his life for the brand
honest and loyal was the way he was raised up
If you think this is sad
or Ben's life turned out bad
well then this might be a little good news for you
Was the very next week
Men lay dead in the street
they had robbed the bank and stole the mayor's horse too
When they tried to get Ben
to come marshal again
sure don't take no book smarts to know how he replied
Well, he asked widow Jones
if she'd like to go along
and off to the wide open Montana they'd ride
Was a day in March when
Jasmine married old Ben
Though they had only been courtin' about a year
Said they was gonna go
where the tall grasses grow
gonna try their hand raisin a few cows and steers
Well they made it alright
through frozen winter nights
mostly cause they hadn't built up much of a herd
When the next spring turned mild
it brought both calves and child
after that first year their ranchin' blood had been stirred
It’s been thirty years since
granpap left Defiance
now I stop alongside his grave near' every day
I watch over his spread
more than five thousand head
as they grow fat right here on the Rockin’ Bar J
Placed 1st in Contest
rain shine so divine
sprinkle blessings kissings wet ~
feet in leather boots
~~~~~~
Rain-shine sound patter
mad hatter
Alice lost in whimper drops
coatless with Rabbi Rabbit
ruling
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plain rain is my gain drip
to refrain D
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SANE planting \\// \\// grain …..
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torrential rain potential
Puddle H
Ubble Oo00orainnoshame
huddle close
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wers for blue flowers | | |
so they cower
in ROYAL tower /////|||||||::::::://///\\\\\\
///\\\\ a shimmering sleet
of rain glimmering
on street
rainbow sheet covering
a fleet of SHIPs
2 dip so neat
sweet
RAIN AGAIN bleat bleat
SODDEN EARTH
joyful mirth
|||||\/\/::::::::||||||•••girth birth water
w a t e r FILTER b
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en
G. R. A. T. E. F. U. L 4. RAINDROPS
buckets of rain
there’s a hole in my bucket
rain s
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sneaking
holy r A i N
Rain S. h. I. N. e. ••xx
ON ••
_______\\\\________
If you have a story to tell of how the birds met under the tree, if you have a story to tell of how the wilderness submerge into the sea, the coastguards were not around and destiny could not be found. I stood on the mountain of hope and watch the seagulls circle around the trail trying to pull up the fishermen boat from behind the vail but it was already at the bottom of the ocean and making way to join a thousand more missing souls. If you had a story to tell of how you live for ten years beside the dry well, no food to eat, no place to sleep and your body becomes a punching bag for stranger and the unknown but hope keep you confound. If you have a story to tell, let me hear it now, let it out and let the bitterness walk about; get ready for the big show, I will show you where to go. The story of life is filled with life; the story of life will tell you where destiny dies. If you have a story to tell of how you confront and defeat twelve vicious enemies, when they surround you with guns and you had nothing to defend yourself except for the wisdom in your head, they attacked you from four sides but compassion was among the lot to save your targeted life. They could not raise a gun, they had to get up and run when you stare them in the eyes and faced the sun with dignity and pride. If human could fly many would build their sanctuary in the sky, and the heavens would die. The story of life is not about paradise, the story of life is not about passion and pride, the story of life is about life and how I survive. The music in the air is what I have to share, it reminds or life in a faraway cold country, when the birds and the beast were living in harmony, I had no shoulder to lean on when the temperature was minus zero degrees and the sheet was so thin, I got up in the middle of the night and start to sing but I kept my focus and rub my hands together to keep warm, the story of life is about life, it is not about your materialistic bride, it’s about how I started from nothing and came out to something; I remember those days when I was studying alone and it was the music of life that comforts my soul, my days quickly fades into night and the moon light was my only guide , I could not explain how I feel but all I know, my emotion was real; If you have a story to tell, tell it now and set you spirit free. The story of life is just about life.
"Saddo...Saddo...",she kept calling me,
Yeah,I was sad,
So I was named Saddo,
Flowers fell from highest branches,
Fruits fell from tall branches,
My days were full of worries and mess,
Series of bad occurrence,
Many that laughed with me,
Same see me and mock about what I've lost,
The blame is to be,
Toes stiffed in wet shoes distort,
I'm not pitied,
People to whom I exercised religiosity to,doesn't account me as to be tricked,
Mortgage at last have all my belongings outside the road,"Disgrace...disgrace...what a disgrace",
No one want to see the shadow of a race,
'Tom the finest',your end is someone's beginning,
Gone are the days when they use to call me a balloon,
I lacked nothing,...my name was a tool,
Is it a spell they've used on me?
"Join my fraternity,and you'll stand tall again",
Proposal comes in from friends and sympathisers vain,
Even my wife want me to avail myself to that,
Who is on my side to caution in fact,
Hope and trust in God is not allowing me to give up on gust,
Situations of life is ridiculing fast,
Which road should I pass?
A billionaire is now an outcast,
Every night I count the stars,
I see so many falling,
Who saw my star fall?
Who is ready to tell me everything?
People wowed only seeing me in bad condition,
Others to wonder of how this perdition came to being,
Hands are at a speed to raise sanction,
And based on the tenet They've written to me,
I prefer being down,
Dad died leaving me not even a pen,
Advice he gave,is shielding four whole men,
"Everything has its moment",so this agony is now demonstrating a fact,
Moving through a formless cloud,vainly does fowls in the air matters act,
Like an iceberg on fire,Slowly is the torment fading,
Hard work admitted me to chamber of wealth,
A short while,I'm outside here fenced by poverty belt,
"Funny...funny,clearly this story is funny",
Will my children also be left without a sheet of paper?
"If so will present the case,it maybe notched to grandpa,
A lineage",said softly to my youngest daughter,
Replies to me"Don't assume",
Words were lost inside room,
"Your consolation to me is not palliative",
Made that point fairly to a comparative,
One step that took me to thousand miles drown,
The same number of step left me down,
Closing myself in the coffin,
"Vanity is satisfying,but baseless",the mourner sobered in.
Prayer to the Stone of Sobriety
Under a purple flannel-like sheet, but not as soft;
As warm as flannel-but hotter,
I am sweating.
The flannel shroud soaks up my sweat like my liver soaks up venom
I see angry tigers approaching from the ceiling above where I lay;
Tigers coming to rip the walls of my mortal gut.
Oh, Bacchus, send your vengeful tigers away
What did I ever do to you?
The sheet protects me from sunlight, but not from myself;
Nor am I shielded from Bacchus’ tigers; and not from my sweat.
Beads of toxic perspiration roll across swollen eyelids.
I press my cracked lips firmly together as if to scream silently to scare the tigers.
A poison tiger in my body torments my heart,
Pressing its scabbed paw firmly against my veins
Each pulse of the baneful blood pushes against my forehead as the tiger roars
And Bacchus begins to laugh.
Oh, wine, Oh drink, Oh smoke and pill
Who put you in my shriveled stomach?
Who breathed you into my cancerous lung?
What did I ever do to you?
A heave of tepid vomit snaps like a leather whip through my throat!
Tigers hate the taste of vomit.
Bacchus’ hatred is repulsed by its smell.
The tigers stop with one last press upon my forehead.
The sweat-soaked purple cloth is flung back from my shaking body by an unknown woman.
The wet pile of purple sheet crystallizes on the corner of my pyre.
It solidifies, as does my resolve, to keep Bacchus and the tigers at bay.
The mound of purple quartz is tethered to my body by a cord of desperation.
Oh wine, Oh drink. You too, smoke and pill,
The blue of hope and red of blood join forces to guard me from your tiger claws.
My sobriety hangs in the balance.
It hangs around my neck like a stone
That has the weight of three large hogs.
It hangs around my neck like a young woman, not yet a noose.
Like the woman who was commissioned by ancient Greeks to keep me sober.
Oh, sober Amethyst
Like ancient Bacchus, I cry
Tears of sweat over my drunkenness
Ashamed enough to die; but I cannot
Your generous gift of recovery is free.
What did I ever do to deserve your sober generosity?
Be my stone of sobriety;
You are my receptacle of thought and habit.
Heal me, oh purple goddess.
Protect this mortal from my internal tigress
Guard me with the weight of purple stone.
Oh, stone of sobriety, heal this mortal fool.
Raindrops are not tear drops this should be fun Falling drops of rain are like a hamburger bun
Hope this does not hurt your brain reshaping your perception of the rain
Not to cause friction and shed no tears without cohesion drops would have no peers
Falling through the air like little magnets the whole sheet a latticework of dragnets
Do not be sad with little tail dragging behind when you stick out your tongue open your mind
Not for this conception’s paucity nor for the internal viscosity
but for the joy that is upon your tongue that's not a teardrop but a hamburger bun
Warning - Mature.
Sweet night, a blanket made from scented space - holds this would-be poet in its arms.
Tightly - yet with care. Caring - yet with passion. Smiles her heart. Trembles her dreams. Hides them silverine in moments indescribable. Night caresses her spirit with unspoken thoughts, echoing from places foreign to her understanding.
From time taken by liberties, he waits, stubbled chin resting in broad cupped palm. He longs for her. Needs in the flame of passion's roar to fly that time long laid in stone.
Clouds drift. Days flee. Eons wreak weather to endless confusion. Creatures fall within time. Fossils lie crushed in their past. Ocean drowns land. Land erupts from water. Breathing rents the air. One step. A second. Knees buckle. She waits in her wondering why and what.
Hidden within cloud where the highest mountains touch the sky, the man sits. Alone, he is, wrapped in silence. He groans, wanting. Weeps. Prays to the gods, calls to the elements. Weeps more.
A sound, gentle, soft said, drifts space. Man hears. Wonders. Frowns. Understands. Wanting becomes pain. He groans. He moans. He laughs! Somewhere, she sleeps!
A rippled breath gasps my palm,
floats 'tween fingers flexed,
darts space behind my ear, laughs my neck
caressing thoughts I've not yet dreamed..
what language now,
what meanings, what delight,
pray tell?
you touch me with a hint of
honeyed power -
oh sybarite -
wrap me in heat so high I sizzle in my sleep..
look me.. sheet rushed aside I wait,
I moan, I sigh
to float 'tween fingers formed too much,
intentions still unsure but now.. oh now..
you lean forward
closer..
closer..
inhaling deeply..
sensing my gender
sighing -
sighing yet more
until..
temptation dared
and passion flared
I soar, I fly,
thereby -
thereby
however perceived
evol becomes reality
turned inside out upon its cap of what you will
emotions motion..
tumble in
turn and
turnabout,
spinning words, knitting language into shape..
explorers of such subjects
binding heart to hope and - yes
exotic inamorati all,
lie bed or floor or chair or shore
let loose that secret word
that spell - that lost civility
from A past where and when
when
one word
once found
once felt
once shared
was is forever..
love
To look back now,?to the times when I was young,?there were so many unknowns?that the girl I was ?didn’t realize existed.?I did not know?if I could ever trust a man to care.?I did not know?if I could ever be half the woman she is.?I did not know ?if I could even make it far enough to question what wasn’t promised. ?A seven year old me,?pink streaks in her hair?and a smile,?a real one,?on her face did not yet know how the world would ?funnel into her ears one day,?trying to tell her everything?she already assumed was true.?She didn’t understand?how people ever left other people?or how sadness was an actual disorder.?She thought a smile was a cure.?I did not know ?that a father was supposed to do more then leave healing wounds?and set a dinner table.?I did not know?that love is fifty/fifty only when the other is involved?and willing to say he cared.?I did not know?what it meant to feel no hunger for anything other then a bed sheet?and voices other people could hear.?Because a seven year old me?blocked out the slaps?and believed it?when she said she was crying because?her back hurt.?I didn’t know?that some days I was worth nothing more then the price?of a punching bag?or?that feeling so alone in a room full of people?can make anyone crack.?And it wasn’t until?the only man I’ve ever come to trust ?held me after I saw a girl almost get assaulted?in my house, on my own couch, on my own lap?that I knew not all men were evil.?And it wasn’t until?she told me about the sadness in our veins?being a battle I’d never get to escape easily ?that I realized I’m as strong as she made herself.?And it wasn’t until ?the winter of no lunch and ?spring of bad habits and ?summer of broken hearts?that I came to terms with the place I was trying to get to.?I have a boy who’s like a brother.?One who built a place for me to ?watch the world before joining it.?I have a mother who lived to tell a tale.?One who now discusses with me?the poet that saved my life?and the lyric that started an epiphany.?I have a disorder that some people don’t survive.?One that, some nights, is so strong,?it escapes through fingertips or ?words of mouth or ?limbs I once dangled from the edge of the world.?I have unknowns.?So many that I did not realize needed answering.?A seven year old me once saw the world?as a place for only her,?but now,?I’m just trying to find a place to stand.
Not-So-Heroic Couplets
by Donald Trump
care of Michael R. Burch
To outfox the pox:
kill yourself first, with Clorox!
And since death is the goal,
mainline Lysol!
No vaccine?
Just chug Mr. Clean!
Is a cure out of reach?
Fumigate your lungs, with bleach!
To immunize your thorax,
destroy it with Borax!
To immunize your bride,
drown her in Opti-cide!
To end all future gridlocks,
gargle with Vaprox!
Now, quick, down the Drain-o
with old Insane-o NoBrain-o!
Trump’s real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch
Less Heroic Couplets: Just Desserts
by Michael R. Burch
“The West Antarctic ice sheet
might not need a huge nudge
to budge.”
And if it does budge,
denialist fudge
may force us to trudge
neck-deep in sludge!
NOTE: The first stanza is a quote by paleoclimatologist Jeremy Shakun in Science magazine.
Less Heroic Couplets: Miss Bliss
by Michael R. Burch
Domestic “bliss”?
Best to swing and miss!
Less Heroic Couplets: Then and Now
by Michael R. Burch
BEFORE: Thanks to Brexit, our lives will be plush! ...
AFTER: Crap, we’re going broke! What the hell is the rush?
Less Heroic Couplets: Dear Pleader
by Michael R. Burch
Is our Dear Pleader, as he claims, heroic?
I prefer my presidents a bit more stoic.
Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air
Their volume’s impressive, it’s true ...
but somehow it all seems “much ado.”
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry I
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the heart’s caged rhythm,
the soul’s frantic tappings at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry II
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the trapped soul’s frantic tappings
at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Seesaw
by Michael R. Burch
A poem is the mind teetering between fact and fiction,
momentarily elevated.
Less Heroic Couplets: Passions
by Michael R. Burch
Passions are the heart’s qualms,
the soul’s squalls, the brain’s storms.
Keywords/Tags: Donald Trump, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, couplet, humor, humorous, Clorox, Lysol, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, America, USA, giggle, political, natural disasters
We kept our silence in the room as we waited for the verdict to be read an innocent man sitting there with a murder hanging over his head, the image of the blood stained sheet is all over the screen and his only alibi is the woman of his dream.
You cannot be in two places before the horse races, there are four rooms in the house and an exit next to the kitchen, there is a basement two layers below and that is where you prepare for the show. You have a studio and a small study and a rack filled with oldies and goodies; sensational music of the past ring loudly in his ears and a library with an experiment table and newly designed module of a gadget sitting on top.
He cannot imagine himself killing anyone and he cannot believe that he have blood stain on his hand, “I don’t even know how to use a gun and if I did I would probably be on the run”, he shouted as he speaks his thoughts aloud. It is the form of confession you hear when death reason with death and passion run through veins spilling anxiety in the air.
We kept our silence in the room as he recalls the story of what happen that day at noon. He said that he was with the woman of his dreams walking on the beach, talking about the future and how they would spend their lives together; they booked a cheap hotel room and had lunch at noon, then made love the entire day.
He went on and on describing the woman of his dreams and never talked about the murdered man on the screen; his story of love was so convincing he mesmerized everyone in the room, and when he said, “my eyes met with hers and when the golden stature flashed across his eyes the interlude began, and they both became one.”
Their eyes and mouths open wide and raw nerves crashing with nerves and for more than five minutes no one spoke; it wasn’t a joke they were caught up in a romantic rapture and silence broke when the judge read the verdict.
“Not guilty “go in peace the Judge said, forcing himself to overcome the love spell. He brought out the entire old document on the case and throws them in the furnace and watched it burnt to ash.
The accused left the courtroom with his woman holding together their mesmerizing passion burning in the stomach. “I am a free man,” he shouted, I am going to travel the whole wide world and make some money telling stories. Not guilty is the title of his first book.