Long Sized Poems
Long Sized Poems. Below are the most popular long Sized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sized poems by poem length and keyword.
Everywhere, clusters of clowns gathering about.
Plotting behind painted smiles.
Dancing to the quickening of our demise.
They gather upon star-spangled hill.
Behind giant mahogany desks.
Sharpening knives on middle-class breasts.
The reddish howl of the globalist, echoing the fall.
Muffling the voices of we the feeble.
Hope bleeding out into the A-hole of the Potomac.
Along the banks, clusters of pigs and clowns.
Green dripping from Saturn-sized snouts.
Stomping their hooves- disrupting citizen heartbeats.
Everywhere you look, clusters of manic menace.
Void of substance.
Void of anything...really.
Country living, casual, comfortable, mashed potatoes,
Meat loaf, corn on the cob, and plenty of butter, oozing
Gardens are blooming with vegetables, tasty and fresh,
Succulent tastes popping out in unexpectedly wonderful ways,
Barnyard cats are squatting behind bushes waiting for
Blue and red birdsongs to swoop in, catching a gray wren.
A welcoming porch sits waiting, warmed by the sun, admiring
The gardener in the over-sized straw hat.
She bides her time, knowing she will be more popular after supper.
Aromatic lilacs wafting scents in from the side porch,
Butterflies flit amongst the Rose of Sharons
Robin chases cardinal away from the feeder,
thinking she has had a long enough turn.
Blue jay makes his move. I look into the sun for a second;
wondering what she is thinking.
Perhaps she is admiring my gorgeous yard.
Other people vacation at resorts.
I stay here. Country living.
Nothing prettier or more
Delightful.
I can only presume your neck is in a brace,
Or why else could you not see what is in your wake.
I have a mirror you can borrow so you can see the fish you refused to take,
Now just treats for the sharks.
And what about your quota is that all above board and ship shape,
Or should I arrange a visit for you to see your fishing future,
I know you can look forward even with your brace on.
How about your ethics, are they the ones you started out in life with?
Or have you used undue influence to get a better quota.
If you have time to talk there is a solution,
That will still let our grandchildren's children have fish and chips.
A new kind of net a clever Kiwi has invented
Which lets the wrong sized and unwanted fish swim back out.
You will even notice the fish that you catch,
Will be less bruised and better to eat.
This new net may even save you some maintenance costs,
So you can lower your quota,
For the sake of our grandchildren's children.
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THE OUGHTUMIBLIUM COMPLOMIMOIUS.....laSvargh
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Written by:A Blare
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Sickness refers to a state of ill health,
a device that creates sickness is
dangerous to all life wherever it is.
disease, or nausea, characterized by
symptoms like vomiting, fever, fatigue,
and pain. A Pernicious device created for a purpose of
destroying and obliterating life.
A portable, backpack-sized device emits
pulsed radio frequency energy and
contains various Russian components,
according to intelligence and defense
sources. Acquired in a 2024 undercover
operation, this technology is believed to
be capable of producing the neurological
symptoms. such as vertigo, headaches,
and cognitive impairment.
The plausible cause for the symptoms
is the device. A device which utilizes pulsed
radio frequency energy. Detailed information
regarding the device speaks to it's size
and portability The apparatus is designed to be
moblie which contain foreign components of
Russian origin, with possible rogue actors
involvement.: Such devices are capable of
directing energy through walls or air over
significant distances.
The black market, potentially linked to a
foreign adversary, with Russian components
suggesting potential state involvement.
Words and terms aren't designed to create
panic they are usually directed to prepare for
something that has aprodibilty of happening.
Admonition, cautionary, and alert.
These terms represent communication
aimed at advising against danger
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
Badger had a peaceful evening planned, no lie or ruse.
Sitting by the fire, imbibing on a spot of beetle juice.
He was relaxing in the most comfortable, darling way.
When a fluttering in the room made hairs on his arms say….
What is going on? Who is here in my house?
He knew it could not be a rabbit, cat, horse or a mouse.
It was something with wings, not large, vole-sized at the most.
Ooohhhh Ooohhhh wailed a voice, it was from a friendly ghost.
Why are you here? The badger asked. Why are you haunting me?
The ghost laughed with a tinkle, she was named Miss Tee Hee.
I thought you needed company. Let’s play charades, Mr. Bun.
This annoyance would have been worse if she had been less fun.
He whispered to her, "I love you so"
She smiled at him, "Yes, I know"
I call that some king size bull crap
Making him feel like such a sap
I saw her walk by the poorest of poor
With not a smile - like she was grandeur
Knowing this was just king size bull crap
I thought, for her, I'll set a booby trap
He gave her the world on a silver spoon
Nothing was forbidden – not even the moon
It was easy to see this was king size bull crap
For her, though, he was always such a good chap
I watched from afar as they gave her the world
Dancing and laughing, together they always twirled
When they were left out, it was king size bull crap
It seemed they’d been given a big, giant foolscap
Hearts afire, they bought the ticket to paradise
Never realizing they were too young for the price
It cost them their youth and it was king size bull crap
That gave them this painful and discouraging mishap
I overheard the joke they were playing
It was sad and wrong - I was praying
This was much worse than king size bull crap
This brought a darkness they would unwrap
Feelings poured from her silent lips
She was one who had been given scripts
By someone who fed her their king size bull crap
Making her feel less, like she deserved a handicap
I knew that I was wrong to do this thing
Listened to my heart and accepted his ring
Soon I knew I’d slipped into some king size bull crap
Everything started smelling like a stinking rattrap
There are highs and lows and many in between times
When we share our worries, our doubts and crimes
But when it comes down to it, king size bull crap
Is something we spend our time trying to zap!
King Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
December 20, 2021
The grocery store becomes a maze
the moment I walk in~
a senior-sized obstacle course
I never signed up for.
The top shelves taunt me first,
stacked with everything I actually need.
I stretch, I rise on tiptoe,
I perform a small, wobbly ballet~
only to watch the cereal box
remain smugly out of reach.
Then come the bottom shelves,
where the soda cartons lurk.
I squat like a cautious archaeologist,
praying my knees won’t file a complaint.
I tug at the twelve-pack~
it tugs back.
We negotiate.
Eventually, I win,
but only by calling it a team lift
between me and the Holy Spirit.
Carts whiz by like racecars,
children dart like squirrels,
and I weave through the aisles
with the grace of a retired gymnast
who misplaced her balance in 1998.
But somehow, I make it~
past the shelves, past the soda,
past the checkout line that moves
with the speed of continental drift.
And when I finally reach my car,
I feel triumphant.
Victorious.
Practically athletic.
Who needs a gym membership
when the grocery store
offers a full-body workout
and a spiritual lesson
in patience, perseverance,
and laughing at myself
every single time.
Written: October 28, 2025
I press my palm against your shoulder,
dust-streaked and aged
You unfold before me.
Heat rises from the folds
between the tendon and the tender dough.
I savor a bite of the dough.
reminiscent of the stars I once folded,
now scattered,
akin to lost receipts
in a tempest.
I arrive with my stained skin, as a flyer
marred by hurried typos,
hastily printed
by a restless intern.
Here, I consume you wholly.
A vendor presents grief in palm-sized parcels,
with you wrapped in sensational headlines
That twists the truth.
I swallow every piece of you,
even the mustard staining the captions.
But then the rain begins—my likeness of you blurs,
my ink a wing in flight as a winged creature.
A man in uniform smiles and brushes
the sugar from my scalp
casting it into the tide, a final farewell.
It is 2 pm
on a hot and humid Sunday
in June.
I am cleaning walls
and floors,
cabinets
and doors,
and laying newly steamed rugs
in a new place
of one floor living
more suitably down-sized
from three floor struggling
for my disabled son
and aging me.
My husband
for the past twenty four years
calls with Happy Father's Day!
This, like an anniversary ritual,
surprising reminder between us two Dads
not sure how we are doing
together.
But, better than apart.
Surprised,
I admitted
my failure to remember
perhaps because,
for me,
for us?
everyday is fathers' day
and night
of secularized care taking
As every mothers' day
and night
may become sacred care giving
As schools of male
and female,
more precisely male or female,
fish fail to remember
wet climates breathe water
in and out again,
care filling
and care emptying,
care giving
and care taking
within mundane
everyday habitual atmosphere
on this living
enculturing Earth
Which lives healthier
as we become more everyday
compassionate care givers
and takers
listening in
and speaking out
for our present
past
and future Earth
and EarthTribes,
Interdependent species
Organic holonic bodies
Extending multicultural families
Humane repopulations
at appropriately grateful scale
for peaceful
nutritional
energetic, yet care-full,
EarthJustice
Sometimes my unlanguaged son
sounds like a constipated chicken
trying to lay a great egg.
Yet he also roars
like an anticipating rooster
toward the light,
raising and praising east
and up and out
and west,
eager for this new caretaking
every Earth day.