Long Skewer Poems
Long Skewer Poems. Below are the most popular long Skewer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skewer poems by poem length and keyword.
COME ON DOWN TO THE GILDED AGE
By Roy Merritt
Come on down to the Gilded Age
We’ve crawled our way back
And we’re coming hard and heavy this time
So brace for the attack
Come on down to the Gilded Age
We got us a new status quo
Been wastin’ time for certain
Steal it all now and go
And it won’t be long
We’ll be takin’ your home
No it won’t be long
Before we take your home
Come on down to the Gilded Age
A new feller has made the scene
His appeal is rather uncanny
And downright obscene
Come on down to the Gilded Age
They love him north, and south
The Rust Belt for his promises
In Ole Dixie for his mouth
And it won’t be long
We’ll be takin’ your home
No it won’t be long
Before we take your home
Come on down to the Gilded Age
We got a reality show dictator
Whose toughest when he’s tweeting out
A big bad bully third grader
Come on down to the Gilded Age
No troublesome Mark Twain
To skewer us with his pen
The Fourth Estate is just inane
And it won’t be long
We’ll be takin’ your home
No it won’t be long
Before we take your home
Come on down to the Gilded Age
Hear the crazy see the snakes
But they give me a fearful image
Of the future United States
Come down to the Gilded Age
Your money or your life
We’ll be takin’ that money
The church be takin’ your wife
And it won’t be long
We’ll be takin’ your home
No it won’t be long
Before we take your home
Come on down to the Gilded Age
No Roosevelt but a Trump
But FDR he cared about us
Ole Donald knows we are chumps
Come on down to the Gilded Age
I hope you folks enjoy his games
As they’re about their looting
And settin’ us all up in flames
And it won’t be long
We’ll be takin’ your home
No it won’t be long
Before we take your home
Come on down to the Gilded Age
Stand up and deliver
For almost fifty years now
They’ve sold us down the river
Come on down to the Gilded Age
In history they’ll take note
On election day in 2016
We voted to cut our throat
And it won’t be long
We’ll be takin’ your home
No it won’t be long
Before we take your home
My Phone
I've just been down to Tesco to get some shopping done,
I never go with money cos I have a little fun
You see it makes me snigg*r when I hear old ladies moan
'What was wrong with money,' as I Pay them with my phone
I went off to the countryside to see some lovely views
I also liked the country sound of bleats and quacks and moo's
A bloke lugging a tripod let out a little groan
As I stood right beside him taking photos with my phone
You should keep up with all the news my father said to me
You can get it from a newspaper or see it on TV
He snigg*red and he chided in a most sarcastic tone
When I told him if I want the news, I Watch it on my phone
Was driving in to central London later on that day
My dad said take an A to Z, don't get lost on the way
If you're like me you know you will be wrong direction prone
I said it doesn't matter, I've got sat-nav on my phone
Took my grandad to the library, there's a book he wants to read
He's always liked his fancy fish, there's some he wants to breed
I told him how to do it and produce a guppy clone
And if you're wondering how I knew... I read it on my phone
Sailing on a pleasure cruise, booked it up online
Suddenly a wicked ocean broke the liner's spine
Treading frigid water, foghorn having blown
I wish there was a lifebelt app loaded on my phone
Stuck on a desert island, no signal, battery flat
No Google, Facebook, Instagram... Don't think much of that
Tired of eating coconut at washed up wobbly table
Dad stuck my phone under its leg to make the table stable
My dad near drove me bonkers fidgeting with string
And tying to the end of it a small bent metal thing
To crack another coconut I hit it with a stone
Then dad went off and caught some fish... didn't need a phone.
We made a kind of Barbecue and gutted all the fish
We cooked the fish on skewer sticks and what a tasty dish
I asked him how he got them cos they really tasted fine
He grinned and said, that's easy son.....
I got them all online
I ham quill tee for gobbledygook...
and ruffling tail feathers!
An innocent miss steak kin...
once former main lion den cha hoard servant,
resident iz cow herd vegetarian boar
hoof faux whatever reason iz explore
ring bing foo fighting beastie boy, who doth
newt practice, what he preaches your
truly battens down chicken
coop hatches so... call me galore
re: us hypocritic,
this honest to dog omnivore – more
accurate said buzzfeeding primate -
*****sapiens, he whelk hams
adieu after quick bonjour
hears ear splitting eeyore
deaf finning chore
tills unable to ignore
admits transgression,
now wonder wherefore
whether art thou still
game to reed my adore
hub bull poetry
understandable if ye deplore
such atrocious, egregious, opprobrious...,
violating ethical core
puss regarding straying
against dietary herbivore
rudimentary eel lamb ants
(chocolate covered my dear Watson)
boot fault in the starfish...por
favor mice elf can
oxe plain twittering like plover
with reasonable rhyme for sure
don't get doggy dimples in bunch
cause to skewer me but... but before...
sending killing squad to slaughter -
this puppy, aye kindly honour
my wish and don
me noggin with pompadour
as fetching drag queen
torpedo sized bosom
squirting parti-color
milk as self defense mechanism
averting casus belli thus
amidst melee I abhor
find self on horns of dilemma
life story of this poor
cooked goose flambé
caught between rock and trapdoor
special cannibal delight
where madding crowd
chants "send him back"
accursed unconscionable roar
ring anger, but lurch for eats,
an impulsive reflex courtesy extempore
rain nee yes unforgivable poor
craven impulse to up peas hunger
uncontrollably craving regarding carnivore
pang additionally not further injure
ring innocent animal plus more
to this fishy tail than
meats the Wawa birdseye.
haint gonna mock ridiculous science
asper to be bled
dark practices to leech out mailer daemons,
not so laughable nor in cred
double, when oppressed diabolical dread
oompah loompah fealty l'chaim fled
as hand grenades explode within my head
mettlesome monsters
make mercuric chrome dome feel like a led
zeppelin with fractured stairway to heaven in stead...
delivers me zombies, where angels fear to tread
cuz, the devil and psyche did wed
shotgun Swedish crow did house mafia style
wrenched, wrested wretched
mental state most intense (no croc) dial
shattered, slewed, splintered sanity,
thus practitioner with "FAKE" know how aisle
apprentice Aunt Roadie,
who will skewer me evil spirits den da deuce
till I beak home one sacrificed overly cooked goose
a burnt offering shish kabob
no longer able to raise cane on the loose
like a red bull
rocky on the shoals of a frantically angry moose
livid with rage
(akin to diary of mad a housewife)
entropy written, where death will be only truce
pyromaniac qua ramshackle shanty (tinderbox)
unleashes wicked zeal
hellacious incendiary juiced ride
up plies noisome rubbery odor,
sans hot wheel
along the outer limits of functionality explosions
precipitate like drops of molten steel
routing hunger, searing nostrils,
tearing tenuous fragile tethered tendrils
self cannibalizing via tooth and nine inch nail
linkedin with nauseousness as thine meal
exemplary asper full blown panic attack
lodged within mine genetic
blooper imprinted within
threaded helical deoxyribonucleic acid deal
like a thunderbolt out of the blue
sympathetic nervous system
thrust in high gear with no warning and/or clue
finding spouse helpless asper what to do.
I ham guilty for gobbledygook...
and ruffling turkey feathers!
An innocent miss steak kin...
once former main lion,
resident iz cow herd vegetarian boar
ring beastie boy, who doth
newt practice, what he preaches your
truly battens down chicken
coop hatches so... call me galore
re: us hypocritic,
this honest to dog omnivore – more
accurate said buzzfeeding primate -
*****sapiens, he whelk hams
adieu after quick bonjour
hears ear splitting eeyore
deaf finning chore
tills unable to ignore
admits transgression,
now wonder wherefore
whether art thou still
game to reed my adore
hub bull poetry
understandable if ye deplore
such atrocious, egregious, opprobrious...,
violating ethical core
puss regarding straying
against dietary herbivore
rudimentary eel lamb ants
(chocolate covered my dear Watson)
boot fault in the starfish...por
favor mice elf can
oxe plain twittering like plover
with reasonable rhyme for sure
don't get doggy dimples in bunch
cause to skewer me but... but before...
sending killing squad to slaughter -
this puppy, aye kindly honour
my wish and don
me noggin with pompadour
as fetching drag queen
torpedo sized bosom
squirting parti-color
milk as self defense mechanism
averting casus belli thus
amidst melee I abhor
find self on horns of dilemma
life story these of this poor
cooked goose flambé
caught between rock and trapdoor
special cannibal delight
where madding crowd
chants "send him back"
accursed unconscionable roar
ring anger, but lurch for eats,
an impulsive reflex courtesy extempore
rain nee yes unforgivable poor
craven impulse to up peas hunger
uncontrollably craving regarding carnivore
pang additionally not further injure
ring innocent animal plus more
to this fishy tail than
meats the Wawa birdseye.
how clever a peck on the cheek, a kiss on the head
a hug with a boa constriction for the parents i love.
how cruel this fate of social isolation, to stunt the breath
of this illusion, that i might have them more and more times.
the kiss off of a mother’s day and all things pretty and wrinkled.
a jolly show of faces — did i once think the actors could slink
through a small or large screen. we haggle with time, dressing
up in effects, wrapping backgrounds, like furs, around caricatures
of ourselves — astronauts, cross-dressers, punk. my mom
holds a very dry martini — six olives on a skewer in empty glass.
we kin do amuse one another and the claustrophobic togetherness
where a normal situation would have us wandering, appetizering,
sidewinder-chitchatting, fobbing the keys of a remote control,
checking seconds and minutes for appropriateness of slipping
out the door — that of course, for bored spouses, who love
the in and out of screen time and beg to screen all holidays this way
while a bored housewife wants for the drive that spurs one on
toward childhood — a link between life and death, playful
joy of trinkets and melodious voices soothed by the setting years;
the wrinkle of time sells all anger, judgment, unkindness —
the baggage that weighs down elephants, the infantile crawl
of bondage. Now the rocking of Brumbies, snail’s pace of sunset
grace of a gray nest, cascading shoulders, ears out of tune
but pure-gold’s love — the plinking strings of a plentitude heart.
Mom and Dad cheer with glistening glasses, their merry martinis
marvel at their wealth — one olive, three olivettes grin at them.
5/11/2020
Non-rhyming couplets
The urge to real-ease empties and dulls
Lights in a ram-parted brain flicker on and off
Water flows down a familiar trail down the face
As the shades of gray under the eyes darken
Those sad, tired bags…ridiculed by the winds
Sagging as more rubbish is seen, felt and heard-
Through the always open pane…
A darkness like none other felt pervades so near
But never quite touches the core
It tingles the senses with malignant reservation
As thoughts melt in self-abhorrence
Crawling so pitifully into the ears of mechanical beholders
Cloudy skies that look down upon
But never rain
Worlds destroyed—hearts tightened to drain
Inhalation is shuddery as sobs retain
Mountains of energy on degrading alone
No one should feel this sickening despair
But it is the very self—it permeates the very air
Tumultuous tempests cry out some unexpressed woe
Coldness traces its masterpiece from head to toe
Emptiness dwells like sin within the most overlooked crevice
And terrorizes the last dust of hope dwelling inside
Bottled up and sent away far
The mind flees to happier days where sunsets set for fear of panicked night
Then to dreams—fantasies—nightmares—–nothing…
As we lose who we are…
I have felt the sting of grimace skewer my very bones
And they still rattle from the impact
No one can take this solitude away
No one shall get close enough to kill my heir
You will never feel the sting of grimace skewer your very bones
But you will rattle like a skeleton on strings
And the impact—the darkest urge
Shall mute the cheers
And welcome self-jeers
An heir bequeathed
By the dullest…emptiest
Urge
O kabab merchant, thy skewer!
Fresh fish on the line!
And, moreover, in a blur -
Life, be unrefined!
Tangled are the strands of Fate?
Causality, roam!
Make a meal of small, ye great?
Lie down in the loam?
Well, we hope not, young fellow.
Let's keep it mellow.
Otherwise the killing blow?
Mine or thine below?
That is how it tends toward.
Yes, but why this time?
O ye tigers, how you purred!
Sirens, sing sublime!
Poverty for poets?
Depends on how they write.
Songwriter, sing well thy hits!
Erebus means Night!
Think it through. Tomorrow.
Surcease of sorrow?
O ye beggars, doth borrow?
Whiskey, flies, thy jar o'?
Formulate or fix? Foment?
Liquor? Liniment?
O Queen Dido, thy lament?
Roundabout repent?
I, the fabled Carthage Queen!
All that I have seen!
Automaton, thy machine!
Frog-skins wrought a-green!
This I tell ye, O wild youth!
Flicker as ye fall!
Woman Night, thy cold phone booth!
Funeral, thy pall!
Agony. It comes and goes?
Waits for tomorrows?
O for carrion feeding crows!
Blessed roads a-chose!
But! Great queens about me stand!
Hard be not our hand!
Aryan King, thy path is manned?
Blighted by the banned?
We say not! Give it no thought!
Sparks in wire a-wrought!
Buried treasure, are you bought?
Foreign wars a-fought?
You have our love, and each ear!
Therefore nothing fear!
O for those who don't hold dear!
Whisper in thy beer!
Madam, thy best blessing...!
I trial and tumult seek?
No more time for guessing!
Plant one on my cheek...
We drove along the secondary streets of Iowa,
Towards my grandparents’ large farm.
How excited we felt for this seemed like a yearly pilgrimage
To visit my old folks back home.
I always loved summertime with my grandparents.
Though I knew they worked hard, poor fellers.
I noticed grandpa and his group of hired men
Moving here and there like ants among the stalks
Of the corn that grew in our large fields.
Trimmers in hand, all would prune the suckers
And saw how tall they would grow, larger than me.
How grand it was to explore the countryside,
Making friends with Daisy, who lived nearby.
There we discovered a clump of oak trees
And a clean small lake that irrigated our land.
Swimming was a must and so was kissing.
I was madly in love with my friend as I dreaded
The day when I would have to leave her to go back home.
Meanwhile the cob was soon covered with smooth kernels.
And harvesting began which meant it was the end of summer.
But before I was to return home, grandma promised a treat:
She brought in some corn on the cob and inserted in each
A skewer, then grilled the cobs. Out they came piping hot.
Grandma spread generous butter on one and added salt.
What can I say? It was divine. And I wanted more….
Thus, we arrived after a long time, so full of glee and anticipation.
Daisy jumped first out of the car and rushed inside.
No one was going to make her miss her favourite dish,
A grilled corn on the cob. No doubt I followed suit.
Page 14
It took time to remove
The stones that formed the arch
That’s the place above the gates
Under which their armies marched
But we remained very quite
Observing through the cracks
Drinking bottled wine
And nibbling on some snacks
They finally cleared a way
And opened the gates wide
Then laid their hands upon the ropes
To pull our ass inside
There were times, I felt cunning
And times I felt amused
That men of such intellect
Could fall for such a ruse
But, be it as it may
My concern is only this
To burst out of this ass
And take a good long p**s
I know what you’re thinking
And I’d like to keep it clean
But as you know how stories go
I have to paint the scene
Page 15
When they got us in the city
There was music in the air
The Trojan started dancing
Food and drink were everywhere
There were pigs biting apples
Above the flames formed in a pit
With every sort of creature
They could skewer upon a spit
Oh, and wine flowed from fountains
And confections by the score
The soldiers ate and drank
Till they couldn’t feast , no more
Their priest stopped by at midnight
To bless our parting gift
And I christened it myself
If you kinda catch my drift
It was early morning hours
When the last ones fell to sleep
So we opened up the hatch
And we began to creep
Down a rope, we slid slowly
To the ground we made our way
To the gates that we must open
At last I’ll have the day
To be continued..............