Long Smart Poems

Long Smart Poems. Below are the most popular long Smart by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smart poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member I Remember the Days

I remember the days
before technology
before computers
before cell phones
before smart tvs

In particular
I remember one summer day
when I heard on the radio
that the microwave oven
had been invented !
I really thought this was it ~
they had finally invented
every possible thing
but then…
they put a man on the moon
and it was only the beginning !

How our world has since
spun out of our grasp
illusions of grandeur
never nearly big enough
exploration beyond our universe
trying to connect with aliens
when we can't get along 
within our human race

Priorities askew ~
Who cares about
this endless technology
What if our geniuses focused on ~
feeding the starving nations
sending all children to school
caring for mistreated animals
fixing the environment that’s
damaged beyond repair ~
They could try solving greed
and cruelty
and selfishness
for starters



The countertop microwave oven affordable for residential use was introduced in the late 1970s.

AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on September 18, 2020 for contest A HISTORIC EVENT sponsored by WILLIAM KEKAULA  -  RANKED 3RD


Premium Member Ohio Poets

From the Ohio River to the Great Lake Erie.
If they come from Cleveland, or south in Cincinnati,
these talented persons’ works are the ones we should see.
They have written some of this site’s greatest poetry.
They may live in the cities of Canton or Akron;
or perhaps in Columbus, Youngstown, or in Dayton.
They also come from many smaller towns in between.
They’ve written some of the best poetry I have seen.
Many of these folks have graduated from college.
Those that have not still possess incredible knowledge.
To them, poetry is both a science and an art.
Our Ohio members are all naturally smart.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member My Poetry Soup Recipe

From crispy candied apples, sticky sweets,
Derive the base by which my lines accrue;
For when pure-love reduced by coal depletes,
Then train of thought does simmer heavy rue.
As though embittered soup deducted cream:
Increasing one but makes another lack -
My fossil engine still beholden steam;
Thereby, poetic stew remains on track.
But, if I’m chef then who’s the engineer?
Smart poets pluck the vine whose fruit is loose;
As such, sweet compliments, ex-wife austere,
For all my wounds and her divine caboose -
   Because, while pain and sadness garnish me,
   Her tracks through me conduct my recipe.

1/31/2017
Form: Sonnet

Sugar Mummy

sugar mummy
honey old rich mistress
so lonely yet so wealthy
her desire so close 
yet so far 
as she is so eager for love 
men in her age don't needs her
any more 
and now despite 
she is rich and wealthy
she is now a hunter 
for love 

sugar mummy
a business 
honey old rich mistress 
yet you can never call her old
or else hell will rain on earth 
she always feel young than 
the youngest girl on the street
as she catwalk every time as 
a model 
she keeps her eyes open 
cos she is a hunter 
she knows the most young boys
in her area 
she knows their needs 
she knows most of the boys
are jobless some homeless
she knows most of them are from 
poor families
she knows is easy to catch them
young with her 
showers of wealth


sugar mummy
a matured young smart chaser
oh you are a sweet sixteen
the young lover swear 
as he lays his head on 
her warm big flat breast
in his heart he found a god saint
cos now he could
 dress well
eat well 
drive flashy cars
provide for his poor family
as his sugar mummy
showers him with her 
material wealth
oh sweet sixteen 
you are sweeter than 
sugar another 
bla bla bla 
as the young fellow
lost after her wealth


sugar mummy 
her charm is so strong 
it killing alot young men 
out there 
she possesses alot power 
yet
she possesses alot grives
as she glitters 
with her cosmetic beauty
bewarn you young desperate boys 
out there 
what ever she gave away? is never for free
what ever benefit you gain
from her got a price
as long as you are under her
control 
you are okay 
once you say No
is better you were not born 
so you see all that glitters
are not gold 
not even with your
sugar mummy
Form: Epic

Decastich-Anger Is the Curse of the Unforgiven

The deliberate hurt is
a wound never healing,
forgiveness may be granted
to that soul expiring;
and as the trembling lips  
close, serenity descends.
To have loved such a person
would have been wrong, not smart;
nothing honorable and pleasant
came out of that foul mouth.
Some realize the demonic force
that was behind it to cause animosity
towards the kindest of hearts;
then is anger the curse of the unforgiven,
not to fully and sincerely apologize?
It's wiser to bear offense than to offend,
so that the guilt is not concealed inside,
but open to unfair criticism
rather than visual humanism;
and would one cope with implausibility? 
Along our path, we may see roses...
smell their aroma and cherish their loveliness,
but beneath them there are many thorns
ready to poke those who rush judgment;
and they will bleed for not having been cautious,
or at least avoided the useless torment!
I have bled in my utter blindness,
putting everything at risk, sparing no mercy
for a quest to uphold my integrity
by being too complacent, and not showing kindness.  
And ignoring that anger is the curse of the unforgiven,
I beat hard on my chest to feel the acute pain...
remembering the hostile voice putting me down;
embarrassing me of such a vulgar mannerism,
making me despise and hate any exhibited egotism!
The longest time has passed to shorten the brevity of compassion,
to make me aware that to have none is a denial of self!
Weep and mourn for shutting all doors on fairness, cruel soul;
sleep not, for remorse is a plague inflicted upon the unmerciful
who see themselves less useful than those discerning death!     


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Form: Verse


The Battle of Malicious Mouths

I was a stoner in a coma mercifully sweet
up for good humour and friendly greet
changed into someone more likely to beat
thump kick and stomp fighting the weak

I had stoner friends with paranoid brains
and jealous mates who were partial to blame
letting ideas spawn from sophism claims
delivered by a stranger playing a game

that stranger my boss telling my friend
things false and fallacious intent to offend
slander me to colleagues was her daily trend
reaching beyond work to see bonds end

isolating me at work and my social life too
my boss and my best mate missing a screw
daily discrimination the mate said aint true
dwelling on rumours whilst treating me rude

he shared with his brother stories she told
a brother already living bitterly cold
accepting the worst and easily sold
behaving beheaded with hatred his gold

all of this mistreatment morphing my mind
reaching for help nowhere to find
blinded by focus on my bosses crime
finding it hopeless as losses inclined

personality vanished and I'm unemployed
my life fully shattered completely destroyed
yet when telling mates they'd get annoyed
still seeking out truths in her stories deployed

My boss won the Battle Of Malicious Mouths
and whilst she's forgotten friends still doubt
watching me drown in a kindness drought
until i was confused as to what friendship's about

and life for that matter with my brain in a cloud
lost hopes and helplessness no sense of proud
yet still treated rough as I crawled with the crowd
took 8 sodding people 6 years to bring me down

Seven long years of suffering isolated
seeing these memories fit missing places
the hazy mist clears and I'm not suffocated
I know what my boss caused I know what my mates did
© Nick Trim  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

2 B Or Not 2 B Funny Or Smart

Up until recently

When I was growing up

All I ever wanted to be was considered funny

And recently I discovered that is in fact

What people thought of me

And how they would describe me

All along 

Who knew 

And the reason maybe why I thought this

Was because I was lead to believe

That what woman find to most attracted

About men is if they are funny

And can make them laugh

And I thought I was the one

Who was supposed to be funny

And make jokes

Well that was an absolute ripper

Funny

Ha ha ha

I am still laughing at that 1 till today 

Boy did I make girls laugh

Some nearly went as far as to wet themselves

Literally when all I had to do was ask them out 

But it never once managed to get me a date

Now all I want to be is to considered smart

Not that that will get me anymore dates

Or make me any more appealing

Or attractive to women

The my main reason is

So I am not stupid enough

To be taken in and believe

In things that are quite clearly obviously

Practical jokes in theory

Or my version anyway

Intended to make funny people such as I

Who make the ladies laugh all day

So much so they want to pee

Not want to go out with the likes of me

Because although I may well be funny

Come to think of it

Buying into and believing that

Is actually very funny indeed

Unfortunately what it also points out as well

It doesn't appear to make me seem very smart

Now does it 

In actual fact it makes me come across

As more like a clown

Premium Member If You Think You Are So Smart

My child came home from kindergarten and said
“My teacher Mrs. Ballywack is so NICE!”
I was amazed; I had not heard anything good about the woman.
“She said, Tracy Krutsinger, if you think you are so smart,
You can come up here and teach the class!”

I love it that sarcasm did not hurt her.
She is too upbeat and positive to recognize it.
She has been a joy to us her entire life.
Now she brings us her children, who are also joys for us.

They have dogs, cats, and gerbils.
They are open minded, and love everyone.
And none of them would recognize sarcasm.
How marvelous is that? They have such a great mom!

Michael

Michael was a simple lad, not clever, bright or smart, yet Michael had what many lack, a
pure and trusting heart,

His world was filled with fairy-tales, of magic and make believe, he had not an ounce of
bad in him, his pleasure was to please,

He wandered down by the canal, a sail boat in his hand, to dreams of pirates and treasure
troves, of shipwrecks on golden sands,

Underneath the arches , a gang was getting high, their temperament was highly strung, and
somewhat volatile,

They saw Michael talking to himself, and watched him as he dreamed, they began to form an
evil plot, a viscous kind of scheme,

A knife was pulled from beneath a coat, and cries of lets go get him, as this gang
approached Micheal unawares, with innocent fake greetings,

"Hey there fool what's that you have, a boat upon the water?" Michael gave a fearless
smile, unaware of the on-coming slaughter,

No-one's sure what happened next, they found his body some days after, cut and stabbed by
a sharpened blade, and in his pocket, his little tractor,

I guess you think this tragic that a child should meet this end, well Michael was an
adult, he was 33 my friend,

What purpose served to harm him, a child not a man, they never caught the killers,
apparently they ran,

In memory of Michael use your voice to stop this hate, and save the other Michaels from
this devastating fate.
Form: Rhyme

To Be a Friend of the Words

Let's talk with the words

                   for them to express themselves

                    always sweet...

                    words are works

                    of grace!

                    Let's ask the words

                    May they always be friends...

                    Enmities between us and them,

                   cause unmistakable damage...

                    Let's ask the words

                    that they always drink in

                    good sources, to be born

                    always crystal clear.

                    After being attended to

                    our honors, may we help

                    the words so that

                    keep   Them all life

                    towering and,

                    SMART..!

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