Long Son of a Poems
Long Son of a Poems. Below are the most popular long Son of a by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Son of a poems by poem length and keyword.
Double date; in a car’s back seat
could he hear my heart wildly beat?
Love songs played on the radio.
Oh, afterglow, sweet afterglow.
That long first kiss had been so great
I couldn’t wait for our next date.
I daydreamed of how things might go.
Oh, afterglow, sweet afterglow.
Once more he held me in his arms.
“Son of a Preacher Man” had charms,
like in that old song I loved so.
Oh, afterglow, sweet afterglow.
Of course he could not take things far
with me, the teen girl in that car.
Full bliss with him I’d never know.
Oh, afterglow, sweet afterglow.
He was a guy with need for more.
I became a girl to ignore.
Kisses had sufficed for me though.
Oh, afterglow, sweet afterglow.
11/5/19
"Beyond the Poetry"
Grew up on country roads that were dusty
And bumpy
When I was a dummy
My life was crummy
Experienced it first hand, didn't just study
Life's a trip and at times rather funny
But it also got rather ugly and bloody
Days weren't always sunny
Couldn't stay comfy, or rely on being lucky
I'm hungry
Mind on money
My eye on women, but they don't notice me
No matter what I do, still they're not noticing
Handled, what life dealt me
Cut off, what wasn't healthy
They kept trying to tell me
That I was supposedly living how I was suppose to be
Or so it seems
Lonesomely, woe is me
For too long, I was using copiously
Living uncontrollably
Just after the highest potency
Always knew, I didn't have a high status socially
I try to support products that are made locally
Paying my respect to where I'm from
I may not be as young
But I'm still one son of a gun
Like none
Last name is Ogletree
Looking beyond the poetry
On what's important, I'm focusing
There are things you do or don't see
Not just about me, I'm talking globally
My actions now are notably done nobly and heroically
If only more did too, instead of boastfully
You must be joking me if your knowingly
Harming this planet, then I'll take you out ferociously
Soon death approaches thee
Since there never could be diplomacy
I've got no time for hopefully
I'll get it done, stoically
In this world, I'm invested totally
Sending the tending to an unfriended ending,
yet somehow suspending from rending a newly offending recommending.
Logotype monotype linotype,
overripe stereotype,
teletyped an unripe heliotype.
Guttersnipe snipe,
stipe snipe ripe,
a wipe type a tripe,
unleash a withering hype.
Dip snip,
nip lip,
slip skip,
rip the apple pip
over a battleship Chip.
Clip,
airstrip,
blip,
scrip,
gyp,
flip,
dip.
Unsip, blue clip,
A warship, weathering stick.
To miche an itch,
to stitch a witch.
Rich a quitch,
Hitch a flitch.
Gabrilowitsch,
the grand son of a *****!
Pitched a ditch to flitch a niche.
Made a rich hitch lich.
The Thia tie thy tried to untie an unshy,
Spied a sny sty,
He ascribed a bribe tribe,
to dib drib, lib and sib.
A death pale,
dwaled and engrailed,
enjailed and bewailed.
The cocktale turned into a,
ginger ale stale.
A hobnail.
A pale kale.
The whale waled
a veil of wail.
The stale air,
railed the quailing sale.
Dipped the snip,
to pip the tip,
and baled the avail,
to the flailed snail.
Attract extract reenact,
saddle backed and subtracted,
the tact the pact
an unmistakable fact.
Swag the unsage,
the wage of the tutelage.
A coffee break
a bit of a cornflake
cupcaked the cake of the devil's flake.
Draked the fake fruitcake,
and hake the jake on the mellow lake.
Mistake the overtake.
A pancake sheik,
cried spake of a toothache.
Ack Ack!
Back, Bootblack Jack.
Pack the Pontiac rack,
sack the Hackensack,
hijack the leatherback.
Offtrack the outback,
rack the sack,
smack the stack,
stickleback the tictack track,
to the umiak Union Jack.
Twack the whack yak sack,
A mystical one eyed zodiac.
Bready a speedy,
deedy the weedy,
Reedy to leedy.
Unheedy indeedy.
Leda, Vida, Theda.
Sketched an etch,
itched a hatch.
So speechless,
breathless,
toothless.
The socialist,
the communist,
the theorist
the terrorist.
Bedded the bedding
in a dreadful beheading.
Weeded the weed,
leading the lead,
tended the teed.
The ready read,
the reedy reeded.
The seedy seeded.
The end is Ending.
Long time since we talked, stranger
Ordinarily I wouldn’t write you, son of a granger
Right at this moment, however, I think I might
Especially if I’m going to bury memories of nights
Nights, you may remember, where you thought abuse was right.
Sorry I know it’s a weird salutations
But I felt I needed to lay some foundations.
The voice of your son coming back for a talk
Is maybe something you should ditch with a walk.
I’m not here, to be “crystal clear”, at all to hear your voice.
I thought it’d bring me cheer, in a moment near, to “beat your rear”, then rejoice in my choice.
The eldest son, I’m to take care of everyone, and in that you made me lack.
I’m no longer 21 with a mom who violence shuns, so I believe in the retaliatory attack.
You have a new life now, even a new wife (how?), but it’s not like you changed.
She may be a right sow, but you tricked her (wow), so I guess play the game you arranged.
The last time I saw you, we were pleasant polite because mom kept saying no.
Now I’d take a tooth and an eye too, maybe all of your sight, sorry the vengeance was slow.
And I know you might beg, probably in your death, forgiveness from my saying
But, heavens are brass for such an incorrigible ass, you’re still the same monster preying.
Damn Red Cooper is a son of a ,
fast with a gun, trigger finger will itch,
all the folks say that he’s killed twenty men,
now he’s saying that I’ll be one of them.
Damn Red Cooper had his eye on a girl,
worked the cathouse, liked to give her a twirl,
now mad as hell that she done left the life,
says he’ll kill me ’cause I made her a wife.
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got guns on the short run!)
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got guns on the short run!)
Damn Red Cooper is acomin’ to town,
tells all he meets that he will shoot me down,
thinks I wronged him, wants to even the score,
says my wife is gonna become his whore.
Damn Red Cooper got the locals all scared,
none dare help me, even if they might care,
even the sheriff says I better run,
he can’t help me and I’m as good as done.
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got guns on the short run!)
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got guns on the short run!)
Damn Rec Cooper comes marchin’ up the street,
dust goes flying from the stomp of his feet,
sees me standing there with no sign of life,
smiles like a demon and tells me to draw.
Damn Red Cooper sees I won’t move my hand,
dive for the alley, he don’t understand,
comes on cursing me for making him run,
turns the corner and sees two scatter-guns.
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got guns on the short run!)
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got guns on the short run!)
Dam Red Cooper stares at me and my wife,
very last things he will see in this life,
we both fire, turn his chest into mush,
body goes flyin’ and falls into the dust.
Damn Red Cooper looks up with dying eyes,
still not believe the way that he died,
never known why some men just can’t behave,
guess he can think about that in his grave.
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got ya’ on the short run!)
Damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
damn Red Cooper,
(Got ya’ on the short run!)
He awoke as Bögü Qaghan, Khan of the Uyghurs, Great East Wise Prince
He heard the words “Visit the seven petal lotus of times since
And breathe in that lotus flower’s scent, by the holy wind, to convince
Your heart to be born again in spirit, without needing to rinse”
Bögü Qaghan put on his armour for another day of battle
And worshipped Tengri, god of the heavens, despite earthly prattle
He successfully fought Yan, to aid the Tang, as if it was fate
Travelled to the city of Luoyang to pray, wish and contemplate
Exhausted after the fight, four angels came, each carrying a plate
Carrying a petal from a white lotus flower that grew great
Nostalgia grew in Bögü Qaghan’s heart, recollecting an old bond
An old friend called from beyond, a lotus grew out of his soul’s pond
"The bright crowned Hearer, the Keeper of Faithfulness
Whose virtue upholds the state of holiness
May the eons guard the defenders of greatness
And the commanders of the divine highness
May they all be crowned with the gold of the sages
May it be so for ages upon ages"
He bowed his head and smelled the small petals of splendorous moonlight
And the heavens opened, the world shook, and all the world was bathed in light
The indiscriminate sun rose in the Orkhon Valley of might
Almost five hundred years after the sun set into a pond in plight
The King of Kings was born as the Divine Khan of countless many
The Son of a King was born again as the Emanation of Mani
I have her nineteen fifties' Trifari
fine costume jewelry, which I hold dear,
since my sweet mom bequeathed it all to me;
when worn or touched, I feel her presence near.
The ritzy, sparkling rhinestone matching sets
showcased in satin-lined, faux leather case,
were treasured as high fashion; no regrets
when given as a gift of style and grace.
And too, are pearls embedded in bright gold
with settings of such intricate design.
I love to look at them, to fondle, hold
these precious pieces treasured now as mine.
I wear my mother's gems from time to time
and feel her basking in the lovely glow
that once adorned her beauty in its prime
and graced her loveliness in stylish show.
So I devotedly take tender care
of these Trifari gifts passed on to me;
her treasures shine with special love we share,
safeguarded through her cherished jewelry.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Old Jewelry or Just Old Things
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 11/06/2016
Since the1920s, Trifari has been one of the most respected and admired producers of costume jewelry in the United States. Founded in the1910s by Gustavo Trifari, the Italian-immigrant son of a Napoli goldsmith, the company has designed jewelry that’s been worn by countless high-profile clients, from Mamie Eisenhower to Madonna. Trifari costume jewelry is highly collectible today.
KILL FOR YOU…
WORDS LIKE POISON ARROWS
THAT ARE PIERCING RIGHT THROUGH YOU
INTENDING TO BREAK YOUR SPIRIT
AND DRAIN THE LIFEBLOOD RIGHT FROM YOU
IN YOUR MIND YOU SEE THE TRUTH BUT
IN YOUR HEART YOU’VE LOST THE WILL
BUT IN MY MIND I FEEL A RAGE COME ALIVE
AND IN MY HEART I KNOW I WILL, I WOULD
KILL FOR YOU, CRUSH THE LIFE FROM WITHIN
KILL FOR YOU, WITHOUT REGARD FOR THE SIN
KILL FOR YOU, PUT AN END TO A PHYSICAL LIFE, AND I WILL
DIE FOR YOU, IF IT WOULD HELP YOU THROUGH THIS NIGHT
HEARTLESS IN HIS VERBAL ATTACK
JUST BECAUSE HE THINKS HE CAN
WITH NO RESPECT FOR A WOMAN, OR SELF
THE SIGN OF A WEAKENED MAN
BELIEVE IN YOURSELF, YOU ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THIS
AND BELIEVE IN ME, AS HARD AS THAT MAY SOMETIMES SEEM TO BE
I WOULD KILL FOR YOU, CRUSH THE LIFE FROM WITHIN
KILL FOR YOU, WITHOUT REGARD FOR THE SIN
KILL FOR YOU, PUT AN END TO A PHYSICAL LIFE, I WILL
DIE FOR YOU, IF IT WOULD HELP YOU THROUGH THIS NIGHT
…A REMINDER WILL BE SENT HIS WAY
SO HE KNOWS EVERYONE WILL KNOW…
AND HIS OWN WORDS WILL BE THE DEATH OF HIM
WHEN NO ONE LOOKS AT HIM THE SAME AGAIN
“UNGRATEFUL SON OF A *****
WHAT A WASTE YOU ARE
JUST ANOTHER PILE OF MANKINDS ****
IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE”
Life is a bastard son, prodding the fertile horizon
poking into places tender, tearing the expanse of dawn
he taunts, rude and bellicose, so full of himself
spewing into the weakest streams, a wet dream.
With platitudes he prances, son of a fearsome father
promising eternity, singing a lover's song of praise.
Light bearer, holder of the golden scalpel, night cutter
leaving glare where softness once held sway.
May the abyss, the gentle dark, the yin forgive you..son.
From the pear-shaped loins of sister Eve, you have burst
washed in the waters of she, a caul of white adorned,
pray, stay your hand, do not bludgeon your better half.
Existence, endless, fleeting, meld and join this randy pair
for universes swing between this bastard and his dreams.
Dedicated to my muse Brenda Atry
please read her "Black Diamond Night"
Rising of the red dragon,
roaring loud clap of thunder,
wings spread from a trap dungeon,
on top a summit underground well.
An old English Falcon knight,
the bells summon, as the priest
runs out shouting in sheer fright,
a demon has invaded the church.
The Falcon knight rows his boat
out an overlooked distant
island in search for seventh
son, of the seventh son's assistance.
A seer and restorer
of life, son of a white witch.
Gold coins for the Lettermore,
the seventh son, his new apprentice.
A stone talisman around
his neck he wears for safety.
Stone stolen from the unbound
red dragon's veiled abbey gold coffers.
Ominous blood crescent moon,
amidst overhanging clouds,
shamed by the red dragon's wrath,
and the overturning darken runes.
The Lettermore and last of
noble Falcon knights that's left,
arm themselves, and journey off
upon their hunt and difficult quest.
Early morning and mountains
of green, leaves flutter and dance,
with clear limpid flowing streams.
Horses trot in rhythm, caught in a trance,
in search of the dragon queen.
She finds her doom in the hands
of noble knight shrew, unseen
knife, in her transformed feminine skin.
2/28/2022
Lind30nr Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
7779 unrhyme, using How Many Syllables Counter
inspired by the movie "Seventh Son"