Long Spies Poems
Long Spies Poems. Below are the most popular long Spies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spies poems by poem length and keyword.
~ A Story You'll Surely Adore ~
('Suicide's a Pain')
As I was about to enter the store
I was smacked by a malfunctioning door
Without so much as the slightest warning
or a perfunctory good morning
Astonished more than stunned
I took off at a brisk run
to inform the manager-on-duty
of the door that had greeted me so rudely…
When I’d finished my story, to my utter surprise
the manager muttered: “Lies, lies, nothing but lies”
My jaw dropped and I exclaimed, “Why? Why? Why?”
the manager replied, “We’ve an epidemic of spies”
“Spies from our competitors,” he continued
“that’s why we smacked you upside your head”
In disbelief and rage, I said, “Well, I never” –
pivoted right back into that door ~
and keeled over dead
The Typewriter
When a boy, the world appears near
climbing over fences, no need to open a gate
Across our house, a grey building, a school
for those who wanted to be welders or
architects or some other trade.
The caretaker had many keys, we thought
he was the boss, wore a yellow coat
and walked with dignity
He shouted at us kids to show who
tough he was, but most of the time
he let us play in the schoolyard
in a ditch, a trapped cat. we lowered
a bucket down for the moggy to jump into
but it was not willing, the boss, told us
to leave the puss alone to get up by itself
On a clear sky, we saw a plane with two
tails, and it was 1952
Since not even the boss had seen a plane
like this, we thought it was from another
planet, perhaps not from Mars as a bloke
like Elon Musk dreams about.
It was easy to believe people living
on other planets, we know better now, but
the thought is still there
Having read a book about the Hardy boys
we became spies, picked likely victims at
the railway station and followed him around
Yes, it was always a man in a suit, female
spies didn't know how to spy, who wrong
we're
the man we followed met some other men
they went into an alleyway, one of them had
a bottle, after a while they spoke loudly and
sang, someone called the police
alone in the park one day it was overcast
looked like rain, I walked into a place
it was a library, warm and cozy, the staff
let me stay and I spent many happy hours
reading about great adventures
I retold the stories to the lads but of course
put myself as as the hero
My broth came home with an enormous
typewriter, on it I was tapping away trying
to make sense of my many thoughts
Mother told me to stop, but my attempts went
on her nerves, she was always reading
Despite being atheist,
with serpent teen eyes,
I would nonetheless bet
Eve fen number guys
named Adam, or gals noel lies
(christened) dollars to donuts
(Dunkin and/or otherwise)
Jesus would be mighty pleased
to know, his surname
linkedin with commercial ties,
no matter, he might not garner rise
zen percentage of profits, no matter spies
infiltrate competition especially if he
unwittingly gets trampled and cries
amidst chaos (think euthanize)
untimely death by madding wise
flash mob crowd source realize
last seconds rushing to snap up
latest jamb door prize
as venders resort to all
manner of (subliminally
manipulative) marketing techniques
to lure patrons, (especially
photo opportunities with
one of the many
"FAKE" donned Santa
Claus), the latter,
who would lionize
their son(s) and/or apprise
daughter(s), subsequently
guaranteeing, nailing crosswise,
and clinching safeguards exercise
immunization against the Grinch
sure fire way to manure er... fertilize
guarantee future generations rise
zing will become avid consumers,
who reverently, obsequiously,
and devoutly idolize
supporting the apostles who revolutionize
creative commercialization to capitalize
nearly every Cyber Monday
occasion to finalize
(all sales) pennies on the dollar,
where merchants feign
going for broke, and capitalize
eulogize, and idealize
the mighty buck staging "FAKE"
news worthy shoppers to burst into tears
crying on command,
and all manner of pathos
pulling ploys nsync king
"shameful guilt" that squares
singled out forevery one to ostracize,
hash-tagged, and demonize
yours truly as Scrooge.
Boris the brave kneels at the feet of the remnants of his castle’s gate.
The battle was rough, and he wonders now if he might be too late.
Where are the ladies in waiting? What of the queen?
The Wayfarer army was the toughest one the knights had ever seen.
Village is in ruins. The townspeople are probably in the hills or worse.
Boris kneels in confusion, and spies a tiny velvet embroidered purse.
There is a note inside, written in a hand he recognizes right away.
We are in Sheridan Valley, we left the eighth eve of May.
Two knights soon join him, and kneel at his left side.
They are also of the round table, beside him they always ride.
He senses them as they drop a knee and gives praise to Yost his God.
That he has spared the life of his pals Sir Frederick and Sir Bod.
Boris gives thanks to the gods that his lady had the presence of mind.
To leave this tiny bit of hope for him and her cherished purse behind.
He heads out toward Sheridan with hope in his heart that is pure.
Of course he is carrying the favorite purse of his darling Lady Cure.
(The husband of Henriette is in a casino, playing
roulette, and not especially concerned about her
plight. The Hotel Dieux is a hospital alongside
Notre Dame Cathedral, in downtown Paris.)
5. Joseph Caillaux
When? The chips are down. This is a marriage,
this black and red. Rien ne va plus, he said!
Let's go! We came here in a horseless carriage,
tonight we'll have the sidewalk for a bed.
(My little joke.) What's that you say, mon vieux?
The Tax Bill? That's how politicians play it.
(This wheel will put me in the Hôtel Dieu!)
A private confidence -- you don't betray it.
A public face (it can't be otherwise)
is oftentimes at variance with the private.
But Calmette's type are sneakers, peekers, spies,
would wreck a man (and frequently contrive it!)
Mon brave, I'm not the man to fight a duel.
You risk your life, your health, or prosecution --
for what? You lose, you're dead. You win, you fuel
the anger of your foes. It's no solution.
She said she would. (I'll spin, and win for us!)
I've long since left off thinking of it. (Thus!)
who is to say who is the more psychic
the one who is clairaudient and hears ghosts
or the one who is clairvoyant and sees them?
they are not hidden in shadows like others think
those of us who retained our childhood seeing know this
my girlfriend spies them in blips and slivers at corner of her eyes
I hear their whispers; they love alerting me
it’s not scary, but it is humbling
I feel having this quality is a gift not to be taken lightly
I often phone a person I barely know
at the spirit’s request to pass on a message
I am trembling and shaky when I do this
weird, since the gift is usually joyfully received.
Must be a squirrel convention —
bushy tales along the way.
The road was nutty-gray.
Seven of them held signs:
Parking this way.
Hold on...I hear a knock
at the door.
It’s an acorn salesman.
I tell the little rascal,
“I’m not interested.”
But the impolite salesman
throws nuts on the floor,
scurries in,
followed by his cohorts.
It’s like The Hobbit.
These creatures are not invited.
They toss and roast these nuts,
on a warm Spring day,
in my hearth.
Who was it that invented fire,
imagination and critters?
They leave ashes and fur
as I chase them with my broom.
“Get out!” They do;
a woodpecker flies in,
“Hullo! How do you do?”
My husband comes home.
I shrug my shoulders,
as he spies a woodpecker in his recliner.
The birdy’s tired after drilling holes in our walls.
The rascal gets the boot. Better than getting shot.
My man pulls out of his bag, a stole —
fox fur.
You guessed it —
alive and well.
Well, that’s a wrap folks...
4/29/2021
"There is nothing to fear, except the persistent refusal to find out the truth." Dorothy Thompson
In the middle of the dark night
Even in his heart, fear gripped the knight
There's a killer loose eating cereal
Whose dead by a killer serial
We escaped to a private isle
I asked my girl to walk down the aisle
There we stayed at a fancy inn
But mostly we stayed close and in
My fianceé has a lovely scent
And doesn't mind, I don't have a cent
As we wile away a long hour
With dreams of one day much being ours
She's making fluffy biscuits of flour
Through the window, view of a flower
As she unties her apron knot
To go outside, asking why not
The cereal killer has an oar
She's seeing a clump of iron ore
The serial killer spies him
Decides to sing a happy hymn
Suddenly the cereal killer does hear
A loud, sudden move over here
The splitting of the oar of fir
As the cereal killer hits with a fur
OR
I could go on and not end
But since we stayed snuggled and in
I have run out of lies to tell
Or maybe need to write a long tale
Contest: Homophone Rhyme
Sponsor: Hat Bueckert
Date written: 10/23/2022
Watu wa mrimaa
watu wataita watu wavoi
a light rain covered the land
as i was on my nite watch looking
unto the heavens for i had been bid..
to await the coming of young Ben
a shooting star lit the eastern sky
touching down in the hilly regions
near the coast of our country.....
i witness the arrival.. the birth
feeling tired i went indoors pondering
over the strange arrival.. guardian i had
just witnesses i sent a message to Maggie
Maggi i have seen the star if Ciira...
the most exhilarating thing... and we had
a Ceeras camera on stand by... in-case the
spies decided to attack that day....
ancient prophecy says it will grow dark
30 years after the first sighting of the watchers
and defenders will have to rely on the pathfinder..
the pathfinder program to find their way....
in a time of darkness when the light is tested
The seers in their wisdom dedicated a new born king
in anticipation of an invader 30 years from now...
young Ben did you bring glad tidings...
young Ben a hero deserves a warm welcome..
LEWIS NYAGA
epic of young ben
The Flibbertigibbet
Such a ludicrous name, unto you may never have been heard;
But The Flibbertigibbet Demon, lives in the land of words.
They hide there in The Thesaurus, in front of our eyes;
Like The Devils spies in paradise.
The bookworm with tapeworm, failed to see The Flibbertigibbet.
But then one day The Bookworm, just happened to come across it.
It stood out from the rest, because it didn’t sound human;
Then I read the description and it simply said Demon.
The demonic disguise, lead to the corruption of the mind.
It is now forever entwined, with the Flibbertigibbet inside.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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