Long Stick to Poems
Long Stick to Poems. Below are the most popular long Stick to by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stick to poems by poem length and keyword.
DESTROYING the KID
It’s about time you came around.
I have waited long with my pants dropped down.
Did you say, “CHICKEN!" Mmm, I love chicken.
My favorite comes in white meat.
My fingers I'm still licking.
I read your slam it had no defeat.
My little Poet Destroyer friend, you called me.
I am not the one with the Kidster name.
You play this gambling game so well.
Like a convict, you will be the first to bail.
Giving you pleasure, making your slam sound so innocent.
You make the Kidster name band from hell.
Hitting you with a slam, that makes your tear drop like hail.
Stick to nice poetry, your slamming just got stale.
In the middle of your so call slam.
I felt you tried so hard you broke a nail.
In the meantime, this is what I expect.
The freedom so you can speak nice to me.
Like Kid Rock, the real red neck.
You also cannot slam what you cannot see.
Do not destroy what can't be destroyed.
I am always one-step, on top of this deck.
Kidster you’re hot just got watered down to mild.
You have a short hand when it comes to a slam style.
Flip me over and yell, "This Jokers Wild!"
Kidster I lightly slam the cards you dealt me.
This Destroyer is going to slam you back.
Like a trip with tricks and treats.
A slam so hard you will not be able to stand on your feet
Come back when you are ready to get up off your knees
For you I'm rolling up my sleeves, I will not stop until you retreat.
What about my mama?
I thought we were on the same team.
You slam just like my grandma.
Wait! I take that back, she always slams my grandpa mean.
Hey Kidster do me a favor, put your head on a DONKEY.
Show every one there is two sides to you.
By the way, Kidster just with your name I can have fun.
I do hope they let you read this in day care.
I hope you were not expecting a nursery rhyme.
You know better we grownups do not play fair.
Hey, Kidster after this you may need to change your diaper!
This has all been fun and games.
Billy the Kidster if you are up for tag 2.
I will come back as JESSE JAMES.
Making you a fool..
By; PD
The Guardian, a failed paper?
The middle-class ladies, in the sunny pages of the Guardian, a newspaper that used to be on the mild left
But when scolded, he quickly moved to the middle of the road, where the paper was knocked over by the dramatic tide of feminism, and became self-conscious
existing in fear of being called anti-feminist, which reminded me of the days some years ago when the paper was called anti-Semitic after a critical article
of Israel's behavior in the occupied Palestine.
The ladies' concerns were whether one should forgo the afternoon cool glass of white wine or stick to the pesky regulation of 21 units a week.
The serious illness of alcoholism was safely overlooked
as it has little to do with the readers.
In the same newspaper, an article about working-class poverty, can anyone wrap their head around the fact that
Many workers are so badly paid that their children go hungry.
They are there in our midst, the poor, the hungry, the desolate, and totally forgotten. We ignore them to our peril, and they will arise, getting up from the floor, ready
to turf us out of existence.
As for The Guardian, it can dismiss the woke people and hire new writers, returning to its irreverent roots.
Thomas Hood said he recalled the house where he was born
He would not recognise it now, its structure is long gone
But as for me, and where I’m from, the house still stands today
Although my family home no more, I fear to pass that way
Time moves on and people change, I know that to be true
But memories from those four walls, they stick to me like glue
The garden toys, the trees to climb, the rickety lean to
The things that made me who I am, they echo through and through
We had our ups and downs, we did, what family does not
But on the whole we lived and laughed and read an awful lot
And after many years had passed, it came so clear to me
The things they went without for us, the things they made us see
I like to think I’m kind and fair, I try to do my best
Though never have I really had to put it to the test
So where I’m from, I have to say, the answer lies within
A drop of this, a pinch of that, mixed up inside my skin
And if anybody says to me, “who do you think you are?”
I’ll say who made me what I am and thank my lucky stars
This chair has chipped paint.
Its shadow gangly
in the light spilling through
the window. A deep
buttercup bisque steeps.
Through this stream, ember
motility of curdled
cream seeps into pores.
The seat embraces. Blood
colors sugar soft.
Fragments of dust waver
around the chair. Like
the suspended stars, or
the pixel points on
an LCD screen. Crumbs.
Feathers stick to the cheeks,
to be brushed off,
puff into the heavens.
Egg -white tinctured coat
wilts within the humid
air. Like the jaundiced
skin you wished to shed
when you first sundered
the sheets this morning.
This chair rocked my great
grandmother and her
children, and mother. Creaks
like an anchored boat.
Exposed grey brown wood
perishes, stabs the skin.
Like the chilled sea tinted
eyes: an ingress tears
the hushed air- a summons:
her son. Long ago
an apollyon. Starless.
The chair will be kindle
in September, sand-
peach colors imbued,
flushed like the candied
burn of Fall. Her flames.
Relive the fire
in the sky; salt waters
plum green, oily.
tauten red orange arms.
War in the distance-
better. The rose portrait,
diabolus shades stain
a cimmeran- tinted
loss, wound. Chalk inhaled.
And the blaze of two black
holes colliding. Wraiths.
The winter of her life,
within which a lurid
spirit-thin webbed cross
bleeds ash. Freezes; clots.
I write about everyday happenings
That's my style and I'm sticking with it
I'm not yer fancy, highfalutin writer
Down to earth stuff is what I emit
I sometimes get naughty, God forbid
Try to keep it down to a minimum
A fine old gentleman from way up north
An honourable upstanding citizen
Have you had enough, are you getting ill
So sorry, but I really must emote
I'm a Leo you know so don't blame me
Not responsible if I sometimes gloat
A handsome devil, I'll give you that
Learned to live with girlie's attention
Quite like it, makes me feel kinda frisky
And relieves my sexual tension
So that's me, I'm just an ordinary fellow
Not yer fancy, highfalutin writer
Stick to the basics, just ordinary stuff
Known as a lover, not as a fighter
© Jack Ellison 2014
The New Year
We are going out to eat early
go home before midnight to avoid the noise,
besides, since we are elderly
and this may be our last New Year; we rather spend it at home.
After a long fight, I got to wear my collarless shirt
no tie needed and my tennis shoes, grey slacks and
my old blazer.
What my wife will wear I have no idea since she has changed
her mind five times, home she dresses warmly it is a cold evening.
With the strict drinking and driving laws, I will stick to a low-calorie
drink I think it is called Zero something.
It just struck me when there is fire-work in the sky people go out
to see, In Afghanistan, people hide in basements.
So I wish a good New Year wherever you are.
Aunt Ethel said to Uncle Fred,
Let’s attempt the starfish in bed,
Old Ethel insisted,
Till Fred’s back got twisted,
They best stick to sleeping instead!
Original poem by Jan Allison
Fred couldn't stand and was writhing in pain
Ethel was mad and looked on with disdain
So he took a blue pill
Then went in for the kill
And now performs like a stallion again.
But the blue pills power started to wane
As Ethel begged him to do it again
But things came to a stop
Poor Fred started to flop
So they gave up and cracked open champagne...
Then Ethel got hold of a book
Fred fainted when he had a look
Twas the calmer suture
Some poses may suit her
But Fred said it made him feel crook
Aunt Ethel said Freddie my dear
You truly have nothing to fear
Cos tonight’s the night
Much to my delight
We’re swinging from the chandelier!
Old Fred said I don’t understand
Your desire’s got right out of hand
If you want so much sex
Go next door and see Rex
He’s the randiest guy in the land
Aunt Ethel said you’re being silly
At aged ninety I’m no young filly
I still want to have sex
With you and not Rex
Cos Rexie’s got a tiny Willy!
The champers made Ethel quite woozy
Fred’s shattered so he had a snoozey
They were woken at four
It was Rex from next door
No thank you said Ethel I'm no floozy.
Rex hammered again on their door
He said Ethel I've said this before
My sex life is shocking
I hear your bed rocking
These paper thin walls I abhor.
Fred woke up with the pounding on the door
His language was very blue as he swore
He said " what do you want Rex" ?
He said "geriatric sex"
Cos' with Ethel I've done it twice before...
Ethel blushed and she said sorry Fred
Just last winter Rex took me to bed
BUT you were with fat Mable
Making out on our table
So I slept with Rexie instead
Final verse by Belle Bellevue
Fred said Mable has nothing on you
But what’s a poor bloke supposed to do
I heard you and Rex
Planning to have sex
What’s good for you is good for me too.
Collaboration with Jan Allison.
Written 2nd June 2021.
Are you a person who keeps his promises or breaks them all the time
Take the one most people at New Years make to themselves after that last bottle of wine
The old saying I am a man of my word what does that really mean
How about our governments and what they claim they are going to do for us ,why do they not just come clean
A broken promise can cause a great deal of pain to the person you make it to
Take for instance your wedding vows over fifty percent of the people never follow through
Or how about the old classic , I promise to never do that again
It is not a question of the person breaking the promise it is a question of when
Accountability for our actions should not magically disappear
By not being on time it can cause a cascading effect and make it impossible for other people to keep their promises I fear
If we want our children to stick to their word , an example we must surely set
Actions do indeed speak louder than words , keep your promises it's something you won't regret
A warning to those men
on the verge of transformation,
I must disagree:
it's an abomination
to shake the wrong apple tree;
who's not harmed by pain?
A cowboy who rides
a beautiful horse,
not wearing his Roper booths
and his Desperado western hat,
is not a real one who promises fun,
oh, mercy: you got the blues!
Go ahead with your ridiculous ban:
I couldn't care a bit less,
I'm not a giggling brat:
I stick to my sharp guns!
It's no wonder to anybody
that those handsome cowboys
attract the prettiest girls,
their lips constantly drool,
they keep away from any fool;
their urge is irrepressible:
aren't they so sexy and so adorable?
Oh, they love with sincerity!
It's the common rule for everybody
who hears the rhythm of their own heart
beating fast on the quietest night!
A distracted cowboy
who rides a beautiful horse,
not curbing the wild cattle,
he lets his mind be driven by despair;
he must get what he wishes for!
He won't be happier than Bill:
the acclaimed cowboy
in all the counties of Texas!
Send him lots of kudos,
make him feel wonderful!
12/30/15
It's prime time
And the difference is seperated by a fine line
Hello
All these fellows
Softer than marshmallows
Your girl keeps trying to stick to me like velcro
And continues shaking that booty like jello
This is just a demo
In case you didn't get the memo
Not against it but am very unfamiliar with techno
And flamenco
At the expo
Met mo' girls wearing stilettos
Then left those premises with one around each elbow
Later on felt like Gordon Gecko
As I passed a petco and began to head home
Down the next road
Just like that, presto
A sudden new perspective after passing an old and withered meadow
I suddenly stopped to burn some endo
From Mendo
And then found a memento
Had lots of pasta with pesto
Started coolin' and felt pretty mellow
Until these fools started being yellow
Began a trek so
I could have my intellect grow
Inside and above areas known to have an echo
By: Dalton Ogletree