Long Stiffs Poems
Long Stiffs Poems. Below are the most popular long Stiffs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stiffs poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, say can you see the land of the freebie
and the home of the ungrateful bleating.
Where borders are blown wide open by vote vamps.
To the glee of coyotes -desperados -the depraved.
Stars and stripes replaced by the heartless-shooting blanks.
Where elitist stick shanks into the faith of good people.
Who're deemed racist for standing for a starry banner... disgraced.
The trinity was tossed long ago into cancel culture canyon.
Were last seen thumbing it down Route 666 in a flash flood.
As the cultists put another bullet in Honest Abe's head.
While looters and rioters and cop killers were martyred.
Working-class stiffs were slit open- bled out from either end...
into the collection plate of the jackass-fascist and Uncle Sham...
Where goodness was woven into the fabric of evil and mayhem.
Upon burning looms of crooked buffoons and bullhorn goons.
In the land of the freebie and the home of the ungrateful dead.
The virgin under the pristine sheet,
patrols the creaking, cut, timber of time,
through the blooming roses and the sleet.
The grandiose grandfather chimes.
She used to shine her eyes near the shallows.
The young lass can only shriek her woes.
Her eyes, bright as the moon, on the gallows.
For now she bids welcome under bedding clothes.
Her arms writhe like the wind on the cliffs.
Her feet, hidden beneath the grave cold sheet.
No eye holes needed. It creeps out the stiffs.
She performs a trick when they beg for treats.
The light-as-a-cloud lass, floats just above the grass.
When the ghosts, goblins and vampires notice
they tremble, they turn pale under their first class
masks. The naysayers are given notice!
If they think, or call her a spook, or a guy, she tears
the snow white sheet off, and makes a spectacle
of her hollow cheeks, tangled hair, truant jaw. Fears,
beyond terror, make the living bully sensible.
The pale virgin roams, as long as there's day and night,
as long as seasons come and go, though she longs for sleep.
She moves by her own will - no wrong or right.
The lass longs for quiet, under soil, six feet deep.
Ah! For the good old days when you could fill the tank for a dollar.
If folks paid more'n a quarter a gallon, my, how they'd holler!
Nowadays, it necessitates a usurious loan from the bank,
Or a second mortgage on the house, just to fill the tank!
Politicians piously claim they can feel our pain at the pump.
Well, I don't know about that, but it sure makes me grump!
I can only shake my fist and vent my rage at Conoco and Shell,
Sinclair, Diamond, EXXON, Phillips and the entire oil cartel!
Oil companies make huge profits and give their CEOs a bonus,
But on the backs of us working stiffs is placed a taxing onus!
"Elect Me!" promise the politicians, "and I'll guarantee relief!"
We've heard that old saw before - it usually means more grief!
I doubt that the moose, caribou or elk really give a hoot,
Should drilling be allowed in Alaska in our oil pursuit!
Nor would sharks, barracudas or moray eels be at all offended,
If we set up rigs and drilled offshore as some have recommended!
Alas, the price of a barrel of oil continues to rise each day,
And us fellers at the end of the pipeline are the ones who pay.
In suspending gas taxes for a spell, I see very little merit.
The only solution for our plight I guess, is just to grin and bear it!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
the rich, the poor and the middle class
an invisible subliminal system of caste
we are suppose to be a nation of freedom and opportunity
a democratic society based upon equality
but in all actuality
it's about the economy
to be wealthy and have anything you can afford
to be the CEO or the chairman of the board
to be rich and have enough money to pass
just a few steps above the upper middle class
those who have to go to work most everyday
yet they still receive a substantial pay
and the poor, what they call the working stiffs
barely getting by, hoping their finances will shift
it's about the economy
and how much you are worth
it's about the amount of money you have
in your wallet or your purse
don't be naive and think money does not matter
it's about the economy and the rich whose pockets get fatter
if you're wealthy your name is on the building
if you're rich it's on the door
the middle class' names are on their desk
but if your name's on your shirt then you're poor
*Image of Contrary To Popular Belief by Medium.
The End Times
A locomotive train chugs remote wails,
The tempest brews a calamitous stunt,
Falls of exiting steam, moist teary tails,
A structure of ills desires cured a want.
Veil vibration replaced by hissing wake,
Cataract succession cues lined motion,
Some distracted or misguided, opaque,
Soulless of no else deluged rain ocean.
Sullied countenance, mockery furthers,
Epochs and places are just meaningless,
Thoroughly isolated faced earthworms,
Constantly moving, redemption is thus.
Ejected wetness lift drips of sweat mix,
The stench of septic mortal feces foils,
Contour be less as the haunted will fix,
Worker's fast recovery spreads uncoils.
Rally cry register whispers pitch, softs,
Periodic responders aides the crushed,
Posture updated processing kickstarts,
Rancid remains, putrid folks, relief guts.
Orders of ruinous wayward verve shifts,
As shots of waterworks claim offensive,
Soapy lathered bodies recast the stiffs,
Challenging chambers took a directive.
Where'er 'twas is whate'er 'tis to be-be,
My sweatshop is done I will be obeyed,
For I am the Lord master 'tis realms me,
I give to you all of that you hath prayed.
'Tis all you lived, died for it is paradigms,
Earn that you buried a tip for end times.
2022 February 11
The blackbird has gone maggoty
Lara stiffs at it
shakes a grub off her wet nose
and sneezes.
Then as if fiction were uncannily real
another similar bird drops out of a tree.
For a short while it flutters
turning in a circle around a broken neck.
Lara looks at me as if to say,
‘What the heck?’
Now the bird is still
one eye open to the sky.
I can see clouds reflected in its eye
but soon just cloudiness
as life departs.
Lara again does her sniffing thing.
We walk on smelling the sweetness
of Fall leaves as they rot into October.
This is a time
when death and its dissolution
is still aromatic,
pungent enough to mask
the seasons fatal embrace.
Lara sniffs at a loose pile of fallen leaves
as if they were an open grave.
I wished to find the words for you - so beautiful and dear,
The pretty ones that you would be so happy just to hear -
And when I found the very bestest, selected just for you,
I’d put them into a poem’s lines, so they would ring so true.
It took time to find these charmers that like to hide from me.
“Queue up in a line”, I said, “so my beloved can see!”
But these dumb clods never do what I command them to.
This is the silly way they lined up to prepare for you to view:
“Soft like silk, a lullaby, a rainbow, an azure sky,
Verdant woodlands, a butterfly, snowy peaks, apple pie.”
“You must tell her what she means to you and what is in your heart.
I’m afraid this is not good enough, it’s only just a start.”
“We’re walking out”, said these dopes, “of your love poem, I’m afraid.
What you are asking of us stiffs is over our pay grade.”
It was then I thought, with these mad guys, I should make amends.
If I cannot command them, then perhaps we could be friends.
And so, my dear, it’s time I fear, to pause and to regroup.
Because these words have turned on me and turned this poem to poop.
It's my body, and I'll cry if I want to!
Lie if I want to!
Die if I want to!
You might die too if I come near you.
No vaccine pricks my skin.
Absolute is my right
to randomly infect another,
yes, randomly kill if necessary to preserve
my freedom! My entitlement!
Like your neighborly sprinkler system
I shower you each time you come near.
Few people know the truth.
Bill Gates hired space aliens
now infiltrating scientists
and creating these vaccines
to poison us.
It’s my body and I’ll cry if I want to!
Deny if I want to!
Die if I want to!
You might die too if I come near you!
These shots made by Bill Gates and Democrats,
The list of deep state conspirators so long.
I know how to connect all the dots.
The vaccines pump you with magnetic goo.
And you will quickly become autistic too.
The vaccines are full of biotoxins
And millions will find their coffins.
It’s my body, and I’ll cry if I want to!
Defy if I want to!
Die if I want to!
You might die too if I come near you!
COVID is cured like the flu.
Cow de-wormer will do.
Or simply reach
For the Clorox bleach
And drink a cup or two.
Nobody knows where my family has gone.
They left along with my friends.
No hospital beds for hundreds of miles.
While the stiffs pile up in air-cooled trucks.
It’s my body and I’ll cry if I want to!
Standby if I want to!
Justify if I want to!
You might die too if I come near you!
In global pandemic,
It’s everybody.
You can cry if you want to.
No boundaries parse flesh and blood.
Together, it’s the whole human broth.
Inspired by 1963 pop-rock hit: It’s My Party performed by Leslie Gore and produced by Quincy Jones.
In the Arctic, there are some strange critters
called lemmings, which legend says jump off cliffs.
Their fate's enough to give one the jitters,
imagine finding all those frozen stiffs.
When overcrowding becomes an issue,
it's rumored they all stampede to the sea.
And throw themselves in, but hold the tissue,
for that enduring myth isn't true, you see.
Misconceptions about this small furball
are based on their runs when they get too dense.
They stay home when there's enough food for all,
then run off, as their numbers grow intense.
Madness is not a part of Nature's plan,
that's one contingency; She leaves for Man.
Purple bats and evil cats and strangled ghosts that laugh
jet black cloaks, snickering blokes and witches that gaff
Pumpkin grins, talking garbage bins and all that moves
Halloween rhymes and pentacle signs with evil grooves
Children running from the shadows towards the gallows
skeleton molds on scaffolds, and specters in the shallow
Phantoms and demons, bogey men with haunting looks
talisman, walking totems, demon hags with spell books
Haunted houses, mummy spouses and imps that steal
cemetery moans and groans, stiffs that oink & squeal
BETTER HURRY ON HOME BEFORE YOU BECOME THE NEXT MEAL