Long Strategy Poems
Long Strategy Poems. Below are the most popular long Strategy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strategy poems by poem length and keyword.
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She asked for all the vowels. People always do. But hymn is the hardest hangman word. It was lovely though, she drew the last leg of her stick figure with a smile on her face. She squeezed my hand like she always does and said, “You’re so good at games. I can never get yours right! Guess mine now!”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I tried R first–no luck. S–she drew an oblong head on a stick body. T–the first arm comes out. I go for the vowel–O
_ _ O _ _ _ O _
“I love you?”
“I love you too!” She laughed. “I’m making tea, do you want some? You’re so good at games.”
As she walks her lithe, barefoot steps to the kettle I rethink my strategy.
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If she keeps guessing vowels, there’s no way she can’t guess Audio.
making up for years of lack,
unable to speak,,the heart held back,
oh, how it looks so selfish and absorbed,
as if seeking attention, the heart wants to love more,
unexplained, you just do as i say,
as if losing the freedom to speak, a voice at bay,
"simon says" was a cruel game to be played,
it stunted my growth as if i couldn't understand the directions he gave,
so here i stood, always striking out first,
to stand to the side, to watch and observe,
and it wasn't so bad to just watch and see,
because next time i just told the better player some strategy,
i wasn't on my tippie toes to wanna jump back in the game,
so then i started to strike out on purpose, ide rather help motivate the game,
sure enough, simons game got old,
there was a new game in town, "Twister" unfolds,
highly motivated, my favorite game!,
Parker Brothers,,i commend you!! you got the right aim!!! ;)
look at those pure black flame
silently flirting with the intangible air
swinging around the ear
as if they were making her lips the aim
and there it falls again
a free feather dancing in air
and i asked myself
again and again,
am i worthy to make her my mate.
and she takes another step
and her eyes looked upon me
a one time feeling
though it occurred many times with me
ho! those flickering eyes, purely reflected me
telling me again and again
your not supposed to know how i feel?
her eyebrows fell down pampering the lower lid
protected by the bordered rune
with color of a night without the moon
and i asked my self again and again
am i worthy enough to make her my mate
i tried to reach near her
but, bloody shy of mine stopped me
thinking about possibilities before entering the battlefield
was the only good strategy
suddenly
a man with a utmost grace
countered me,
i bought my scowl look, as his shoulder touched my cheek
but it started to contract, as he was a gentlemen
whom, i was not worthy to speak
but my heart dropped, when i realized
his path was towards the rose, whom i seen
and i said to my self again and again
i am not worthy to make her my mate
They split the land, but not the pulse.
Roots remember what maps forget.
Every severed line still hums
with breath, with blood, with return.
They drew the map with ash and absence—
not to guide, but to erase.
Districts split like broken ribs,
each line a scalpel,
each vote a ghost.
We watched the ink dry on democracy’s skin,
while they called it strategy.
But we know the truth:
this is not representation.
It is redaction.
They called it strategy,
but we saw the autopsy.
Each district dissected,
each breath rerouted.
We do not consent to silence.
We are the roots beneath the fracture,
the pulse that refuses to be redacted.
We rise, not from permission—
but from memory.
Let the Cuba flourish with
The prosperity
Let Venezuela thrive
So the many vehicles
Citizens will drive
Driving license they posess
And the working permit
In the history of world
Who was main the hermit
I withdraw from social life
But I ain't the Amish
Simply I would like to write
And this is kinda Armish
Let security of Arctic
Well established be
Let the countries of the Baltic
Be from tariffs free
Let the Ice of Glaciers melt
Peguins of Denmark
Let wildfire appear ceased
At the first of spark
Let Panama Channel traffic
Useful and required goods
Let the women be all pretty
Manly normal fools
Let the electronic voting
Quickly to produce results
Let the many many fingers
Press the Keyboards ALTs
Let convert carat to meter
Foot to gallon let convert
This is distance we do measure
Enquiring our Fort
Let loose diginity and respect
Eaten I the rice today
Disregards of how I am genius
Nice to have
At least somebody
Who will give you A
ARMADA means that in Romanian language I know few words ARMY ARMATA
breeding ARMADAwithARMATA we have DATA or DT
right?
I ain't no one apt for peace
The war still runs its function
I want you narcotics cease
Dragon is the Banshee
SO explain to stupid people
Strategy of yours
In reality of real
There's no remorse
Power never disappears.
It only changes hands.
A new world is born.
Not with applause,
but with consequence.
The West ruled by division.
By naming itself first.
And others expendable.
Empires are not destroyed by enemies.
They collapse
from excess.
You governed by fear.
By debt.
By controlled hunger.
And called it order.
You mistook dominance
for permanence.
But power respects
only balance.
Those you weakened
learned your methods.
Those you humiliated
studied your system.
What was taught in cruelty
returns as strategy.
An unjust world
cannot remain stable.
It must fracture.
A single throne
invites rebellion.
Shared power
creates restraint.
The wise ruler knows:
It is safer to be balanced
than to be absolute.
This age demands equilibrium.
Not saviors.
Not masters.
For when power ignores justice,
justice eventually
replaces power.
The future will not kneel.
It will negotiate.
Proverbs 16:31 (KJV) The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.
Our time has come to know the grief,
Of losing friends, losing those things – we held onto,
The past, the last hopes, the quiet assurance…
That our time is still in the present, today,
Echoing like silent shadows, abiding…
Youth and dreams, simple plans to continue,
With every strategy, each idea, those many proposals,
Plans the remind us we’re still here, yes – we’re here,
Living those moments, those precious gifts,
From the One who created us to live life, to give
With open hearts, open smiles, open light…
Reflecting the music of His wonderful grace.
Our time has come to know the heartache,
Of our dying pasts, our dying dreams, our dying families,
The ones who linger inside our memories,
Shyly melting away our darkest fears, restoring our faith,
And stirring thoughts of heartfelt beautiful, blessings
Found in the souls of those who believe,
In everlasting joy, everlasting peace, everlasting
In the arms of Jesus’ amazing light, His kindness
Stilling all our darkest storms, quieting despairing hearts.
Our time has come to know the meaning of life – it is…
Shining in the twinkle of a child’s eyes, melting the snowflake,
With a tender touch, inviting the laughter who frees the soul,
To whisper light through the moments of faith, the moments,
Praising the One who lives in the light, never fading – never evading,
He is always, forever, eternal, gifting our hearts with His spirit,
The One who comforts and sings joy to the melody,
Of light, softly flowing, silencing the shadows and remembering,
Even in the worst grief, His beauty sings of peace – His love
Wipes away the need to mourn without relief…
He is the One who inspires me to see through the silence,
The breaking of a heart – into the spirit of His love,
Where there is a beautiful beyond my own hopes, beautiful –
That comes alive in the soul who feels His spirit, His holiness…
Fulfilling, endlessly giving grace that believes – He is alive,
And He is ever with me – He won’t ever leave if you’ll just believe!
Yes. He is everything to me!
The Queen's henchmen penetrate professionally the porous perimeter,
as a Phyrric victory I pacified your Lady's legion,
for both in the open,like charriots missing riders,decentralized command,the measure,
I, like you maneuver behind the superior shelter of Praetorian's protection,
Levy the lurid seige upon my country's citadel as incensed infidels do,
your cantankerous catapaults wasting pawns like pebbles punched by a storming sea,
an officer sacraficed sardonically, intrepidly,
so to decimate the dormant foots encumbering you,
audacious as an angered asp the timely tactic was,will it hasten your demise to me?
Mandatory machinations amongst this moonlight morass,palpable being Death's caress,
a zephyer like a frosty scythe grazes gingerly our anxious eyes,
tethering the still strategy of mens' mentation,
advancing positions predicted but unproven, an apocolyptic inevitability provoked,
fostering inclement suspense,
justice is now beyond principle,virtue survives only on victor's blade,
incantations made in fire for fear's sublimation,
The common denominator of this prommenade of predation is relentless domination,
manipulating the opposition,perception taunted and haunted
as the fox dictates the chimerical chase,
a vermillion heartbeat,virulent,lucious,with a thin hum of vincibility
lures you to na spot of fragile dominion,
divided forces tend to scream like burning forest
when ambushed along trails of a tedious pace,
When the harp chords chortle tears of tucker from a skulless head,recall with dire dignity
that you were vanquished in strong purpose,
the memory of your egregious exploits will depend on the degree of quater
afforded by my soveriegnty
given to this proud harem of prospective sybils
rescued by a king's necessary nemesis,
J.A.B. - Part Three -
The search
The Focus
The game
Strategy
Encounter
Ammunition ready
Enemy sight
Preparing attack
Torpedo hits target being the enemy
The enemy must submerge
Spotting the challenger on radar
The enemy has some damage, they won’t get far
The enemy attempts to fire their torpedo but misses the challenger
The challenger scores big
While the enemy trying to be hid
Radar discovers from the challenger being the enemy
Challenger fires their torpedo at the enemy
Ever so close
Suddenly the enemy’s submarine blew to bits
The challenger winning the score of 100
The enemy loses to Zero
Play station aim
Precision of the game
Victorious win.
Walls protect you as you move,
I’ve built them too high to scour.
Leading with survival instinct
demands the thickest of skin.
Flattened ears always on guard
lowering my gaze won’t happen.
Open range feels like freedom
without risking vulnerable parts.
Envious of those built to shield
rare are those called sheepdogs.
Wild doesn’t mean being obvious,
a quiet strategy is what it takes.
Labeled by image not by action
lacerates straight through reality.
Feral flourishes inside of silence
leaving chaos to bloom and grow.
On the run when I’m standing still,
what else did you expect from me?
Energy must eventually be expelled,
rather than remain inside to fester.