Long Strikes Poems
Long Strikes Poems. Below are the most popular long Strikes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strikes poems by poem length and keyword.
(alternately titled:
Pee pee song and dance routine)
Invariably analogous setting
kickstarts schlemiel to agitate
excretory mechanism linkedin,
viz body electric doth actuate
merely upon turning faucet triggers
unstoppable onset to micturate
drinking coffee or caffeinated tea
also functions as diuretic
mimics similar rush'n spate
oh boy... if I hesitate
to whip out trouser snake late...
he himself will humiliate
courtesy warm liquid will trickle
soiling pea green pants
legs knotted together damns fate
against pistol - unleash
expletives post maturely ejaculate
rank odor will permeate
redeeming salvation drek
written by this primate,
which rather lame poem may titillate,
though juvenile words
when thee evaluate
be mindful, cuz no control exists,
hence humorously accentuate
to tap kidney, draining
the lizard, empty bladder all equate
essentially to see man about a horse
private tête-à-tête,
thus no choice exists to alleviate
non voluntary impulse,
no rhyme nor reason unbeknownst to me
why tinkling sound beckons ureic freight
urgent whistle stop won't depreciate
emergency crisis compounded
with sudden necessity to defecate
courtesy lathered soap
or shaving cream, I fulminate
teary eyed burning man sensation
tripping feet blindly groping
oh $*¡† toilet seat down - cant wait
scramble in vain against impending date,
when disaster strikes
flash flood warning issued,
hence I cannot narrate
anymore hanging unto bough
risking life and limb
half a$$ poem I did create.
When life bites and strikes stress deep within,
my escape options will start to spin.
I require an outlet for relief.
A personal lift aids this belief.
Constantly close is my favored vice
for it soothes me and is low in price.
My vice doesn’t manifest paradise,
but soft peace that eases my weary eyes.
Coloring books and pretty crayons
are my way to escape rough ground.
My drawing vice won’t harm my body.
I’ve never colored and felt sorry.
Coloring creates calm so stress flees.
My adored vice is passion that frees.
This vice soothes the child within my heart
and it prods fears to quickly depart.
When I’m not home and must sleep away,
I’ll tote my vice to assist my stay...
At night, my vice sets a snug-sleep stage
if first I color one stiff, strong page.
People used to think I had some special rapport
A MD-PhD explained that I was a slob to the core
He claimed I did not wash, so I exuded Pheromones
Thus attracting females, with 2 X chromosomes.
It's true some ladies saw me as a potential mate
But the consensus was that I was second rate.
I had a wholesome image, and some people gave a cheer.
But familiarity breeds contempt, and rebound breeds a sneer.
I met men and women who gave me a high five
How could I tell them I felt more dead than alive?
I didn't feel their warmth, enthusiasm or a spark.
Thoughts came slow when chatting, slow like an Aardvark.
My advice to guys who want to drag a net
Here is the secret to being a chick magnet
Have your friends spread a rumor that beauty strikes your heart.
Then play hard to get, the challenge does its part.
If that doesn't do the job
You could try plan 'B' and be a slob
That might backfire, but I'm sure you agree
You don't know as much as an MD-PhD.
Last year I told my Mom I was handsome back in '88
She burst out laughing, my ego did deflate
My brothers get along with me when I'm not a pest.
But me as a celebrity would strike them as a jest.
I envy you if warmth and heart are what you feel
But you should keep it grounded; you should keep it real.
The cost of a friendly smile is cheap
But it reflects something warm and strong and deep.
The clouds turn black, a bruised and heavy sky
A sudden gust of wind takes the leaves up high
The animals scurry on as the birds start to fly
The rain starts to patter like a summer in July
A thunder breaks out like a crack of the whip
Lightning strikes close, it makes your heart skip
A flood slowly rises as the ceiling starts to drip
The roof’s about to collapse like a capsizing ship
The winds take turns howling in despair
The lawn decor’s getting tossed up in the air
The rain blows sideways as it cuts and it tears
Mother Nature throws a fit of elemental scares
The warm sun is gone, only gray clouds remain
The silent aftermath leaves only fear and the pain
The effects of a storm that ominously reigned
This tempest leaves its mark like a holy bloodstain
Storm blows wild wind from horizon’s dark recess,
my old sailing boat in the turbulent sea tosses.
Fear says it will sink, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
The new sun will rise, the sea will wear calm attire.
Rain water rushes in the land from sky’s dark face,
my frail house struggles to stand in its place.
Fear says it will fall, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
The rains will stop, water won’t ruin my abode of desire.
Mutated minds threaten to cause menace feral,
frighten to throw me in the vortex of noxious peril.
Fear says I will be wrecked, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
I have reliance on human righteousness as pacifier.
Disabling disease strikes the painful mortal blow,
my body is scared feeling its vulnerability isn’t low.
Fear says I will meet my end, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
I have devout faith in God, He’ll save me from distress dire.
In times of depression the journey’s end seems near,
the light at the end of the dark tunnel is not clear.
Fear says I won’t see it ever, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
Abiding hope will kindle the candle of happiness I’ll acquire.
________________
January 22, 2023
Contest : Fear Is Liar
Sponsored by : Sotto Poet
In the witching hour's eerie embrace,
On All Hallows' Eve, when spirits brace,
I find myself in a darkened wood,
Where whispers of ancient evil stood.
The clock strikes twelve, the night's black heart beats,
A chorus of leaves dance in the streets,
The moon, a ghostly silent watcher,
Hides behind the clouds, the night grower.
A lyric of horror on my lips,
I tread where shadows and dread eclipse,
The path is lost, the world askew,
In this nightmare, what is true?
A figure emerges, draped in black,
A witch, they say, has come to attack,
Her eyes aglow with a hellish fire,
Her presence fuels my deepest ire.
She cackles low, a sound so vile,
It turns my blood to a cold-blooded bile,
She chants in tongues of long-dead tomes,
Her voice weaves through the night like foam.
I'm paralyzed, my breaths shallow,
As she approaches, her silhouette hallows,
Her fingers stretch, reaching for me,
In this witching hour, will I ever be free?
She whispers a curse with a wicked grin,
My soul to ensnare, my will to win,
But I'm no mere mortal to fall to her power,
I summon my strength in this haunted hour.
With a defiant cry, I break her spell,
My will is iron, it does not quell,
I confront the witch in her domain,
And in that moment, I reclaim my brain.
The witch, she fades, her form unspun,
A specter of the night undone,
I stand alone as dawn starts to creep,
The witching hour has had its keep.
So, remember this tale, young souls so bold,
When Halloween comes and the air grows cold,
The witching hour is not for the faint,
Where the line between terror and excitement ain't.
By Phan Tan Hai
The teacher taught: look into mind, no words appear—
in the wordless dawn, sunlight speaks.
Ancients and future ones smile like a dream;
who strikes the bell and steals a character today?
The teacher taught: rings, bracelets, ornaments—
all are one sky of non-duality, pure gold in nature.
To stir the mind of distinction is to drift away
into the vast waves of three realms, six paths.
The teacher taught: a hundred thousand cakes
are but one invisible dough.
Liking and disliking open countless worlds;
seeing the unborn mind is the unborn.
The teacher taught: this world is a play—
today this role, tomorrow another.
Suffering, like the great ocean of waves,
is still one nature of water, never apart.
The teacher taught: impermanence in all worlds—
to see it as real is delusion.
Do not say “is” or “is not”;
in wordless stillness, one does not err.
The teacher taught: emptiness is form—
like a hand turned over, palm to back.
To see nature is to see no self-nature;
hearing the bell, one sees the Dharma.
Asleep in your life, deep in the dream,
When will you wake? It’s not what it seems.
Projecting, accusing, constantly afraid;
Shunning salvation for the tragic dreams you’ve made.
Then, without warning, something occurs,
A glimpse of Reality; but you’re really not sure.
The unnerving disruption in the matrix of your life
Leaves you shaken and stunned, weeping for more.
The Matrix trembles and your world begins to shimmer and shake
The Tower is toppling and all is now lost.
Gone your illusions of grandeur, and dreams that you make.
Now is the time; today is the day to turn again towards the Truth.
It was there all the time, deeply hidden from your view.
Maybe you will yawn and shutter, and yet again you’ll turn away,
But the Soul remembers you are Spirit awakening,
remembering freedom in this way.
In small, mounting moments until again the scale is tipped,
Epiphany strikes at the heart of the dream,
Breaking through narrow cracks where Reality has slipped.
Wake up! Wake up! Open your heart to the Truth:
Your power is boundless,
Your oneness forever complete,
You never left God's glorious side;
Never, in your most insane violent Dreams.
You never felt tears searing pain, never really died!
It’s a dream, a movie, a comedic play.
It’s a lie; an illusion
That can be simply brushed away.
You were never in danger; all remains forever well.
Release your mind right now from this self-created hell.
Asleep in your life, so deep in the Dream,
Wake up! Wake up! It is not what it seems.
“Deep in the Dream” © Chula Fleming 4/1/2024
I dream of blue waters steady under my feet; trouble water comes often.
My feet are planted firmly, I will never cease.
At times I fall to the bottom, only for a while.
Waves strike, one way or the other, never losing my way.
I don't know where the waves will take me; yet home is always in my sight.
I have visions of flying high, high as it takes me.
Belonging to myself, all is left behind.
I know that trouble will not escape me, it's always near.
I stand fixed, a beam of light strikes me; I only feel its strength.
Free, even if I lose my way, I will not be lost.
Oh! What great silence I hear.
Words are not spoken; my soul hears what it hears.
Now, I am awake, but only to dream of blue waters.
Steady under my feet.
When lightning strikes post thunderclap
stout, sturdy, stems do sometimes snap.
Fires are kindled in a flash
turning things we treasure to ash.
From high above mountains and hills
lightning strikes men and maims or kills.
That’s when our gut grim grief doth grip
and chafe our soul as with a whip.
When death like lightning strikes a soul
sorrow and sobbing take their toll.
Mere mortals some their Maker curse
while others Job-like faith do nurse.
When sorrow and strife stalk your soul
let not your mind sink to Sheol.
Look up instead to God above
And let Him heal your heart with love.
The choice you make can build or break
your trust in God, so, stay awake.
Your enemy lurks like a snake
to tempt your God to forsake.
When like just Job your faith is tried
Humble yourself, dispense with pride.
Trust God, and with firm faith abide,
let His promises be your guide.