Long Swills Poems
Long Swills Poems. Below are the most popular long Swills by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swills poems by poem length and keyword.
Growing up in a mining town was great
playing on the coal tips
Coming home black as the firegrate
But everything was dusty from the pits
The black mountains and smoke filled sky
The way of life was different those days
We had no cars to get by
Walking and horses were the transport ways
Sat on my doorstep at 2 o'clock
When day shift march past in song
Heading for the leaky tap pit stop
Where some stay all night long
We'd wait outside to hear the jokes and tales
From scrumpy soaked minds
Get home before darkness falls on Wales
Sharing a bed with two brothers all in line
No technology to deture us from adventures
No television ruling our nights
We had a piano for entertainment pleasure
Mother knitting as the open fire ignites
Sunday's tin bath in the kitchen
Father washed first then my brothers swills
By the time I got my dip in
The cold dirty water gave me chills
We had no bathroom just an outside loo
With newspaper dying your bum cheeks
Winter time was cold and cruel
With frozen windows that always leeked
I often sit and reminisce good times
When life was more simple then
I can always keep in my mind
Given the chance I'd do it all again
Jack O' Lantern jeers through
molten screen
With fiery eyes and a fifth sense
so keen
Masked goblins saunter in shadows
unseen
Wily Jack swills jade folds with
florescent stream
Billowing ghosts in phosphorescent,
satin mantles teem
Stolid Jack bathes in Hoary Frost's
velvety Vanilla Bean
Gaunt Scarecrow from barren field
garnishes Per Diem
While gilded Jack siphons his rich,
mellow meringue
Black-caped witch casts spells
hinterland residual to glean
Domesticated Jack scans hearth
skimming every melancholy dream
Rabid bats swarm o'er stinging
insects with stealthy sheen
Endearing Jack charms fluttering
moths with radiant gleam
Bleary-eyed werewolves' curdling
howls seep through each woody
seam
Spry Jack o'er quilted courtyard
flutters his palling requiem
Creeping ghouls seek spilt warmth
to redeem
Jilting Jack singes their hems with a
boiling steam
In a mire brewed
betwixt puddles of hell and mute dissent
a martyr wades -
weighed down by chains of shame and disdain
alas the thirsting self-absorbed swamp
distills and swills her stewed silence
and swallows the last embers
from her goblet of dreamer’s fire
pursed breaths are pickpocketed by the shallows
in a breathless vertical twist
an escapist is lost in the swirl of a chambered nautilus
distanced and deserted in the dance of descent
stillness belies the waterline’s greed
as a heroine’s salvage is suffocated -
the slick of self-appointed apathy anoints the surface
and a disquieted wind rises to bend the will of reeds
their flutes airing plainsong in forced supplication
yet carelessly cast away like spindrift from broken crests
while storm clouds blindfold wide-eyed skies
stifling any play of sun on water
Susan Ashley
May 1, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Spiral
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Bored of deplored
Hordes of frauds
On abhorred company boards
Who applaud flawed
Seats stored…for cheats
Apply or buy on the fly
Enjoy till they die
Getting podgy..betting on dodgy bills
Thrills of blue pills
Moolah the ruler
Swills..fills the tills
Cash revenues poured
Toured here &
Did maraud abroad
All avenues explored
Scored a stash
Claps & back slaps
Promises will slash
Countries floored collapse
Nice one chaps
Ice caps thawed
Adored share price soared
Lust for boom & bust
Must lobby..trust us
Just a hobby jobby
Cigars smoked…booze soaked
Full to the gunnels
With coke choked
Vasal nasal funnels
Despite our fears and nadirs
For years on the fiddle
Peers sneers & jeers
Snaking beast will feast
Diddle..taking the piddle
Not least the riddle
Forgot forsaking the priest
Not reeling…Lords’ laughter
Cheers to Keir again
Feeling calmer after
Starmer’s dafter karma
Who’s forgotten it’s rotten
Even show pony Tony
Did more to stop
Crony phoney baloney
Our hopes on the ropes
Need a disdain campaign
Tropes to end
Champagne reign of gain
This inane arcane
Insane gravy train
Someday I'd like to wander free
like butterfly, like bumblebee,
perhaps to plant a willow tree
beside the silent solemn sea,
before these things exist no more,
from mountain top to shifting shore,
when, soon, bald eagles cease to soar
and build their aeries nevermore,
and fish forsake polluted streams
(where sulfur swims and typhoid teems
since no one really cares it seems)
to die inside our toxic dreams
while ice caps melt and winter steams,
and all the air surrounding reeks
as children choke, for no one speaks
of fracking wells or oily leaks
(Big Brother's silenced all critiques!),
and rancid rains acidify
so woods no longer multiply
(for God so wills, we can't deny,
which is, of course, our alibi).
And as the deepest ocean fills
with plastic bags, and garbage spills
upon the plains, across the hills
and turns to poison dust that kills
wild dingo dogs and daffodils
which sink in swamps’ forsaken swills,
the mocking bird makes light and trills
(midst waning wails of whippoorwills)
"Behold the surreal scene that chills
and greet the dread that death distills!
You've had your day with all the frills
that brought the flood and final ills
that can't be cured with bitter pills
nor yet undone with further thrills
of profit gained that grinds and fills
dead desert sands with dollar bills."
EPILOGUE
Though swaddled still in infancy,
we feel we’ve reached our primacy
(aloof, though preaching piously,
disdaining deeds of decency)
and have no need of augury.
But in the pit of prophecy
the crucial questions seem to be:
“Is doom Earth’s fate, our destiny
to twist in tides of agony
destroying nature’s progeny
with no return a certainty
assured by death’s finality?”
and
”Should we plant a willow tree
to someday weep for you and me?”
As I have wondered through the halls of old,
the minds of famous scribes in academia
had made me fearless, oft carelessly bold
when Mind betrayed lexical anaemia.
Soon baying at the Moon as it weeps,
a different view, depending on aspect.
The wisdom I crave inexorably seeps,
but seldom culminates into respect.
The misprision's become my badge of honour
as hyperbole swills in lexicon o’ Man.
Long years of uninformed populous dour
with magniloquent thinking that poetry can.
Yet I contemplate books in warehouse—
dyslexia transformed it into ‘wh…house’—
endless mirth that others could never douse.
Boundary rope trope it's the hope that kills
Fatality of the banality of all Bazball’s frills
Hilarity of baggie greens nationwide thrills
Beer swills spills hosts dreams full to the gills
Totality of the brutality still gives me the chills
Stokes not chipper has to swallow a bitter pill
Can't fallow our ripper skipper’s skill & iron will
Our leader will wallow in the shrill media mill
His men shi*ter…hollow can't follow Ben's drill
Callow not brill..of shallow Bazball had our fill
Hallow the Wizards of Oz are still top of the bill
The country alive cheering let's go in for the kill
Begin fearing the din of sneering & jeering 5 nil
Rising red Sun ball of fire
gleaming reddish reflection
a crown of two avalanches
sends tender smiling beams
Beautiful adoration
cherishing the Nature most
swills the dark cloud by melting
gives soft pleasure at dawn
Contest name-Red Sun
Date of writing: 26/06/2013
I'll write of things lamentable like poor shipwrecked loves,
Tempest-tossed by bestial winds behind unfeeling storms;
Ripped apart by the furious middles of swift-gusting winds,
Voyaging to dream-born shores away from boring homes.
I'll tell of the Fate-shattered dreams of earth's surest bet.
Painting how those naive shoots untimely waterloos met,
Leaving tender footprints new on antiquity's fierce sands;
Blossoming stars offed by hard luck's experienced hands.
My verse will endeavor to weave history's accurate tales.
Parodying villainy within quiet complacency's stronghold,
Shaming eccentricities in black nooks by raw truth untold;
Inking sagest anecdotes that any finessed raconteur hails.
Of first-hand swills or soured affectations I will not write.
For the self-loving bard’s quill falters from black to white,
As he relives a narcissist's replica of alleged first-felt lots,
And his best tropes mimic mere ego-embellished reports.
I leave it to unaffected pens immune to self-patting twists,
To write of this modest scribe's little turns and weird gists.
Stark emptiness fills my perfume bottle,
The vacuum in my vacuity,
Negligence swills it beyond the dottle,
To leave my mind bare of acuity.
For many days its void of content speaks,
But its endurance keeps my freshness plump,
Compliments make its vast emptiness squeaks,
Yet it exhales resentment from its pump.
My shirts already miss its friendliness,
Noses beg to sniff its unique sweetness,
Stale air asks to reclaim lost cleanliness,
Its presence ensures far-reaching neatness.
Importance is etched upon your label,
How I so much miss your fresh aroma,
Your sweet tale cannot be told as fable,
The freshness you bring can't end in coma.