Long Tawdry Poems
Long Tawdry Poems. Below are the most popular long Tawdry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tawdry poems by poem length and keyword.
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating penile quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
***************************
All throughout history of man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
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Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, raping
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
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Twenty first century *****Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, molest outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
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Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the sexual thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, ********, indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth x-rated animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
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The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male sex mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid tawdry unwanted villainous withering zeal!
An evanescent bouquet of skewed briars,
is how a tinsel laden tawdry essence wickedly unfolds ,
scuppered signpost to a fetid human compost,
faint light pendant on soul crushed quantum migrant,
who might chortle at vivid veil flimsy vacuum,
skirt recklessly around bogus symbols,
peer behind the squalid limp sodden hedge,
mock myopic moribund mist upon boundary busting dawn chimera,
sneer at synthetic spectrum elastic in its irritating tidal wave surfeit,
cerulean fabric‘s milky way escape plot,
in a perilous quest for that eternal tape loop mantra,
the synaptic heart of that vainglorious horizon,
self-knowledge under charcoal moon and silver cloud veneer,
or feral waste rapid fire contagion,
the indecisive day glow dither on the margins ,
of fly weight feeble frantic dash,
that velvet shadow treason daubed pettifog,
known as tangential wanton cobweb fester creed,
the mind a bloated ripple vortex numbing in its scope,
golden mirage but faux fur real concoction,
against the banal backdrop of complex-ridden superficial eddy,
from floral garland poseur stricken en train,
some vox pop indignation mere shrinking violet showcase waver,
the gleam-hued truth has this dastardly demonic derailment,
that I brush aside as spiteful oxalic sting repost,
that deceptive mint green forest of chameleon cant,
sly nuanced molten maple syrup hint,
from out of kilter tree pierce otherworld,
unseen yet bliss-edged virtual garden of firm conviction,
not just from isolated enigmatic individual script,
such as torrid turbulence or mindless scattered rim shot,
when conventions can be altered in exotic prose,
human zeitgeist has this far too often penchant,
for silkworm rapt effervescent double speak,
whilst plain unvarnished uplifting utterance,
resides within the deep crystal spring well,
of us torch aloft emerald earthling sages,
please augment the rock buttress stark phrase,
whose bluntness is a carrier pigeon of candor,
devoid of muted gray cloud blind waffle,
aromatic sprig to giant spasm of bold pluck,
quandary of human race at hearth,
frightened cliques, hidebound yes men who yen,
to swim the azure gulf of august freedom,
to the Eden where lucid tongues herald pristine witness.
where values at the centre of our being should blossom
I believe that poetry is and of is was were have has been of as one pretenses a
poetic practical pompous, pro (p) ransomedramatical postenses
pretending to prose promise a
predictive premise primatory practicum politicallty
polishing practcoriam process of primary
preliminary postures pragmatic promulgates
telling the ta ta tumultuous tillo tales of tawdry
banal blog lists calling me to quali-quantify the reso-resolutes
resounding in resilient quo quotients that bear a
breach bridgeborn badge billed
barometer bearing broad billboard
catatonic catashrospies creating caustic crill
coffinistic coiffures canonizing
socio unsettling leo linguistic lies in a somewhat
lovevoid livid liquiditoria regal
ransom based regalia resonating
rawbone residual retinal real time
tombosoties transitioning with
toying transient trio tide tooth
crass cavity craino creep mandibulo master mildew
mold molecular mamsy-pamsy sillopsuedo master of
ever me present I , me , mine, maestro
sitting back and looking at the world as a place to be
not to be, hope to be, wish to be, be to be, in the
proper primer of humino yesnomenclatureculture of that which is u
me us our belief sem radical of our prim-ordeal sociodiscontentselfevident
irrelevant mean fullness, to countercure our quick/quack quotient
umbrella upbringing to say do write feel text tank athink
all that is emo exit everpresent to keep the fecal faces free of
founding father status inquo man although time is time in place.
Mindfulness is a mute place ill unattended by sociocrap everlasting.
Treasure travel inviting innate needs netherly nodding to the primo positive
practitudes of acoustic ancillary annotated awareness, allowing all annuities
ancient archaic to willfully wind wind waveringly wish away intrinsic id-ideas.
It it is what u want it it to be, say, scroll, live, plural, self to self. Use it, lose it,
share it, beware it, con-cure it, it. Know it it's criminal capitol is wary for before
u know it it, life it before it its u, and will its it and
ego ale all eek out the precious profit of its itdom idiocracy illusionary in its
illogical inness so mad made as not to gravely gravitate ungracious griefs
upon your its it.
scary huh. Karma it, Big Daddy.
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
I really have outdone myself this time!
My ‘God Machine’ is finally in place!
I’ll never have to fret about a rhyme,
Or stop for a red light that changed from green
As if it sought to put me in my place
A random hiccup clearly quite obscene.
I really am quite clever I must say
My ‘subtle knife’ (1) allowing me to splice
My ‘God Machine’ into time’s tawdry day
The true God left completely unaware
That He is now controlled by my device
And just another victim of malware.
It seems there’s quite a lot that ‘God’ screwed up
That I intend to change now I’m in charge
I think that its bad form to cover-up!
So what’s the deal with dying anyway?
Let no one die will be my countercharge
And life is just a breeze on my freeway!
All pain mere nuisance, manna heaven sent
And sin gives you enormous facial zits
While love and kindness clear up all your rent.
Though talents differ, jealousies dissolve
As differences bring none real benefits
And non-destructive social moves evolve.
All birth defects, parental wealth passé
Genetic weakness gone with dodo bird
No accident of birth gives worth per se
Sins of the parent cannot taint the child
That God might favor one is just absurd
The color of one’s skin no more reviled.
But now I find my plans have gone awry
My God Machine decided I’m a flaw
It seems that I’m outdated samurai
Humanity endangering MY plan
Just plankton in the future’s yawning maw
Machine judged only advocate for man! (2)
Brian Johnston
November 5, 2014
Poet's Notes:
(1) subtle knife - A reference to a magical knife that can open windows in time in one of the 3 books in the Phillip Pullman trilogy 'His Dark Materials' including The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
(2) My poetic version of the lesson of the book and movie 2001 (written by Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke) where HAL, a computer so smart that it becomes sentient, decides that that only way to really protect a manned mission of a spaceship to the planet Jupiter is to kill all the humans on board the spaceship. The crew's humanity HAL decides is just too big a risk to the mission that HAL is charged (by its human programmers) to protect.
Advent
by
Rick Folker
December, 2017
"... you know the time; it is the hour now for you to awake ... the night is advanced, the day is at hand. Let us throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light." Rom. 13:11-13
The light this December
seems somehow, somewhat
dissipated and weak.
It struggles to shine, to show forth
a joyous, hopeful season, fulsome with
nervous anticipation of a new birth - A Savior!
In awe and wonder we hear of of this 'annointed one'
who cries in his crib;
in a ghetto or a flavella with other outcasts, other suffering servants.
He is offering comfort, care, and consolation
for those still strong enough to seek, to survive,
and maybe even to thrive?
Yet; this humble, hopeful birth is over-shadowed
by a fog of fear,
a paralyzing despair
of a people clinging to old tired myths
and lies re-told, re-learned, renewed
once the season is past and our hope
is kicked to the curb with the old tree
and the tawdry tinsel trash.
We seem to shrink from this fading, weak light
in December so that we might remain
in a shadow world of un-checked shame, hidden traumas,
and night stalking terrors, whilst continuing to blame blame blame
all the while avoiding the healing that must be exposed
to the new day; that requires us to be awake.
So tired of it all, yet we remain in our addiction
to the game, and impatient for the promised morn
when the Savior promised he would come again
we retreat to the safety of sleep and vow to ignore
the stark, post-nativity demands of that sweet
Savior newborn.
However...
I choose, this December
to embrace the fading, waning, weak light
and embrace my frightened shadow self
and expose it to the healing light
I will awake and blindly feel my way up from the
cave of darkness, that fetid stench of fear,
and put an end to that long, lonely night
Then with a tremulous, yet confident voice
I will sing boldly with my
fellow wounded pilgrims:
Silent night
Holy night
The hopes and fears
Of all the years
Are met in thee tonight
From his mother’s womb
One February afternoon
and straight to the Situation Room
Hunter Biden, we presume.
His father, with his thoughtless clauses and pauses,
Captured the most prestigious of offices.
And angry was the Republican caucus.
The Donald, he got jaundiced.
And vowed revenge on those Commie leftists.
So he rang Roger Stone
On the secret Bat Phone
I need you Dirty Trickster
For I alone am the true victor.
Be at Trump Tower, one hour.
Bring Nydia for Cuban firepower.
Stone rubbed his cock so mammoth
Grabbed his chalk stripe jacket
And went to save the planet.
Then magically, Sean Hannity
Had the audacity
To reveal our tragedy
(Reader, it’s tawdry)
The hero of our story
Had been groomed
On a silver crack spoon.
Alas!
Hunter made history
Because it was no mystery
Whose crackpipe it was
atop the White House
Christmas tree.
And who has the balls
To roam the West Wing halls
And drop a bag of blow
On that bust of Ol’ Frank Delano?
It wasn't his brother Beau.
Such is your brilliance
And your inheritance
The executive residence
Imagine!
The wonders you could do
From that trap house
on Pennsylvania Avenue
Maybe even replace Congress
with a petting zoo!
You get high
in polite society
No need for an apology
It's just pharmacology
In Hunter, we trust
the future off democracy
His cabinet? A veritably talent agency
Vice president Jay Z
Willie Nelson in charge
of drug policy;
Keith Richards
head of social security
(for all eternity)
Charlie Sheen secretary
of the Treasury
and Lindsey Lohan
your expert
on foreign policy.
Maybe, destroy
North Korea
in a bout of paranoia
But please keep
your stem in your pocket
don't let it fall on the carpet
During the State of the Union
Try not to piss on
the constitution.
Crackheads everywhere
take some pride
In our man on the inside
He’s from our tribe
sure he'll take a bribe
his brain is totally fried.
From one crackhead to another,
We love you Hunter!
(“Pandora’s Box”, 2014, original pen and ink and oil)
Pandora’s Box
I don’t know who she was,
What she did or how she did it,
And maybe as the first it was sublime
Or maybe she was just another woman
With the kind of perfect snatch
To launch a thousand ships
On a sea of broken hearts,
But Pandora certainly left her mark, even today,
A stain across the whole of the Western world
The syphilization we’re all now born into and with
The miasm of her primordial STD
At our culture’s core.
And so it flows,
A not so mythic etheric ooze
Tainting hearts and minds
Of old and young alike,
Making the age of innocence
An ever more fleeting thing
Turning daydreams into nightmares
Corrupting youth upon their backs
In sagging decrepit elder’s sacks.
Ah, but there was a time
When the light shone bright and clear
And children laughed
Without a care
Before Father Time had his way
With Mother Earth
And the world turned
Into one long tawdry daytime soap,
With coked up stars
Too self-obsessed to even know or care
To what degree the schlock they sold
Was even worth the dime they’d all just shared.
Lost like this, removed from their roots
The players played
At the same old game
With the same old lines
Recalling Pandora only in their deepest dream
When from within the stench
The faint fresh breath of morning dew
Touched their petals fair
And in that moment glimpsed,
The soft perspicuous light
Before the dawn did shine
On Pandora at our core, demure and sweet,
Before her box
Was ever known
To any but her own.
And so it goes
In cycles great and small
The mind enthralled by all that can
And could ever be,
Returns unto the source
To sit and smile and rest awhile
With Pandora before she even knew the name
Let alone the power she possessed
And all it would unfold
Back before she was a she
When Pan was all we knew
Of love and life, in dance and play
Just simply being free.
(7/19/25)
Am I fitful,
fluctuating, fluid?
thin compass waver
as I jubilantly weave
lilac tree vignettes
that weep or chortle,
rainbow figment curtain
rashly wished upon
in grain smudge zephyr
garnet sand raw vehicle
garden common opal
transit sidestep
to a multiverse
of sappy fruit drip
net bag of niche
mauve rim canopy
a gilt ring culprit’s
flashpoint conjure
stirring taxi cabs
of lavish spurt
woolgathering
a gold rush stray
footslog must
have steel encased.
undulating folds
entangled nomad feint
dwarf yellow scorcher
firmament fatality
dash for straw hut
casita or elm
wood cabin where
advertence on
turnpikes, trails,
woven tracks lead
trajectory abuts
plod along dry path
dust bowl swirling as
they spurn allotments
meek enshrouded lull
with unalloyed poise
to jettison narcolepsy
brief embargo on
spiral plumule
when one’s physique
has many harrowing
gasps, taut breath
that intrinsic quest
for glistening cascade
seems an urgent
void, crushing
diapason rudderless
mahatma clement at
Arcadias nascent
totem of egress
yet charismatic
terminal flag
as this sentient
hypothesiser on
emerald tint bract
beneath hiking boot
unflinching
wild clasp at
beanpole verges
riven from
shade burst cockcrow
lure an impetus
to meandered pretext
primeval boon-docks
whilst tranquil flit
discommoding tawdry
pitch or tilt
gaunt endowment
I must brood on
surreal moiety
of cerebral aspect
squandered
rude reckoning aside
lapse into sullen
vacuum found across
a link whose blind
velvet crush lingers
query later doused
in vapour whirl gush
inkling thin veneer
sheeny beadlet
brow sapped
nod and falter
to a childhood turf
shelter for the limb
victim of grinding
marathon on marathon
to relish glow hue noons
hermetically abeyant
sempiternal eves
avenue to wanderer
fatigued yet still
in broad pursuit
of deep quiddity
Suddenly over the sudden years
I have felt an encumbrance; I sense an albatross -
the weight of sundry uncharted days.
Times I chronicle today as if I were a wax cylinder
or a broken spool in a cassette tape.
A gray goose wing flight is my personal sky.
I must write 'personal sky’ ten times a day
so that the abated will not be forgotten,
yet how to keep a dull sky fresh
when the days are so metallically shiny and blue?
How to recall those monochrome stories
we once told our fully colored-in children,
for they have grown far beyond
such unchanging horizons.
I have so little time, yet must set down
the legend of little boy gray,
his story has almost passed away,
now eyes have no corners to see around,
I knew him well, alas the roads to that tale
are backhoed by cartoon rainbows.
The bygone calls me out into the dinge and drizzle
where a lineage of dog turds leads the nose
to a yesteryear. a knuckle end of time it was,
free from the wow and weight of newness.
We lived under our own cloud cover,
Poetic meadowlarks meant something once,
but now look at them, they strut like gawdy roosters
over our gray-worn journals.
Times past cannot be cured, they are far gone,
all is hump-backed like a speed bump.
Wordsworth and his damn sunny daffodils -
as if we did not know already.
A long moment ago history ran through open fingers
as ungainly as any grayling gosling.
A flint faced sky was abuzz with love, war
and a brawny heraldic Kevlar,
It was understood that the compassion
of the ordinary is to drain away
any hint of an uncertain tint or hue.
I unshoulder now this burden of tawdry things,
shed this molting, wingless, emblematic Auk,
and for one last page of time
record all the trappings
of the then and thereupon,
dumping them most irreverently
into a vividly golden
ash can.