Long Tet Poems
Long Tet Poems. Below are the most popular long Tet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tet poems by poem length and keyword.
DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet, a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans rape
pay shuss selfish lust, when world sliding down behavioral sink,
where he doth jape
and me as distant outlier from madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the sheer inanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod -- seize whore viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
turns a third blind eye speeds away in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy, how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ass
vacuumed majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi, and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face s as his smart pet
bump ping uglies henchmen set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup bawling ashen faced deportees
whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone
fingers to the bone vainly, their american dream parched whence whet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Long story short - pondering my rental circumstance will equal net
zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic, narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three - via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting pot - with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman or Sabrina can oust him yet!
Disappointed Devil - Hood Das Fume And Fret
'Curse darned demon
of that thar
underworld nudged me abet
as a permanent solution
to a temporary problem
i.e. principally no money
and rising debt
not for a long time didst
I feel so distressed didst,
where no amount of
optimism could get
back joie de vivre ebullient elan,
that oft times fines me jet
ting hither and yon, to and fro,
until spent energy met
fatigue, whence sand
man gave his pet
tickle yore sleep inducing
sprinkling granular set
tat heave, albeit
non off fence sieve tet
deep slumber didst
hone like a whet
stone, less drastic alternative versus
welcoming grim reaper, yet
eventually, aye reckon
this human machine
moost give up the ghost
boot not now,
cuz this moment hike ken boast...,
an immediate diminution
of anguish, viz unlike as told
yesterday, the monthly doled
social security automatic direct
electronic deposit extolled
joyus relief, viz checking account
death rattle didst sense a gold
din shimmer and em bold
qua slight monetary profusion
lowering destitution,
asper dearth of monies
allowing ease to un fold,
which severe dire straits rolled
forward respite
with money for nothing
oppressive full (rick kitty)
full Nelson neck
i.e. near choke hold
rejuvenated brittle psyche mold
during self feeling auld
also attendant temp
purred critical pull
away woe decreased yielding
(all "talk" and no action),
following thru with desperate,
sans destructive (irreversible)
actions unable to hold,
metaphorical tiger of despair
by the figurative tail,
where soul of mine
almost got "sold"
for a pittance (NOT penitence)
to the Prada devil
(or similar facsimile thereof)
rational self didst scold
spewing idle "FAKE"
hollw we ning suicidal threats,
not necessarily bold
cuz, this scribe did not write
his last (nor first,
second, third...) will
and testament before death,
would hove found
me stiff and cold.
It seems
on the roads net
between you and me
i know every stone, mark and feature
talking with them tet-a-tet
about you, my dear friend.
So often and so long
i run to you
in my dreams,
plans, fantasia
and others spiritual and physical
adventures.
But i am very rarely
could shortened distances
separated us.
In the last night so pity
i am awoke somewhere
in the mountain of Sistans
where our plane urgently landed
i don’t know for which reason,
in previous dream
i am journeyed within the filled bus
in company of our bearded pilgrims
going from Central Asia to Mecca,
so I planned to reach Saudi Arabia
and going through it, Red Sea and Indian ocean
make a great leap toward the Philippines.
Need to say
I almost reached my aim
but at last moment
lost myself somewhere
among thousand isles
slip away from boarding fishing boat
close to your town and home.
Sometime and somewhere
i stopped my trip
between Tabriz and Ispagan,
temted by shrine of Omar Hayam,
between Osh and Kokand,
looking for temple of Kudoyar Khan
between Cuala-Lunpur and Singapore,
trapped by memory of Lee Quan,
sometimes my way declined by Chinas Hainan
sometimes by Indian Taje-Mahal.
One time I am so strongly accelerated
into the war jet
with my desire and love,
that were flayed over
your green archipelago
toward the North pole.
It’s happened i am flied with swallows
to the south latitudes
migrated with heavy eagles,
and even flying with extinct
prehistoric giants pterosaurs
in the deep warm nights.
I learned exactly
the flying theory and practice.
Really I have right for title as one
who was born to hunt you.
But my problem is that
you are unreachable huntress,
as clearly witnessed you name
so i am doomed to search you
from the ancient beginning
till the end of the World and Time,
o my love from Philippines
With every creature and moving
currents, drifts and tendencies
existed or existing between us,
that is seem mine
truly nature and transcendence
going to you, my dream and excellence.
I’m in Berlin. It’s nineteen eighty-four,
The Army on the Rhine, and I’m a nurse.
I’ve got an ego like an exocet,
(it’s safe enough, if regularly flattered),
and I have had enough of NAAFI-lore.
Four Powers – us, Froggie, Yank and Soviet –
have brought down on ourselves an endless curse:
we dance a careful monthly minuet
whose point is to uphold a badly-battered
self-image. Think of Tet – Lest We Forget!
A Captain of the Royal Medical Corps
(as sexy as a Wootton Bassett hearse)
Says, “Kathy, we’ve a mission for you, pet,”
(I got the feeling I was being Sepp Blattered).
She says, “We’ve carved you out a special chore.”
“We’ve got one inmate who’s a tad upset,
And you, we think, can put him in reverse ...”
The drill went on outside. Each pirouette
was polished like a boot. As if it mattered!
“Democracy will long be in your debt.”
As Häftling Hess held back the spring-hinged door,
his manner was teutonically terse.
I was the only woman that he’d met
in forty years. His chessmen were all scattered.
A single sock lay supine on the floor.
“So masculine, this space, I must regret,”
(all Germans, speaking English, think it’s verse),
“If I would say ‘bekom’, may I use ‘get’?”
He kept his overcoat on as we nattered.
I wore my civvies – Pringle puce twin-set.
He told me that my chess was very poor
(if anything, the practice made me worse:
but I won the NAAFI Cup that year, no sweat!)
His sense of self was ruinously shattered –
meticulous, but crap at keeping score!
I owe that man some sort of spiritual debt
(the kind of due you never reimburse),
that coelacanth in Spandau’s gloomy net,
his only greatcoat permanently spattered
with garden filth (and permanently wet!)
Whenever I think back on what he wore,
in my imagination I rehearse
short back and sides, the top still black as jet,
that turtle head, so wizened and so battered,
and I am not now what I was before.
It is so difficult to write about one's beliefs,
On the Freedoms and Liberty we have.
Throughout our history events are replete,
Of the ones who have died, our Freedoms to save.
I go back in time when I look at our past,
And wonder if our children will see.
The pain and strife born in Freedom's birth,
And the lives that have been sacrificed for Liberty.
The Revolution started all the fuss,
When King George wanted his taxes.
It got us the Freedom we used for all,
And lives to this day when we talk of the "Evil of Axis".
We've had to fight as a people united,
By cause, or strife, or enemy attack.
From 1812 to Afghanistan,
For Freedom and Liberty to stay on track.
There have been too many wars,
And battles in name have never been few.
Like Chateau Thierry, Iwo Jima, and even Tet,
Where our countrymen have paid their dues.
We have had the plights of other concerns,
That many around the world don't construe,
As a helping hand to all of them,
Except when they need us to.
Some say "Why send an Aircraft Carrier to a blighted zone,
Where people need all kinds of medical support"?
They forget that one of those ship is a floating city in itself,
With aircraft, hospitals, doctors, and our country's flag it will sport.
Then there is the overwhelming clamor,
Of those who want to come here to live and stay.
They know so little of our history,
Only that Freedom and Liberty is our way.
They want that Freedom for themselves as well,
And a Liberty which will let them choose.
They see us as a beacon then,
When their own freedoms they all but lose.
Life, Liberty, The Pursuit of Happiness,
The words our Founding Fathers swore...
Are Actions we take for granted each day,
With the Freedoms which we adore.
What does Freedom and Liberty mean?
It's just as plain as plain can be.
Because I want the Liberty to live my life,
And have the Freedom to wear it on my sleeve.
I thought it was bad enough
when you took your people’s guns,
leaving them unable to defend
themselves or anyone,
making them incapable of
resisting evil’s sway,
leaving them adrift and helpless,
it is the tyrant’s way.
But now I see it’s even worse,
you suppress their free speech,
worried about words ‘hateful,’
so you turn to tyranny?
Wont even let folks in Britain
with right-of-center words,
tet Islamists have the run of it,
even with speech that burns.
Maybe you should sink, Britannia,
just sink beneath the waves,
’cause at the rate you’re going,
you’ll soon enough be slaves.
At Rotherham and Telford,
and a half-dozen more,
you turned your backs on monsters
treating daughters like whores,
ignored their degradation,
wouldn’t even take the case
more concerned with the word ‘racist,’
then women being raped??!!
You lock up folks for online
jokes done with a dog,
but genital mutilation
goes on in London’s fog.
Is this the same nation
that had ‘Rights of Englishmen,’
that ancient love of liberty
you spread to all your kin?
Perhaps you should sink, Britannia,
just sink beneath the waves,
’cause at the rate you’re going,
you’ll soon enough be slaves.
The nation of Shakespeare, Dickens;
they showed us how it’s done.
Chaucer, Elliot, and Thackery,
Shelley and Tennyson,
you once gave us Lord Blackstone,
a love for rule-of-law,
you faced down Napoleon
pried Europe from his claws,
held the line against the Nazis,
when all others had fell,
the full list of accomplishments
one voice could never tell.
Yet you throw away all of that,
toss aside geat glories,
just so you can get onboard
with the evil of P.C.?
So sink, sink Britannia,
just sink beneath the waves,
’cause a quick death is better
then living on as slaves.
(Satirically modeled after the famous poem 'Rule, Britannia' by James Thomson.)
Lying on my bed
I could feel my heart beating
I don't really know how to describe this feeling
Lying to my dad
I could feel the pain within
Every emotion is telling me to voice out
But it's like a tape being used to seal my lips shut
Tears fill my eyes
My lower eyelid serving as a reservoir now getting full
Filled up with the pain, sorrow
Oh it can't hold on till tomorrow
My heart has been burrowed
She leaves and enters through the hole she's created
Enhancing its patency, preventing me from healing, from closing up the hole she's created
Yet I don't remember taking a pros E infusion
See
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
That's all I could say
Cos it's like she's casted a tet spell on me
So anytime she strikes I'm forced to crawl
Humble myself to gain some comfort
Oh remind me
When did I ever diss comfort
Oh mind me
Why am I having dis-comfort
I thought I could find solace
But I guess not from this comfort
Its killing me
Its draining me
Its drawing every bit of life from my soul
But lying on my bed
I could only think of her
Every girl knows that my heart is for her
To me I can tell there's a mutual feeling
But sometimes it's like an unanswered friend request from fb
Maybe I love her
Maybe she loves me but cannot show it I know
But lying on my bed
She sees me as a total stranger
Yet I care for her like Christ in a manger
I seek for love and a great future
But in her eyes is the sign of danger
So lying on my bed
I cry, I weep
This obsession is killing me
My heart is torn
My life is ruined
Who can see the pain I'm going through
See through my eyes, no lies
Now lice and mice have taken over my heart
And she look at me and say it stinks
I can't even put on disguise
Yet lying on my bed
I find it hard to forget her
Cos I love her
This place is tucked out of the way,
across river from the city,
most folks don’t even know it’s here,
and I suppose that’s a pity.
Maybe the truck-stop that it serves
is what drives some people away,
but their hash-browns are masterworks,
so I come here most Saturdays.
Attached nearby is a small lounge
with massage chairs and a big screen,
and nearby showers you pay for,
an odd spot, but they must stay clean.
Nearby is a convenience store,
it’s several times larger than most,
snacks, westerns, and toiletries are
a few of the things that it boasts.
But the diner is why I come,
can’t drive a truck to save my hide,
I find it a relaxing place,
no hint of pretension inside.
A third of the clientele are
just hungry locals like me,
the others are the long-haul guys,
slumping wearily in their seats.
They’re literally the lifeblood
of a nation awash in goods,
yet so many look down on them,
I don’t understand why they would.
The elites who like their gadgets
seem to think them a lower class,
tet were there not men out driving
they’d run out of gadgets real fast.
I even heard a professor
use them as a cautionary tale,
but those guys have traveled further
than any professor who rails.
Once my very own uncle said
that they’re working class, and thus poor,
but some pull down sixty thousand,
my uncle can’t make that, I’m sure.
I was born to that ‘elite’ class,
the son of bureaucrats, lawyers,
raised to believe that a man should
go make a living by his words.
And yet I feel comfortable here,
I guess they’d say I’ve fallen far,
but we could live without lawyers,
without these men here, we would starve.
Some call suck folk ‘deplorables,’
but why is it a hated thing
to do the jobs someone must do
if people are to keep existing?
The last strains of decrescendo were still in my ears
Dancing at the masque party time flew leisurely on downy feathers
The night was still youthful, the breath enjoying every fragrant inhale
The last strains of the decrescendo were still in my ears
I was jostled to my senses when it was announced that I had won a free plane ticket
To a destination of my choice. Why me? How? What competition? When?
I quickly revived before entering we were given forms and timed to fill in a destination
And one name whom we wished we could have taken along in sqeezy thirty seconds
I packed my bags and a week later boarded for Las Vegas yearning for my hubby
I couldn't control my smiles as the plane took me off on my maiden foreign tour
The strains of the crescendo were rising in my heart
A dainty air hostess smilingly tiptoed to me, asked for my cabin bag to accost me
To business class, served me snacks and wine and gifted me a black velvet box
Wiping my hands with a serviette, I gently opened the box
To find a welcome note for a week's stay at MGM's GRAND Skylofts suite
Gambling and itenary at the host's cost and my daylights went out.
The strains of the crescendo were rising in my heart
From the airport I was driven to Skylofts where I was received with a warm tet-a-tet
Eyes sparkled at every measure while being escorted to my suite
The bellboy kept the luggage down before the suite, didn't unlock but knocked
The door was opened by my husband with a black rose in hand and a smiling face
The strains of the best crescendo were in the air.
January 3, 2016
Contest: Combination Of Three Words- secret box, plane ticket, favourite flower
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Dear Jesus,
You are my kinsman Redeemer,
without you, I'd be alone, separated from God,
But now I'm atoned, for you fulfilled the law!
On the cross, just before you died…
You cried, “Tet-el-estai! You cried, “Tet-el-estai”!
You said, “It is finished” Redeeming your kin,
“it is finished”, you paid the debt for my sin!
You marked it all paid in full,
Sin's scarlet is cleaned whiter than wool…oh oh oh Thank you…, thank you Jesus!
Dear Jesus
My hope and advocate
Oh ill never forget the sacrifice you've made
You defend me against the accuser
And you always prevail cause he's a loser
You made this perfectly clear when on the cross you cried, ““Tet-el-estai!
Oh yes, You cried, “Tet-el-estai!
You said, “It is finished” proclaiming that I can go free! “it is finished”, There's no judgement on me!
The enemy is just wasting his breath…For you defeated him and the penalty of death…oh oh oh Thank you…, thank you Jesus!
Dear Jesus,
King of Kings and Lord of Lords!
Oh you are coming with fire in your eyes, and a two edged sword…the battle has already been won…Jesus you are the victorious King, and on the cross your work was done.
And you proclaimed this with your final cry,
“Tet-el-estai! Oh yes, You cried, “Tet-el-estai!
Yes you cried, “it is finished, the battle is over!”
“ It is finished, the enemy is no more!”
Death and hell, Satan, sin and the grave,
are defeated forevermore,My children are saved!
And we cry, with our hands lifted high, “Tet-el-estai!
“Tet-el-estai! , “Tet-el-estai!
Yess we cry, with hands lifted high....“Tet-el-estai!