Long Theft Poems
Long Theft Poems. Below are the most popular long Theft by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Theft poems by poem length and keyword.
Unkindness is
My most powerful pet hate
Possibly my only one
This includes
meanness, unfairness, rape, murder,
cruelty to animals, impoliteness,
disrespect, theft, swearing and bad manners
Unless I am really in the swearing mood and no one is around.
I hear you laughing, my sworn enemy.
Oops! Was that unkind? Dhramn!
Disrespect, disdain, disregard, and disapproval
all fit under this umbrella.
Whipping children with yardsticks,
flyswatters, switches, and belts, and leaving
animals tied up outside to die also fit under there
Unkindness is my only pet hatred.
People who are hurting the most have
endured one unkindness or another
I am sorry I called you my sworn enemy
Can I now be your sworn friend? When you
laughed at me you hurt me.
This also told me that someone has been
unkind to you. Do you want to talk about it?
Poetry contest: It Really Gets me Going
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
Written May 19, 2019
We went shopping
The misses and me
And afterwards we went
To our favourite café for a tea
The misses decided
She wanted to visit her brother Jim
She said “Since we in town,
“I have somefink to give to him”
So off we go to the bank
That’s where he works
His a no body
Just one of many clerks
We approach the counter
Me misses says “I wanna see Jim”
“Tell him it’s his sister”
“And I have somefink for ‘im”
“By the way, she says
“He should have a parcel for me”
The manager behind the counter said
“Jim is out to lunch you see”
“Well said me misses give him this
She pulled out a potato peeler
The manager’s eyes open
He seemed a bit of a Sheila
He quickly turned around
And gave me misses a parcel
But wouldn’t take the potato peeler
The stupid **** hole
Off we went back home
I slumped in the chair and watched some TV
Later the misses brought the parcel
And sat next to me
She open the bag
And all of a sudden a loud exploding sound
I thought me misses was killed
From the wet splatters all around
I looked at her
What a sight
Her face and arms were evenly coated orange
Which, boy, gave me an even bigger fright
I looked down in the bag
It was filled with money
Covered in a bright orange dye
My throat dried, this was not funny
Moments later a knock on the door
Me misses answers and voices say we arresting you for theft
You have orange dye on you
So we need to search the house, step to the left
I peep out, there,
A bloody police van
Me misses says you will do no such thing
This is fake tan
She reaches in her bag
Out come a bottle of orange fake tan
The police apologies
And off they go in their van
The CCTV tapes they probe
Blank
And arrest the manager
For an inside job
For a whole month
I stayed at home washing me orange spots
I managed to fade them
And got a sick note for chicken pox.
Don't be telling me we need technology,
I understand it easy but it's not for me.
I own a PS3 and Grand Theft Auto,
one game disc that rotates with audio.
I don't buy MP3 I still purchase CD,
I like to look at the plastic collection on the shelve,
others take selfies, a plastification of themself.
I don't care for Facebook, use it as a poetry book,
I haven't signed up to Twitter
'cus I havent the time for celebrity litter,
to busy writing bits of rhymes into poems
to then show 'em as a Facebook status.
This electronic age is overrated and separates us,
like all are Spartacus apart
and using electrical sparks to much.
I spark a hunch and clump hunches together with pen,
I do it again and again,
using ink when I think so I link lines and mix sounds fine,
Iphone and Android cameras encourage steroid usage
and they clone how they prefer to think they look at this age,
but all have baggage, get old and all have saggage,
technology brings out the shallow and that's savage,
I photoshop with a biro and redo the negatives,
while their perspective is negative unless looks are perfected.
120,000 views on my poems,
no idea of how I look to them.
Don't tell me we need technology,
I understand it easy, I just prefer poetry
I hate this world I'm living in
I hate it to the core
I hate this world I'm living in
Can't take it anymore
The hate that sparks a genocide
Does anybody care?
The theft, the lies, the cover up
Is there much more to bear?
I hate this world I'm living in
A place where children die
Abused, neglected, underfed
The world stands idly by
I hate this world I'm living in
The constant threat of war
I hate this world I'm living in
Where is that exist door?
I hate the trafficking of souls
Who are in desperate need
I hate the leaders who are blind
By power and by greed
I hate this world I'm living in
Where animals are killed
For sport or just for appetite
My cup of wrath is filled
I hate this world I'm living in
Where sex is monitized
I hate this world I'm living in
Deceit's been digitized
And yes there are some happy times
Where sun shines through the rain
These fleeting moments are so few
The residue is pain
I hate this world I'm living in
And though I rant and rave
It will not change a single thing
I have no strength to save
And so I struggle through each day
See nightmares every night
Please make for me a world in which
The darkness turns to light
Eileen Manassian
In a win or lose
either/or binary digital technology game
created from an original WinPlayer/WinGame
co-refining definition,
each player can play regenerative win/lose sequences
knowing
trusting
faithing that eventually a win/win outcome
emerges cumulatively from possible
toward probable.
And what does it mean for the individual player
to win this one individuating winner-contextual goal?
To "beat" the game
is for the game's creator(s)
to win as well,
a cooperative embodied/intellectual endeavor
within a closed rule system.
It feels no great right-brain wonder
such win-ego/win-eco active hope
of probable consummation
within one mortal lifetime
would become addictive
As contrasted
to the immensity of lose/lose mortal risks
and ungraspable win/win immortal ambiguity
in the vastly grand theft stages
of Earth's revolutionary
Open Whole EcoSystemic probabilities
Of achieving nutritional win/win opportunities
and avoiding sufficient toxic win/lose risks
of one mere mortal player,
An autonomous left-brain individual
unaware of an interdependent right-brain co-presence
individuating health-game wealthing processes
as timelessly eternal
as forceful Adam with resourceful Eve
As empirical closed rule game systems
emerge from lyrically open win/win harmonic ecosystems,
win/lose Yang endurance
with win/win Yin resilience,
Left brain wealthy strengths
with Right brain healthy sustainability,
Left cognitive intelligence
with Right emotive brilliance,
together holistically open
eternally interdependent
win/win ego/eco-gaming
health/wealth memory player systems.
She was, existed, amongst other women, for love’s sake
When my eye caught her sight, my spirits left
This corpse of mine: soul theft
My remains, were shaking, trembling: earthquake
My soul looked down upon my flesh quite rotten
My hand begged for support from a wall
Beatrice the loveliest of all
Somewhat cruel. She laughed, at my meat forgotten
Then life within that floating soul
Found its way back into me, a man
I was awake, not dead, and whole
Many tears I had to weep, when towards home I ran
At my desk, me being apparently a fool
I wrote a sonnet, of consolation, its feeble tool
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves,
Their mansions glimmer,their hands still foul of gold-
We want the money back, the people grieve.
They steal from the hungry,spin deceitful weaves,
Made poverty a product easily sold-
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves.
Each tender lost,another dream bereaves,
A nation's trust auctioned,betrayed,resold-
We want the money back,the people grieve
The tombstone shines but cannot reprieve,
The curses of the poor,the stories untold-
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves.
Let justice dig through soil and broken eaves,
Expose the empires' corruption controlled-
We want the money back,the people grieve
No grave absolves,no legacy deceives-
Return what you plundered,return what you stole!
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves-
We want the money back,the people grieve
Tutankhamen’s demise;
unfortunate boy king, all too soon cut down;
before adulthood.
His spirit echoes one last cry throughout eternity.
Akhenaton’s son, bred for the throne of Egypt,
leaves a legacy short, but never forgotten.
Lapis lazuli and gold death mask;
preserved for all time.
A precious reminder of Egypt’s,
throne-child; now perused by modern eyes.
No one’s grave should be robbed,
for treasure, to be gawked at; put it back!
Children deserve respect, too.
There is enough gold and gems,
in the ground, to mine for everyone.
Grave robbing, is theft;
even when done by archaeologists.
Stealing from a dead child’s tomb,
is about as, low as theft gets.
Research, in no way, justifies this abominable act.
Respect is only earned, by the giving, of same.
The past, has passed; leave it be and forge a new beginning.
That’s how it’s supposed to be.
Tut’s afterlife should have the respect.
that he was robbed of, in mortal life.
Now, that AI is in writing and photographs,
I find that it is a CURSE because it is too easy:
it requires no writing skill, no poetic skill,
no photography skill . . .
it is fake, fake, fake, fake !
How sad that society has come to this,
AI'ing famous voices for all sorts of scams;
how low can you go 'cause that is theft,
it is just so sad . . .
that people cannot use their own imagination !
Do people have no pride to do it themselves ?
There is no greater feeling than creating;
faking it with AI takes zero skill,
there is no pride in it . . .
AI is a CURSE on the world in my opinion !
In all that you do,
be it lie or truth,
do not mind to boo,
what despise your youth!
Do mind your liver,
as well as kidney,
if each does shiver,
while in cool Sydney.
Do not dump dirt there,
either to heat it,
or to shield, beware...
of stains so unfit!
Both are the cleanup,
that sieve not smoke,
but watery syrup,
that does rarely choke.
Meanwhile, enjoy folds
of gleaming desires,
which rough pleasure moulds...
by time, lust acquires.
What gladdened heart wants,
burning mindful wish,
to swim through their fonts...
and baptize your fish.
Long waited to tell,
how it feels been hot,
yet at ease in hell...
how good shooting shot!
Huh! hush! hah! hash! hmmm!
space silent prattles,
of skillful styles known.
what broad bed battles!
Also be aware,
that fun is peace theft,
claiming to be fair,
cum gains so bereft-
Of weird caregiving,
to heal broken heart,
yet unforgiving-
gains aimed as an art.
African treatments,
well cultured package,
of basic ailments,
with tested garbage.
High your sanity,
and low your ego.
all been vanity-
death's best amigo!