Long Thriller Poems
Long Thriller Poems. Below are the most popular long Thriller by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thriller poems by poem length and keyword.
Cereal Killer
The story of his life
a made for TV thriller.
Title in blood red
life of a cereal killer.
He don’t want no fried eggs
or peanut butter toast.
He killed a box of grape nuts once
but he don’t like to boast.
He has Wheaties for his breakfast
Cheerios for his lunch.
For a mid day snack
he likes Captain Crunch.
He don’t want a T-bone
he don’t want French silk.
Corn flakes and some sugar
in a great big bowl of milk.
Along about suppertime
as he hides from the cops.
Sitting in the shadows
munching sugar pops.
He don’t mean to scare you
sometimes he behaves.
Even when it’s boo berry
or Count Chocula he craves.
He’s no threat to society
at a table or a booth.
He’s just a cereal killer
with a really bad sweet tooth.
From early dawn til after dusk
he’s never gonna stop.
You hear him in his kitchen
going snap crackle and pop!
Edwin C Hofert
I'm Defined, Strengthened, I'm Thankful
For years and years, Thanksgiving meant nothing to me.
Far too much heartache I faced on this day.
I lost my wife when I lost the love of my own life.
I know my late wife still follows my plight.
And let's not go here, but it's time that I do.
I had to be caught up in this catch twenty-two.
The tragedy had taken place on this day,
And all I wanted was harmony at its play.
A visit from Satan did come to our house this day,
The cunning and baffling evil, he came to disarray.
I need to make this clear so that you can see it.
He came to bring harm to my kids and invaded my family.
This Lord of Destruction only seeks to destroy, maim, and steal.
Anyone, everyone, the happiness they feel?
To take everything that our Father God has given.
It will wilt, then they'll be on their kneel.
Two of my children lost their innocence to his harm.
We caught him in this act,
We damn sure were alarmed!
Satan and his minions, with the damage they had done.
My children were already in despair;
We were no longer strong being as one.
For the rage and the hate I did feel,
Those two emotions together brought me to kneel.
I prayed, and I prayed,
Please release me from convictions.
If it had not come when it did,
It would've led me back into addictions.
It's over now; it has been for quite some time, being real.
Though the Lord gave me strength,
I'm thankful that I didn't kill him,
for what Satan came to steal.
Susie's pet name was Wanda-zilla
and hailed from jungles near Manila.
Her poetry was swill
so to pay all her bills
she did strip shows for native gorillas.
She went to merry old U.K.
To make more money stripping all day.
When folks voted for Brexit
they meant Susie must exit
to get rid of the smell right away.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Susie looked like an ugly gorilla
A cousin of that monster Godzilla
With flaccid pink lips
And wobbly fat hips
She appeared on the video ‘Thriller’
The director who chose her that day
Said Don’t put on your make up today” …
With no mask on your face
You won’t look out of place
And your dance moves will blow folks away”
Susie then thought she’d found the answer
She’d work as a naked pole dancer
But not one man would pay
They said please go away …
Put your clothes back on you fat chancer!
BY JAN ALLISON
Wanda-zilla is a great name for ugly, Susie
Always batting her eyes like a low-life floozy
Painted lips on a gorilla
Looking like Phyllis Diller
As a pole dancer she must've been a doozy
BY LIN LANE
Godzilla saw her and stole her away
I think he wanted to toy with her play
but she put up a fight
all through the night
and insisted that she had to stay
BY MYSTIC ROSE
She seductively ate a banana with zeal
But that day it just got too real
In her ugly mouth
It all went south
Her and a banana without appeal!
BY ROGERPAT ADAMS
When I think about Michael, my eyes start to tear
He never learned to love, the man in the mirror
His gifts Thriller and Bad, made him the king of pop
A true innovator, creating the moon walk
That dirty Diana, never gave him a kiss
He was a smooth criminal, we were the witness
Loved by many millions, he lived behind his gate
Neverland his prison, prescription pills his fate
A life not fully lived, too soon came to an end
He preferred fantasy, a strange world of pretend
He started to early, wanted to be a child
A part of him missing, his talking voice so mild
Still whenever he sang, he created fashion
What could ever compare, with that kind of passion?
He continues to dance, an image on our screen
He was one of a kind, the best I've ever seen
Thoughts commenced in me
like a train of rain drops.
Tried I to make them alive
But scattered they,hither and thither.
Disturbed me again
like thunder and storms.
Tried I to make them ablaze
but they seemed locked in a cellar.
Mind,the thriller of life
longed to get hold of it.
Thoughts the creator of love and hatred
galloped away from it.
Minutes and hours it suffocate me
days and weeks it strangulates me.
Months and years it questions me
now i have an answer for them.
Those who can make their thoughts alive
are more bestowed in life.
For life,come out of them
like lava erupting from an volcano!
Tonight I went out Swinging for the very first time
Now the title has grabbed your attention – I hope you will read my rhyme!
Tonight I went to hear The Manx Swing Band
The best musicians throughout the land
Don Elliot and Terry Quayle have been members right from the start
Forty years in the band - they have never been apart
Classic swing tracks we all love to hear
In the interval you can even have a beer
Fabulous melodies and tunes from many years ago
With saxophones swinging gently to and fro
We began with ‘On the Sunny Side of the Street’
As soon as I heard it I was tapping my little feet
Begin the Beguine drifted gently from the stage
In 1938 this song was all the rage
Over the Rainbow – oh what a beautiful song
When they played this track I just wanted to sing along
Moon River brought a tear to my eye
It’s a favourite of mine and even now it makes me cry
Moonlight Serenade and In the Mood by the fantastic Glen Miller
American Parade and Little Brown Jug, sure were a crowd thriller
A medley of Beatles songs and then some James Bond Themes
Such wonderful music I shall hear it in my dreams
New York New York chords swiftly came along
The band can’t resist playing a great Sinatra song
Next was Duke Ellington’s Take The A Train
Now I’ve heard that tune I can’t get it out my brain
I am sure that you can see I’ve had the most amazing night
If I told my mum I’d gone ‘Swinging’ she may get a dreadful fright
When you see this poem's title please don’t get it into your head
That something I put in black and white means I’m jumping into bed!
Jan Allison
16th March 2014
I laid me body stomach down atop a grassy knoll...
here at Highland Manor Apartments
earlier today Juneteenth 2022,
(a pitch perfect spring day)
with serious intent to read
seat of the pants suspense thriller
The New Comprehensive
A-Z Crossword Dictionary.
Invariably, yours truly
quickly experienced drowsiness,
succumbed to deep sleep
and dreamt being linkedin
with livingsocially off the grid
among ecological, liberal, social minded
people progressive in act, deed, and thought
versus participating in consumerist paradigm.
As a conscious conscientious counterpart
the missus shops with a conscience
and yours truly considers her price savvy
when she purchases groceries
at ALDI, Giant, LIDL, or other supermarket.
Impossible mission to adopt modus operandi,
whereby wife would entertain notion to husband
energy garnering fruits and vegetables
courtesy sweat equity
since we lack basic homesteading skills,
nor consider either of us
adequately financially solvent
to contact compatible intentional community
since requisite criteria
require a healthy monetary stash of money.
Unlikely substantial windfall will appear out of the blue,
nor grandiose wish to draw winning lottery ticket,
thus sobering truth to burnish marketable skills
finds me seek assistance
courtesy office of vocational rehabilitation in general
and counselor Donna Marchese in particular,
which most likely entails
securing training to learn Microsoft Office Applications.
More precisely, some familiarity exists
regarding understanding computer software
since admission of foolhardiness
now averred how countless golden opportunities
slipped thru these ofttimes sweaty fingers.
Though never successfully completed,
received funding back in the day from:
CETA, O(ffice) of V(ocational) R(ehabilitation)
twice before whereby
the former and/or latter program
allocated unspecified dollars
(poor Ray McNeil, the first OVR counselor,
whose tiresome love's labour's lost for naught)
in an effort to acquire gainful employment,
which in all honesty sabotaged
cause of that bugaboo severe social anxiety
more specifically diagnosed
as schizoid personality disorder;
no shame to admit mental health crisis.
Kids growing up, doing all differant things
to whatever that may bring
some excitement to their day
be it small, or diving into hay
From a very tall barn in the park
or looking for eggs,the prize being the lark
our favourite pass time was the daddy killer
baby, mammy then daddy the thriller.
These consisted of a sloping bank,over looking the beck
getting higher and higher then the top flipping heck
as the daddy killer stood high from the ground
a run and jump and landing an almighty pound
Sponsored by: Paula Swanson.For contest childhood memory
The Empty Chair
Like a single cloud on a sunny day
you knew he had you covered
a constant in an ever changing world
but now all we have is an empty chair.
Like reading a thriller with the last page missing
A joke without a punch line
or a foreign film without sub titles
its a mystery that leaves me sad and speechless
A jigsaw with a piece mislaid
A lock without a key
or a roundabout with just one exit
no rhythm no reason just why
A crossword puzzle that's incomplete
A Sudoku with the numbers all messed up
Or a word search with that word you cannot find
why oh why must we endure the conundrum of the Empty Chair.
An old sweetheart of mine never believed
in daytime dreams, because they shattered
quickly and shaking her unconvinced head
silly words came out of her mouth admitting,
" Aren't fantasies unrealistic dreams...
when they appear more tempting
then a cake with irresistible frosting?
And while she cut it with careful fingers,
" The outside tasted very sweet,
but the inside looked kind of hard;
its whipped cream was soft and white,
its filling was solid and not much inviting! "
It's worse than a thriller too unconvincing and trite,
although to the novice novelist the tragic plot
appeared to be real with the small-minded bigot.
Comparing fantasies to a decorated cake
is a huge and unforgivable mistake,
the ingredients look fine and exquisite;
but who garnishes it may lack artistry
and gastronomic skills to create an extraordinary
delight not applauded by someone who's inquisitive
about what went into it before baking it,
and laying it down on the table it looks perfect.
Are we still pursuing hallucinating fantasies
that weave themselves into allusive dreams
that make others notice how disappointing
they are having put all our trust in them?
Is this an end to dreaming coming to grips
with a stark and naked reality never being
challenged by a mindless dreamer who causes an ahem
not realizing that he's in a dire state of optical illusions...
instead of being persuaded that nobody ever wins.