Long Tinfoil Poems
Long Tinfoil Poems. Below are the most popular long Tinfoil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tinfoil poems by poem length and keyword.
--Ashtray's Mistakes--
Prehistoric defibrillating battlegrounds. The memorial, obviously unpleasant.
Entrapped in the know how, detrimental reimbursement.
Sundried; like the corpse of a moon bridge, fading away.
Tinfoil hats do no justice. Kin heart, rose defiled.
Disappointment, incomprehensible. Figurative…Imaginary. Could have been starstruck. Maybe fate decrees it so mortal.
Crumbled a lust, fragmented on shores of hatred.
Shivers graced goosebumps in the night. Fairy tale nonsense.
Ever met a court ruled drug addict? They are like Racoons in the ash tray.
Puppet strings, bare minimum.
Shattered in like the head mounts of a lobotomy.
Ice saw pack hence, suffocating screams intriguing the latter.
Mistakes, Miss Takes. Mrs. Takes…Vents face. Winding. Notion unparalleled. Bare night, a shovel. Two rags, pulling up the fences.
Time to run track. Faded into a haze of stardew. Gristle of nectar closing in.
Turn over the tide. Met with a seabreeze of defiled mannerisms, the flies equivalent.
Meticulous drooling hatred, seeping into the husks of tranquility. Indignant flesh craved. Utterly despised.
Lie on the back. Here comes the ashtray.
Rowdy like blood-soaked vengeance.
Heat albeit at a dismay, thoughts lay. Unprovoked, unsettled. Splitting image.
Reincarnate.
I cannot commune with you
if you don't believe Sasquatch exist
or if you think Nessie is just a myth;
if you do not see
science fiction is prophecy;
if you say the Mandella Effect is simply mass
misremembering things that have passed
and not caused by a glitch in the matrix,
even though researchers say we lay bricks
in a computer simulation
run by nefarious algorithms;
if you believe government does not lie
and Intelligentsia does not spy~
please do not come knocking on my door,
I will not hear you any more,
my tinfoil hat is always ready
to ensure every conspiracy theory
is kept in safety from the mind worms
infecting us at every turn
of the screw,
and from the Globalist shrew!
Grab a hold of me gently
Don't jab my heart with this cruel knife
Understand me completely
I'm like a crab, living in its shell all my life
Shelter me in my cell
Hell broke loose in my heavenly dwelling place in which I dwell
We are both lost, I can tell
Selling my soul to the angels above as my spirit goes pell-mell
Assuming life is an easy game of hide 'n seek...I will reach to the Mountain's peak
I'm weeping tears of joy like a boy who found his lost toy, as small as tinfoil
I'm in the brink of ruin, but I'm perishing away what makes me weak --
Hopelessness that dares to break me and reduce me to toil...coiling in shocking turmoil
Majestic and precious is your smile
You melted away my perilous pile
Of fretfulness and defiled me with lament
Here I am, I write this down on my gravestone that all my sins I have done in this lifetime...I forever repent...
I got out of hand, so I repent...
I don't want to die in fire forevermore
Understand, I never meant
To hurt you the way I did before
I am forgiven to the core
I promise I won't do it once more
I am given a second chance beforehand
To change my ways before I live life in this dance, in which I take your hand
What I wrote on my gravestone
Understand that you're not alone
We feel dead inside on our own and we can comprehend us and depend on each other
Maybe, one day, I will answer my phone and you'll be on the other end, unless you love another
it is not raining
yet the sky seems like
a tall waterfall
bones crack
under the weight of falling water
if I crane my head up
my eyesight get washed away
as a kid
drowning in a lake
the sky not the water held me down
the water was trying to push me up
the sky turns your mind to rock
just another falling rock
All wings falter
nuts and bolts come loose
seams open
despite daily inspections
you begin to rattle
Like when kayaking
I flew over the edge of a waterfall
the gravity of light-weight mountains
can send you plunging
yet it is in our very nature
to spread tinfoil wings
hope and theorize
“Stampede: The Bitumen Blooms”
All the promises under the Sun
could never buy time, and
all that glistens on a wrist in a heartbeat succombs
peels away the romance
like tinfoil scraps, wrapped and cutting like razors
into the skin of what matters most
liked barbed wire
around a wrist bleeding
glistening golden brands like some kind of reigning crown
the so-called pulse of keeping up with the J’s
will never deliver the most precious intangible,
it burns inside out unseen
underneath the bitumen
the buried truth blooms
strange journeys crawl
and their animals released
from the cage,
eventually,
stampede;
sacrifices are made.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
I went to the shadchan
I listed what my wife should be
a pretty, funny, caring woman
But the shadchan laid it out for me:
"The type of woman who would look your way
Would be nearsighted, poor, a career missed
I have to be blunt, or I would betray
I've been around, trust me on this."
"You see, the mind is a computer"
"Sometimes unconsciously, factors get combined
Women do the math of what they want in a suitor
And you, poor shmuck, are not considered a find."
I was bitter, so I said, "they just smell cash"
But she replied, "you hypocrite, you're the same
"You want glamour, humor, and a dowry stash
That's how we all play that game."
"Men go for women who seem attainable
"Shared interests, smarts, or admiration
"The ratio of genders must be favorable.
If you select by race, add that to the equation."
"It's not that I want to be mean
"But beauty is signposts to evolution's goal
"A brain is designed to reproduce a gene
Even if infatuation grabs your soul."
So she found me a compatible mate
from a war-torn land far away
The lady was older, and overweight
And she denied that she was gay.
We went down that aisle, and tied the knot
But then I met a beauty at the car dealership
She was like a panther that the zoo forgot
She was funny, smart, my commitment flipped.
I was going to divorce my wife, this computation stuff was crap
When I was with this new girl, I felt like ten out of ten
Until one day I found her with a tinfoil cap
She was insane, believed in little green men.
You can't escape the computation
No matter how hard you try
Know your limits, your life station
That way, you won't have to cry.
waltz blazing sirens from shores of the frosted tomorrow
just look around and behold everything that makes our souls distant
l’existence est ailleurs! my negatively dear Clementine
in this omnipotent Babylon of boredom whoredom
where our shapes slowly turn shadowless
turning in their dreamless sleep
glide around our glacier home
and we follow the fireflies among the languorous joshua trees
into the land of dandy lions and burning monks
into the tinfoil country of cowboys riding the giant amoebas
feverish orchids on the horizon where the fire alarm is always on
so run & hop on the railroad to false paradise
where we will dance alone and leave footprints in the garden
leave footprints on every rooftop
then walk up the clock tower to the ghost of a friendly lamp-lighter
who will help us from within to banish the darkening
and light up our own dungeons of blood candy splendour
as multiple painted phantoms of Van Gogh’s ear
listen to the foghorn music of pallid depths
in our much adored papier-maché sea shell mansion
our lovely cul-de-sac, stellar and crystalline, vanishing on a rota basis
standing in still life as a crescent groom, as graves on the Moon
opening the frontiers for a cosmis octopus, a zealot, a hypocrite
headless and worshipping the order of the howling iris
which makes our nosebleed grow longer like shadows do at dusk
and that’s when I love to unwind that brass hair
of your golden-haired psyche
The weather is warmer and snow turns to rain,
outside for us freedom awaits,
no clearing a path down the driveway again
and no drifts piling up by the gate.
The cat ventures out with a wave of her tail
eight days of confinement now end,
I've tried everything to keep her entertained
but she's driven me right round the bend.
We played with some string and a white plastic ring
Catnip mouse and a ball of tinfoil,
tried to teach her pontoon she just sat on the cards
while my patience went right off the boil.
When one day I need to find some other pet
there is one thing for sure, and it's that
a Snow Leopard will be the creature I'll get
and not some young hard to please cat.
911 Carousel
by Michael R. Burch
“And what rough beast ... slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”—W. B. Yeats
They laugh and do not comprehend, nor ask
which way the wind is blowing, no, nor why
the reeling azure fixture of the sky
grows pale with ash, and whispers “Holocaust.”
They think to seize the ring, life’s tinfoil prize,
and, breathless with endeavor, shriek aloud.
The voice of terror thunders from a cloud
that darkens over children adult-wise,
far less inclined to error, when a step
in any wrong direction is to fall
a JDAM short of heaven. Decoys call,
their voices plangent, honking to be shot ...
Here, childish dreams and nightmares whirl, collide,
as East and West, on slouching beasts, they ride.
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, Mindful of Poetry, Gostinaya and Scholasticus/Fullosia Press. Keywords/Tags: 911, war, violence, children, visionary, surreal, power, retribution, twin towers, terror, terrorism, east, west, dream, dreams, nightmares, error
You have gone berserk the ghost said to me.
I will acquire an ambiance that shows I am free.
The level of thinking brought me a hulking gargoyle.
He said, “please relax” and slide down this tinfoil.
I saw a curve as I flew off the slide onto a leather couch.
The manager of the furniture store heard me yell “ouch!”
The selection of lamps was intriguing, but how to classify?
Those glorious multi-colored light fixtures began to magnify.
The ghosts are running rampant in the attic a guy said.
Manager told us he would continue speaking to these crafty undead.
Dracula’s tummy grew bolder, it began to turn into a giant belly.
Worse, it also transmogrified into a vile something really smelly.
Let’s celebrate the store’s fifteenth year, the owner announced.
After we replace those light bulbs, the hostess said as she flounced.
They were marked with tiny graves, weirdly turned toward the garden.
I think they have been stupefied, I said. Please beg my pardon.
The jack-o-lanterns in the display window were now easily defeated.
By the delicate ghouls who were nastier when standing than when seated.
A Halloween minister came to marry whoever wanted to be hitched.
We made short work of this little guy, he became immediately bewitched.