Long Tour Poems
Long Tour Poems. Below are the most popular long Tour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tour poems by poem length and keyword.
Still suggesting there is a place for some cricketing rhymes in these Testing times?
In the land of lengthy cumulus curiosity amazed by the velocity of the atrocity
The crazed ferocity of ghoulish foolish monstrosity which blazed across the ditch
Where Off his Head did bewitch on the pitch so quick slick should've got a stitch
For what it's worth pithier levity aptly sums up the rum girth of the mirth of Perth
Travis’s temerity, depravity of sporting gravity, severity of brevity of Ashes rebirth
No devil may care, hoping us coping rightful heir not moping at the Gabba, repair
Dare to dream in Aussies’ despair lair ending their frightful mind bending nightmare
Cheers to elite broadsheet peers who it appears our fears, sneers, jeers & nadirs share
Ignore more hackneyed score from seedier bottom feeder media on tour, Go All Square!
The naive believe that,
Earth is the only planet, with intelligent life.
Mortal minds just don’t process infinite knowledge well
and in this way, it is limiting to growth.
However soul mind, that essence residing somewhere in
knotty grey goo; can tour infinity forever.
Living too long in the physical plane
limits knowledge;
something that soul mind prefers to avoid.
Soul mind simply sees no limitations,
when it’s on the red path.
Science is a product of the mortal brain and
soul mind sees what science cannot, will not.
Sciences naiveté’ halts real progress.
When mortal animals learn to absorb soul mind’s wisdom;
life will be paradise.
The marriage proposal
like a forced march
through Fort Jackson, a backpack
Full of chert beating on his spine.
He stood his ground with her.
His actions spoke volumes.
Good soldiers die with assurance.
No romance in war.
Refreshingly quiet,
The dutiful tour.
She paced herself sleepy.
She could rest in peace.
Honor the hero.
(He'd saved her once.)
Uniform with purpose.
Fight the good fight.
The battle impressed.
Things escalated.
Orders got shouted.
Ammunition, manufactured.
Grenades for detonating.
Entire minefields laid.
(Dangerous territory:
Don't play the field.)
Tanks roll in now.
She runs for cover.
Still he stands strong.
Warriors don't yield.
Until there is torture.
Torture's illegal.
But you know what gets said
About love, and real war.
They'd die for each other
But living, so different.
They live with surrender:
Embattlement, love.
You sing so sweet beautiful nightingale.
I am under your spell.
Pretty soon you'll be living the fairytale.
All will be well.
Your discs will sell.
You can exhale.
Your going to be an over night bombshell.
You sing so sweet beautiful nightingale.
Paperwork we will curtail
We will start your tour in the finest hotels.
You will get tons of fan mail.
I am under your spell.
People will be listening to your music on
Carrousels,
Monorails,
And even in motels.
Pretty soon you'll be living the fairytale.
People will want to know every detail
Of your life including where you dwell.
To tell the truth there won't be anything
They can't unveil.
All will be well
Mademoiselle.
You have set your sail.
When you penned the microphone to
Your lapel
To us you became our martindale.
You sing so sweet beautiful nightingale.
My park to me was not see-saws nor swings
instead, a treasure chest of stranger things.
A marble grave, 1891, well kept
where 'Tiny', estate owner's dog now slept.
The long gone Manor House front Portico
and where the star struck teenage lovers go
holds carvings, some initials, from the past
though in one case someone had left their last.
Script ' E Potts joined navy 1943'
Did such detail writ mean 'remember me'?
So many times I've gazed upon his name
that plea cut deep in stone it's power retains.
His call over the years still engraved there
since boyhood I have offered up a prayer.
The culvert is a concrete tour de force
too tempting for adventurers, of course.
Amphitheatre for screaming, scary,
in heavy rain, tomb for the unwary.
Mill races, lock gates, tunnels, falls and weirs
all testing grounds for our deep darkest fears.
There was no challenge our band could resist
we cocked a snook, and nature raised a fist.
Returning home, triumphant, green with moss,
in trouble, but we didn't give a toss.
The moment was our game and joy the prize,
such treasure blind to all but children's eyes.
Seek us out, the park was where you found us,
Green fields of innocence, it's magic bound us.
Feb 14th 2016
For contest 'The Park', sponsored by Craig Cornish.
When everyone wore Calvin Klein
I wore pairs of Old Navy jeans and graphic tees
When everyone carried a mouthful Menthol Cigarettes
I carried a mouthful of Sour Patch Kids
When everyone was having cups of Kalik
I was having cups of Pina Coladas
When everyone was rocking Air Jordans
I was rocking flip flops and Converse
When everyone went to Atlantis and Baha Mar
I went to Blue Lagoon and Ardastra Gardens
When everyone wanted to go to Miami
I wanted to go to Key West, Maui or Bora Bora
When everyone grew up to be a police
a teacher or a front desk clerk
I grew up to be a tour guide,
a beach nomad and a storyteller
You’re not back in the USSR
And you don’t have a ticket to ride.
There’s no magic in your mystery tour.
The Walrus isn’t on your side.
You took a long and winding road
Because we couldn’t work it out.
Yesterday you raged across the universe.
You should have known better, no doubt.
You’re a loser, and it won’t be long
Before they’ve shattered your glass onion dome.
Help for you is another four-letter word.
You’d better let it be and just go home.
Something in the way you goosestep
Is what enlightened nations can’t forgive.
Get back to where you once drank vodka,
And don’t even tell me all you need is Lviv.
Veterans helping veterans
That’s how the code goes
For there are certain things
Only a fellow veteran knows.
On the local radio news
The newsreader had said
A man was attacked
And been found dead.
He didn't wear specs yet
A pair perched on his nose.
I said good morning to him
Why are you wearing those.
He took them off muttering
From a bloke I killed last night
And before I could react
He was gone out of sight,
Away through the door.
I thought how absurd
I though that I really
Must have misheard.
Checked with Police
Thought it best
But they’d already
Made a valid arrest.
He came back that night
Getting on for quite late,
Said he couldn’t cope
Was going to self immolate,
Could he borrow money to
Fill his empty petrol can,
Just twenty four and a
Four tour Afghan Veteran.
We called the police who
Spared him the Hell
Of locking him up
In a cold Police cell.
Had him sectioned,
Taken into proper care,
Qualified people to
Look after him there.
He’s fully recovered now
With a child and loving wife
Seems to have settled down
To a stable and normal life.
If I see him these days
He doesn’t greet or speak,
Says I betrayed his trust
That long ago fateful week.
I was hurt at first
But pleased we won
For he’s still alive
So good job done.
Veterans helping veterans
That’s how the code goes
For there are certain things
Only a fellow veteran knows
Moon night!
Full quarter, half-moon snow bright;
Mid-day, mid noon, such a boom;
a Moon lit Knight;
Son of a Jewish Rabbi;
Birth given name Marc Spector;
Was a professional boxer?
Did a tour of duty, fought as a Marin;
Leaves them to join ops. In CIA!
Later in the parlay
Becomes a vigilante;
A gravity anti-hero;
Mercenary;
Killed by an Egyptian Bushman;
The Egyptian god of Konshu resurrects;
Marc Spector mercenary rich socialite;
Now transformed by this god into;
Moon Knight;
Vigil unto battle mode;
Ready to deal with any ordinary criminals;
Crime fighter dressed in WHITE;
With the crest of the quarter moon on his chest;
Moon night;
Full quarter, half-moon;
Mid-day, mid noon;
A Moon Knight!
8/6/21
10/3/2022 revision©2021, 2022©
"From anthology Marvel Comics Poetry BIOS"
For Moon Knight Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
A secular soldier's demise came from friendly fire.
Soon demons dragged him into another friendly fire.
A succubus said,” Please dream of freedom and sex,
But there is no option to leave the Hell complex.”
The Sargent felt the thermostat was set too high.
His thirsting throat rapidly became parched and dry.
Satan offered him a brew of ghost pepper juice.
Despite an urge to vomit he could not cut loose.
The Sargent asked to tour all the circles of Hell.
Satan laughed and said, “Dante had nothing to tell,
For all his fabulous prose he was never there.
And expect no Purgatory for respite care.”
Sarge said, “Dante the poet would not lie for sooth.”
Satan asked, with a pilot shark smile, “What is truth?”
“Why am I here?” the Sarge in acute anguish cried.
“For enlisting in eternity's losing side!”