Long Up in arms Poems
Long Up in arms Poems. Below are the most popular long Up in arms by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Up in arms poems by poem length and keyword.
When President Eisenhower sent the troops to Little Rock
in ’57 to enforce brand-new federal desegregation laws, you liberals didn’t object
After all, Governor Faubus‘ states’ rights’ was a lawless Confederate anachronism
an obsolete holdover from the racist South in the Civil War
But now that DJT is trying to enforce long-standing immigration law in America
you sanctuarians are up in arms, obstructing justice and invoking ‘states rights!!’
the most revolting moniker I can think of
~ But then again, you’all are pretty revolting yourselves
Marching
By Franklin Price
3/1/2016
Marching into Super Tuesday
Just after Leap Year Day
Many States are having Primaries
The voters have their say
Looks like things have gone crazy
There's no rhythm and no rhyme
The Republicans are up in arms
Don't like it's Trumping time
Didn't mind the market share
When Trump was but a joke
A political apprentice
A piggy in a poke
He came out guns a blazing
Not politically correct
A breath of fresh air speaking
With voters to connect
Not one of the establishment
Who made the traffic jam
He spoke against them everyone
He didn't give a damn
Now that he's standing on the top
The party puts him down
If they had just had half a brain
They would not have let him come to town
Don't say I'm voting for him
Not saying that I'm not
Just saying that the Elephants
Deserve all that they got
Is Donald Trump a saint or a sinner?
This question hangs
in bars and in corridors of power
This man, Trump, is habitually torn to shreds, by political editors representing the opposition, while some
people point out the country was in good shape under
Trump's leadership and middle America applauds
Donald, let's see him as a golf-playing human is criticized for his tie, which appears too long, he is also obese, he was but is not obese anymore.
The daftest accusation is that Donald doesn't drink, which should be an example for all politicians, did they think a Donald- drunk, like Yeltsin but funnier.
When the intellectual class and the Washington elite are
up in arms over our Donald, it is time to ask what the ordinary workers and the small shopkeepers think about
him; to the elite group( those who drink French red wine for lunch) surprise Donald, the man, who is admired.
Yes, the people of middle America, the flyover states
who supply the army with soldiers to wars called to free
the local of the wrong tyrant, who will be replaced with one they say is a true friend of democracy
They are the people badly informed by the mass media
endlessly lied to; Donald enters and tells his audience the untarnished truth, and the wind of hope sweeps over
Minnesota, Idaho, Indiana, and Kansas, at last, a man who cuts through the waddle in Washington and cuts to the chase. They are the people Hilary Clinton, called
the deplorable, well, they are back and bit her ****.
I don't think Donald Trump will win, the black cabal of Washington will see to that.
If something good has to come out of this sorry saga it must be not to take people for granted.
Red hair
From my dad.
Does not describe
my beautiful child.
She is poised,
calm and serene.
My precious,
clever queen.
First born,
to two nuts.
Silver spoon.
Missing.
Beauty, brains.
Had a loving start.
So forgave for
breaking her heart.
Feels she needs
to be in charge.
Relax babe,
I am no longer
up in arms.
Always there for
her younger sisters.
When I was not fit
to be their mistress.
I love your calm.
Your "In control."
So pleased you are
a perfect mould.
Of my confidence
and Dad's calm.
His brains.
My music.
So proud.
Can't find words.
Thank you Edna
For letting me
be yours. xx
Last time it rained was in April.
It did not rain that much,
but it was enough to dirty everywhere.
You see, it was a south easterly wind
and the clouds arrived laden with sand from the north African desert.
That was nearly five months ago, and the farmers are already up in arms,
bemoaning lack of water as they till the arid soil.
dust flies in the air
the sun blazes overhead
sweat drips profusely
Prayers have not gone unanswered!
Dark clouds creep from behind the hills
fast multiplying, ominously, obliterating the blue.
The calm hot air is ruffled by a timid breeze which soon turns
to gusty wind. A sudden horizontal flash followed by drawling thunder
precedes a few big drops of rain which testily hit the ground.
increase of tempo
deafening cymbals clash
erupting deluge
Water gathers then flows steadily down the streets;
thirsty fields drink greedily; trees bathe in delight, relishing
heaven’s kiss of life on their moribund leaves, roots breathing in relief.
Then, worn out, the wind slowly abates; so do the thunder and the rain.
The clouds shyly disperse, permitting an unobstructed view of the sky above.
Satiated, the sundrenched land savours the afterglow.
sensual appeal
petrichor emanation
veins pleasantly throb
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Rain Rain Come My Way
Sponsor: binibining P.iNk
8th June 2016
BOX OF CHOCOLATES
My heart aches for those who vanish —
a variety like chocolates, melting
into vanquished existence.
First and farewell - those lucky
who have died, without having
their names besmirched —
the young and old, the hospitable
and the sweet character of a spinning
song, twirling on a record player
charming like a little girl’s dress
spreading with happiness. But
others leave us up in arms
they tug and pull, like Cinderella’s
stepsisters, leaving our lives
in tatterdemalion squalor.
Some vacate seats in our pews,
we feel their smiles floating,
fleeting and their hugs — incomplete.
Our workplaces like a revolving door
bringing in presents, leaving with bows
and my heart bobs near the shore.
Often it is the way people let us down,
chasing away the way we want things to be,
leaving us with a sore muscle, entangled
in hopeless chains, with slender fingers
reaching for the wispy-mist of life and love —
and endless raging river of serrated waves.
So long and farewell but know this, I
for one miss...you and you and you
for somewhere lies a perfect life,
with golden names and trellises, pearls
like lampposts, vivid-red apples, a
fairytale come true in degrees of hue.
A box of chocolates, recaptured, brought to
holy knees — taught by God to be friends
of a lasting succulent kind where death’s door
can never open or close, roses kiss our lips,
lovely robes touch or hearts, and hallelujahs
with wings perpetually pump agape life into our lungs.
12/26/2017
Destiny stretches its twisted arms
patching together its wounded flesh
Mercy cries out with mere oblivion
Watching it dragging its impotent body
And slowly gasping for breath.
Stupefied souls hanging on to shades of doubts
Erupts with an anxious shout
ridiculing the contemptuous house.
It roars, it bellows and it clamors
clenching its punch-less fist and pacing towards
the hopeless ditch while muttering angry words
as it heads towards the agonizing cliff.
Destiny kept tussling them around
Soon none of them were to be found
Roll call once, roll call twice
they were out rolling dice
Stripped of their jackets and ties
bow legs looking like mice
pants and shirts wrapped up in arms
While the danging beast stared reprehensibly
They have played the game for so long
And couldn't find a place where they belong
Empty seats lingering all around
Too scared to leave the desolate house
Destiny has ransacked their providence.
executive, judicial, & legislative colluding bozos
feigning, grinning, hobnobbing... arrogant beastie
boys and goo goo dolls sporting snazziest custom
tailored (swiftly) made harried styled fancy clothes
at taxpayers expense of course, but more important
exerting Republican driven power to deprive *******
constitutional right to vote
namely i.e. disenfranchisement
especially upcoming 2020
presidential election woes
rendered manifold times
more challenging populace
up in arms vehemently
protesting prolonged quarantine
scrawling, sketching, &
striking garish noir
artist's rendition arrows
(albeit broken) corruptly,
lamentably, pathetically politicos
hell bent upending cradle holding
what dead souls Lord Knows...?
Analogous whim didst flit hither
and yon to & fro within
noggin (mine), the following
representation you envision
whereby governmental representatives
dead set declawing,
maiming, née destroying
Bald Eagle Great Seal symbolizing
The eagle head turned
towards olive branch, on right side,
to symbolize preference for peace.
In beak, eagle clutches
a scroll with motto E pluribus unum
("Out of Many, One"),
The Olive branch and arrows
denote power of peace &
war which exclusively vested in Congress.
I heard you talk with your girlfriends
over mai tais the other day,
I heard clearly from the kitchen
the sorts of things you had to say.
You said good things about me, yes,
but then you started to complain,
and talked about all of the things
that you say you’re going to ‘change.’
You don’t like that I own some guns,
or that I sometimes watch NASCAR,
that I will not vote for lefties,
and prefer trucks to tiny cars.
You don’t like that I think Broadway
is a torture to be endured,
and you think that your influence
will somehow make me ‘more cultured.’
As if the things that I enjoy
somehow will leave you demeaned?
You even said that,”He’s so close
to being the man of my dreams!”
And when I brought it up later
you didn’t seem to understand,
said,”But babe, why wouldn’t you want
to grow into a better man?”
You got mad when I pointed out
the truth of the words you had said,
that it meant you didn’t really love
the man that you lay with in bed.
You love a hypothetical,
and not the person that you have,
that I’m somehow not good enough,
and that your presence is a salve.
Now imagine the reaction if
I went and said those word to you?
You’d be furious, up in arms,
the whole internet would be too.
To think that a man could somehow
demand a woman become more,
we’d have psychotic feminazis
come and explode right thought our doors!
Yet when women want to ‘change a man’
we just nod our heads and smile?
You such double-standards just
leave most men feeling defiled.
I don’t love you for what you will be,
No, I love you for what you are.
I don’t pretend I can ‘fix you,’
treat the imperfections and scars.
So I will be what I must be,
and I will like what makes me glad,
even if that involves some things
that you don’t get, or think are bad.
The vision you have in your head
is a dream and will remain so,
such ‘perfection’ is fantasy,
and that should not come as a blow.
I’m a partner, no a project,
so please accept this if you can,
I can’t be the man you dream of,
only the best of what I am.
William the First was our last king to come uninvited
though invincible armadas have sometimes been sighted.
Foreign kings were imported in cases of doubt.
Native kings had the habit of getting thrown out.
In the War of the Roses none tipped the scales
till the fray was joined by young Richmond from Wales.
A house like the Tudors for to bring to an end
on virgin queens you may safely depend.
Then came the Stuarts, who in Scotland had root,
but being too tactless, they were given the boot.
Though of Orange the house was not without fame,
some Irishmen spit when they hear Billy’s name.
George the First from Hanover as in matters English ill versed;
for affairs of state a state of affairs by no means the worst.
George the Third, however, spoke English quite well,
so Yanks up in arms told the Liberty Bell.
Thus Frenchmen and Dutchmen, Germans and Danes
have made their subjects rack their poor brains.
But the history of monarchs whose accents were poor
holds even today many lessons in store.
At the hustings all parties will promise us aught,
but after elections some memories are short.
“A kink is a man, no less and no more,”
said a very wise king as he sat on the shore.
“Let each of you here, thane or serf, be astute.
Don’t expect me to do what I plainly canute.