Long Vert Poems
Long Vert Poems. Below are the most popular long Vert by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vert poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm just having fun, but no doubt someone will take this serious
I'm about to take you on a lyrical experience
I'm having fun with words, like when a baby first starts reading books
Saying I'm good at rhyming, Is like saying Mike Tyson packs a decent punch
I best mention the Kardashians other wise you'll have trouble keeping up
Me with a pen is more dangerous than Michael Myers on Halloween when he starts slashing with the knife
Telling me I can't rhyme, is the biggest mistake you've made since you let your ex Back in to your life
Speaking of exes, will someone please date mine
I promise she'll give you a great time
I'll pay for the date, its all on me
All I ask, is please be good enough to get her to stop calling me
I love Hip Hop, and yeah I know I'm white
Please be creative and tell me how I'm the new Vanilla ice
Or how I should walk right back across 8 mile
I could have thrown this into my waste pile
But I just wanted to write some joke lines and have some fun
Sick of hearing rappers talk about drugs and how they pack a gun
"yeah I'm Bad. I'll make this Uzi Squirt"
You don't know who Nas is, And think the greatest rapper is Lil Uzi Vert
Or some other mumble rapper with lame rhymes
You deserve to have Biggie and Big Pun sit on you at the same time
Some guy called Young Thug is wearing dresses
That's not something I have a problem with
My problem is
There's so much going on in the world and these rappers are scared to address it
What happened to Hip-Hop when rappers would share a message?
Nas, Big Daddy Kane, Slick Rick, I could name so many more
Now its a bunch of dudes who sound the same with empty thoughts
I'd pretend to be from the hood and blast guns but I'd fail
I'd rather be the real me, and I'm far too cute to go to Jail
I just love Hip Hop and the way it used to be
You always get the truth from me
someone tell Rihanna I'm ready to give her the best 30 seconds of her life
Tell her she'll only regret it if I become a legend when I die
Knowing she could of had me
This is my last piece of paper, I'm now pad free
I was watching rap battles on YouTube, So took you on this lyrical experience
I'm just a poetical lyricist
I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests,
About modern centuries and glass cities,
Tattooed Indians who are murdered too,
For a handle of gold or green diamond,
I write the greatness of Brazilian forests
Roots that descend to explore the earth,
Leaves that capture white light,
Suns that fall on the wild jaguar,
I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests,
Friends of the earth and emerald sky,
Beheaded trunks like haughty kings,
Rivers polluted by bad mercury,
I write the great sadness of happy Indians,
Insects that we eat on the stone
Large trees providing oxygen,
That they slaughter for expensive cosmetics,
I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests,
May it reach our deaf ears,
Let it open our doors as a silence, new one,
A silence deeper than our history and Gods.
J’écris la tristesse des forêts brésiliennes,
Des siècles modernes et des cités de verre,
Des indiens tatoués que l’on assassine trop,
Pour une poignée d’or ou de diamant vert,
J’écris la grandeur des forêts brésiliennes
Des racines qui descendent explorer la terre,
Des feuilles qui capturent la lumière blanche,
Des soleils qui tombent sur le jaguar sauvage,
J’écris la tristesse des forêts brésiliennes,
Des amis de la terre et du ciel d’émeraude,
Des troncs décapités comme des rois hautains,
Des rivières souillées par le mercure mauvais,
J’écris la grande tristesse des indiens joyeux,
Des insectes que l’on mange sur la pierre
Des grands arbres pourvoyeurs d’oxygène,
Que l’on massacre pour des cosmétiques chers,
J’écris la tristesse des forêts brésiliennes,
Qu’elle parvienne jusqu’à nos oreilles sourdes,
Qu’elle ouvre nos portes comme un silence,
Plus profond que notre histoire et nos Dieux.
Neuvième Fable
Neuvième Fable
Tragic Love
Internet Love
L'amour pour les brebis ont des yeux est la même que iff nous wed.
Les sentiments qu'elle me donne ne sont jamais remplis d'effroi.
Mais rien ne peut rosée, elle me ferait jamais vouloir liquidation morts, mais la
vie à l'amour qu'ils font le temps de vie au lieu. Eye pourrait marcher les couloirs
de la mémoire et de vous déprimé ou des yeux pourrait devenir une religieuse
coupable dans le plaisir et repos dans le couvent jusqu'à ce que la mort peut
nous part de rosée de la mort peut donner mais ce qui me reste de l'amour.
Comment un homme peut obtenir si excitée un peu au point vert en quelques
clics de souris, puis une zone de chat blanc froid. L'encre n'est jamais humide
sur papier mye frisolée encore là, il est son amour. Quand elle me sourit oeil
sourire quand elle fronce les sourcils yeux pleurent une rivière de la stuffins
conservés dans tout repose autochtones découlant de faire une faute de la mort
semblent quelque peu à écrire les mots à la mandé coeur s'écarter de
s'inquiéter et de malheur et de prendre le tout nouveau départ Et bientôt tout ça
fonctionne pour l'amour. Blanche-Neige, elle a mangé la pomme, puis est
tombé à s'endormir rapidement mais Charlax venu à l'embrasser et à vivre son
éveil. Prince Charlax bons baisers.
En direct sur le ruisseau la pêche de libellules dans une maison de l'amour.
Mending coeur de charme. Faire l'amour dans le coeur. Mye neige blanche tortue
pookie pochoucntous amour mon amour mon internet thrall. Nous pouvons avoir
tout juste à tenir sur mes namme et de l'amour.
Les chercheurs ont maintenant prouvé que l'amour peut réparer un cœur brisé.
I sit at my table - I sip onion soup
It's good for my cough - bad case of the croup
I could do with a meal and something to sup
But the bar is now closed - the buffet locked up
The dry glass of flowers long started to wither
I yell for the waiter to make him run hither
The air con is broken I tell the garçon
It needs a regas - kindly put the fan on
Feeling light headed - the air closely stifles
I open my backpack and check on my rifle
I take out my weapon - look into the muzzle
The waiter just hoofs it - he answers this puzzle
He returns with a bottle and drinking glassware
A plate of moule-frites with some haricot vert
A slice of French brie in a fresh French baguette
And a royal dessert - an ice cream coronet
I pick up my glass of cool German hock
With fake deference I fake tug my forelock
He takes from his apron some pen and some paper
He's taking a poll - so how was your waiter?
I've gone four lines over - the limit I'm hitting
But hang on a second - this might not be fitting
And where are the horses in this French venue?
With snails and frog leggies - they're on the menu
Uses (sort of) the following words (in bold): muzzle, forelock, fetlock, hock, withers, stifle, poll, croup, gaskin, frog, hoof and coronet.
What on Earth inspired me
In life when I have to compete
I'm sometimes a little offbeat
This time I split words
Used meanings absurd
And wrote about menued horse meat
Reposting date: November 6th 2016
This contest: Take the dagger from my heart please - 3
Original contest: Horses
Original contest finalised: October 30th 2016
Ceux qui célèbrent ‘88 – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Celebrators ‘88 »» by T. Wignesan
(This poem mocks the bicentenary celebrations of the founding or « settling » of the Australian continent by the British in 1788 from the point of view of the aboriginal.)
Les feuilles bleu vert et grisâtres du gommier
furent emportés derrière le banksia qui penchait
avec respect suppliant sans dire rien - en deuil
dépourvus du cercle des noirs qui autrefois s’étaient assis
autour de son tronc pour le caresser et chanter des chansons
lequel firent couler les fleuves en faisant enrichir la vie
des légendes et la rivière aujourd’hui sont remplacées
par des ravines rongées par les moutons et la boue
lesquels entravent les rivières en battant la retraite
finissent par s’accumulant la boue comme un signe de la défaite
on entendait le croassement des corbeaux devenus plus lugubre
en goûtant de la chair humaine en putréfaction
sous la pureté du soleil depuis l’époque des pionniers
aujourd’hui voilés par le smog qui empêchait même les
fantômes de les s’apercevoir
les colombes de la rivière s’arrêtaient de chanter par peur
invitera le chasser apportant la mort foudroyante
le kookaburra rie étonné puis garda la silence
haletant tout en étant saisie par la peur
Les plumes des législateurs en mouvement hésitaient
comme des voleurs s’accroupis autour de leur butin
combien de milliards eux ils octroyèrent
pour fêter le Bicentenaire
et faire dissimuler leurs tueries par la hilarité
et donner voix à la chanson pour ne pas entendre le grondement
du fourgon mortuaire.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Color is a unique sensation/,
Color doesn't sense.
Senseless color is.
Is color one way or the other?
Color may not be what it is.
It may not be what color is—either.
Expressively cliched, color isn't always black and white.
Why devil within the lines of this wall?
This is wall the color really is.
Wall color is chosen.
We simply paint here.
Rainbows contain primary color.
That is standard color opinion.
They colored.
We copied them.
Let's re-invent the wheel.
I believe in that.
That re-invent isn't grammatically justifiable.
More descriptive and less coloring; are many other fun words.
Color letters with a new; improved model.
Call it may.
Color it gray.
Say may color gray call it happy day today tomorrow and maybe re-shape yesterday.
Color which way you may.
No amount is required no less no more.
Allow how color now—meow.
Color these blind and laugh in loud without making any such sound found on flat ground color round.
Dollop a scoop of skinny hint belly button lint and glue color to it.
New colors are sluu, slah, vert, Iopa, wible
Shall we double new dripples?
Color isn't tame.
Black is what and white is lame.
Lupa-vert sluu-slah and wibble are what it is.
My personal invention describing details indeed.
Upgraded in colored eyes are now noeen-Lupa skies shooting moon wibble dream.
Noeen pupils iris of opaque euqapo.
Grooped krad etihw...
Confusing when you learn about color.
Trick is allowance.
Tolerate my perception however reverse.
-sdrawkcaB-
11-13-15
Sommeil, vient à vous que vous fermez vos yeux.
Dérive dans les profondeurs de votre esprit.
Flottant dans de nombreux endroits.
Toucher sur aucun.
Soudain, je suis devant vous.
Comme, je marche vers vous,
vos yeux dans les miens.
Je vois,
frémir de désir.
Rapidement, mais avec beaucoup de sang-froid
Je m'approche de toi et prends votre main.
En regardant dans les yeux, je vois.
Des profondeurs de piscines exotiques vert émeraude.
L'éclat des étoiles.
Je baisse mes lèvres à la vôtre,
ahh, enivrante douceur de tes lèvres.
Comme nos lèvres se rencontrent,
Je vous embrasse, sans réserve,
tenant rien en retour
que l'exploration
le courage de votre résistance.
Un baiser possessif ravage,
vous secouer à la moelle
de votre être viril.
Poussez-moi loin.
Ou jamais me laisser aller.
Quelle est la réponse de mon amour?
Copyright 2000 ACB
Sleep
Sleep comes to you as you close your eyes.
Adrift in the depths of your mind.
Floating in many places.
Touching on no.
Suddenly I am in front of you.
As I walk towards you,
your eyes into mine.
I see,
shudder of desire.
Quickly, but with great composure
I approach you and take your hand.
Looking into his eyes, I see.
Depths of emerald exotic pools.
The brightness of the stars.
I lowered my lips to yours,
ahh, intoxicating softness of your lips.
As our lips met,
I embrace you, without reservation,
holding nothing back
the exploration
the courage of your resistance.
A possessive kiss havoc,
shake you to the bone
your manly.
Push me away.
Or never let me go.
What is the answer my love?
Copyright 2000 ACB
La FEE VERTE
One of those muggy summer evenings in New Orleans– the heat, my god, the heat! The air almost stifling– humidity so high the damp clung to your shoulders and you felt you were walking through a sack of wet clothes! I’d come to a party in one of those dark shabby little streets that cling to the edges of the Quarter– off Poydras, I think it was– in somebody’s house– I can’t remember who or if I ever knew– just an uninvited guest, a friend of a friend, but they were nice enough to let me in and make me comfortable. I found myself in a big stuffed chair in a foyer off the main room where the party was going on– not knowing how to join in right away, I listened to the voices and laughter, the music, and saw people passing the door. In this foyer there was a painting on the wall– a man standing between two chairs where a couple of pretty women were sitting, all of them looking out at the viewer with odd little smiles. Then somebody came into the room behind me and handed me a drink. The drink, in a tall glass was yellow-green– an opalescent cloud floated within. I sampled it– a bitter taste at first– I recoiled, then tried again– an overpowering aroma of anise and– something else– sugar-taste somewhere– my head befuddled and a curious softness on the tongue, a burn in the gut. Then– quite suddenly– a sharp taste that seemed to awaken the senses in my throat and satisfy me beyond my expectations. I had another swallow and– greedy– gulped the rest of the drink down and looked around for more. And at that moment, the man in the painting got down and left the room.
Tali Karng : le Serpent du Crépuscule – Translation of W. Les Russell’s « Tali Karng : Twilight Snake » by T. Wignesan
(W.Les Russell, b. 1949 in Melbourne, joined the Royal Australian Navy – where he received training in photography – in 1965. He soon found himself at odds with the hierarchy, and so he requested and obtained an honorable discharge in 1970. He worked for the Education Department in Victoria for ten years as a photographer, and thereafter served on many levels on various aboriginal uplift bodies in Victoria and Queensland ; in the latter state, he helped to make the Aboriginal Mining Information Centre, according to Kevin Gilbert in Inside Black Australia, 1988: « …one of the largest indigenous research bodies in the world… », and says of this poem in English that it « shows a control and imagery far beyond the parameters of the majority of Australian poets to that greater universal level beyond country, beyond life. ») T. Wignesan, Paris, December 14, 2016.
Tali Karng : the serpent du crépuscule :
Dans le cratère se trouve le lac.
L’eau brun roux : peu claire profonde ;
Le lac froid : un lit des feuilles et des écorces
Déchiqueté raide le mur du cratère
Tous couverts gris vert imposants
Plantes alpines et Cendres de Montagne
Où des oiseaux délicats de plumage éclatant cabriolent
D’une branche à l’autre en chantant d’une voix douce
Jusqu’à l’arrivée subite du soir doré
Et :
Tali Karng : le serpent du crépuscule :
Est en train de chasser près des eaux du lac.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
3/23/17
Skilled like James T. Kirk
Fred Durst
And William Randolph Hearst
Putting in work
And occasionally going berserk
In and out of dirt
For all that it's worth
Respect the universe
And Earth
Regardless of if times keep getting worse
Is there such a thing as a curse?
Or does it need more evidence and research?
Debts becoming hard to reverse
And certain bills due on the first
Met a nurse
Wearing a Louis Vuitton purse
And Converse
She began to flirt
Told me she liked Lil Durk
Hot Boy Turk
And Lil Uzi Vert
So we had some home cooked surf n' turf
Then girl said she had something special for dessert
What happened next was that she took off her shirt and skirt
With a smirk
Next day saw someone continuing to lurk
It was a red alert
Due to them trying to usurp
All of my hard work
No matter the hurt
Still things are being learnt
So long as I immerse
Instead of remaining inert
Not a fan of percs
But I do like purp
All across the Earth
Got to search for work offering even better perks
Near and far from any birch
Cooked Jamaican Jerk
Chicken, and due to a faulty timer, it was almost burnt
B.S. leaving me irked
Close and beyond areas where materials may be dearth
Worldwide, people with responsibilities that they shirk
Since erst
Guns single shot, semi to fully automatic, or with some kind of burst
Regardless of if I ever again go to church
In the end will I be forgiven for all my dirt?
By: Dalton Ogletree