Long Warrants Poems
Long Warrants Poems. Below are the most popular long Warrants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Warrants poems by poem length and keyword.
Born into a privileged position
The Gracchi and Kennedys were on a mission
A violent end was to be their common fate
With vested interests full of rage and hate
Their new programmes threatened the status quo
And prompted the dealing of the killer blow
Centuries apart, they both wanted reform
Championing the poor brought to them great harm
If the Gracchi's progressive plans were to win the day
The senate felt its power would pass away
Land reform and franchise extension the ruling class could not tolerate
They feared the concilium plebis would carry too much weight
Allowing tribuni plebis to gain too much power
Crucial steps were needed by the senate at this critical hour
Violent deaths turned out to be the Gracchi's lot
The people lost what they had sought
History is oft claimed to be repetitive
The Kennedys' careers were closely imitative
A crackdown on crime and improving civil rights
Panicked those who opposed such fights
Where the Kennedys heralded an era of hope
Those under threat from this programme could not cope
Their death warrants were signed for what they stood
Both were gunned down vengefully in cold blood
In each instance when their hopes died
Politics rode roughshod over the people's pride
A brighter future for those in need of care
Was ended by vested interests' callous warfare
Chaste and more graceful
Than the white canvassed Dhow:
Reclines sweet Nefertiti
Upon a Blue Nile breeze.
Fabled entity more whiter
Than the purest white snow
That thickly blankets
And folds over the wide Pyrenees.
Dipped is thy beak
Into a harvesters August sunset;
A Bohun proper,
Gorged and chained with a crown;
Tipped Argent quills
Thus scrawl across royal warrants:
Plodding, punctilious creature -
Of high born renown!
Proudly thy trumpet Lancastrian ascension,
Emblazoned on a Heraldic shield;
Pomp and indignation
Paddling alongside contemptuous scorn;
Sinuous neck of Serpentine undulations
Tensioned as if a Longbow -
On whose plaited strings
The sturdy Yeomans Bodkins were drawn!
And did Columbines mask
Ever hold such indignant eyes
For whose feathered heart
The diligent cob did attend?
His sedulous efforts
To court within impassioned grunts
When intertwining throats
Do abouts and lovingly wend.
O, Cygnus olor!
En monde bosse - glittering Dunstable jewel;
Pen and immortal verse
Chart beside heavens gilded streams.
For under old mariners discarded stars
And above silvered byways:
Whoop the beat of dusted wings
Inside slumbering clouds wandering dreams.
C. Cure T. Clarence
Been making, (sans
daily) regular appearance
in the news oval
hate gambling arrogance
vis a vis spewing,
shouting, and scathing rabidly
foaming explosive clap
trap in ascendance,
asserting how incredibly
tremendous collusion between
CIA, FBI and media
(must warrants revocation,
hence heroic intervention,
and emergency dis
Pence sing balance
of security fabled
clearances Aesop - Asap)
hounds engaged "brilliance"
in (community) chance
of making an very
usual fool of himself,
viz the "FAKE"
trumpeting dapper Don
expostulating the latest ploy,
raging against the machine
i.e. entire popular culture
will get their comeuppance
being so freely outspoken,
a disgraceful unconstitutional defiance
which oh press
sieve act of deviance
spluttered, thus an extreme
measure to clamp down
on all news outlets,
and immediate disappearance
all the while poor
Melania stoically, objectionably
and lamentably stands
right alongside him,
(nonetheless nonverbally
metaphorically exhibiting
vitriolic livid rage)
as he rancorously spouts
(ala VERY) convincing impression
of la va reenactment qua,
Krakatoa volcanic disturbance
lambasting utter disgraceful disservice
(foxy Dis Putin
commercial stations construe, conspire,
conjure egregious collusion
outlets asper dominance
a pugilistic ringside fan loathsomely
(re: scowling non verbally),
wherein pejorative spectators whether
(moral less minority, and/or
majority whips lashing) weather being
Sir where may I drive you
With your finery and trappings
To the world renowned palace
So high in the rankings
And what do you do there
For you plainly are princely
I order activity
Of circuits and machinery
Now leave me to working
While you do drive me
I know where you hail from
Of your far away kingdom
How could you know it
A mere village hackney
The tales of your queen
Are known in our country
Does the queen tell you kindly
That you're a fine scholar
Have you known a lord
To praise you a driver
I sing my own praises
To myself softly
What wisdom I have
That is enough for me
Tell me now of the princess
For whom shall she marry
I know not who warrants
There are too many vying
Name the three manners
That rise above others
Philosophy bravery
I can't name another
Here is the palace
The trip has passed quickly
I hope to drive you
Again if you need me
I will sing your praises
And I'll sing them loudly
What wisdom you have
That is enough for me
THE MAKEOVER
The house he occupies still breathes
Though haggard, it's not trashed
He and his house seemed outcast to many
Once a gentle part of the landscape
Those features fair, soon became gaunt and sallow
He was ravaged by his ravenous hunger for opiates
By degrees, his hearing, his sight
His sense of smell and taste waned
Little strokes fell lofty oaks.
Those who once knew him, watched
Slowly, he kept vanishing like visions in the night.
Does afflictions warrants mercy?
When he had cried inside from pangs of hurt
His Maker bid him to rise.
He heard drums beckoning, and dance he did
No more anguish, bitterness, and woe
He felt earth's soothing touch
From soul of his feet on up
He took small steps, looked up at start
Shining with moon light, on warm summer night
In the distance, he could see glow of his house
Touched by his Maker's tender hands
His footprints were fit for others to follow
For his present to himself turned guide
Steering him on the straight and narrow.
*
Sage scented dreams of beauty and journeys beyond
after the sun has bleached the sky with regal strays of blond
it turns into a crimson shade of shying pink and rosy glass
pouring out its last sweet ray on velvet trees and grass
Worship ceremonies, braided leaves of smoldering strong
memories grooved on the heart we know where we belong
every sorrow gathers here, sometimes we walk alone
artist strokes of genius and suddenly we feel at home
Pastel colors white washed thoughts of yesterdays that kiss
back in days when we were happy and nothing was amiss
Former times when I could see colors of an evening sunset
those were days of gifted bless with no warrants no regrets
Hints of lavender milked soft into the fading of the light
there is nothing more I value than the gift of second sight
As the artist seals her art the sky turns solid brass
while the faded denim sky drops his shadow on the grass .
July 2, 2022
When the sun is blazing bright:
we feel its rays warm our skin.
And somehow, we instantly feel less stressed:
our worries get consciously placed on pause,
while our primitive genes greet the moment.
Breathing in a breath of air
reminds us that we're alive.
Life is too short; we don't pay attention,
while time ages hearts with a gentle hand
and shares the subtle splendors of nature.
Forget life's complexities:
they get tangled over time.
Reflect on the innocence of childhood,
when youth was an unexplored adventure
and everything we discovered was new.
When a songbird starts to sing,
its song warrants a response.
But crushed by the weight of reality,
we allot no time for life's little things,
for death can abruptly cut our stay short.
We've only one life to live,
let's live it, the best we can.
Continued From:
4. Billy, the Kid
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195852
****************************************************************************
Yes he did kill but it was a justifiable sin.
If Billy hadn't killed them they would have killed him.
Some say he killed for vengeance but that was never his means to an end.
If he killed for anything it was for Justice for the murder of loved ones and friends.
Many don't speak of or even know this, but back then this is what all who knew him saw.
Legally sworn Deputy William H Bonney, sworn to uphold the law.
Billy was once a bonified lawman with full authority to issue warrants and make arrests.
He could kill in the line of duty without fear of prosecution, imprisonment or arrest.
The Law Was Sworn First To The Lawman To Ultimately Serve And Protect.
Billy was one of many lawmen known as The Regulators.
They were law that Lincoln County would not soon forget.
Many today also jump to the conclusion that Bonney was Billy's birth name.
He actually didn't begin to use the name Bonney until a few years before he was slain.
Where the name Bonney came from
is still the unanswered question that continues to remain.
This issue alone has been known to drive historians insane.
****************************************************************************
To Continue Go To:
6. Billy, the Kid Part 3
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195848
because life is limited
men measure the length of life
using the rulers marked to their own standard;
some cry, some sigh, some worry to death, while others,
tremble with uncontrollable rage; yet they struggle to stretch
their life as long as they can and hold onto it, though they know
very well life is misery
the poor kneel down at dawn in front of unknown divine spirits,
offering freshly drawn water and begging for relief from
dire poverty and for a better life;
the rich are hanging onto the elixir of eternal life,
which was tens of thousands of years of constant exertions to discover;
but the ends are the same, every one most go someday and that’s why, though not of own will, but with closed resigning eyes submit to death
and that makes me wonder why pathetic life is not worth
stretching or reincarnating though, everyone is hanging onto
an illusory hope that is thinner than a spider web
agonizing to extend it;
no matter how large sum the money you spend
there is no miracle drug warrants for eternal life;
no matter how much you cry at the top of your voice
there is no spirit would hear your cry;
every life, poor or rich, must go one day
why doesn’t anyone admit themselves that every life is destined
from birth to die? all are dwelling on this side of the river
for a while and time comes most cross the river. they step on
the stepping stones that extend to the eternal world laying
beyond yonder horizon. even though this world may be a challenging place to live for a while.
last night, I saw many souls crossing over the stepping stones
to the other side of the world, they looked so pathetic because
they were dragging their feet with drooping shoulders as if cows
taken to a slaughterhouse
Winter chilling tribulations cannot be denied;
Nor can determination and hope that abides.
Pandemic trials and tribulations have their time,
So do the loving spiritual supports that are mine.
Though many are filled with grief in their fate,
I maintain loving trust in my ever-promised faith.
And though pandemonium and faith challenge me
Together,
There is nothing in true faith that my faithful spirit
Can’t weather:-
It’s not that I have never been through a winter of
Dreadful deep discontent;
My faith never denied me, the divine power to deal
With whatever winter sent.
For I have never lost faith in God’s promise to my soul and me
That we would weather winter’s terrible turbulent Paul-like sea;
Thus, with the fake Greek-Covid god and goddess trust upon us,
Let us epitomize the essence of our God in whom we place our trust.
There’s yet a winter of challenging freezing discontent—we’ve been in—
That we’ve wondered what warrants ways to deal with what this life sends.