Long Watered down Poems
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Malignant gangrenous political cancer
corrupts, festers, and poisons United States,
thus opposition cannot wait,
especially since Gospel in accordance
with feeble minded Donald Trump
implemented wrought ugly trait,
particularly obliteration, sans progressive
human rights legislation
more or less pronounced positive
in every L ionized Nittany or cotton bowl state
and ratiocination inherent within
mine Democrat oriented mind doth rate
this forty fifth president (defect)
with sawdust packing
his noodle oven egotistical pate
trophy wife (spouse number three),
a Slovenia mate
donning "I don't care anymore"
t-shirt rousing media firestorm of late
essentially silently corroborating,
fostering, and illuminating hate
mutely bolstering the Trump anthem,
viz make America great
again, which pathless,
pithless, and pointless aim
roars like an earsplitting runaway freight
train oblivious of wailing soul asylum,
that no era meets said criteria
backtracking time machine before
rightful indigenous occupants of this land
got decimated as one after another
exploiter did inundate
(comprising a multitude
of indigenous variety of village people
indignantly subjected to Genocide,
when first "discoverer"
of new land didst promulgate
activation wrought deliberate sealed fate
vis a vis capitulation, demolition,
and extirpation, cuz
a scathing rebuke aye attest,
those murderers didst equate
worthlessness of
so called "Indians" on 1492 date,
and still remnants of storied tribes,
now attempt to create
historical documentation operate
ting with limited resources to adjudicate.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Food methinks doth buzzfeed drumbeat agog
at pyrotechnics July 4th, 2018 shared as blog
posts, a falsehood prevails which dog
gone “FAKE” brewed watered down grog
posits that the majority of Colonialists stay hog
tied to strict task masters, and mainly the scant
upperclass experienced autonomy,
no matter the under class didst futilely rant
and rave with the occasional
uprisings over time did grant
minimal appeasement to stifle violent kant!
Most hosts set out the good liquor until their guests starting getting drunk
and then they commence to serving the watered down and inferior junk
but when Jesus turned that sacred water into a fine wine
the guests remarked to the host, "you saved the best for last this time"
As a child I heard one of the last speeches of Dr. Martin Luther King
It went simply by the title of "I Have a Dream"
I was too young to comprehend that a historical moment had passed
but somehow I knew that Dr. King has saved the best for last
Over the course of time God sent many prophets, rulers and kings
to deliver His "Good News" and explain to the people what it means
from Abraham to Isaac, from Jeremiah to Malachi
all men sent to give us the Word from the Kingdom up on high
from Solomon to David to Daniel in the lion's den
God realized that He could not rely on the words coming from mere men
The Holy Spirit then descended on Mary and the die had been cast
when He finally sent His earthly son, Jesus of Christ at last
God needed a sinless soul to help mankind understand
that the Word of God is the ultimate life living plan
God needed an open mind to relate the parables and the stories
that in order to reach the Kingdom you must learn to give God all the glory
God needed a pure heart to demonstrate true compassion and care
and communicate to mankind that loving each other will draw Him near
and after all was said and done when the Son of Man did pass
we have finally come to realize that God saved the best for last
for God will shake you up
in order to wake you up
God will knock you down
in order to turn you around
He will put you in a place
where you will see the power of his grace
Jesus of Nazareth was God's only begotten son
His life and death was the sacrifice so that the victory could be won
He was the last messenger sent to give us God's gospel
He was that perfect being sent to do the impossible
He was a miracle maker and a spiritual awaker
His life and purpose for being was to offer mankind salvation
His mission was for God and mankind to have reconciliation
His death a crucifixion, an assassination, the ultimate and final task
and like Dr. King, the Lord God knew to save the best for last
We throw away everything
We produce too much
We damage the earth
We do ourselves a great harm
A wasteful society we are
We use up and pollute
Sparing no thought for tomorrow
Earth is a bountiful place
It can meet our needs
If we treat it well
The use but don't reuse mentality
Does everyone no good
The mountains of waste we produce
Are vast enough to have their own post code
An unsightly spectacle
That scars the planets face
We forget that every supply chain
Has its limit
Our insatiable appetite for the new
The latest gadget
Or a coveted hyped up upgrade
Far out paces our planets resources
Or our ability to make efficient use
Of these sort after short term objects
Economics rules the day
Ecology takes a back seat
As we wantonly take from
An overworked mother nature
The law of Supply and Demand
States that one day
With galloping use
The well will run dry
A day that draws ever close
Technologically advanced as we are
We use resources most inefficiently
New is better than recycled
Destruction is cheaper than conservation
Policies abound to offer some reprieve
They are watered down
And thus offer limited scope for viable change
Our next generation will be bequeathed
A planet on its knees
Today's actions have lasting sometime
Irreversible reactions
We may find ourselves truly humbled
When the communal larder is bare
A Malthusian implosion
But will we even care?
Use up all
That is our mantra
Controlling of nature is man’s silly goal
A Canute he wishes to be
Efficient use of resources is a must
Modern society does think
This is best for primitive man
Whose wants trail behind his needs
Consumption and Wastefulness
Are the useless badges
Of our advanced society
Man’s needs are many
But must be tamed
No need to be a tree hugger to comprehend
The dire straits we are in
Is our end nigh?
Wiped out by flood once we
Will one day go up in flames
Global warming it seems is not
Just a scholarly debate
When will we heed the warning?
When will we use less?
When will we recycle more?
No one knows
The earth is resilient
I am sure it will definitely bounce back
We all must do our bit
If we wish to continue
To inhabit this place
hanging in the air
humidity’s heaviness . . .
the river’s slow crawl
On the Mississippi lies the beautiful little city where I once lived. How many times I trudged up inclined streets; or leaning forward, red-faced and panting, pressed up slopes with all my might, feet on pedals of my purple Sting-ray bike, urging myself not to dismount prior to reaching glorious level ground! The damp beneath my clothing in those days was a given. Simply stopped to rest. . . sipping pop underneath a tree, I would often feel rivulets of sweat that trickled down beneath my underarms, a surfeit which caused circle stains to appear beneath the arms of short-sleeved shirts or on Sundays, beneath the flowered dresses that I wore to church. However, despite the heat’s discomfort, it was summer, after all!
counting down the days
until the school bell’s last ring -
a fling with summer
Released from stifling classrooms for vacation, I eagerly embraced the sun. . .and how I played! Kickball with the neighbors, visits to the city pool with my sisters and friends, bike rides to parks or into town, where I spent my allowance on records and treats, and hours racing eagerly through the pages of Nancy Drew books in front of a cooling fan - all these things consumed me.
It was in the month of August, and more than a decade of muggy summers later that I found myself transplanted in a desert. As if thrust into a giant pre-set oven with a noose about my neck, I learned firsthand the meaning of “slow roast.” Here, in the new and different place where I've now lived most of my adult life, the heat can leave one with a burn like acid watered down, a deep sensation lingering in skin long after sun has left the sky. Perspiration may just evaporate before it has a chance to wend its way along the body’s contours. Discomfort notwithstanding, there’s no pain. Acclimated to these summers now, I find that it is easier for me to breathe in August heat than it was the first time I’d ever encountered it. Released from stifling work, I go outside into the oven, pen in suntanned hand!
sunshine reflections
so many summers have passed
writing till twilight
How can you say the things
that make me want to scream?
How can you hear the words
that make me want to cry?
Why does my life
feel like a constant cliche
and why are you
content to care
about a creature who cares
about nothing at all?
i said i had lost my priorities
but i know i just finally
realized what they are:
"wallowing in self-imposed misery"
ranks first
and manipulation
and selfishness
come in a close second and third
if there is much difference
between them at all.
Can you tell
that i'm out of words?
all i can do
is scream and cry
sigh at life's inevitability
about the mess that is me
and i wish sometimes
that i could let go
float on the flow
of my tears and waters
that teem with my screams
swim
and actually get somewhere.
i try to return to the past
but my creative juices
have fled
watered down by time
and repetitive experiences
and this is new
but not so much so
that there's anything more
to say
that hasn't already
been said.
i've related to you
the over-used lines
i seem to spill at these times
don't be surprised if
i am reduced
to repeating 4 words:
"what do i do?"
'cause that's all it comes down to.
i write because
it feels like something accurate
-- and that still effects deeply and intensely --
might come out
the next time
or the next time
when really
i read over my old poems
and realize
i've exhausted my supplies
of deep, intense effective poems
and all that's left
is just chicken scratch.
i
don't want to
am not able to
write anything more
all i can do
is lay my head
on the naked pillow
and hope that i won't rise
or if i do
i won't be me.
i can write the words
that make me want to cry
i can write the things
that make me want to scream
but how you can say and hear
i'll never know
'cause i've gone
far beyond the realm
where that is
a plausible
possible
option
but here i can retreat to
and "fire at will
from behind my hideout
of faux-i-don't-care".
and as i write
i realize that that is the one thing
i can say
that is utterly true
because i am
sorry
and there's nothing i can do
to change that.
DESTROYING the KID
It’s about time you came around.
I have waited long with my pants dropped down.
Did you say, “CHICKEN!" Mmm, I love chicken.
My favorite comes in white meat.
My fingers I'm still licking.
I read your slam it had no defeat.
My little Poet Destroyer friend, you called me.
I am not the one with the Kidster name.
You play this gambling game so well.
Like a convict, you will be the first to bail.
Giving you pleasure, making your slam sound so innocent.
You make the Kidster name band from hell.
Hitting you with a slam, that makes your tear drop like hail.
Stick to nice poetry, your slamming just got stale.
In the middle of your so call slam.
I felt you tried so hard you broke a nail.
In the meantime, this is what I expect.
The freedom so you can speak nice to me.
Like Kid Rock, the real red neck.
You also cannot slam what you cannot see.
Do not destroy what can't be destroyed.
I am always one-step, on top of this deck.
Kidster you’re hot just got watered down to mild.
You have a short hand when it comes to a slam style.
Flip me over and yell, "This Jokers Wild!"
Kidster I lightly slam the cards you dealt me.
This Destroyer is going to slam you back.
Like a trip with tricks and treats.
A slam so hard you will not be able to stand on your feet
Come back when you are ready to get up off your knees
For you I'm rolling up my sleeves, I will not stop until you retreat.
What about my mama?
I thought we were on the same team.
You slam just like my grandma.
Wait! I take that back, she always slams my grandpa mean.
Hey Kidster do me a favor, put your head on a DONKEY.
Show every one there is two sides to you.
By the way, Kidster just with your name I can have fun.
I do hope they let you read this in day care.
I hope you were not expecting a nursery rhyme.
You know better we grownups do not play fair.
Hey, Kidster after this you may need to change your diaper!
This has all been fun and games.
Billy the Kidster if you are up for tag 2.
I will come back as JESSE JAMES.
Making you a fool..
By; PD
Crucibles of tattered thorns intrests silenece of feverish scorns. Watered down rivers of loosely washed words woven which wander for weakening tranquility. Cascading into the pantheon of precipitating poet promises never finding grounds of solidity. Promises broken. Eternally the immortal sand is sieved. Roots find no hold. Blushes exchanged for the loss of words sanity, comprehending not, that which is bearing no fruit. Sighs afloat on blooms of brushed breezes blowing through the mind with a feverish pitch. A change of key the notes deafen the heart. Disturbing thoughts portrayed in the eye of ones mind as hellish scapes of monotonous crimes fill the heart of the humbled head. There is no going back. Destroyed works of slumbered art wither to rushing waters of wounded love. I have lost hope. Isolated secrets swim in a lot of desturbed lies which wicked deeds do not appease. No Comfort for the diseased works belated in times gone past. She has lied. Folly her actions be, raping the indicitive spirit that once beheld my being. The mirror unjustly blames me. And it curses the sight of thine eyes. She belittles me in tongues of foreign descent. My mind is slipping. Shadows now light the difference uncertain. The world seems a shallow place and I reside in a plethora of painful pins poking at my prostituted passions. I draw ever near the cliff that quickens my arrival. Struck out is the marrow from my bones nothing of substance can reside within. Hollow is the vessel quandering it's own demise. Mind in a fog I sit at the window, staring at life that no longer contemplates meaning in the grand hall of the emptiness were I once dwelled. Searching for importance in my soul in nothing but darkness. If the reaper comes tonight I care not. Why must I reap what she has sown? No reason for questions, I no longer care. Forgive me all I wish is to be whole agin and remove the pins from my distraught impovereshed personality. Slowly life returns. But my mind remains broken.
Everyone who ever kicked me while I was down, is about to get tortured now
Ice Cube never melted, so why Would I be watered down?
Sorry but I can't look at Adele as anything but a stalker now
"I called you a thousand times" well if a girl calls me more than 3 times with no reply, I'm getting a restraining order out
And i'm going into hiding like Bin Laden
Being out of my mind has only put me in problems
There isn't enough paper for me to fill, my pens starving
Always bet on me to overcome the obstacles, use all your poker chips
If I've ever offended you, then I'm not sorry, just get over it
I don't need a chaser for my liquor, but I'll chase her and lick her
"Oh my god, Alex that was so Inappropriate"
I'm taking a break from writing about depression, and trying to win over chicks
Tired of people saying "You shouldn't have said this, or done that"
I'd sacrifice the whole world just to bring Big Pun back
Or I'd swap Future's whole career, just for Tupac to come back and spit one rap
Saw drugs destroy my whole family, So I've never touched them
Drugs do nothing, but cause destruction
So I'm sick of rappers bragging about taking percocets
But If rappers stopped talking about Drugs, Hip-Hop would hardly have any verses left
Your dream girl wants to marry me, and we haven't even flirted yet
I'm joking, Just wanted to come up with a typical ignorant Rap line
I'm just having fun with these rhymes
I just wrote a whole poem that has no real meaning
So people will call it trash, Yet they'll dance to Mask off
Well I've got my mask on when I write, so Back off
I'm Jason Voorhees with ink, they wrote me off, that's something I laughed off
Got told I'd be dead by twenty one
I'm 25 now, and this was just a fun poem, I have plenty more to come
Don't blame me, My pens crazy
By reading this, they can tell my idol is Slim Shady
Inspired by Nas, Rakim, Tupac, And Ice Cube
They'll think I'm crazy for writing this, but I'm actually a nice Dude
Zotëri Count Dracula
is a terrible, Transylvanian host
Mister Tarantula Fangs serves watered down
fermented, sour liver compost
I know
because my Planet Terror peep Tarantino
said so
Vladdie’s batty bandë
campy lip sync way too much on the fly
Playing air guitar riffs
that’ll make any party stiff Mummy die
This I know
because my dungeon babe Elvira
en-crypt texted me
the down-low
Domnule Wolfman
Were a bad-tempered, English bog bloke
Mister Aristy Lycantrophe takes liquid
anger management medication
This presto change-o firewater potion
got a mean Romanian bite
It ain’t no Jekyll-and-Hyde Howling joke
Please Pumpkinheads, don’t ask me
how I know ...
Because my cannibal pal Hannibal L.
said it’s a sacred doctor/patient violation
to divulge this info
So my tasty Mikey Myers marshmallows,
gather ‘round
the strobe light, crystal ball cellar campfire
Get Jiggy Saw off the hook Hostel
Just how slasher far,
Rocky Horror Picture Creepshow
do you wanna go?
Old school, vintage reel macabre Blob snuff action:
Vic and Frankie Boy, lab cadaver number one son,
will do a drunken, shrunken head dance
with Morticia and Harley Quinn
Be advised,
not to Monster Mash skull butt in
So have some Terminator fun
you Alien party animals
Lose all Nightmare on Elm Street bladder control
Take a Bughuul trickster treat
out of the Jeeper Creepers Candy Man belly bowl
There’s only one parasite Thing,
death notice Lurch doorbell ring, to remember
at this Pet Semetary open house invitation:
When you give a Skeleton Key
Premature Burial ghoul greet,
the proper zombie etiquette scream
must be 1408
ten shivers delivered
Hellraiser late
Cower in fear,
when you see the floating head
of Jacob Marley's ghost ...
his haunting eyes telling you —
Don’t cross the host,
at his own Halloweenie roast!
when the sun finally shines its last hot beams of
annoying rays down upon the slimy suntan-lotion-saturated
bodies &
the convertibles get taken back in the garages &
the vast groups of lame ass motorcyclists who drive only during
the summer months (gliding on their gross neon-colored crotch-rockets)
disappear &
the swimsuits, tank-tops, flip-flops & birkenstocks are all
stuffed back into their proper drawer in the dresser
(with all the sand cleaned from every nook and cranny in question) &
all those little kiddies hawking their lemonade all have to go back to school
(thus closing up those awful stands that pitifully provoke people into pretending that they wanted a dixie cup of watered down yellow sugar) &
the clothes hardly covering any of the strapping young lads
and the sexy young ladies all are traded in for clothes that do the exact opposite &
all the bugs start to die while the birds start to think very seriously about beginning to pack up the ol’ nest n’ begin flying south &
all the picnic-fanatics go back inside &
all the campers are done masquerading as outdoorsmen & women (going back to the cities where they came from) &
all the country folk who took their lil’ vacations to exciting metropolitan settings & tropical paradises have gone back to their mundane towns & villages &
we who love the changing foliage,
the apple cider donuts,
the colder temperatures nuzzling their way in,
the shorter days coming,
the crisp breeze blowing,
the pumpkin spiced coffee drinks, pumpkin pie, pumpkin muffins & pumpkin cookies,
the cardigans, flannel shirts, jeans, hoodies & all other of our layers
finally broke out for our comfortable frumpiness,
the scented candles burning throughout,
the little rugrats (probably the same ones that were hawking the yellow sugar water) dressing up for their halloween &
halloween in general---
will no longer be waiting on october.