Long Whack Poems
Long Whack Poems. Below are the most popular long Whack by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whack poems by poem length and keyword.
Hey! Mom there's the teacher who gave me a whack
At the time I thought it was a little harsh,
But to tell you the truth this teacher knew I was off track.
As an educator, I always get a thrill from students who
Come back
To say thanks for helping me when it seemed like their
Deck was stacked.
It doesn't matter whether the student is red, yellow,
white, or black.
I am thankful to God that they didn't end up falling in
To the cracks,
Or living on the beach in some empty shack.
My mind goes back
To that year when Jack
Came through my classroom door carrying his
Backpack.
I remember how he had that special knack
For straightening up the books on my magazine rack.
Some people envied how he choose his friends who
Would then sit together in the cafeteria to share food
From his lunch sack.
There was nothing in charm that this child lacked.
So I was not surprised when he went out for track.
Yep, it was nice that he stopped by to take up this
Mornings slack.
Yet, I constantly ask myself what brings them back?
As in to my classroom walks another student who is
Giving me flack.
My mind says another child who deserves the rack
Or a really good smack.
Nope, just another one who doesn't get a snack.
Later in life he'll be back
To say thanks to a teacher who really did give a rap
Just like my student Jack.
Too old to be in that tik tok flock
Despite my age not sold on Dr Spock
Truth be told rage from a different stock
More hip hop hook sage than book of rock
Shun the puns...should have culled the latest gold rush.. centre stage..toxic tech throng runs amok
Mulled over..all along...pong of wrong'uns...what we behold.. scold this trend..what they spend...crush AI shock
Tolled & trolled...which this flush round the bend plush fold will gush & defend to the end as ad hoc
Kenned don't befriend but defrock pretend tutors & stranglehold suitors who dulled futures will unlock
Champagne sculled...bling rings getting arsehol*d...we know what they took..society crook & crock
Lulled by untold mandarins sins.. which underpins their unfair don't care chock a block share or snare scare smock
Us all in the thrall..must stall the cruel rule of their tool...epoch controlled by a cocked virtual glock
Call out such gall..regulations rolled..enthrall.. no appall.. but still have not yet got this lot in the dock
Yearn for us to break the mould..forsake today's mistake.. discern time to turn back the clock
For profits to be doled out..learn every household polled must ignore..keep score..attack & mock
Sack & spurn these cold crooks with a knack to churn…deserve flak for poor artists stack they hock
This pack..despite all they earn.. no concern.. more money to burn..be bold..hack this ridiculous pustulous pock
Out of whack AI lies the new quack..hardcore tech crack or just unwise cack soundtrack ..that whole drole so what we stole rigmarole..their guys in disguise once more at your door…Knock Knock
IS THERE NO END
Boom, Boom- goes the night
Rattle tat-tat, they fight
High-pitched screaming pierces the sky-
As another young person prepares to die-
Turn on the news
A child is crying-cause- they have been abused-
While mom is pleading for justice to be served-
Across the city-another person is hurt-
__NEWS FLASH__
Drunk driver’s car jumped the curve-
Schools are no longer safe to attend-
Drive-by shootings-gang fighting-drugs
Is there no end?
Ladies pushing babies-stops to buy crack
Baby starts crying-mom goes “whack”!
Police cruise down the streets-shakes their heads
They blame the parents for the education they never got-
Knowing they are being mocked; they surmise that these streets are mean
The people are lost and confused-
The children are neglected and abused-
Is there no end?
Boom, boom goes the night
Rattle-tat-tat-they fight
High-pitched screaming pierces the sky-
As another young person prepares to die-
LOOSELY BASED ON THE MICHAEL JACKSON SONG SHE’S OUT OF MY LIFE
He’s out of my life
Because he’s got a wife
And I don’t know whether to laugh or cry
If I see him now I’d whack him in the eye
But if I had a knife
I’d pass it on to his wife
He would hold my hands
We’d make love on the sands
To think for two years he was here
He had the best of both worlds now he lives in fear
So I better not expand
Or I’ll soon be on remand!
So I’ve learned that I’m not his possession
And I’ve learned that this guy I hate
Now he’s gone and I’ve got depression
But I’ve learned too late
He's out of my life
Gone back to his wife
Guess I loved him but found out he lied
If I get my hands on him I’ll end up inside
And it cuts like a knife
But the rat is out of my life
Jan Allison
10th August 2014
Boat People
by Bob Moore © 2017
We, were the boat people of our day,
from many lands so far away
with Europe in chaos from war and strife
looking to find a brand new life
And so began an ambitious dream,
The Displaced Persons and Migration Scheme
“Populate or Perish” was the catch cry then
come here to live, we need more men
They came without families, left them behind
hoping a better life they would find
and bring them out here later, hopefully when
they found a home, and a job, they would see them again
The Australian Government paid most of the fare
“Bring out a Briton”, by sea or by air
just stay two years, and your debt is then paid
get a job and work hard, your future is made
You need to work, and fit in you know
we want you here, to help us grow
and you need us, for a place to live
so we both have something, to take, and to give
We will not always get along
the ties to our homeland, are still strong
you’ll call us names, we’ll call them back
sometimes it’s just words, now and then it’s a whack
Dago, Gypo, pommie and wog
but be ready to fight if you called us a dog
we’d call you a convict, but you didn’t care
and so friendly insults would fly through the air
That’s how it was built, this homogeneous land
with all the people working, and lending a hand
multicultural is the word, politicians all use now
back then we were just Aussies, and we did it somehow
Way, way back in grammar school
When I was young, I played the fool
I didn't always follow rule
I thought that I was somewhat cool
I've had a lot of friends back then
And quite a few I'd grade a ten
But I remember my friend named Ken
Was beaten bad, way back when
When white was white, and black was black
My colored friend thrown on his back
By prejudice kids out of whack
They wouldn't even cut him slack
He was the only black kid in our town
No wonder he walked with his head down
His face wound often wear a frown
He'd thought that he was the town clown
But he was my friend none-the-less
And for that I'd get in quite a mess
The reasons why, well...can't you guess?
I wasn't Ken, I must confess
It was the other kids I've learned to know
Who were the creeps and tried to show
The odd-ball kid who wore a fro
Their places were no places for him to go
Until one day when I brought Ken to a party
I brought Ken along for those creeps to see
That Ken was just like you and me
And by nights end they'd most agree
We laughed and joked and had our fun
And they got to know Ken one-on-one
No more did Ken have to run
For being chased when school was done
After a while when years gone by
I'd often think and wonder why
All those creepy kids would try
Their best to make my friend, Ken, cry
Then just like that, the moment came
I realized who was the blame
It wasn't the creepy kid's faults game
It was their creepy parents- what a shame
Not for a second think I've left the soup kitchen
and quite frankly, I'm tired of all the B itching.
not from those real poets who know how to write
with pen in hand or fingers on a keyboard in flight.
I'm dealing with a couple of serious family issues.
A very sick granddaughter, and it's giving me the blues
My best friend, my sister's heart is out of whack
I'm just done with AI attacks and counterattack
I haven't abandoned the site, only entering contests
and hoping Artificial Intelligence will soon be laid to rest.
Probably not. I've more important things to do for a while,
so, as Duke Beaufort likes to say... live life with a smile.
W T F
Let’s imagine somebody
naive as they can be.
What might they imagine when
WTF they see?
For someone on a diet
could it mean “Withhold the Fat?”
“Wash the Fridge” perhaps?
My mom would think of that!
A girl into clothing could suppose
WTF means “Wear Trendy Fashion.”
“Wear Tight Footwear” no one though
could think and have compassion.
“Wash Tired Feet” might someone think?
Or “Warm the Feet” after time in snow?
“Wrap the Fracture.” Is that done?
I’m not sure that I know!
“Warm the Furnace”? That sounds lame.
“Woo The Folks” could be
a slogan for politicians
who can’t get to ME!
“Whack the Fiend.” I like that.
And “Whack the Fibber,” but
“What‘s the fuss?” sounds better.
than “Walk the Feline”. . . . What?
“Whip the Flesh” works for sadists.
Could “Wave the Fists” sound cool?
I like “Welcome Tiny Folks”
for a nursery school.
Just a few more. How about
“Wake the Family”?
Watch the Fuel” also works
in this economy.
Finally, when I think
of N/A’s from a judge,
if I feel my poem is really good,
I murmur “What the (bleeping bleeping) Fudge.”
I woke up one day to find
that I had aged ten years overnight
I couldn't believe when I looked in the mirror
that things were not all firm and tight
Where did my life go, where was I now
how did those days sneak by
One day I was taking care of my child
the next thing I know is I saw time fly
My children were grown, almost out of the house
how could this happen to me
I want those days back and I want to know
how and what things happened to be
Nothing is bringing me any answers
no one is giving a clue
I'm so sad, so lost and confused,
I just don't know what to do
It took therapy to teach me of time lost
and more therapy to try to get it back
Truth is I turned on cruise control
when everything seemed out of whack
So I lost a big chunk of my life
through nobody's fault but my own
If I want to remember what happened then
I will have to go back and be shown
L. Rodden 4/11/22
Form:
South Of The (United States) Border...
(Reigns A Welter Of Disorder)
Caravans comprising multitudinous
peoples plodded a steady course
analogous to iron filings drawn by
strong magnetic force
gravitational pull generated
by North America
an irresistible source,
which tug felt
nearly all the way round
webbed wide world beckoning
for waves of humanity
figuratively donned as spawning fish,
toward which currently dimming
beacon of democracy flickr
Trump might extinguish
though tis quite heart
breaking to experience
vicariously as one collective soul,
these desperate folks
ambitious to seek asylum,
(and eventual citizenship),
while this "FAKE" president
invents many a...holy SMOKES
outrageous, nefarious, and malicious
dagger o type cruel barbed wire
accusing, condemning, and emasculating,
(I could continue),
but ye dear reader would tire
unless individuals
affected by xenophobia
countenance same stance
as Commander in Chief,
or contrariwise some
like minded
thinkers, rack coon sitter
the migrant situation dire,
would effectively serve me
as preaching to
the Unitarian choir,
yet any sensate
person must admit
tis quite upsetting, lamenting,
and agonizing to witness
hordes of persons treated like
some pestilential
eyesore dagnabbit,
yes this chap can
endlessly spout flibbertigibbet,
though thee crux of my opinion,
inspires a poem express
sing supportive emotions
particularly acknowledging,
how these masses (thousands)
of vulnerable individuals
show true grit,
nonetheless yours truly,
would be hard pressed
for an immediate
humane solution to corral
this extensive kit
and caboodle, though this generic guy
with a poetic knack
shakes his noggin
watching armed flack
delivered from border patrol agents/
United States military, lack
restraint, and who outright attack
trespassers at point
blank range that pack,
a deadly (Judge Judy ish
huss) punch smack
king young ones
upside the head forcing
everyone to backtrack
to their homeland of
persecution by crack
headed gang members, which thugs
violently land a deadly whack!