Long Yack Poems
Long Yack Poems. Below are the most popular long Yack by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yack poems by poem length and keyword.
It was in Westland that I met this barmaid,
She looked fragile,and complexed with manifestations of excellence,
That very night I sat exactly after four seperated bevies nailing myself to eminence,
Kindly when she served me a bottle of drink,
I spotlighted her beauty towards higher regard,though she saw herself as a fink,
Frankly,what I was seeing in her had a prospective blink,
This lady was pitch-black,
Framed in reality,she was an erudite and not a yack,
With inner pattern deemed with confidence,
I made her to believe the first sight attraction she spread out in alpha mense,
And she divided her lips into structure of my hopeful bens,
What came after that late night is when we're now couples on honey moon,
And I just can't match our excitements to what feelings intends to move,
Only when our personalities are commune and tied with a strong single loop,
Because,your presence has outlined the eyes of my heart to hold you in my room.
I barely know how you bear it, I said to the grapefruit
Of course, true to form, she tried to smooth everything out.
I was irked because no words arrived to sooth me.
Which made her easier to eat, actually – more palpable.
Masticating my cereal is never easy these days,
especially when the news is on, so I shut that puppy down.
If it is not good news, I do not need it, especially in the morning.
There was a wreck at 17th and Lamar, as usual.
I see one there almost every morning,
Yet I continue driving this same exact route.
And me, the woman who loathes routine,
Actually living one now. Is it my age, do you suppose?
The car radio is on some 1970’s music but not folk music.
The one channel I had on before my husband drove
And ruined things by changing my channel.
He is going to be eating mothballs for supper tonight.
My girlfriend calls to yack about her dead husband again.
I wish he was still alive so I could beat his ass, she says.
I have heard it about sixty-nine times, still it never gets old
Especially this morning as listen to the wrong freaking station.
Beads of sweat roll down my back,
Feeling sick I nearly yack.
Body quivers, hands now shake
Tremors of my bodily earthquake.
Heard my name; I've been called
Stairs handrail I tightly hold.
I tap on the door to my right
Nerves prepares me for quick flight.
'It' stood head to toe in protective wear
An alien! I thought with irrational fear
Another voice says "please take a seat"
Two same aliens of meet and greet.
I go and sit in a reclining chair
Laid flat back; looking up I stare.
A long, sharp needle swiftly appears
The injection begins, I'm close to tears.
They're ready to proceed on my tooth
Rigor mortis sets me aloof.
Drilling starts, I fear the worse
Teeth and dentists are my curse.
14.06.22
It’s Unfinished Business
Knowing so well that you have the answer,
To church, Christian theology and beliefs,
That’s it’s just a mental illness majestic,
That they’re really only sanity thieves.
Shut up by the Youth Fellowship leader,
Who used disability and loneliness techniques,
Under the shelf of nobility, ruined asunder,
By their communication fabric and cliques.
Pleasured by evolution, overjoyed, focussed,
Able to express that meaning to be given,
Wanting to tell the whole story, not discussed,
Of behaviour, choice, sex and genetics, driven.
Going away for a bit, but will come back,
From those debates on creationism/evolution,
It’s unfinished business, the reply yack,
Time will give me my worth and derivation.
Charley my wheel horse says that Jim is a yack, always jawing now.
They are both scrunchers, they nearly swallow their teeth on chow.
Jim is unsalted, but not lazy or slow, although he has trail dust grime.
He always responds well to “all hands and the cook” and in good time.
When the Mexican vaquero joins us, there is back slapping sure.
That’s when the biscuit roller trades in biscuits for tortillas, pure.
A ballyhoo? I do not think so, Bar dog. Can I get a John barley corn?
I would like to drink the cattle drive off my spurs, until it be morn.
How much does it cost to stay in the dice house tonight?
Don’t want to be honey-fuggled, so no Kansas sheep dip, all right?
a fresh mail order cowboy just entered the saloon, of course.
Don’t want to be a nosy parker, but did he just dismount the iron horse?
Did you see where I put my gelding smacker? I sleep with it naturally.
I am no lapper, but I could go for another John Barley Corn from thee.
Texas cakewalk tomorrow? Hmmm I wish I could stay but I am dragg’n.
Say hello to my cousin Sam, he drives the county’s meat wagon.
I kind of like a good hang’n when there’s a well-deserved California collar.
Was they horse thieves or murderers or what? Hey give my horse a holler.
I thought I saw a Cottonwood blossom when I rode into this place.
But there was no hellaballoo, so I wondered if it was the case.
as turf wars go
here
the weapons concealed
before agendas revealed
and courtyard orders sealed
inside wetzel gooey goodness
grand central its not
maybe from the outside
but inside the buzz is low
the reverb high
lingering as smoke choking
on its own asthma
void of cache
or any semblance
of the character
chiseled into posts,
ceiling festoons
and the ethnic parades
chanting in uniform grunts,
silence and glares
required vitals from
their lost or stolen IDs
it isnt Union Station for nothing
a primal yack, spit and grin
flowing from the cakes of
baked commuters
forsaked souls
and a neighborhood watch
that drools in adoration
point a to point b (or c)
never had an intermission like this
then again
here
every director is the drama
they wish they could
coddle into love.
(10/30/13)
Anne Dickins
Anne was an endurance cyclist,
But in 2011 she ruptured her back,
Which meant that she did enlist,
Cauda equine syndrome, her yack.
A physiotherapist cool by profession,
And a Games Maker in London 2012,
Anne was offered good instruction,
In canoeing by Colin Radmore, wealth.
Although she suffered seasickness,
Anne took motion sickness lessons,
Normally for fighter pilots skill, duress,
Which meant she overcame sessions.
In 2014 at the ICF Worlds in Moscow,
She won the gold for the 200 metres,
And in 2015, Milan, a silver did follow,
Then 2016 at the Worlds, gold litres.
She was born on the 20th February,
In 1967, so she has much experience;
She won the gold in Rio’s hot country,
In the KL3 class of her convergence.
May all sacred,
but not quite omnipotent,
fathers learn this day
as we impatiently correct
our stress-disordered sons
That respect is earned,
so maybe disrespect is too
positive and negative layered
for and against authority
for and sometimes restlessly against
repeating Business As Usual
white middle-class dadisms:
You snooze
you lose
May apply to your lethargic
chronically anxious
thuggish
couch-surfing
cannabis-fed son
And yet feels counter-intuitive
for babies
and us great grandads
who need our outside rest
away from commercial
too lit up
and loud
and relentlessly plastic
inhumane degradations
In such a rabidly anxious hurry
to wait for inevitable pandemics
and genocide,
floods
hurricanes
tsunamis
forest fires
drought
dry river beds
famine
insomnia
rabidity
insurance company bankruptcy
government balkanization
supremacist tribalism
Silent self-medicating snoozes
feels like a healthy alternative to:
capitalist narcissism
anthro-supreme monotheism
monoculturing nationalism
painful survivalist isolation
demented diseases
species extinctions
self v other criminalizations
weaponizations
May feel like hoarding safety
for defense-oriented males
on a bad day
in a depressing moment
Become
yackity yack disrespectful
feeling entitled to rightwing exclusively define
"real [unwoke narcissistic] men."
Yet quietly hiding
under these sacredly respected
and secular unrespected unsuspecting layers
of diverse manhood hues and warring cues
lie traumatizing patriarchal cultures.
Capital co-invested resilient climates
prefer cooperatively active integrity
over passive faith-based respect
and dramatically traumatic disrespect
and unenlightened
stress-triggered verbal unrespect
accelerating competitions,
dis-integrity
unhealthy desecrating excommunications.
Consecrating sacred solidarity feelings
learned today
converge synergetic need/want supportive
resonant polyvagal
resilient communication systems
searching for win/win reconnections
Even when sometimes disrespectfully correcting
my pre- and post-traumatic
stress disordered father
son.
Leisurely walk around Lords non stop pop of champagne cork
Scorecard dork does chalk the first over from Will O’Rourke
Another flowering Kiwi tree who gets the ball to talk & fork
While towering style of Kyle with guile & wile gall fans gawk
Doff your hat to Matt who really is all that aficionados squawk
Smith another hawk with similar riff for this tiff swing will stalk
Serious talent apparent not transparent with delirious torque
Balk one last refrain from the reign of Kane the Kiwi bulwark
If it grips rips what pips seeing Glenn Phillips flips & fillips
Golden arm charm can disarm like when baby Joe in skips
With Kane masters and pastors of snips missing the slips
Nudges nurdles overcomes hurdles as fans lick their lips
Never ruffled by kerfuffles silky shuffles and wristy whips
Express bouncer nips & dips caress the ball off their hips
Finesse not largesse witness their prowess heavenly sips
Zach having been so cack defence so slack got the sack
No coming back picked from the pack Gay to have a crack
Not out of whack got the knack this season has got a stack
Trust plucky Ducky again gets lucky no vastly ghastly hack
Stokesy becomes like Wokesy bat & ball gets us off the rack
Dirty Harry not shirty silly willy nilly hill billy flirty is like smack
In Ashes dung Tongue among the flashes of changing tack
No Josh tosh stung with gung ho bolts flung stumps thwack
Tongue climbs a rung with pace he brung others made us yack
Golly after much flak jolly Ollie the wally again leads the attack
After scold behold in from the cold part of fold & in the black
Coz after Oz fires our tyres flat just old hat we need a new jack
If not too chatty no cheeky drag on sneaky f*g or fatty snack
Hopefully no folly he will be fit on the track give us bit we lack
No off his trolley verbal volley Ollie could be return of the Mac
The government is not debating,
Internally or understating,
Attacking, flipping the opposition,
Or denouncing the wealth creating.
All parties work together,
To social fairness we toast,
Maintaining the societal blether,
Announcing the financial host.
Few MPs sit in Parliament,
The chamber is internal,
The order is not permanent,
Here, the rules fraternal.
We will all look back,
Upon this treacherous time,
Commend ourselves for yack,
For prohibiting the crime.
Reverse! To the Coronavirus,
Stop somewhere else, not here,
Glide into outer space,
To prohibit any reason for tear.