Long Zilch Poems
Long Zilch Poems. Below are the most popular long Zilch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Zilch poems by poem length and keyword.
Trumps Feeble, Limp, Rox... Zilch State Of Emergency
H.G. Wells..., ah...now there
without dark shadow of a doubt,
in my (myopic brown) eyes,
a prolific writer hooked hood accessorize
the English language, and captivated
populations, sans "The War Of
The Worlds" to realize,
with an assiduous presentation
convinced listeners, how
aliens did cannibalize
innocent Earthlings strictly via radio,
where rapt audience could actualize
"FAKE subjects" pretended to agonize,
yea of course after receiving
substance that did anesthetize
in an effort to minimize
potential melee erupting,
which feasible outburst,
could tinder, kindle, and antagonize
crowdsourcing masses,
who suddenly became repentant,
and sought to apologize
each to their personal deity, apprise
zing respective comportment, thus
the apprenticed faux presidential Don,
rather than agonize
over farcical shenanigans, where dissension
among rank ken file seems to arise,
could take page from said playbook
visiting storied aforementioned scribe,
whose spirit author might be able to authorize
and conjure creative satisfactory
acceptable non costly deterrent breadthwise
cuz, more anger will materialize,
particularly if monies summarily brutalize
for social services that benefit the 99%
myself and the missus included analogous to...baptize
with gentile invisible knifed incision
or if Semitic tolled uncivil lies,
asper emotional financial, mental...
painless process to circumcise
purportedly for best interests
of citizens at heart, but tummy
essentially acting counterclockwise
to the modus vivendi that underlies
the immigrant experience that peopled
United States Of America, who did colonize
at expense of rightful natives
scattered innocent tribes, whose demise
vis a vis any fact checker, would
clearly recognize as blatant lies!
Score's zip to zilch, last inning's near halfway through
at Gettysburg Commons' baseball league playoff.
Champion Graycoats at their posts hitherto -
Blue Jackets hear the pitcher's husky cough -
a clue to the catcher - this batter's toast.
Pickett lobs the pitch from high on his perch,
Meade smacks it past the church house roof almost -
a bolt from the Blue, Gray gets lost in the search
and Meade makes an easy trip 'round three bases.
Hancock is next and takes his turn with relief.
He whacks one to the pitcher of all places
running like blue blazes in disbelief.
He speeds to first base while Meade makes it on in.
Then Hancock circles the field - score is ought-two
As Pickett sits on the ball holding his shin.
In shock, he volleys a few words of blue.
The umpire approaches, a'raisin' his hands,
"I heard balderdash," he bawls with a frown.
"Game's called for cussin', but the score still stands."
Singing the blues, Graycoats hand over the crown.
New "toasts" of the town are Hancock and G. Meade.
They both talk a blue streak to boast of the coup.
Dazed by their disbelief, Graycoats recede.
And for weeks, Gen'ral Pickett's leg's - black and blue.
written 12 January 2015
Mine fervent aspiring political activism...
Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate,
cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.
Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)
to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020
an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,
and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.
Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described
indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.
I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.
What! A Divorce? Why?!
What do you mean
you want to move on?
Do you want to break up
this marriage of 25 years?
Now! After two teenagers at home?
What do you mean
you need more space?
You live in a mansion
for Pete's sake!
What? You want
to do your things,
Experience life,
Meet new people,
See new places?
Well, who's stopping you?
You have been pretty much
on your own all these years,
And here, I have been slogging
like a donkey 24/7/365,
making more money than
you can find ways to spend.
I knew not when
our kids grew up,
I worked hard--
Day in and day out,
So you and kids can live
a life of comfort and luxury,
Now you wanna leave me, gee!
And take half of MY blood and sweat?!
Nah, not even a dime!
No sirree Bob. Nope.
As long as I am alive,
Not a chance. Not a thing.
Zero, Zip, Zilch, Nada!
I'll fight tooth and nail...
Only over my dead body!
(P.S.: Millionaire John Doe was tragically killed
in a single car crash apparently of brakes failure.
He's survived by his wife and two kids.)
~"Poem with a chilling twist" contest by Frank Herrera
"I have been a stranger in a strange land." Bible, Exodus 2:22
[X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X]
Hungry eyes seek substance, food matters naught--
sees the unpleasantness that drains the eyes.
The sea, Heaven on earth, explicit thought
of days that pleased youth oft courses--denies
to the stare of his feet, wherefore and whys,
slowly his head lifts, upright, turned around,
raises palms to rub eyes, lowers ... astound,
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
Rudders turn stern, sails fixed, helms steer abound,
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
[X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X]
The Creator last passed, blessed the Isles, ought
for the righteous--who first cheered led to cries--
so say I, the Lord of host ..., naught bethought,
lead to temptations; scripturally wise,
threshold darkness crossed, newcomers, eyed prize,
an ancient people's customs, rites, all-round,
diverse power creates oneness, propound,
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
Afeared spread out and a kingdom compound,
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
[X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X]
An influx flourish, commitments ill-fraught,
church breeds greed, false prophets, true profits--guise,
knowledge sought by natives plots short-changed taught,
forced natives, dethroned queen, kingdom, likewise,
unlearned natives conquered by day, by lies,
time passed, those with knowledge escapes eastbound,
some accomplished, tiresome measures, homebound,
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
Though zilch, non-native highest seat -- renowned,
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
[X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X] * X[X]X * [X]X[X]
Grant, native Hawaiians were first who found,
last Hawaiian; Isles, their burial mound,
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
Moses, Exodus estranged you -- your crowned,
last -- prince by name, adoptee, choose uncrowned.
at last, life found its true purpose; a home.
my days used to be numbered off in minutes
not of my own choosing, but in time with my job
since it was a forty- minute drive each way,
I elected to get there two hours early,
making my work days stretch to ten hours rather than eight
I had never taken nine sick days in one month before
and I had worked all of my life,
this was horrifying, and embarrassing
God had turned the clock into my enemy
these numbers persuaded me to give up my job at age seventy-two
I gave them six-month’s notice and felt guilty abandoning them
unaware that I had been abandoning the real me.
these days numbers mean zilch to me
I can stay up all night and play
no one cares if I go to bed at four o’clock
or take two naps
My dogs are overjoyed to have me here;
we take naps as a sandwich, me in the middle
I have never felt this relaxed or loved
God knew what He was doing, making me so sick
that I knew I had to give up a job, to get a life.
At long last... Beatle browed
Beastie Boys attained Nirvana
routing hellish existential crisis
courtesy Earth, Wind And Fire
rendered null and void celibate Journey
knight in shining armor
forever staind and tarnished
compliments verboten extramarital whoopie.
Herewith I forthwith take poetic license
linkedin to long line
of Mamas and the Papas
whose music died
when Passenger(s) violently perished
courtesy flaming inferno
analogous to Le(a)d Zeppelin 129
christened Hindenburg.
Along similar blurred lines
foo fighter manned stoned temple pilot
Jefferson Airplane qua Starship
gracefully and slickly
deliberately maneuvered sic
Crash Test Dummies
immediately annihilated upon impact
smack dab into Puddle Of Mudd,
yet lo and behold as a Foreigner
and Survivor yours truly eluded Dire Straits.
Oz suppose during whirlwind Kansas tour,
while snatching forty winks
in toto working out Kinks,
I experienced revelation
regarding divine creator - Egypt me
never securing life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness
elusive weltanschauung as understanding,
the mysterious Sphinx,
yes essentially zilch joie de vivre
minus high jinks
aptly summarizes mein kampf methinks
my life and hard times
whereby vitriol pelted me
courtesy those rat finks.
Nihilistic zeitgeist
apocalyptic outlook sacrificed
no redemption no matter
how figuratively purposelessness sliced
unlike mum man crucified Jesus Christ.
Oh Nixon what did you do,
Woe will drown and plague you,
Sending more soldiers into Vietnam
Where you know there is no calm,
Only war, killing and death,
The fueling of Americans sent to
Fight in this pathetic war,
Would no longer be tolerated,
The public were angry and irritated.
Two reporters wanted
To expose Nixon’s treasonable ways,
As a President, his days
Numbered, he knew Vietnam was losing,
But continued sending fated young men
In scores of ten,
To this ungodly war,
Kept feeding the newspapers with lies
As a youth sent to Vietnam,
Is tortured and dies.
Reporters,
Plotted and attained highly secretive
Documents, hurting Nixon to his core,
But they were kept in a safe secret store.
These tale tale documents revealed
That the Vietnam war amounted to ‘zilch’
Nixon’s unacceptable involvement
Did not move an inch,
He didn’t care that youths were dying
Nixon did not even flinch.
The public became aware
How could the President dare?
All was revealed by a
Well-known source,
Then history took its course,
Nixon resigned, was granted a full Pardon
By Vice President Ford, Nixon's evil stardom
Dissolved, as he left the White House
In disgrace,
In front of America and the whole
Human race,
The Watergate scandal would be known,
But the truth still had to be told,
And freedom of speech, again to unfold!
PLEASE GOOGLE HOW THE WASHINGTON POST MISSED THE BIGGEST WATERGATE STORY OF ALL.
No slits watching, the lumps draw near
Reforming slowly, the Peak becomes clear
Forming fingers, then twitchy toes
Returning quickly, from Smith's Repose
Streaky strips of pus aligned
On a cage organically mined
Stars above a starless glove
Where fingers coil to give a shove
Lumps leap down from the Seat
Toes and fingers, strike and meet
Wilting flowers with every catch
Further, further, 'til it feels a latch
Writhing round the handle's shape
It has no strength as a mangled cape
Searching inwards, with no eyes
"A SiNgLe pRoBlEm HoLdS mAnY LiEs"
Like how the plant changed temperaments
The carcass embraces the elements
Hugging the hatch, its metal form
A searing goo begins to swarm.
Moving a touch above slow motion,
not sure why it feels like déjà vu.
Breathing feels like part of a plan,
but isn’t it meant to be involuntary?
Maneuvered with an old joy stick
in a maze that’s impossible to exit.
Sick of feeling stuck in a simulation,
someone fix this roaring glitch.
The entire quest set on boss mode,
are we really even inside the ring?
Someone please check the specs!
Fuzzy edges are now amplified,
I can’t see the end of the rat race.
No progress, none. Zero. Zilch.
Stuck inside an age of regression,
make no mistake this was calculated.
Sick of feeling stuck in a simulation,
someone fix this roaring glitch.
On to the next level, but what is it?
Climbing into an assumed screen,
we think each decision is up to us.
What if we are merely toys roaming?
Rodents in a cage for amusement?
Locked in a seemingly endless loop.
Sick of feeling stuck in a simulation,
someone fix this roaring glitch.