Long Zinc Poems
Long Zinc Poems. Below are the most popular long Zinc by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Zinc poems by poem length and keyword.
So: thinker, “personality” and actor
are looking for a drink.
If two of them are trailers, one’s a tractor.
“Nice counter-top. Real zinc?”
“Don’t ask them stuff. They memorise words
of better men, to spout ’em!”
“And his type feels the need to gather herds
of sycophants about ’em.”
“There’s zinc in every human enzyme. Fact.”
“An enzyme? Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
“A catalyst which helps your gut react
a thousand times a day.”
Creators are the only ones who matter,
just them and only them.
Who grows, can know: who knows can grow (and scatter):
the human apothegm.
“The path from easy living? Slow decline
to reach death valley days.”
“Misfortunes? They’re all relative, and mine
are slight. I’m not from Grays!”
Who hasn’t done his share of Boogie Nights?
All wassail hours are zeros.
Two-thirds of humankind are parasites:
where should we look for heroes?
We have a thing now, called celebrity
that’s not the same as fame:
whatever ape forsakes the tree
can make himself a name.
The world, for entertainment, craves a schism
(Max Baer against Joe Louis):
but who foresaw the Queen of Capitalism
would be a Russian Jewess?
At one time eight different Native America Indian Tribes lived in peace,
In the state of Kansas, sharing buffalo, shared lands with no lease.
The Iowa, Chippewa, Delaware, Kansas, Osage, Pawnee and Kickapoo,
Shared venison, and fresh cool streams with the Wyandotte too.
Animals found in my yard today like the snake, raccoon, opossum and fox,
Were here along with the iris, daisy, dandelion, wild raspberries so chock.
On the California gold rush trail, plenty of settlers were injured or killed.
As treaties by the government were continually broken, considered nilled.
The Kansas-Nebraska Act signed by President Pierce in eighteen fifty-four,
Stated the colonists could decide if the immediate area would be slave or more.
Kansas was one of the main battlegrounds of the Civil War
With many free staters and slavers lying dead on the floor.
The “free staters” caused a ruckus, to try to get slavery abolished.
But it would be four more years before that idea got polished.
Wheat, potatoes, corn, soybean, zinc, coal and salt, assets of late.
President Dwight D. Eisenhower, made us proud of our state.
Women got the right to vote in nineteen twelve, check the archives.
Reluctantly, but we wanted to go back to sleeping with our wives.
It’s a state with the best barbeque, and Kansas City is a cultural delight.
Come on down to visit; we will welcome you easily and leave on a light.
Written: 9/05/2019
Contest: Your Best Rhyme Poem
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Why I think it should place: I had to do a lot of research to pen this poem,
and I am extremely proud of it.
The rain came busting through the sky like missiles raining in from the East, it was sudden, it was quick and in second if filled up the pit. Water kept flowing from the hill rushing through the gutter, making its way to the pond and flooding the swamp land.
I stood at the gate sweeping the water out of the place and watching the cars rolling by. The drivers were not in a hurry, they grasp their hands on the steering wheel as the cars cruise effortlessly up the hill and the morning came to a standstill.
The wet morning with lingering pride spreads its long legs in front of wall waiting for the grand jubilee, as the summer heat fades and the body heat emerged somewhere in back of the street, I found hope wandering in the deep,
The clouds darkened, and the elevated sky opens its guts, pouring out a second pool of water on the ground and creating puddles all around. It washes the garbage from the hill and fills the gully with environmental spill.
Hundreds of birds got trapped in the trees with soaked wings and wet beak they were too tired to fly but nature came chasing after them, forcing them off the limbs into the open sky.
They flew to the west where it was dry and another set flew towards south at an altitude that made them look cute, a school of them bind together forming a triangle soar towards the heavens and made were way into the Deep South.
The rain kept thundering down and the people are gather around sheltering in shops and business places. They were not prepared and I watch nature unfold in the morning and the traffic stood still in the street.
I could feel the vibration on the roof, and the raindrops walking like elephant hooves on the zinc and Olympus arguing with Zeus about the fertility on the vine and the age when wisdom was mine
I can smell fresh air coming through the window and smell of fresh cinnamon running in the gutter. The negative vibes are washed upstream clearing the way for brand new day. Rain drops are walking on the roof looking for a brand-new pair of shoes.
I'm a sinister shell,
lost in bygone
deepwaters of
gravity-less
cerulean tears,
that saturate
molten sundrops,
falling from
zinc-plated skies,
as heliophilic snow,
melts frosted
memories in
white-washed waves,
and the moon-
kissed paint of
chamomile dusk
seeps in
cataclysmic bruises of
cloudburst refrains.
Perhaps, phosphenes
perfumed with
blueth poppies,
splashing neon drops
upon midnight shores
of crystallized
coastal lashes,
left pearlescent
ice-drop stains
of fervent lies
and cupid's lampshade.
I was never a
flamboyant fleur flower,
for my rufescent roots
were induced with
evil effervescence
of elusive lambent love.
Dormant heavens
of cursed fairies,
are now bleeding
mahonia mist of
cocooned truths
and deserted dreams
in periwinkle
poetic estuaries,
where doomed
driftwoods float
as ash grey
carnival-canoes.
In werifesteria of
alchemist's
expensive jewels,
amidst soiled seagrass,
this heart slumbers
in silicon rain,
that drips from
lime-scented
starfish-shaped leaves,
when pain escalates
to tangled treetops,
blooming ~
scarlet sun-shells,
infused with
my smoldering
sinister soul.
There is a stall down by the dock
Selling the freshest seafood stock.
Creatures in shells, caught just offshore.
Live oysters there for eating raw.
Each one sealed up and watertight.
To prise open it is a fight.
Down in one, living flesh slither.
Sudden burst of ocean flavour.
Only these ones you eat alive
If you expect to stay alive.
Oysters help keep men in the pink
As they contain a lot of zinc.
Tis healthy food without a doubt.
Best washed down with some Irish stout.
Now Casanova knew the score,
As he ate live oysters galore.
He knew how to play a good game
Eating fresh oysters without shame.
There is a stall down by the dock
Selling the freshest seafood stock.
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same—
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Ironic Zinc relates this (many things) to childlike innocence…
Why…?
Perhaps this is a direct result of how he has developed—emotionally—?
I should ask him—I have connections!
Nah...
That’s no fun. I know him well—
Allow me how…
As a child he recalls having a special, ignorant connection with people; in general.
At some point in his life, this feeling (or presence) left Mr. Zink—
Maturity processed realty that previous ignorance believed in; with conviction.
Ironic Zinc then absorbed wisdom through every pour of his collected consciousness.
He inhaled its truthful whisper in the wind…
Feeling as if he had been betrayed by practically the entire world—sniffing lies after lie…
Trust reflected through his misplaced eyes that had become wide-cut—Dilation.
Demented to the brink of insanity; Ironic Zinc bathed his anguish with substance
Testing the waters and questioning the vibe
Ironically, he then became them—
Those he now understands, only as misunderstood—empathetically.
Ironic Zinc has drifted apart from stead-fact claims and harsh negative judgments.
Growth is obvious, materialized through his poetic journey—revelations
I am Ironic Zinc…
My ultimate intentions are apparently pure
Equal or lesser than you
Positive judgment—morals—this is how we base beliefs
Negative judgment—called judgmental—flawed logic revealed
I am Ironic Zinc
He has issues—
Issues with current; present day society
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same...
Ir0nIc zINc 9-27-15
This Time Poison Air
has scarred the GREEN Walk
Drab BLUE Skies
painted by GREY Promises
We made For the earth
Rich Soil BROWN is Dead BLACK exhausted with ruin
PINK CORAL blushes in poor health
like a decayed tooth crumbling Bone WHITE
Pasty liquidated MOSS GREEN Sea of Life
splayed permanence.....................
no sun to revive the sparkle of GOLDEN Light
September 17, 2019
Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Ironic Zinc
Written: June 18, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
*****************
In glowing slime, Zoltar coins click and pile,
A silver box for green bills makes him smile.
Its glassy shell goes ticking a tinny refrain—
A zinc gear strikes a copper vein.
The soiled, smeared glass catches my sheen,
A ghost-volt amid grime fuels my adrenaline.
Two unblinking bulbs, too cold and bright,
As I put my money in his slot, it ignited—
Not breathing, not dead—stuck in sterile zones,
A painted mannequin on camphor thrones.
He lifts a hand of yellowed, brittle wax—
His features locked against a smirk’s cracks.
“Press close,” the speaker rasps in rusted mesh,
A synthetic tongue that mimics human flesh.
Static unfurls, within decades of dust—
A fake artifact that begs for your trust.
No prophet stirs inside this iron cage,
No cure to soothe a modern mortal’s rage.
The cipher fails to heal, or serve to cope—
It’s just a camshaft cranking out false hope.
He slams a plastic fortune through the slit,
a card saying I will reap fortune with lousy wit.
I read the inked spectrum of false desire—
While bulbs merge in bright phosphor fire.
I turn away and leave the box behind,
A trap of gears designed to catch the blind.
It whispers riddles to the empty floor—
A Zoltar speaking, stilled, forevermore.
There’s no greater spiritual healing,
Than planting vegetable seedlings,
And feeling living soil on your hands.
You might get tired from aerating,
Watering, weeding, and cultivating.
A kind of love that’s hard to understand.
There’s just no better money investments
Than organic compost soil amendments,
To improve the structure of your tilth.
Add to that mycorrhizal fungus—
Watch your fruit flourish in abundance,
And feast upon your fresh garden wealth.
To make your garden more prosperous
Dig in some nitrogen, phosphorous,
And potassium rich amendments;
Sulfur, calcium, magnesium
Copper, manganese, molybdenum,
Zinc, iron, boron-- trace elements.
Don’t just plant flowers to please your eyes;
Attract honeybees and butterflies
To pollinate those vegetable blooms.
Whether you’ve got sand, silt, clay or loam;
A garden’s the best part of your home—
Make your gardens your favorite rooms.
Chorus:
Soil’s beneath your fingernails.
Green stains are on your hands.
Your face is weathered by the sun,
And manure’s on your pants.
You might look like a redneck,
But whatever your background…
There’s just nothing that tastes better
Than what you grew from the ground.
Deep down I know that you would still be here
wearing that ring I gave you by the beach
me, basking in that warmth having you near
all that I ever wanted in arm's reach.
Head tilted to one side your eyes would ask
what lingered on my mind as my gaze swept
your face, giving no clues beneath my mask
of all the feelings for you that I kept.
Priorities back then came to the fore
between both them and us you made me choose
with hindsight now, if you had known the score
you never would have asked, knowing you'd lose.
Though 'in another time' is just a phrase
the choices that we make cement our days.
For contest 'in another time', sponsor ir0nic zinc