Best Leaper Poems
Cheating
Cheating means you’re telling lies,
Women, Lousy Jack, despises,
But hurtful to a lover, is,
Finding out, not hers, but his.
Cheating means you’re telling lies,
Much worse than eating flies,
Be a man, she cries and cries, Be supportive too.
Cheating means you’re telling lies,
Not hard to analyize, the creeper,
Sneaking love so hot it fries, Lover, not the leaper.
Cheating means you’re telling lies,
Sometimes self, he does despise,
Feels so bad he inward cries, Sad girl is the weeper.
Sponsor Susan Burch
Contest Name Cheater Cheater
They called him Jumper
He preferred Prancer
When he was happy he would prance
Giant circles of joy
And the dizziness
Too many beers and staggers
For 365 days waiting times 4
He would dress himself outlandishly
Feathers and painting his face
He loved the Mamba and espresso
Dancing to the beat and the heat
But February 29th he could leap and pride
Gyrating crazily leaping from space to space
Time warp again
Disco fever
Never tiring
It only happens once every 4 years
Leap frog when he was a child
Monty Python taught him how to leap from tree to tree
He did the Lumberjack
His jeans had done the Hop on Bandstand
He had bell bottom genes
While in South America he did the Anaconda
Bunny Hop with children as he walked
Loved the song Fandango
While hunting his horse taught him the Foxtrot
Auntie Mame be proud
His favorite was Leaping
Once every 4 years
Just bored so I typed nonsense
Painted horses leaping, faster and faster,
I hold on tightly as my tangled hair is flying.
A sweet carnival memory of a childhood summer.
Painted horses leaping!
The amusement park is twirling and whirling,
of this horse, I alone, am the master!
Father is holding me, to keep me from falling.
My dappled horse is quite a leaper!
The Merry Go Round is now gently slowing.
"Can I ride it again, please father?
Painted horses leaping!
_______________________________
August 16, 2013
Poetry/Rhyme/Painted Horses Leaping
Copyright Protected, ID 08-499-404-16
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
I am scrolling down hill,
folding the pills,
elongating the tree's
and simplifying the breeze,
I am a song to be played-
earlier than you might say
in the day,
when hearing is a complaint
and danger is delayed,
but you are a spade,
to be wondered and craved,
you are your own way,
with the sing of the slave-
underground-
above the haze,
glazed with the betrayed,
honed in on like waves,
so stubborn your gay-
holding on to the page!
Don't you walk that way!
Troubled little weaver-
always weavin' in and out of the days,
with your face,
and two others that may show you the way.
So...Whenever there is game,
whenever you are just being insane,
two others can ring your ping-
scratch at your lawn,
ease your bickering fawn,
who is ages old-
cranky and yet cold,
shines like the rivers of silver soles,
wasted and bold.
...Blanketing and broad like the system of the slots,
put in a coin so you can jog-
with your eye's,
and with your pogs,
fall to the floor,
while dude ranchers await cry's out the doors,
become single and slower,
dangerous like snow blowers,
manned by cats
with fake joints hangin' in their lips crowin,'
as they are growin,' croppin,'
and sowing,
the stage is set to start goin,'
but you stay all knowin'-
with the people out there- asses a blowin'!
Like the sound of the tick was that on it-
like the leaper out of time was so subordinate,
you know you could have grabbed mine,
you know about other ways to shine,
but still you sit and grind-
sleep and unwind,
base your catches on other famous people's finds...
I don't confide,
I really don't try,
I just hear god and ask about the water in the sky,
why doesn't it come down on African pride?
When they need it most?
When we know 911 proved evil the most...
But sit here and boast
and you'll hear gods jokes-
he's got what a man needs,
he's got you underneath a sheet,
so don't breathe!
Just start running,
got the mustard?
Pray for a plead,
because random people leave
while friends try and greet,
an acre of land with animals and plants couldn't please,
even if they spoke the language, and cured the disease,
sorry if I sound meek-
but pride comes when I'm done writing these...
I once met a guy by the name of Mort
By his record he must be very smart
At five, High School complete
College at six; a feat
A leaper; birthdays are four years apart
Submitted by Charles Sides
A lab mouse grumbles:
“I’m so frustrated! I don’t know why
I have to be confined in this narrow path with high walls on both sides. I’m forced to lick food scraps I find on the pathway to sustain this miserable life,”
at that moment, when the mouse turned his back after failing to find
a way out of the dead-end, an ominous shadow, dressed in a hooded black robe similar to the Grim Leaper, blocked the way.
In the maze no way out, the time feebly mumbling itself
stood aside staring at the mouse always hungry from malnutrition,
and that’s why unable to recall when he was fed; yesterday or today?
A smell of death creeps into the maze where you can only crawl
to move around, no way extended to or from yesterday or tomorrow. Since
the past in the fog is hazy, the future in the fog is hazy, and present in the fog
is hazy, time does not move.
If you are unable to acknowledge yourself, you are not the conscious “I” anymore. The “I” only breathes and moves by instinct no different than an android who moves around without feeling; it doesn’t have the vital warmth of a living being
but reacts only to a programmed sensory mechanism, as such, it’s unable to take responsibility or responsible for its own actions,
that’s why the android doesn’t know the meaning of tears
that are clearer then morning dew or the bitterness of life you have
to swallow with great despondency; that’s why the android doesn’t know where the warm breeze comes from with the flowers in paradise, or why the leaves fall when the roaring wind blows through the field of downfall.
A big hand descending from above grabs the mouse
which is neither living body nor robotic mechanism anymore,
and injects the solution of death; the mouse shook his limbs, agonizing, vomits pieces of torn lungs out from his bleeding mouth, then, alas, becomes lifeless.
oft times ('specially
these latter un-sainted days and nights)
death doth haunt me zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
crowds out purposeful thinking
in the twitching mind kempf
paradigm of this atheist
hence, he betook himself
to this MacBook Pro,
while swiss side dull ideations
for professional intercession, could not wait
asper affecting s cathartic,
emetic, harmonic tete a tete
and providing a meaningful surrogate
to expunge morbid mental state
accessed Open Office
and let fingers (of left hand) do talking heads
to an imaginary therapist
across this qwerty keyboard
allowing, enabling, and
at the quickest typing rate
striving to cap cha dismal, gloomy,
and ill lust tree us deplorable mood aye e quate
with pitching into a bottomless abyss where pate
fed ceaseless diet of NON GMO –
a last repast the grim reaper did orchestrate
gluten free, an extra heavy dose
of monosodium gluti Nate
which ingredient doth BuzzFeed thine appetite
for total mortal exter minate
'thou no need fermi to rush,
where angels fear to tread, cuz but better late
than never, the apothegm, credo, ethos...Kate
(the caterer maintains an open exit from life,
and cares only that each soul doth feel elan,
joi de vivre, and psalm times
a leaper chants, ecstatically finally
gustatory humming dont jubilate
for your final homecoming, or else
the mailer daemon lived
a devilish life will instigate
a de coup age d'etat, but such extreme
measure for measure heed doth hate
yet exceptions always made for a date
particularly when henchmen to die for
golden opportunity
to snatch a generic guy a create
an underground soiree will cease,
when ashes master
of hell raising circumstances twill use as bait
let underground missionary be my advocate.
Have you ever seen the like of it before
The mad people leaping around the floor
There is no music I can hear
It's all in the head , the mad leaper said
It's all in the head
First thing in the morning
Last thing at night
These leaper's never stop
Are they completely mad, I had to ask
Oh no, came the reply, this what they do
They have got an art's grant don't you know
So leaping mad they must go
Their inspected once a month
Just in case their not leaping high enough
To keep the grant, you have to be tough
It's all sort mad, If not a little sad
In life you have to take good and bad
The good rarely get a grant
But then they don't know how to leap and rant
So leap with me to make a quid
For art is art , or so they say
But to most , art is no good , unless it pays
(while trapped in Pottstown
Memorial Hospital parking lot).
My humble apology to those,
who posted uber up lyft ting messages
to this Macbook Pro Facebook keeper,
without said scrivener swiftly
tailoring timely acknowledgement
from one harried styled leaper,
thus feel free to take
leguminous litigious licorice flavor
flav can deed extra-legal
imprisonment against my liberty,
(though catty, I am pusillanimous,
sans feline nine lives cheaper
by the dozen), plus verbally ejaculating
out gee golly jeeper,
or more pointedly
calling me a mother f****** bleeper,
for seeming to appear unresponsive
as a stale petrified marshmallow peeper,
and yes quite understandable
bitcoin torrents of rage runs deeper
than a blockchain though close call,
yet just lemme explain,
how during my most recent sleeper
state, a clear as bell curve
living dream nearly
saddened Matthew Scott Harris as,
cuz he got subject to grim news, viz
inducing him (yours truly) to become
deceased within a split second,
upon dropping to sleep
while all around, an
inconsolable weeper
wept sorrowful seas,
more so those family,
and facebook friends
many fine companions
linkedin thru Internet
invaluable cherished persons as keeper,
but believe this secular humanist,
he, who (honest to dog)
unexpectedly subsequently got engrossed
with the grim reaper,
discussing local, current (national), global,
and cosmic events, superficial,
and/or somewhat deeper
(topics oh...and as a non sequitur
d'ya know the name of original
Glen Elm occupants are named Leiper),
anyway Xmas universally
renowned throughout space
yes, jolly saint nick with his farout trappings
topped off with electronic digital beeper,
yepper siree he gets touted,
lauded, and celebrated be
leave ving with whatever
dogmatic faith hen knee
dear rabbit reddit reader doth embrace,
or perhaps being atheist like me,
(albeit I most likely appear
as somewhat highlee
beatle browed from across the universe),
nonetheless, whether er rather,
when still alive this chap aimed to - dee
light, enlighten, and playfully
frighten alien nations
(even those pizza peace loving
inhabitants resembling free
ranging gregarious teenage
ninja mutant turtles)
coming out their shells with glee.
Dear Jack the Reaper
Flipping and fiddling, one might say engrossed by the impression
Formally geared up for the occasion
With eyes lit like clippers
Walking and hands in pockets dipper
Delighted by the label ‘Keeper’
Awaiting for the aftermath
For he is a walking chipper
Grinded, shredded I shed a tear
And for a thought is like
She turn-up when ends meet
That Mona Lisa smile
Stripping to entice mine eyes
Leaper leaping towards mine soul
Dear Lucy the Leaper
(can also be read from bottom up)
Space-Poet
A lonely soul lying in the carriage
driving by the Grim Leaper is Pierrot,
the third class theatre performer who pretended to be happy
though he was sad hiding his loneliness behind thickened white makeup.
Pierrot who lying in the plain wood coffin,
not even a stem of flower on it, tears for the first time;
each time the carriage jolts, though it was unthinkable
to those who knew him, tears clearer than early morning dewdrops
roll down his cheeks.
[While he was alive,
tears were the luxury that were
way, way more than he could afford.]
Where is the grim leaper? The little boy asked me.
I was surprised about this question from my nephew, Lee.
You mean the grim reaper? I queried him.
No, I mean the grim leaper. His name is Jim.
Let’s follow the corn, I suggested to Lee.
I think I know where the grim Leaper might be.
The Grim Reaper gave a shout and grabbed me right away.
I struggled to get lose but was whisked off by the reaper that day.
Painted Horses Leaping
Painted horses leaping, faster and faster
I hold on tightly as my tangled hair is flying
a sweet carnival memory of a childhood summer!
And of painted horses leaping!
The amusement park is twirling and whirling
of this horse ... I alone, am the master
father is holding me to keep me from falling!
Oh, my dappled horse is quite a leaper!
The Merry Go Round is now gently slowing
quiet now are the painted horses leaping!
____________________________
March 25, 2023
Poetry/Rhyme/Painted Horses
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1533-872-25
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Submitted to the Premiere contest, Strand No 1023
Sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/27/2023
Fourth Place
Had To Be Hung
How could he have been an outcaste?
Must have been somewhere in his past
To be forgotten, not remembered at all
While from God, he will await His call.
Him as he was should God try to take
After all of the hearts he often did break
On so many others himself would force
With misty eyes all found much remorse.
Had to be hung was proper thing to do
Who never had been like me or you
Horse leaper forward as it did lunge
From world, his life we then did expunge.
On his grave marker, what will it wear?
Here lies a killer who never would care
Looked up in sky and saw his soul pause
Name on grave left behind was a lost cause.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
"I'm not paid to be a role model. I'm paid to wreak
havoc on the basketball court". Charles Barkley
Pop Eye, the sailor man, with the aid of spinach,
always defeated a much bigger man; but did he feed
5,000 with 2 fish and 5 loaves of bread?
Spider man, my grandson's superhero; but can he raise
the dead or come back from the dead?
Tarzan, loved by the wild ones and king of the jungle;
but did he turn water to wine or walk on water?
Superman, steel bender, high leaper, train stopper;
but did he give sight to the blind or cleanse a leper?
The Long Ranger (the mask man), Tonto, and Silver,
rescued many and never took the credit;
but did they heal the sick?
Batman and Robin to the rescue; but can they command
the raging sea to 'be still'?
I agree with Mr. Barkey that parents should be role models,
and my parents were mine. But I have another who is
awesome and incomparable; My role model, my superhero,
but more. He's a super savior from any ailment or from any
of endless situations and sins. Born of a virgin, died at the age
of 33 in my place, rose from the dead, and ascended into heaven.
He is my Superhero and so much more. His name is JESUS!
090322PSCtest, Superhero or Supervillain. Robert James Liguori