Long Antics Poems
Long Antics Poems. Below are the most popular long Antics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Antics poems by poem length and keyword.
Absurdity walked this path of a whorish lane,
Dauntingly decked in a dark seductive garb
Egregiously seeks the thrones by craftiness,
Nebulous transverse for the wayfaring man.
Illusions of a well worn thigh concealed with facial mascara.
Killjoy bipolar nagging for control, demanding dominance by demonic antics,
Eccentric public commodity makes it the brothels for quickie.
Acrimony well taught from the market square by “Iyaloja”
Damaging defiance conscripting father to “garri Ijebu” and Fish
Egomania derailed from home and deprived of morals,
Sagged and perforated lurid frame perfumed for a prey
Offensive forlorn factious feigned facades
Lacklustre and noxious mien seduced the prey by lewd bait,
Absurd Incentive the goal, merchandise of greed, A week of affiance.
In a whimsical world of witty wonder,
Where laughter lingers, lost not in thunder,
There danced a dandy with a dapper flair,
Sporting red shoes, a vivid vision, rare.
He pranced in patterns, a playful sprite,
His heels clicking, a rhythmic delight,
With every step, a spark would ignite,
A fiery frolic in the soft silver light.
"Fickle feet, with a flamboyant beat,
Wherever you frolic, you'll never admit defeat,"
He chuckled in tempo, his spirits alight,
A crimson carousel in the pale moonlight.
The shoes, they whispered of wild escapades,
Of jaunts and jamborees in sunny glades,
With alliterative antics, they'd gladly regale,
A tapestry of tales, a merry mirthful trail.
"Gallivanting goofs, you garner grins,
With every jig, the joy never ends,"
He jested with glee, his heart aflutter,
As red shoes shimmied, in a boisterous banter.
Through the town he'd twirl, a torrent of cheer,
A jovial jester, no jinx could come near,
For in those red shoes, he found his due mirth,
A boundless bonanza, a celebration of birth.
So, let's raise a toast to the red shoe revue,
Where humor and heart in harmony brew,
And in every step, let laughter ensue,
For life's too short to wear shoes so blue.
Dear Tony
I'm not your fuel anymore.
Wanting me as someone who will fulfill your needs.
Laundry, cooking, and listening to your glib antics.
Mixed in with verbal degradation to keep me down
and twirling swirling whirling, to keep you happy.
No concern that I have any needs and feelings.
It's all about Tony wrapped into a sadistic package.
Convincing people that I deserve your abuse because
I'm insecure.
Who's the insecure one???
Love is not getting someone else to fulfill Tony's needs.
You were always bored. You always needed excitement.
Women are objects. Using your eyes to fulfill your
sexual deficiency. Using my weaknesses against me.
Projecting your sociopathy on me. And.......You have no
remorse. You can't function in relationships.. . Work, family,
or intimate ones. You will scope out your next victim. A
caring, loving, empathetic, and intelligent woman who
you will feel an insatiable need to destroy. And you will
walk away after you burn her house down. You will be
satisfied once again. Cycling circle cycling circle of
Psychopathy.
Got to go
Not your victim anymore
Form:
Old weeping willow why do you cry
Your beauty is green leaves not blue
Your roots a pillow from which to thrive
As Mother Nature’s sun smiles on you
Many a kid has used your brown branches
To climb you or swing in your shadowy shade
Many a poet you inspire romantic antics
Carving heart in your bark or writing on page
Your children near and far mirror you
And some have been lumbered sadly
Furniture and houses made as proof
You must miss them being near badly
Do you weep due to lost dreams
Or is it the loss of your forest green
Is it because man pollutes the stream
Or you find no peace as we keep warring
I’d like to apologize for our ignorant ways
For changing your forest for selfish reasons
I hear your song in the wind each day
I cherish you at each every emerald season
So you stand on brown holy ground
It’s holy because you peach persevere
May you live forever in our town
As a preserved prize that thrives here
First Freeze
Aspen leaves quaking shivering
Beneath coats of freak September snow…
Gold sequins sparkle through a cloak of ice
New sunlight captures glitter
Captivates - no fool’s gold
Out of season – unexpected appearance –
Jack Frost’s second cousin
Sneaks up on the foothills
With frigid rime kisses
Powders the noses of mountaintops
That gasp in surprise
At winter’s scenic postcard
In hoarfrost and uncured icicles
Delivered
Too soon for the borealis solstice;
Chortling jester
Playing practical jokes
On Autumn
With early winter mischief;
Prankster unleashed
In antics of snowflakes
And escapades of flurries
Before harvest boogies and twirls
In orchard jubilees - pumpkin field festivals -
First freeze winks –
Leaves change from green to gold.
snowstorm sneaks away
skies sweep away snow debris ~
eighty degrees now
9-18-20
Four In One Nature Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
I'll bring a tear to every eye,
and I can make a grown man cry.
To grip you is my specialty,
for once you are caught up in me,
strong feelings will intensify.
I'll make you ponder things like why
a nice guy has to cheat or lie.
I mirror sad humanity.
I'll bring a tear.
It's by man's flaws and sometimes by
the hand of fate that he must die.
To see man face mortality,
you'll empathize; I'm tragedy!
Have tissues ready. Dry your eye.
I'll bring a tear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m full of fun for everyone.
Watch me now and you’ll come undone.
Test me with a humor trial -
If you frown, you’re in denial!
I’m a funny son-of-a-gun!
I’m full of silly, zany puns.
I’ll make you forget life’s problems.
With my antics I’ll beguile;
I’m full of fun!
For I’m Drama’s beloved son.
I’m Comedy, second to none.
Full of tricks to make you smile;
Entertaining for a while.
Don’t go yet. My gags aren’t done;
I’m full of fun!
A Double Rondeau
Part one/Andrea Dietrich
Part two/ Susan Burch
For Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver's
Opposites Attract (Collab) Poetry Contest
Before golden opportunity
(goes no argh hue mint
the way of Long John Silver)
doth fade and dwindle
not necessarily cuz the missus
did (NOT) bribe and swindle
an ambition (for nor rhyme nor reason)
arose to kindle...
Affectionate communication
employing (figurative) gambol
probably testing your patience
to decrypt me trademark ramble
essential crux of matter after
ye prune thorny verbiage,
metaphorical berry good bramble.
Methinks yar psyche slid into funk
cuz usual upbeat gregarious disposition
of late (June 26th, 2020)
analogous to reclusive monk
whose nonverbal body language
shrieks "LEAVE ME THE ƒµ©* ALONE"
lest recipient (in this case yours truly)
receives judicious suckerpunch
finding him landing - ouch
on his buttucks - kerplunk!
Nevertheless as one
mister misanthrope to another
who could pretend cavorting
as asinine make bull heave brother,
(or undergoing extreme makeover,
and stretching imagination voila
one garden variety generic beastie boy
rendered into... yup, your grandmother.
Hoop fully no unpleasant memory
doth suddenly unfold
linkedin to said very old
boot (moost likely)
long deceased family member
turned to dust commingled with auld
Lang syne amidst weathered tombstones,
markedly intact skeletons absent
any flesh o'the rear
some etched with hands folded in prayer
mausoleum enshrining even in death near
(think grim reaper kingly leer)
still provoking jeer
profligate (yet prolific) paperback writer heir
housing generations ghostly forebear
comprising your family tree, once... dear
father, mother, sister, brother, et cetera
who profusely guzzled beer.
No intent to induce fury if playful banter
loosed psychological trip wire
merely harmless ambition to deliver mirth
lobs strike out as decided
by just now summoned umpire
on the ball punning away without tire
greatly flattered if literary antics inspire
ye to pen memoirs,
which become New York Times
bestseller, thus countless clamoring demands
to serve as ghostwriter hire
prompt ye with fame and fortune
before thee doth exhale last breath and expire
when moments prior,
I while impersonating a squire
wished ye a cheery bon voyage.
LITTLE WINGS
“No,” and they meant it. The dizzy seat
almost threw the 8 year old. He was swiveling
‘round and around and around, starting
to look green, ready to fly, free fall. Slip
of balance to the ground would have stopped
this silliness. So I had to save this big kid
with firmness and kindness. Had him sit
on the prop once more showing him how easy
he could have slipped off his solo merry-go-round.
“No,” one propped at the top with listless feet.
Vigor not wasted on swings, slides, hide n seek.
“Yes,” taking them by the hands, we walk to the bridge,
locate the side path to the sidling creek. Recent rain
filled its body. “Yes,” the oldest balances on a stretch
of log reaching into the water. I must let the future
middle-schooler stretch himself, but only so far,
for if he falls in this grandma with an arthritic leg
might find herself in an uncomfortable situation.
“Yes,” the youngest can cup his hands into the water,
stir it with small sticks…skip stones across its surface.
“No,” to creeping out onto the log with his brother.
Grandma knows there’s more potential for this guy
to fall in, and this grandma has no desire to go fishing.
Fine men in the making, tasting of life. Letting go,
little by little, sloughing away the silliness —
with grander and gratefulness,
as Grandma loves the antics and abandon
of their soaring souls. Love is swinging, sliding,
listening to the beating of heartfelt wings.
6/23/2021
Our five year old hound dog mix.
the sweet Southern name of Beau,
jet black, sleek,
white chest and throat,
is living with his brother, Arrow,
and a new family for Beau.
I’ll miss his daffy antics,
and chasing indignant squirrels
in the spacious yard,
but we just couldn’t keep him,
he is still a dog of our hearts,
he’ll always be my granddog,
with his jovial amber eyes
and friendly licks on the side
of my head.
He’d sit at attention when he
wanted a treat,
he and Gus, our terrier mix,
had comical zoomies bounding
on the grass.
But now he’s on a new adventurous
life journey,
getting into mischief with Arrow,
we won’t forget you,
big boisterous Beau,
happy doggie tales to you. ~
Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise,
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !
His countenance reeks of admiration, which speech can't disguise—
but much of this—his antics—I'd known quite well from the very start.
The cold air in the room is too tempting to chase away love,
yet I choose to be oblivious to what my heart is saying.
No soothsayer need tell me our feelings fit like hand in glove—
yet still I must conceal the tale my restless heart keeps portraying.
He thinks I’m playing hard to get—or fears he’s not quite good enough,
though approval glows on my face—the same he's on both knees for.
Perhaps he believes my "yes" won’t come so easy, or off the cuff—
but truth be told, I might… though not before he pleads a bit more.
My heart is too fragile for love to easily find its way in,
so the longer he talks, the more it begs him for a breakthrough.
My lips tremble when he kisses me, to seal what he calls a win—
When cupid's arrow aims for you, there isn't much that you can do !