Long Ballyhoo Poems
Long Ballyhoo Poems. Below are the most popular long Ballyhoo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ballyhoo poems by poem length and keyword.
ballade (not a ballad)
This prince we see down on his knees
his wife beside him is no shrew,
Can she believe his guarantees?
He promises to say adieu
to female friend he has pursued.
He hopes it does not contradict
but wonders just how his wife knew.
Lying – the curse of addiciton.
His patient wife he tries to please
to her he swears what he will do.
Betrayal done, he now agrees,
he quits his drugs and smoking too.
And then his hardest hitherto
a habit which we could predict.
From his bottle this man withdrew,
lying – the curse of addiciton.
This prince of principalities
no more will cuss in navy blue,
and he will mind his q’s and p’s,
and he - tobacco will not chew.
He’s making so much ballyhoo
the neighbors see a derelict.
He’ll even bathe and use shampoo.
Lying – the curse of addiciton.
Yo, Prince, come on, admit what's true.
Promises cannot lick or shun
delusion's faulty point of view -
lying - the curse of addiction.
written: Dec 12, 2016
From back streets, alleys and hedgerows they came,
all sorts of people with children and dogs
filling the Chapel like a hall of fame;
the smell in the air had a whiff of bogs.
The best beggar in Worcester, that was Jack
a man of the street to be laid to rest,
no family to grieve, no mourners in black.
Some he had cheated, others could attest
they had learned from him street craft to survive,
receiving and sharing what came their way.
I read from St Luke how all turned aside
of those invited to the feast that day.
I gave them a welcome in Jesus' name
for coming to share the Jack that they knew.
It wasn't a banquet, but all the same
we gathered at the grave to ballyhoo.
A tipsy guy struggled to announce
he was known to them all as Steady Jack.
"Steady as you go!" his comrades pronounced.
A young Rastafarian kept us on track
with a wistful melody on his flute,
gathered for the committal packed in close.
Many an improvised personal tribute
was tossed into the grave for Jack's repose:
besides clods of soil a can of Guinness,
a bottle upended, several butt ends,
a home made wreath dropped in as a witness
limp but sincere to Jack's coffin descends.
To pay its respects an old dog came forward,
peered in, then curled up on a grave nearby.
Once the hole was filled and Jack was covered
expletives were uttered to satisfy
feelings deep within. Then dancing began
with bongo drums which continued till dusk.
Standing aside with much to understand
as cemetery staff completed their task,
I found respectful silence was broken
by fresh conversation of what we'd seen,
rituals of death uncommonly potent
shared and displayed with nothing routine.
They’re building a subway
(They call it the Q)
To run underneath
Second Avenue.
It’s nearing completion
(But way overdue).
They’re hoping by New Year’s
To have its debut.
Construction’s so noisy
(If you only knew!)
That the neighborhood feels
It’s been getting the screw.
But now they’re on deadline
(With much ballyhoo)
And the streets are so tight
You can hardly pass through.
If it ever gets finished
(Despite the huge crew)
We’ll be shocked ‘cause it seems
Like a classic snafu.
When the new year begins
(And there’s still no review)
All New Yorkers will sigh,
Unsurprised, as on cue.
Posted on Christmas Eve, happy cuz Trump soon leaves
America finally gets a reprieve from the lies he weaves
Well, pardon ME if you disagree, but he's one and done
He's been pardoning crooks, murderers, daughter & son
giving the phrase, "Who let the dogs out?" the answer
It's the narcissist who infected the country with cancer
It's time for a celebration and Happy New Year to cheer
A new President will reside in the White House next year
Trump will have to vacate his throne. It's been conferred.
No fraud took place or election rigging. That was absurd!
Joe Biden will be moving into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Uniting our country without Trump's drama and ballyhoo
What a poor example he's been as a leader; head of state
America was better off before he said he'd make it great.
Move along with your counterfeit tan and puckered mouth
Take your cocky kids with you as you putt your way South.
Let's hope once he's gone, out great nation will soon heal
with a commander who can keep our ship on an even keel
"Trump's descended into madness," "He's lost his mind"
Recent headlines that his supporters will claim are unkind
but considering the mess he's made of many vital issues,
the only sympathy I can offer them is a box of tissues
The oval office will need steam cleaning and fumigation
No portrait of him to hang. Let him take that to litigation!
It's reported Trump is headed South, to his Florida estate
His new slogan, just released: "Trump 2024 ~ DONATE!"
He's spent more time golfing than acting like a President
His Mar-a-Lago neighbors don't want him as a resident!
The worst possible fraud committed in the last four years
is the fake role he played, condoned by Republican peers
It won't be smooth waters for a while because of the scum
he's left behind; that shameful man, that do-nothing bum
America has been stumbled from each inept Trump blunder
pitting brother against brother; he's ravaged us all asunder
He once said the world was laughing at our great nation
The truth is they laugh at him; a presidential abomination
As much as I love music,
I’m not sorry to admit
That opera’s the exception,
For I like it not one bit.
It’s not that I don’t understand
The words (although that’s true),
But rather it’s the voices
All the critics ballyhoo.
Sopranos, tenors, baritones -
They all get on my nerves,
Then you toss in some vibrato
(Which no audience deserves),
Add some overdone emoting,
Make-up way beyond the top
And the flashiest of costumes -
I’d go on, but here I’ll stop.
Opera fans the whole world over
Are both cultured and refined,
But, though classical I covet,
Opera leaves me disinclined.
(Sponsor : Kai Michael Newmann)
MOON ON A SPOON
If I could I would
fetch you the moon
on a spoon
Oh ? Really !
you ballyhoo coon
you make me swoon
If I could I would
fetch you the moon
on a spoon
Why not bring me
a chocolate cocoon
I will wriggle out
festooned !
If I could I would
fetch you the moon
on a spoon
We will eat it at noon
in our magical room
then to our doom !
If I could I would
fetch you the moon
on a spoon
My goon, so goop !
Where are you from ?
a souk goof ?
If I could I would
fetch you the moon
on a spoon
How ?
Lo ! I do not know !
My spoon has
sailed with a
monsoon
And the moon
has fallen into
a true blue
lagoon too
soon !
Former CIA Director
John Brennan scathing headlines
Washington Post op-ed sharply
published critical accusations
muted excoriation slams
Commander in Chief
volcanic blatant pathological lying
spews like lava his American
foreign policy boilerplate brazenly
bastardizes by banditry blueprint,
balefully balkanizing beautiful bracketed
booming brady bunch brand,
bests best-buy buffer braking balanced
bastion, bolstered beloved benighted
bequeathed bicameral bipartisan bliss,
Baptizing bacchanalian buffoonish bombast,
betokening bobble-headed Bumstead,
barmy bartered bride bravado, bizarrely
brash brassiness, blindsiding behavior,
beetlebrowed bonehead, bafflingly baldfaced,
bankrupting, blithely bollixing,
bombastically belittling, badmouthing,
banally blasting, banana-boat baseless,
bearish blandishments, beastly boastful
boosterism, bellicosely boorish, bug-eyed,
bighearted, bigoted blathering breeding
blunderbuss bloopers, bewildering
bloodletting bellyache blight,
brazenly being bandying bellwether,
blitzing bourgeoisie balderdash,
balking but beaming barbaric
berserk ballyhoo backbiting,
backslapping backstabbing
blacklisting bromides,
besetting basic bestowed blooming,
Bobbitizing bedeviling beneficial
bulwark bereft badinage, ballistically ballooning
betrayal birthing bedlam.
Our sons play trumpet, saxophone,
the piccolo and bass trombone.
Horns blast and blare like Gatling guns;
a sound-proof basement makes it fun.
Horns blast and blare
Horns blast and blare
from morn till night without the sun.
And when the band performs to task
some parent never fails to ask
How do you stand the ballyhoo -
of practice sessions – how do you...
How do you stand?
How do you stand?
Acoustic secret called Green Glue.
written July 3, 2014, which is my birthday
entered in Laura Loo's Poem Written on Your Birthday contest
a form called brain strain refrain created by Allen Emery,
specs can be found at:
http://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/?p=2263
I know humor can hoist my heavy heart,
those times when I've made too much ado.
A joke upgrades angst to laughter's ballyhoo.
You sometimes forget what you once knew.
Take this guy who wears his shorts on his head;
yes, he is a clown with a natural glow
forgetting what he does, the facts you forego
You don't know what you don't know.
Curious about what you remember?
It makes perfect sense in my head.
I would never ignore nonsense that's well-said.
What will you know, when you are braindead...
written October 21, 2016
inspired by two quotes
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Maya Angelou
"Nonsense and beauty have close connections". E. M. Forster
I wandered on a journey, in search of treasure,
priceless far beyond any kind of menial measure.
After weeks of hard trekking, 258 miles due West,
on 6/25 I lost my 20/20 vision. I needed a rest.
I was sick of the infernal heat on this tiring quest.
The warm breath of summer became quite a pest.
A coral snake bit me but I didn't cry and ballyhoo.
I ate him for dinner and wrote about him in Haiku.
I was singing my swan song; an ache in my breast,
so I gave up the search for finding that stupid chest.
Because of my selfish need for greed and pleasure,
I learned a life lesson. I've become a lady of leisure.
Views For Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Funom Makama
Posted on July 15, 2020
Poem Name: Warm Breath of Summer
Views: 258
Poetry Form: Haiku
Date of Publication: 6/25/2020