Long Bigfoot Poems
Long Bigfoot Poems. Below are the most popular long Bigfoot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bigfoot poems by poem length and keyword.
the woods were abnormally quiet
we pitched our tents in silence
honoring the quietude of the forest
I noted some gorgeous pines in the distance
heard a tiny sound, turned and saw a deer’s white tail
She had leaped into the thicket, so I missed the rest of her
my camping buddy whispered for me to come closer
I did, and he handed me his binoculars.
Don’t make any loud sounds, but look over there.
I did not see anything unusual at first.
He gave me additional directions, and I noted one unusual tree.
It seemed to be thicker than the others.
I commented on it. He told me to magnify the lens
There was an enormous bigfoot staring at us.
I nearly dropped the binoculars. My mouth squeaked.
Don’t be afraid, my companion said. I have seen this one before.
Suddenly I knew that he was out of his mind.
I did not know whether to run away or to stay.
~CLOSE Encounter~
"AIEeeeeeeeeeee...."
"What? What are you yelping about?"
"Get off my foot, man!
You big dumbbell!"
"Boo-hoo, hooooo,
Cry, baby, cry! It's
only my foot on yours!"
"Yeah, but a BIG FOOT!
Like an elephant! Get Off!!"
"Aww...all right!"
"Phew! Haaaa..."
"Ahem! What are you doing?"
"Plucking a pair of pears, why?"
"Those are NOT pears!"
"Yuck! Ick!! Oops!!! Sorry!
Can you lift me up, please?
I want to pick a couple from the tree,
I am hungry."
Wham! A deer is stunned
to death with a back slap.
"Here..."
"Ugh!! Thanks, but we don't eat raw meat."
"Men!"
"BIG FOOT" Contest by SKAT A
A small childish event
slips through an unguarded moment once more,
then a teenage grudge nudges my ego
demanding some resolution.
Big Foot is tearing up the woods.
The interstellar aliens want us all to relax,
to be a be-ing – just a being
not a human doing. No,
we are human beings -
there’s nothing to do.
No fights are worth doing-over, just let it happen,
don't define 'it'.
besides ‘doing’ gives the Universe a headache
you brought upon yourself
back in the early childhood event days.
Let the crap go;
like water it will flow along
the line of least resistance,
then it all ends at the bottom
of a peak you never needed
to climb anyway.
Make a billion dollars,
build that bridge, damn or barn,
let imagination put its hard hat on
and go to work.
Then cut the yellow ribbon and grin.
If it's fun it's done.
When the Master said
we could move mountains
he meant let the mountain move to you -
allow it. He did not mean
start shoveling – that would be dumb.
Bigfoot has left for the Florida Keys
he needs a little rest
from being a doer, forever in training
for his next bloodcurdling howl.
I
Where, oh where is Virginia Dare*,
No one can find her anywhere.
Her disappearance is the very worst,
I guess that's what comes from being the first.
*Virginia Dare was born on Aug. 18, 1587 in Roanoke Colony, Virginia, the first child born in the New World to English parents. Both the colony and all its inhabitants…80 men, 17 women, and 11 children…disappeared mysteriously, and no traces have ever been found.
II
Amelia Earhart* flew away
And hasn't been seen
To this very day.
Her goal was to make it to Paris in style,
But got only as far as a small desert isle.
*Presumed to have crashed on Howland Island in the Central Pacific Ocean, Amelia disappeared on July 2, 1937. According to a 2015 news article, her remains may have been found and identified.
III
And Jimmy Hoffa*,
Of course it's just hearsay,
Is fertilizing a field
In New York or New Jersey.
The reason for doing him in was excused,
The mob made him an offer,
And Jimmy refused.
*He was heavily involved with the mob-controlled Teamsters Union. He disappeared on July 30, 1975.
IV
The mystery in London
That continues a gripper,
Scotland Yard still doesn't know
Who was Jack the Ripper.*
Was he maybe a royal, a doctor, a rounder?
At least now the prostitutes are all sleeping sounder.
*He terrorized London from 1888-1891. the term "Ripperology" was coined to describe the study and analyses of the Ripper cases. There are over 100 theories about his identity.
V
Another conundrum
Hashed o'er many a snifter,
Concerning Sasquatch, or Bigfoot*,
Is he a myth or a mythter?
It's widely agreed that he's really quite scary,
His general description is big, tall, and hairy.
*We can also add Yeti to the list.
VI
Last, but not least,
There's the Anasazi.*
Did they self-destruct
Like a kamikaze?
Or did they decide to quit stone-age labors
And move to the city like most of their neighbors?
*This is the historical Navajo name meaning "Ancient Ones" who inhabited the 4-Corners region…Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado…up until sometime in the 13th century, archaeologists surmise. Why they abandoned their towns and cities is still a mystery.
They march like a circus of self appointed kings
Waving their gossip around like puppets on strings
They whisper my name like it’s top secret news
Buddy relax…I’m not Bigfoot in shoes
They huddle in corners with insider facts
Somehow their stories come up missing the facts
They talk like detectives with clues they invented
Solving the case of, “Im jealous but vented!”
They post little comments with bravery borrowed
Courage on loan due back by tomorrow
Roasting me in public with chest puffed bravado
Vanishing in person like where’s Waldo?
They act like professors of all about me
Skipping every class past Assumption 103
They major in drama with minors in snark
Graduating daily with honors in bark
Darkness seeps through stately pines,
outside this home-made, tar-paper shack.
It’s two AM, and I cannot sleep again,
so I gaze out into the black.
I feel a relaxing sense of peace,
and while it may be no normal thing,
I’ve always found the embrace of night
to be strangely comforting.
Came up with my brother and a mutual friend,
tomorrow is this year’s opening day.
The tree-stands have long been built,
waiting for deer to come their way.
My family’s owned the land fifty years,
grandpa built this three-room hut,
and he chose well because this land
has yielded some monster bucks.
I know every inch of the acreage,
all one hundred eighty-nine,
but night’s stillness brings me back
to a different place and time.
Starring into the darkness,
familiar landmarks shaded and gone,
makes you wonder what hides behind
every single leaf and frond.
Is Bigfoot lurking in the dim,
staring with almost-human eyes?
Is the ghost of a murdered pioneer
still haunting where he died?
Is a trapper dressed in furs about
to step out and hail the house?
Will an Indian come in to trade,
wanting blankets for fresh-killed grouse?
Will spirits of an ancient time
let loose with unearthly wails?
Will a forgotten hermit soon emerge
to tell us the old forest tales?
Does Wendigo stalk amongst the trees,
desperate for a taste of flesh?
Do skin-walkers wander endlessly,
unable to gain a needed rest?
These things were once very real,
when my eyes were only young.
Now they’re impossible to envision
after the rising of the sun.
But sometimes in the still of night,
when I come up to this place,
the legends and monsters walk again,
and it puts a smile upon my face.
For BigFoot I searched everywhere.
In all the Northwest, he’s not there!
Then I thought I might know
where a BigFoot might go . . .
so I went where the barbers cut hair!
To fit in and be like the rest
of us humans, he’d look his best.
so I went to each shop
where I thought he might stop
to have hair removed from his chest.
To Hollywood soon I was led.
I’d heard of a man with a head
like a wolf’s, full of hair,
making everyone stare.
What I found was Hugh Jackman instead!
Then a man I could not see too well
crossed my path at a fancy hotel.
When I got a good look,
that was all that it took!
It was furry but small, Steve Carell!
The last guy I saw in that land
of Hollywood stars acted grand.
That guy, very hairy
made Big Foot less scary.
He went by the name Russell Brand.
From Hasselhoff to Bradley Cooper,
some hairy guys are super duper!
I kept at my quest
when to the southwest
I moved, for I’m always a trooper.
I searched high and low, five years more,
but by then, I had grown very poor.
I had always liked shoes,
so thought I would choose
a job in a classy shoe store.
Like Carrie in “Sex in the City,”
I loved my work, and I looked pretty
with swank heels on my feet,
yet I felt incomplete
There was no Mr. Big! Such a pity!
But while working one day without care.
I looked up Can you guess who was there?
This odd creature so tall
made Shaquille look too small.
And he hardly could hide all his hair!
No fresh smelling flower was he,
but kindly I sensed him to be.
As I stooped down to put
my hand on that Big Foot,
I knew fate had led him to me!
Written by Andrea Dietrich
By thirteen I was quite tall—
Five-foot seven—friends were small
Always tallest in my class
On school lines—was always last.
Friends were shorter, more petite
Always looked to size-up feet
Compare shoes, I do not fib
Was self-conscious—mine were big.
Their size five to seven, fine—
I was BigFoot! Mine was nine!
Teenage complex anguished me
BigFoot phobia, you see!
Later friends caught up with me
Height and feet grew handily
Soon size nine in grownup form
Looked upon as kind of norm.
Thinking back on “BigFoot” years
To fit in, drove me to tears!
Teenage stresses to compete—
Happy now with normal feet!
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~3rd Place~
Contest: BigFoot
Sponsor: Skat A
Judged: 05/07/2015
It is May 1872
The Mary Celeste, a large ship has been abandoned
where is her crew?
where is the captain?
they have disappeared without any trace.
Forty-five years later
The USS Cyclops disappeared
Three hundred and nine people have never been found
This time, things were different
The ship was gone too.
Nine ships have vanished.
Many of us have speculated what might have happened.
Did a giant sea monster take these ships down to the ocean floor?
Did she eat all the meat and release the Mary Celeste so it could bob to the surface?
Is there a giant aquatic bigfoot down there?
It is curious.
Today I wandered through a grove.
An ancient and dilapidated place,
decaying as groves are wont.
A wind-snapped branch here,
a worm-eaten stump there.
Until the whispering wind
softly muttered in my ear,
“This is not your first time here.”
But all is different now,
Younger somehow.
I hearken to my fearless years;
my previous encounter here.
When the stump was an oak.
A wretched, writhing tree
suffocating in a blanket of ivy,
whose scoliosis trunk bowed to greet me.
With a heave of my pack
I trudged on by.
Adventure was afoot.
Just a yard shy of never remembering this place
A twitchy leaf began an unnatural dance.
And there, entranced, beyond the pirouette, an eye.
Eight, or ten…no, twelve feet high!
And a deeper green than nature intended.
Focused with an intensity
mustered only by insanity.
Being young, and naïve,
I blinked.
That curious eye, the oak, the grove,
vanished into the whispering wind.
Now, decaying as groves and boys are wont,
I sit my scoliosis frame upon a worm-eaten stump.
Far too frail today, to heave a pack,
or pirouette for that matter.
Through foggy lenses, clouded by time,
and focused with an intensity
mustered only by insanity,
I watch.
Preston Graham
04/16/15