Long Bobble Poems
Long Bobble Poems. Below are the most popular long Bobble by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bobble poems by poem length and keyword.
Venice, Italy, is a crazy shamozzle of new and old
Where junk, graffiti, decay, stunning beauty,
history and culture poverty and opulence, all reside side by side, bobbing.
Water dominates the landscape, canals and waterways replace all the roads
Everything is carried by boat, food, people, garbage, produce, industrial supplies.
Ambulances, fire engines, delivery trucks and police cars are all replaced by boats.
The disorderly rusty ferries ply the waterways, jostling along with gondolas, magnificent polished wooden water taxis,
Occasionally the historic scene is ruined by modern fiber glass runabouts
with huge outboard motors completely out of place.
Next comes barges with cranes, garbage collecting boats, delivery and construction supply boats, and the many service vehicles.
Grab a table beside the canals and watch the parade of boats old and new jostle and bobble on by.
Walk through the tiny crowded streets and enjoy the kaleidoscope of people of many cultures enjoying themselves.
There are many surprises. Tiny shops with feet in large glass tanks being cleaner by fish.
Everywhere there are places to explore and things to enjoy.
Looming off in the distance you may see huge cruise liners dwarfing the buildings,
These vessels are seemingly populated by ants, as the ships are so big.
The ancient church bells in Venice chime as the ships depart arrive and depart, in homage to the new god of tourism.
The Palace art is simply overwhelming, overloading your senses.
Ancient art is everywhere and often ignored.
Venice is beautiful, but one gets the impression that all the photographs taken in Venice
are gradually sucking out the life force out of the structures, hastening their decay.
There are so many dimensions and experiences, places to explore that you never get tired of Venice.
The more times you visit the better you will like it and the more you will find to do and see.
You have to laugh and ignore the hassles, the jostling crowds, the regimented crowded ferry system,
the pushing and shoving of the crowds in the tiny streets,
simply laugh and have fun.
Venice is crazy, nice, with diverse multi-faceted attractions and lots of things to do.
You will love it!
Venice Trice is Nice.
Some very good friends sat around in their basement
I think we've all been here before
The room of course was smokey and wasted
The four buddies were bored right out of their gourds
They all thought they should do something special
So they decided to build a rocket ship
Throwing a bunch of old plywood together
They then sat around, smoked some more, and planed their spacey trip
Jody spoke up first and said let's go to the moon
But they'd heard that had already been done
That's when he came up with the brightest idea
I know what! We'll go to the sun!
Go to the sun?! We may be high but we're not crazy!!
They replied, this ships made out of wood
That's when Jody explained his brilliant idea
Nodding like Bobble Head dolls they all understood
As Jody dug deeper into his intricate plan
All the guys seemed to like it a lot
They would go when it's dark in the middle of night
When the suns put out and it isn't so hot
Since Jody's the genius, they put him in charge
He seems to have a grasp on what's left of his brain
There were four of them but only room for two
They drew straws 'cause they were having difficulty remembering their names
The straws turned out to be the same length
Cutting them, somebody forgot
So they picked Jody as their Captain Kirk
And Jason as his sidekick Spock
Out in left field, the excitement was contagious
Jody yelled, 'To infinity and Beyond'
They knew that quote came from some famous movie
But had a memory lapse so they gave him more Bobble Head nods
At that point they realized they had no engine
Being impaired, not a one of them cared
They all went back down into the basement
And took another kind of trip without going anywhere
Night dons a spectacular sequenced shawl,
sparkling with trillions of stars, like cosmic candles
twinkling within the blackness of space.
And a golden moon hangs high;
a gilded bobble mirrored on a placid lake,
where moonbeams dance to the sound of applauding waves.
Vampire shadows, clinging to shifting silhouettes
gorge on the remnants of colors bled from Day;
while liquid ebony inks every crag and crevice.
Darkness descends like a curtain;
creatures of the night frolicking within its folds.
While fizzling shooting stars unzip the seams of space;
martyrs to beauty, plunging to their deaths.
And as a scarlet sun slowly sinks,
crimson, encapsulates lovers entangled in the night.
And passion sets the air afire;
as electrifying sparks of euphoric bliss,
summon spontaneous fantasy wishes.
An emotional trance, out of phase with time,
invites innocence to dine at the table of love.
And intimate feelings are shared and explored;
afloat in sensual waters.
A phantasmagorical bonding of flesh and spirit
is forged by the heat of desire,
fueling two hearts, beating as one.
And as a blushing Mars rises to the occasion,
Venus peeks down with envious eyes.
Infinite pitch black void zooms,
I vacillate to pitch headlong (head over heels)
where freedom looms
large (think) cosmic size grand canyon grooms
espouses, and cloisters unbridled wedded bliss
structured sound of silence booms.
Dawdling against inevitable fate
temporarily holds in check (mate)
eternal salvation woebegone
grievance to ameliorate
repurposed conscious being (me)
sanguine reunion ridding travesty
once for all ascending soul asylum gilded gate
consanguinity amidst deceased brethren
impossible mission to discern,
thus I equivocate.
At long last doomed existence
finally fancy free and footloose
Earthly afflictions divine creator
severe trials and tribulations let loose
promise body, mind and spirit triage
damn physical, mental, and
spiritual afflictions permanent vamoose
yoked Sisyphean and mephistophelean woe
summoning herculean strength
(mine) to vanquish
courtesy (halloo) gibbet welcome noose
necks stop outer limits analogous cooked goose.
Neither family nor scant friends twill mourn
severance outlook linkedin inextricably forlorn
accursed psychological agony since I got born
incessantly pilloried courtesy bullies hood scorn
yours truly convenient scapegoat raked over hot coals
preferable versus insidious,
nefarious, and opprobrious
suffering post traumatic stress disorder wartorn
invisible battle scars branded me, yet well worn
shell shocked comfortably numbed skull
jimmied heavily inebriated distilled, cracked corn
trumpet silenced (think) muted horn.
Anger at self wells up
regarding passive stance (mine)
convenient akin to jellyfish,
and/or crustaceans without spine
essentially a dorky nerdy wimpy kid
i.e. faulty genetic design
unsure if attributable to Capricorn zodiac sign
essentially allowed, enabled and provided
easy excellent access akin to scavengers to dine
bitter draughts synonymous quaffing quinine
figuratively forced down gullet - nein
letup liberally heaped upon
bobble headed, I opine
courtesy 20/20 hindsight, a tangential pact
with Sue S. Side, promising starvation diet
package deal plus absent I,
(now a tan gent) unwittingly did cosign.
On Firtriculon V, the jagged sneels glide
through the deep and wounded river
Of course the river, aptly named The Scagerwat,
Would not be wounded if not for
The jagged sneels messy gliding
On Firtriculon V, the patterwattale plants
Reach up towards and put dirt on
The wobbling bobbling moon
Of course the moon, aptly named The Rastlying,
Would not wobble or bobble if the
patterwattale plants had not placed the
dirt only on the left side
On Firtriculon V, the weaving wheezing wahdels
Sing loudly at 2:83 in the aftermorning
And stop at 2:85 just as loudly
And of course the song, aptly named the ballad of werel,
Would not be sung as 2:83 if
The weaving wheezing wahdels didn’t keep a close
watch on the comings and goings
Of the popples on the ground
On Firtriculon V, people come at go
Ignoring the strange happenings around them
Because nothing is truly strange
on Firtriculon V
An advent of raptors loiters over mall roofs.
hooded eyes scope the neon-lit spaces,
the concreted waste lands.
We wake to their screams as if this were High Sierra,
not Ohio where parent’s try-out or manage children,
open party stores, hunker through the coming
and going of baby Jesus; de-ice puffer jackets.
Gloom is plowed behind snow dunes.
The red-tails roam in loose federations,
their young, mob-handed and loutish,
the mature work alone,
scything through small birds,
the weakened and walking.
The hawks wing-dance proclaiming their time,
a time of frost-bitten electric barricades,
of bobble hats and mittens,
while unseen, a wind-rattled thorny brier,
recites its litany of seasonal prayers.
Eclipse begs beasts bays: Chaos and Havoc
as the scheming plots a clock, e'er so close.
Ill sprites hover and bobble ... spasmatic
entities let loose their suffering throes.
Screams and wails are a precursor outbreak
of the cavernous peel that the master--
is nigh--and that the hellish host bewake,
yond slithered pets whip, for the taskmaster.
Becalm, bestilled, beware forevermore,
whilst the knell toils its toll and the uncoiled
hast sprung a boy no more behind the door,
third strike's out a poise shadows earth, turmoiled.
Minute passage as minutes flash a fear,
fourth nil toil nexus whence hell domineer.
So this is it. It’s finally here.
Your last school day has come
No more morning drop offs
No more rushed school run.
No more sandwiches to pack
No more sports kit to acquire
No frantic searching for the socks
Hiding somewhere in the dryer
No more crazes to embrace
No whirring fidget spinners
No scoubidos or scooters
No more school hot dinners
No more earnest pleas for help
Or passionate persuasions
To help with your maths homework
And solve quadratic equations !
A vista stretches far behind
When you were very young
And had to have your hair combed flat
But never in a bun !
Mum was taking all the flack
When your bottom lip would wobble
Armed with just a hairbrush
And a Clare’s, Pink Princess, bobble
Selling cakes and muffins
When cake stall day came round
Besieged by hungry children
At the home time bells shrill sound
Scrubbing out car carpets
With some enzyme killing spray
And vowing I would NEVER
Take you back to “Shakeaway”
No more sunny sports days
Then a picnic under trees
Nor helping at school discos
When the heat hit 80 degrees !
No more frantic walks to school
No chatting at the gate
No more nudge to hurry up
So we didn’t sign in late
No more uniform to buy
No September feet to measure
No school concerts to attend
And glow with pride and pleasure
No more avid watching
For the slightest trace of snow
Yearning for a snow day
Tuned to local radio
No more parents evenings
Time to sort out all the debts
To remember all those good times
and never have regrets.
We will treasure all these moments
Hold them close within our heart
There are other seas for you to sail
So soon you must depart.
These memories are so precious
These moments are so rare
So wherever life’s path takes you
If you need us - we’ll be there.
Stones remember,
the first cold plunge
in ice-melt currents
hurling the sense of fear.
They remember
each bump, each grind,
each sudden collision,
that carved their surface
to soft compliance,
yielding to the drag.
They remember
the murmuring bobble,
as gentler waters
tumbled them together,
stone on stone mumbling
in the cobbled bed.
They remember
the drought years -
sun cracking their dried backs,
leaving flakes and crack lines,
on once-smooth sides.
They remember
the roaring flood -
how it tore them loose,
spun them helpless downstream,
to settle again
in some strange, swirling eddy.
They remember
this when lifted,
when held in the warmth of hand,
that their surface, shape and feel,
reveals the legacy,
of every touch, gentle or jarring,
of every bruise, bash and bump,
the river has used to shape them thus.
Often, after a day of walking
in and out of my mind,
I will put on a nightcap,
it's not a substantial cap like a bobble hat
it's more a cowl, a hood, a cloud-basket.
Beneath this dark covering
thoughts lay down to rest
in early graves.
Beyond a high hedge of time
astral lights flicker.
An inner sky gleams a starry gloaming,
I grope for a rope to climb
ascend - become - appear.
Now I can travel like a spy balloon
floating remotely guided into other sleeping heads.
Now a secret I have never told myself:
A few nights only,
I enter another person’s dreaming thoughts
startling eyes that are not mine.
I can visit a strangers life,
share a nightmare
or catch a distant memory
rehearsing its pain or joy once more.
It is a trick of immortality
to be this short-lived.
This free-wheeling and head-loose.
Come the bald-faced light
the night cap spins away like a thrown frisbee,
it is only then
that I don't believe a word of myself.