Long Bummed Poems
Long Bummed Poems. Below are the most popular long Bummed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bummed poems by poem length and keyword.
**** lies zing constipation
nothing to poo poo about,
cuz when bedeviled by
colorectal obstruction
without wasted doubt,
that malodorous,
malevolent malady
analogous to uranus
clogged with grout,
whereat no heroic
efforts break loose,
the severely obstructed bowel,
thus spurring determined,
desperate derriere plea
for proctologist sought
to relieve constipation
equipped with a special
"J" shaped, hooked,
and designed dowel
in an effort
to pry stoppage
jamming up human cloaca,
where rock solid stubborn
immovable turd emits foul
gaseous emanations accompanied
with ass a nine growl
followed by red hot,
fiery excruciating spasms
shooting jagged pain
inducing yours truly to access,
the werewolf within howl,
where a preference for sciatica,
would be pleasant reprieve
along heinie kin cheeky jowl,
thence finding me
resorting to peeve
hush scream therapy,
which wrought nothing,
no pain did re: leave
me bummed out bum,
but veins snapping,
popping, and crackling,
oye how aye did grieve
plus a bajillion
gallons of perspiration,
while lower gastrointestinal
agonizing torture didst cleave
entire abdominal
area please believe
without aforementioned crisis,
and feeble poem,
I could not achieve.
He Found Some Crumbs On His Trail
here I am, just a lovely tulip
in my lonesome, a garden of one
incarcerated in body and mind
waiting, waiting for a good rising sun
he said, look here my lovely tulip
please don't be waiting
there will be no peeking cupid
over a rainbow mating
i cried how he found somebody else
so sudden were the crumbs on his trail
it leaves me bummed how i was used
my sorrows rest for another cocktail
connie pachecho
2/6/17
I went and placed a wanted ad
Inside my local discount rag
Hoping someone somewhere might have
Some new words they could send my way
I've started feeling slightly bummed
Using the same old worn out ones
To me they are no longer fun
Plus I need something new to say
The ad went something like this
Needed...New Words With New Ideas
Dial 955-3636
For where to drop off your resume
The words they started pouring in
From short to fat to long to thin
With no idea where to begin
I'll try my hand at come what may
With the new words I did not mince
I poured over them all with diligence
No matter past or present tense
It took up most of the day
With the new words all now lined up
I'm ready to try some different stuff
So hold on tight this may get rough
Never said it'd be a piece of cake
It'll still take effort and some work
To find the right rhyme and perfect verse
That fit the newly acquired words
To help along the way with what I now have to say
Hurriedly enroute to her royal majesty
porcelain goddess throne
whereupon earlier today
March 28th, 2022,
after incomplete defecation
sitting pretty on pissoir,
I jiggled and wiggled posterior
(analogous to performing
the bum bared hustle)
until gasping for breath
though unable to shake loose
dangling dingleberry yours truly
nevertheless synchronously praise zing
a mostly functioning sphincter muscle.
Gross and smelly
as human excrement considered
expelling fecal matter comprises
important function, whereby any unspent
ingested material shunted
thru alimentary canal
then spewed courtesy sphincter vent.
**** lies zing constipation
and/or stubborn stuck drek
nothing to poo poo about,
cuz when bedeviled by
colorectal obstruction,
no matter emetics
applied with bonafide clout
without wasted doubt,
that malodorous, maleficent
malevolent malady
body electric doth flout
analogous to uranus
clogged with grout,
whereat no heroic
efforts break loose,
the severely obstructed bowel,
thus spurring determined,
desperate derriere plea
for proctologist sought
to relieve constipation
equipped with a special
"J" shaped, hooked,
and designed dowel
in an effort
to pry stoppage
if/when yours truly constipated
jamming up human cloaca,
where rock solid stubborn
immovable turd emits foul
gaseous emanations accompanied
with a$$ a nine growl
followed by red hot,
fiery excruciating spasms
shooting jagged pain
inducing yours truly to access,
the werewolf within howl,
where a preference for sciatica,
in place, but my ill luck
regarding aforementioned plight
merely naming said nerve pain
accursed affliction arises
analogous to parasite malefactor thieve
ving would be
equally unpleasant and offer
absolutely zero reprieve
along heinie kin cheeky jowl,
thence finding me
resorting to peeve
hush scream therapy,
which wrought nothing,
no pain did re: leave
me bummed out bum,
but veins snapping,
popping, and crackling,
utmost effort I forcefully heave
oye how aye did grieve
plus a bajillion
gallons of perspiration,
while lower gastrointestinal
agonizing torture didst cleave
entire abdominal
area please believe
without aforementioned crisis,
and feeble poem,
I could not achieve.
[ Form - Rap ]
( "Love's Survival" is a paucity. The proper dress is ice-skates and blind-folds. - © 1998 - R.W. )
what to do about Plato of late
the Greeks convinced
and about Pluto
lost planet status
he-haw atmospherics since
lost again when earth's bit brawl is done
say fie to sun and moon
who glaze your suspect skin
born of light
some bummed else
styles back up to air tumbles
traffic stumbles
write poetry
the kind
obscure agrees
always something sticks
as world goes why
unmasked
erasing blue
long after head-lamps cool
corners tangled fools
who think they may get rich
reform in morning phenomes
songs of lovely aches
all for your sake
maybe me too
The sorry state of stars
they dont know where they are
the mice of earth
haggle sparkle verse
the awful beauty breaks
to spell your name
music intimates
the crippled rain
or just wear a funny hat
identity looms
found exactly where
you thought she'd gather
how she longs
each winged gesture
plain or complete
to be anywhere
anyone else
assay
any New York street
a poem
or Heaven's Gate
of ladder games
___________________
Notes:
1. Symbolic Poetry: A regurgitated commons.
2. Intentional obscurities wont thrill nirvana and bus fares remain alleged.
( cutting-edge technique for placing tongue in cheek ).
( a tooth-full... wouldn't you say? )
My Super Power Is Contest
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
I have many powers handed down from generations,
My father gifted me many obscure competent abilities,
My favorite power is the capability of regeneration,
But being able to do that is probably a big liability.
I fly in the night and tomorrow’s sights appear,
My mind foresees the future as my arms spread,
I’ve seen the look in their eyes, astounded with fear,
As my hands whisk away objects over their heads.
The fated days arriving are seen when there’s trouble,
A gun may be shot and I can sweep away the bullet,
I immediately throw the perpetrator in a glass bubble,
I fly to the cliff, land and effortlessly push and pull it.
When danger arrives I sense the apprehension,
Poor lost souls can’t fight off demons themselves,
The towns people have absolutely no comprehension,
I’m bummed my powers are lost at the strike of twelve.
The witches and warlocks wish they could do what I can,
I don’t need potions to conjure up my fluent capacities,
They gather and get jealous with rage and don’t understand,
They try to compete, how dare they have the audacity.
See, my powers have been given to be used for good,
I’ve learned to adapt and fill my spirit with adoration,
I realize many people get confused and are misunderstood,
I have many powers handed down from generations.
Date Written: June 7, 2016
Let me rap to you about where I'm from.
Sidewalks are broken, weeds grow through the cracks.
The people that use them are like the sidewalks,
broken and bummed out.
They have handles like Turkey, Louie the Bum, Sand man.
No one's hip to their real names.
They all think they're righteous.
Me, they call me Kid, so don't be freaking out,
no one cares, it is what it is.
All we care about is the hustle.
The next minute, then the minute after.
So it goes.
This, is my school, I'm hip to it.
In these alleys, on these sidewalks,
where no one can tell if the garbage man came,
where rainbows are neon, books are painted words,
scrawled on concrete walls.
It's where you can get sliced for a joint,
and die for seeing what you shouldn't.
It's cool, don't sweat it.
It's another realm man, so don't flip your wig.
No manicured grass here, only advertisements for whiskey.
Are you hip to it, what I'm laying down.
Listen up my brother, cause I'll be bookin.
In this place, pain is a commodity,
sold by dealers and pimps.
Can you dig it.
I gotta split man, before the fuzz comes.
So hang loose, I gotta drop a dime,
to my connection.
Maybe I'll catch you on the flip side.
1960's slang
contest..Talk the Talk and Walk the Walk
A holiday weekend
With nothing but rain
Gives so many a solid
Excuse to complain.
All those outdoor events
At a park or a beach
Will, because of the weather,
Be way out of reach.
Those who rented a cottage
Or booked a hotel
Might be bummed that their plans
Won’t be going so well.
Yes, the roads may be flooded
And temps much too cool
To show off your new bathing suit
Down by the pool
Yet, there’s tennis to watch
Or there’s reading a book
And, aside from the grill,
There are more ways to cook.
Still, it is disappointing
When plans that you’ve made
Have to change because Nature
Rained on your parade.
I was trying to sell my 1990 Buick Reatta
To a friend of mine, Jones, who had only one daught’a.
It was for her to drive to school,
And we were meeting in Albuquerque which was our rule.
It was halfway for both of us.
Can you believe he came with a friend? That little cuss.
Not an ordinary friend, but a Jaguar, who talked.
I was so bummed out at lunch, my voice came out and squawked.
When the jaguar reached for the ketchup, his tail hit my knee.
Under the table. He said, “Sorry, I hope you will forgive me.
My friend laughed, he was nervous of course,
But so was I, thanks to this change in our course.
He and the jaguar took a test drive with me in the back.
With a bunch of allergy-producing marigolds that made me so hack!
So do you want it? When shall I deliver it? What is the date?
I asked with excitement, for I was excited, and in a weird little state.
“I’m sorry,” the Jaguar said, “But the daughter and I are going to mate.
And frankly, a V-6 is not what we are looking for. We want a V-8.”
Written and Posted on July 6th, 2019
Contest: Favorite Poem in Rhyme from July 2019
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Common Barbie, let’s go party…
Because you know, girls just wanna have fun.
Which today means,
Oops I’m pregnant, what’s the best way to kill it?
Oh man, I’m so bummed to be a mom,
What’s the best way
To get rid of my little ones?
Damn, here I am, biological clock ticking
Where are all the good men?
And now, alone, quickly sliding down the hill,
At least I have my cats and a fine chardonnay.
TikTok girls at least got those likes
One time long ago.
Was it worth it, was it ever something more
Than just more adolescent drama?
Maybe that’s the wrong angle
After all,
Maybe it was only
Always just about the hormones.
(8/28/26)