Long Bummer Poems
Long Bummer Poems. Below are the most popular long Bummer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bummer poems by poem length and keyword.
He Walked on Water
In my youth, I thought it was a farce!
Because I wanted man to be the great
overcomer, not a God!
And most assuredly I found, faith in
man to be an absolute, total bummer!
The darling of the universe!
So obstinate and narcisstic, was I.
I had to learn the excruciating way,
How pig-ignorant it is to try.
College degrees, money, drinking,
endless bonking, vacations left my
inner being so woefully dry.
I tossed the Bible out of my Life and
how blundering I was, struggling
frantically to prove that man was
all there was.
The endless impoverishment of my days,
The fears and tears and loneliness, oh!
These lasted decades and decades.
My crackbrained struggles to find
ultimate truth in folk songs?
Yes, they are still out there with the
pretense of having the world's solutions?
How could I have believed such trash?
I belonged housed, in an institution!
It was decades of a God-less travail,
Some very harsh lessons I had to be taught.
Yet, once I invited God to live within my
soul,
Days of vile emptiness and the most vile
addiction of alll~~proving I was the best,
were removed and gone!!
Gratefully, with one invitation to The Christ
absolutely and suddenly all madness ceased.
(This is the life and truths of a grateful
and not yet accomplished poet.)
Panagiota Romios
4/27/2019
7:00 am PST
The total bummer of our wasted Test summer….ahem
Does jar well below par no cigar not even a cafe creme
After another dafter dumber and dumber apophthegm
The tedium of this charlatan medium saying carpe diem
Couldn’t be any glummer still will take Baz to the ATM
Laughter him on a whim mending a forlorn torn hem
We pleaded tree needed to go not the Root but stem
Pretending will be happy ending Bazball’s Bethlehem
ECB & Key glib in tandem fib as random as a Lib Dem
English cricket’s viral spiral now coughing up phlegm
The gory gashes from Ashes lashes will still condemn
Then Stokes says that’s all folks was absolute mayhem
Jokes he’ll back in the 2027 eleven it’s us versus them
After hoax new Kiwi bloke evokes masterstrokes a gem
No longer going for broke a stronger bespoke requiem
Will coax the magic unlike the tragic Bazball "La Boheme"
No superhero cloaks as from acorns grow oaks says Flem
To chocolate I pay my respects
Some folks say its better than sex
whether milk dark or white
Ev’ry bar I must bite
or I'll get a lack of choccy complex
I NEED chocolate it’s an unwritten rule
I'm a woman not a blithering fool
Give me a constant supply
On days that end with a Y
when choc’s smeared round my mouth it looks cool
BY JAN ALLISON
Most women love something that’s sweet
And chocolate it cannot be beat
Deny them and they’ll pout
Choc is all they think about
Many men think it's all that they'll eat.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
She lustingly said to bring some to her room
off went my trousers in a vertical zoom
I gazed in her eyes
but to my surprise
I gave her the chocolate she gave me a broom
BY TIM SMITH
Give me the chocolate and forget the sex
But please don't send it through Fed Ex
It'll melt in the summer
And that's a real bummer
Now that's a problem to vex and perplex
BY LIN LANE
Chocolates make me feel great
I forget the part about weight
If I was a tad thinner
Would think chocolate ideal for dinner
Will settle for sex after eight
BY SEREN ROBERTS
Chocolate is all that she wishes
She loves anything that Swiss is
I brought her a box
She quick changed the locks
Guess I’ll just go sleep with the Mrs.
BY DEAN WOOD
One woman with sweet loving lips
ate nothing but dark chocolate chips.
Her husband's retort?
"To enter her port
is like docking between two battleships!"
BY LIM'RICK FLATS
Dear Shari Todd – written July 29, 2015
While rifling thru outdated writing,
which virtual thumbing
wrought non deadly chancre “FAKE” blister
(long thee envy o' this wordy mister
a reference to mine youngest sister
prior tuff fall lout dynamic
emotional frenzied analogous
rapacious seditious tempestuous twister)
Tis hospitality of yar behalf
to league gal lee
tender our lovely daughter
begat in part by meself,
whose punctured psyche doth chaff
at mine severe prepubescent short comings,
which trajectory of teen years,
a downward line on spiro (Agnew) graph
which deprivations well nigh
finds a civil war raging
against one half of ma being
(Oh Henry), a Harris son,
who these days genuinely
tries his Level best
at lighter side of life to laugh
comedy of errors, boot
haunting visions visit Twelfth Night
figuratively brow beat
like an unseen dis staff.
glad that Shana (thee darling daughter
afflicted with cognitive development
entailing homebased intervention) wince
she blossomed into
a beautiful young lady,
now under Dunning aegis (bonanza) since
emotionally stable, and quiet
on western (Bend,
Oregon) front, rinse
sing with yar incredible credit karma,
her existence Quince
sud dental (juiced teething),
living with papa,
would mount to a travesty,
sham, mockery...if superficial
only perp pull reigning “FAKE” Prince
likely to barrel within
outward bound mince
meted MainLiners along here
built “mini mansion” homes
NOT bedecked with chintz
at 724 west railroad avenue
(previous address of this bummer)
anyway, should ill fate befall
like an overstuffed blintz
if this king Lear Rick Hill
wannabe meets fatal doom,
thy "mother abby" would
get panic stricken (rue...
(described in ~thirty lines of rhyme)
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Tooth and Nail
In this space, this world we have created,
it is - for most – a very slippery slope
that seems – for many – to be frustrated
by this feeling – there is very little hope.
Upon the edges of this world – scars of mans
attempt – fingernails ripped from his hands.
Upon the edges of this world – craters from teeth
attempting – hanging by the skin of, from underneath.
On this world – from man’s shadows chained –
all that fate, karma, choices made, nothings gained,
for in the end, what is it that will remain ?,
that when we look back, be considered sane.
My words, my thoughts dance to a different drummer,
this places me on the outer edges, making life a bummer.
Life seems to exist on the fringes of winter – seldom summer
sings its songs to my ears – seldom a joyful hummer
will I be, for you see, I dance to a different drummer !
Doing so, I can find no band in which I might play
because my tunes touch most, reach none – nothing stays
categorized, for me – no place to belong – stark are my days.
In this world – life for me – to be on my own.
Journeys, adventures – life for me – all alone
as I fill my days – empty – in my little home
with little light reflecting from my shiny chrome.
And so, for those who care, or care to see ?,
there is little I say, I feel, that could be
a full representation, a complete picture of me.
Lost in the subconscious blackness – an obscured sea.
B. J. “A ” 2
March 3rd 2006
Our tribute to the eighteen year old boys who were sent to Viet Nam
Was to be chill, chillin, and chillax’in as a tribute to those soon gone.
We were groov’n, and groovy, beatnik style, but we called ourselves hippie.
We were funky, groovy, and pretty nifty, copacetic, stoked, and thrifty.
Wearing our hip hugger bellbottoms, our flowered shirts and necklaces too.
Traveled the country in VWs, singing folk songs with a home fry or two.
The true hippies ran to Berkley when they left their parents’ crib.
Lucky to find shagged carpeting, pet rocks. Stoked with each other, glib.
Seventies amazing, pretty out-of-sight, our threads lasted night after night.
Fab time for us whether we were dorks, dudes, foxy mamas, putzes so bright.
Getting the low down was a bummer, but flower power was alive all summer.
Did not feel the need to rip anyone off, shared love with each newcomer.
Learned some stuff about ourselves in these days of lava lamp and Woodstock.
We could give each other skin, and keep on trucking, sharing a bong or a rock.
When boys returned from Viet Nam I am not sure they spoke the same way.
Many of the survivors put soldiers down which was an ignorant, mean play.
I think I must be seeing things
Before me stand the four of kings,
They shuffle when the Bishop brings
Annette upon nine raven wings
And Beanie rides a sea serpent
And wonders where the yellow went;
I go to pay the next day’s rent,
Where have they taken my new tent?
The bandstand kids look like Dick Clark,
Turn on the lights, I’m in the dark,
I’m standing in Grand Central Park,
A worm has caught a purple lark
And Kookie has run out of combs
So rents out rooms in old maid’s homes,
He has B.O. where ere he roams
So buys some spray and sells his tomes,
To your friend Ralph, yes you know who,
The one who should be in a zoo;
He sells used cars upon the tube
To each and every simple boob
And if he gives you stomach ache
Then Alkaseltzer’s what you take
And Bufferin too if you’re a rake,
Thus hath the Johnny Carson spake
Do I need a cigarette?
A camel says before me yet
‘yes, Luckys is the brand to get,
Be a he man, don’t you fret’
‘there must be worser ways to die
So buy brand X, give it a try’;
Just then another bird walks up
And asks me what I feed my pup
Then puts a nickel in my cup
And tells me I am full of crup
Of where I am, I’m unaware;
Why are the people all so square?
Who is standing over there?
He says he’s here to take my fare
But I’m not going anywhere,
Besides I feel my pockets bare
‘Well then I guess you must have paid’
At this I start to get afraid,
I think my mind will start to fade,
Then Hogen’s Heros make a raid,
Upon my sensibilities
And now it’s clear why each eye sees
So many people climbing trees;
It aint because of hungry fleas
As Tarzan swings upon a rope
I find I start to give up hope;
Jack Webb has started smoking dope
So now the crooks no longer mope
And Perry Mason kicks a judge
But finds the law will never budge
Unless big business gives a nudge
To Popeye selling ice cream fudge
At this I really have to rush
To our old john so I can flush
So far away this vacant mush
Before my teeth I start to brush
Then Josephine comes to my view
And says ‘I want to talk to you
Have you scrubbed your sink anew?
Your mop I think needs some shampoo’
I said ‘I think you are the plumber
And no one else was ever dumber
You’ve put me on another bummer’
My feelings start to get much number
continued in part 2>
In spring rains, I’d find my shoes a ‘leaking.
I'd feel that leak until pay-check weekend
because “Wait and see, son,” is what I’d hear.
It seems money is tight right now ‘round here.
I'd want to go see kinfolk, but mom'd say,
“Wait and see, son, we are broke now, but Hey,
Hasn't our God has always seen us by?
Some wants not met; yet most needs we can buy.
In Vermont, winter winds are icy cold,
blankets cover windows like a stronghold.
The sun's heat is gone when fall greets summer,
It is a sign, we whine, what a bummer!
Mom's special time all through the year is pray'r;
God's faithful, we are safe within His care.
Her motto's always been, "Wait and see, Son"
Fifth season's reason - God's in the long-run.
November 10, 2022
long run - a period of time sufficient for factors to work themselves out.
Growing old and fossil like is dumb
It takes the fun out of living past three
Three used to be my favorite hour
What a bummer
I've simply run out of power
What will I do with all my dollies
Retire them...set them out to pasture
Should I put my swirly lollipops in a museum
To lose their color and flavor in the coming days
And what about my gold fish Louey
He loved to drink the water and tell the truth
Will it turn gray and moldy too
Flushed down the toilet to its doom
There was so much pizzazz to life when I was young
I don't know what to do
Birthdays are trouble without a doubt
I have to learn how to count past three
Can't even enjoy cartoons and afternoon tea
Little girls grow out of climbing trees too
No more pretty pink dresses
And I didn't even get a pony for Christmas
That distresses me beyond belief
I think I'm going to cry
I'm too young to die
It is so difficult being four
I wish I could be four forever more