Long Cat out of the bag Poems
Long Cat out of the bag Poems. Below are the most popular long Cat out of the bag by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cat out of the bag poems by poem length and keyword.
Here it's even:
The cloud called at me,
Even he spoke to me:
He said 'Joshua,why're you worried'.
I was reluctant letting the
Cat out of the bag.
Then,he weighing my doubt
spelt by my betraying eyeballs
admonished me and bade me
to elate my glottis and seduce
his ear of the matter eating me up.
Then i lent him the truth,
With the intention that he'll give me fruit:
'I gat to leave my country,
Before the death of this month'. Said I.
He chuckled and whipped the dripping
water from his face.
I, drowned by the wits of
his uncalled actions forced
my gaze towards him straining
my ears to perceive his words.
'I'll be of help to you,
Only if you float in me',he continued.
Elated was i after those words:
That even he is willing to help.
But i've been jumping for hours
If i can only touch him.
Yet,the jealous earth wouldn't me.
Even yet,i'm still jumping:
Maybe i need a ladder:
Even a humanic ladder.
17:22:17:20:48
Questions
If form follows function,
why does everything have too many bells and whistles?
Especially cell phone.
If everything is so simple a rocket scientist could do it,
why aren’t we all Werner von Braun’s?
Checkbooks are a mystery.
If the early bird gets the worm,
why are there birds out getting worms in the evening?
I get up early but I don’t eat worms.
If you are letting the cat out of the bag,
why are you telling the secret?
Why was the cat in the bag in the first place?
If curiosity killed the cat,
why aren’t more cats deceased?
I don’t like cats so_______.
If it is raining cats and dogs,
why don’t we have sturdier umbrellas?
Must get kind of messy when they hit the ground.
If we paint the town red to have a good time,
why are all towns pretty drab looking?
I only like red cars not buildings.
If someone is coming out of left field,
why don’t we just ignore them in the first place?
I played center field in little league.
If we can’t have our cake and eat it too,
why even bother having cake at all?
I just made an orange pound cake, so_______
Tell me all your plans this day
The dreams you hold inside
Are there no clouds upon your horizon
No storms to ruin your day
tell god all your wishes for the future
Talk about the good times that will be had
you plan out your retirement
for the sunset of your life
with sunny holidays on tropical isle’s
And the grandkids you will hold tight
Lots of money in your bank account
and a roof above your head
designer cloths and brand new motor cars
Is what you see a future that’s bright
But all the time god is laughing
As that’s not written in his plan
Will he spill the beans
and let the cat out of the bag
or just listen to your prayers and wishes
and then give out a massive belly laugh
I sat beneath a Veteran-oak,
In awe of His strength—
Here was a solid spirit!
Sympathy you get from Willow,
But stiff upper-lip from old soldiers,
With forged bark —
His limbs flexed, cut, rippled against the wind…
No chinks in this warrior-wood…
“Divide and Conquer!”
Then I thought of my Father—
A cook at the end of the war—The Big One!
You know the One I mean, as if there are small ones—
When the commanders were through eating
He was instructed to toss the leftovers
From the belch of plates—
Trashcans were in the alley,
The steel that seems intrinsic to battles
In one form or another—
The hungry German children
Would sneak pass the guards
And line-up;
My father would sneak pass his superiors
And his honor
To dispense carefully wrapped scraps…
Well, soon the line was out into the street
As my father was compelled to seek food
From wherever he could steal, beg or barter
To procure—This brought attention—the cat-out-of-the-bag,
And all hell down on my father,
As the captain screamed: Gus, these are the enemy (the children in the alley),
What in God’s Name are you doing?
He was forced to stop—no Court Marshal though…
I looked up again at the old oak,
Through the snarled branches
Deep into the staunch soldier,
Where I spied a nest
In a small, compact fork—
Having a canopy of extra leaves
For shade and shelter from the wind—
I smiled—hum…
His bark reddened, but like my father, no apology from this weathered soldier…
Let me sharpen this pencil
I am about to pour out my heart
Let me compose myself
I am about to let the cat out of the bag
Sweet are these words that are never to be repeated
I might be a very difficult woman to love
But the love you will receive would be endless
I might be a very sexy woman in your eyes
But I got flaws that makes me who I am
I might be a strong woman in your eyes
But the softness of my voice tells it all
I might be a soldier of humanity
But it is just a mask of the love that's bottled inside
I might have a great body in your eyes
But it is just a vessel of my ancestors
Let me wipe these tears
My future has arrived
Let me lick my warm lips
I am about to kiss him
As I said before, never to be repeated
The facts of life, O birds and bees,
how getting aroused, can trigger a sneeze,
Weird as it seems, science explains,
this behavior’s no contagious disease,
Apparently nasal erectile tissue,
caused this quirk during evolution,
Was used to discern erotic pheromones,
isn’t that a nice upstanding resolution,
Autonomic reflex gets overloaded,
in which we have no control,
If you have a secret admirer,
an Achoo! could betray their goal,
Now I’ve opened Pandora’s box,
let the cat out of the bag,
Instead of social distancing,
sneezes might encourage a shack,
This poem has some side effects,
even strange permutations,
God bless you! never be the same again,
could construe carnal allegations,
Strange this evolutionary mixup,
is still embedded in our genes,
Contemporary signals of interest,
usually belay bulging jeans,
I’m going out on a limb here,
for better no definitely worse,
Did we humans in our primeval past,
grunt prelingual dirty words,
So many questions surround,
basic instincts of procreation,
Least of which erogenous zones,
are open to interpretation,
Like whispering sweet nothings,
a turn on, in each other’s ears,
Call out the ex’s name by mistake,
your lusty night might end in tears,
So if dressing up like Snow White,
and think someones getting sleazy,
Take it easy on the small guy,
he may just be acting out sneezy.
By
David Kavanagh
I began planning your surprise party over a month ago. I’ve spent many hours over the last few weeks conspiring with your friends and family, all of us working towards the goal of keeping you clueless. Although, that has been a nearly impossible task, I have to say. Considering, you are always so aware of your surroundings, and never let your guard down around anybody. You don’t know how many times I almost let the cat out of the bag, because when something exciting is happening in my life it is you, I want to tell first. I have wanted to tell you since day one, but to see the look of surprise on your face, in that moment of pure happiness will make all of our hard work well worth it. It has taken some true teamwork to pull this off successfully. The date has arrived and it is almost time for you to come home. Soon, you will be walking through that front door. I can’t wait to see your face when you see all of the streamers and balloons that took us all day to hang, placing each item in a precise location. All of the preparations are coming down to the one moment that is almost here. I hear the doorknob rattle, and it slowly begins to turn. We all scatter and run to our hiding places the way a cockroach does when the light comes on in a darkened room. The door cracks open and in you walk as we all jump out from our hiding places, shouting “surprise!” at the top of our lungs. Then, with a stunned look, you hit the floor.