Long Chomp Poems
Long Chomp Poems. Below are the most popular long Chomp by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chomp poems by poem length and keyword.
Bully me, yours truly
never ordained, gifted, or blessed
with mien mean characteristic
evoking, jump/kickstarting,
representing, nor zapping
friend or foe courtesy fiery intimidation
if anything aura, charisma, dogma, and karma
emanating, issuing, and oozing out
body electric of one heretofore bookish fellow
immediately facilitates characterization
hashtagged lucubration and manifestation of quietude.
Though true agitation transparent to passersby
soul asylum of sexagenarian beleaguered
with invisible mailer daemons
that hound the psyche
of this doggone muttering bonafide wordsmith.
In argot of polymath author of these words,
(the modestly noteworthy
opportunistic, poetic Matthew Scott Harris)
essentially he describes himself
as a generic simple Simon,
who never met a pieman
his mellow outward demeanor
belies, harbors, and represses
a quaking, raging bull, and seething
tempestuous storm beneath the calm,
which faux placidity
shields a woke monster
(donned in Harris tweed and Scottish tartan)
mashing everything in his wake
courtesy huge feet
resembling puff daddy bear paws.
Though found out later in life
than most muggles
aforementioned humble
human like bipedal hominid
discovered extraordinary ability
to morph from dimwitted dork dweeb
into grim faced, frightful,
albeit gentle unassuming
pygmy up by the petard giant extraordinaire,
which latent superpower
never served him in good stead
to ward off cruel classmates and peers
tormenting teasing taxing
terrorizing treatment til tears
trickled down my cheeks.
Every now and again,
when some nasty brutish beastly lout
dares to utter colorful invectives,
a gradual transformation
slowly but surely occurs
within every baited cell
(automatically summoned, triggered,
and unveiled courtesy a bitterly
deadly force to be reckoned with
deep within these lovely bones)
witnessing sudden bravado and daring do
additionally helped along after I discretely
chomp on powder milk biscuits
(the secret recipe only known
to forbidding Norwegian bachelor farmers)
giving an unexpected
judicious Hawaiian punch
to the loathsome miscreant
(never knowing what hit him)
knocking said thug out in cold blood.
Incomprehensible space/time continuum intrigues...
One insignificant, infinitesimal
incomprehensibleness cosmic speck,
who doth readily confess
swallowed within
infinite cosmic wormhole, nonetheless,
he feels mind boggled, fascinated,
transfixed... helpless to express
following concept suddenly
gripping his feeble mental compass.
I haint never gonna get
smart enough to understand
supposedly how universe
under contract to expand
subscribers embracing divine
intervention ascribe to invisible hand
cosmographical phenomena defies
garden variety *****sapien
understanding schema so grand
feeble analogy whereby
Neanderthal apt to understand
lingual mechanics predicated
I grammatically, markedly, pointedly...
exclaim with ampersand.
No particular reason nor rhyme
prompted contemplation
Einsteinian/ Stephen
Hawking concepts sublime
defy one average guy
way past his prime
ideal, optimal, universal... time
to fortify i.e. cognitive ability
brewing, immersing, steeping... gray matter
within astrophysicist clime,
now punishing ignorance mime
limited aptitude climb
stymied best taught during childhood
undoubtedly education pioneer - Haim
Ginott speculate would even
advocate buzzfeeding fetus
with intelligent boosting enzyme.
I chomp at the metaphorical bridled bit
and chafe not being genius like Trump pit
ing president (gag me with a spoon),
and lemme don pith helm mitt
this crash test dummy, whit
no shadow of doubt ready to quit
human race if said nitwit
nabs 20/20 election twit
tilling, spindling, mutilating,
fondling... constitutional sacred writ
issuing dynastic emperor gambit
hastening cremated ashes (mine)
launched into distant orbit
bajillion light years
careering, hopscotching, zipping
eventually reincarnated into runny Babbit
ironically enslaved for profit
blindly obedient dagnabbit,
indentured as intergalactic caddy
fired while under probation as apprentice
up Paul ling lee forced to exit
Sartre's stage door left sporting
embarrassing MAGA prison outfit
hustled away courtesy
as laughingstock exhibit.
Thus, I helm ship of state into black void
alone within cosmos, yes...overjoyed!
Each poem’s a web that I hang (time-smoked adage
that swirls in the sky) and dream seasons rare eyes!
With no thought of entrapment or hope of ingesting,
rhyme longs more to bless you, verse whispers, “Hello.”
Heart’s a door I crack open, not yearning for new friends
(though some are OK), but in faith, where faults too
(my aired laundry), serves Waylaid, integrity dearer
than platitudes floated that barely mask sin.
My hope’s some will see life’s reflection (not presage,
taste sugar glazed donuts, hear soft lullabies),
feel in spirit less lonely, grok I’m not protesting
God’s judgment at all! Still, it’d be a low blow
to lose Grace (I can’t work for), catch Hell (on free weekends).
Religion first-authored life’s “Catch - Twenty-Two?” (1)
How can ‘Word of God’ be a fresh ‘Truth’ to each hearer
and stay ‘Word of God?’ Is ‘Grace’ all and ‘Faith’ spin?
Are poems groked better than Bible in man’s hands?
Fools try to sell Scripture; there’s honor in that?
Are priests practiced deceivers who break the meek’s kneecap
or servants who look more for truth in blessed lives?
Let us question like children, delight in God’s purview
that floats light as stones when they bounce on time’s lake.
Our God’s Truth is still true though we don’t understand it;
we live in Love’s aspect, find joy in His smile.
Let Ringers walk home or be grist, plate for God’s guile!
To pitch by ‘just’ rules can put me in a snit!
But I’m fonder of Grace now than cat batting snowflake,
no strikes, balls, or fouls called, and no I O U!
Still, I lean towards a title and draft my incentives
for pitchers mean little when muse is on tap.
And if chewing’s your pleasure, then chomp on this format.
A Christian’s the one who won’t bunt God’s commands!
Brian Johnston
Poet’s Notes:
This last stanza was fun. I was not a big baseball fan though (except for ‘workup’ in grade school).
(1) ‘Catch-22’ is the title of a famous book by Joseph Heller. The title suggests: You can’t be insane enough to be excused from doing what needs doing if you’re intelligent enough to know that those already doing it are nuts!
"Fate in the hands of God always
beholds a greater future I'm finding. As-
its opportunity reflects this... His-
devotion for all of us I believe
honestly telling of this... .
Here-in the reflection-
of the tender waters
of-this humble-
stream.
And as I cast-
away my hopes to-
Him, my faith sighs,
and my joy runs freely-
behind me there-
over yonder to-
greet me-
skipping-
across the-
meadow.
Because I-
know that-
perfect like-
an apple falling from a
tree upon all of us, His goodness can be-
found cascading down rustling up the leaves-
slip drop too and fro slip drop bop bop thunk thunk-
crying look out below thunk, ouch. Barreling down faster
and faster through the air running along with it past the-
proposal of each on every branch. Dancing through-time
laughing hysterically.
And as a small breeze blows my heart beats-eagerly, and
with all that we've been through together, my soul lies down-
chuckling, confidingly, knowing now that He's in complete-
control.
Grace weeps willingly for me knowing it has always been-
with me, this perfect way with Him ever greater in the-
respect. Concentrated and open my patient prayer having-
been my only reprieve securing my repose.
While with a rustle rustle slip drop bop slip drop bop, thunk-
thunk. Leaning back up under it letting go of my fishing pole-
with closed eyes I reach out catch an apple and then another.
Snatching two up out of the air in the palm of my hands while
sitting up, I laugh a ha... ! Finally I got you! Open my eyes
drop one, swipe my pole back up again bob my head as to
say you go boy. Chomp down on the other and rather
cockily and over confidently laugh louder, then
louder. Swallow hard, real hard, slowly, suddenly.
As another falls quietly slip drop thunk smack
then I'm caught again, "shouting ouch". As
it lands and whacks me hard right on the
top of my head! God snickering loudly,
as I know He must surely be as I know I
most certainly am.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llRcVHPBLRs
"Fate in the hands of God always
beholds a greater future I'm finding.
As its opportunity reflects this...
His devotion for all of us I believe
honestly telling of this... ."
"Here-in the reflection-
of the tender waters
of this humble-
stream... " -
"And as I cast-
away my hopes to-
Him, my faith sighs,
and my joy runs freely-
behind me there-
over yonder to-
greet me-
skipping-
across the-
meadow" -
"Because I-
know that-
perfect like-
an apple falling from a
tree upon all of us, his goodness can be-
found cascading down rustling up the leaves-
slip drop too and fro slip drop bop bop thunk thunk-
crying look out below thunk, ouch. Barreling down faster
and faster through the air running along with it past the-
proposal of each on every branch. Waltzing along through-
time laughing hysterically";
"And as a small breeze blows my heart beats eagerly, and
with all that we've been through together, my soul lies down-
chuckling, confidingly, knowing now that He's in complete-
control."
"Grace weeps willingly for me knowing it has always been-
with me, this perfect way with Him ever greater in the-
respect. Concentrated and open my patient prayer having-
been my only reprieve securing my repose."
"While with a rustle rustle slip drop bop slip drop bop, thunk-
thunk. Leaning back up under it letting go of my fishing pole-
with closed eyes I reach out catch an apple and then another.
Snatching two up out of the air in the palm of my hands while
sitting up, I laugh aha ... ! Finally I got you! Open my eyes
drop one, swipe my pole back up again bob my head as to
say you go girl. Chomp down on the other and rather
cockily and over confidently laugh louder, then
louder. Swallow hard, real hard, slowly, suddenly.
As another falls quietly slip drop thunk smack
then I'm caught again, "shouting ouch". As
it lands and whacks me hard right on the
top of my head! God snickering loudly,
as I know He must surely be as I know I
most certainly am."
A green sweaty swampy land
Maybe no place for a man
But it is a home to many creatures
Such as our friend's the alligators
Now not so long ago,
In their steamy mysterious habitat
There was a fog so dim it almost made it black
and it had large limb's that hung low on the trees
And each slim blade of grass went an inch above your knees
All gators that lived here
seemed to be very ornary and mean
And it was considered ordinary
To attack their peers With bone crushing teeth
One could ask,
Why are they so mad?
But it's not their fault
It's just the way they were taught how to act
Ever since their speckled eggs hatched
And learned how to make their jaws snap
However, not all gators were like this
There was one who was filled with happiness
He wore a blue hat and a bright orange shirt
Everyone reluctantly called him Albert
Because Albert happened to be completely different
All the other gators kept him at an arm's distance
They called him names and spat in his face
But his joy just never seemed to fade
See Albert had a huge dream
His dream was to be with the humans
As they yelled and screamed
For the local school's winning football team
Out of nothing but sheer excitement,
Albert shared this with the others
But they all laughed even his brothers
So Albert decided right then
to not care about what anyone said
And to pursue his only dream
No matter how long or tough it may be
The next day Albert left that dreary swamp
On mission to prove the nay-sayers wrong
And when he left that dim fog grew so dark
You could not see or hear a big dog's bark
So he made his way to the nearby school
Where he saw not no one, not a single soul
Every building was empty
From the top to bottom floor
The all of a sudden, Albert heard a thundering roar
"Romp!, Stomp!, Chomp!, Welcome to the Swamp!"
He rushed to the football stadium
Where he was met with open arms
He finally felt accepted, safe from abuse and harm
So with his new friends, he rose up in exultation
His life was anew, he was the love of Swamp Nation
The tale of the high kicking raspberries in two hundred lines of silt and steamed porridge oats.
Keynotes noted kissing keystones keep keystrokes kingly. But kingly is often not associated with kindness, kinship, or kept keepers keeping keys. It is the weeping of a solitary blade of grass that catches the attention of a wild anarchical lawnmower who's wild swooping on grass is a heavyweight chomp on many a bud spawned. One day as the blade grabbed a tissue carelessly discarded by a human hand it was considered to be a white flag. Waving. To say peace peace peace. To the bulldozers, mowers, and high stepping line dancing rakes. Pylons pulled piling pins profusely. How rather pious! And the building of a rat craft can really only be radically achieved under the main arch of a microspore whose antics with a slide causes great entertainment for microscopes who clap clap clap and roar approval in their bemused fashion. And so back to the upset blade of grass. It stood now shrouded by the tissue and frightened to leave the confines in case a heavy foot went by. Stomp. But no this was not the ending. Instead the beat of wings arrived with a squawk a Mohawk and a peck peck peck. Confused birdie thought he had found a piece of bread. Due to the tears the tissue had stuck to the blade of grass and so up it went with the border collie coloured birdie into the air and away. That was an ending found from under a stone. Perhaps a cone might signal the felling of the scraping scraps of sheet metal. Product placed peanuts. And the prowess of a Dutch infused marble cocktail is equivalent to a little vaporised milk carton. Moooooo then. A single scroll is a single scribe and a single scrolling scribe is setting sail on a magnificent lake with high towering mountainous vista scenes with ten scones. Z disambiguation. Z at three marshmallows singing to a tune of pan to twelve monkfish rotating in a septic water tank in a half pint cup. Quedos. *** z
Form:
(sung to the tune of "The Sailor's Hornpipe")
Tell me what would happen if we were fishing here
and we would fall asleep in the middle of the pier?
Well, we might just roll around and no one there would wake us up
and we would fall into the water and the fish would say,
"Nibble nibble gulp, gobble gobble swallow bite,
it's a big one, Mom, it could take us all night.
Gotta chomp a little, chew a little, gobble gobble nibble nibble,
Daddy when you finish, pass the ketchup please."
Tell me what would happen if we were driving there
and we all took a ride on a little yellow fer-ry?
We'd park our car inside the boat and if the ferry didn't float,
we'd fall into the water and the fish would say,
"Nibble nibble gulp, gobble gobble swallow bite,
it's a big one, Mom, it could take us all night.
Gotta chomp a little, chew a little, gobble gobble nibble nibble,
Daddy when you finish, pass the ketchup please."
Tell me what would happen if we woke up at three
so we could be the first when we go to water ski?
Well, we all would be so groggy and our brains would be so foggy,
that we'd fall into the water and the fish would say,
"Nibble nibble gulp, gobble gobble swallow bite,
it's a big one, Mom, it could take us all night.
Gotta chomp a little, chew a little, gobble gobble nibble nibble,
Daddy when you finish, pass the ketchup please."
// author's note: these were lyrics I wrote for my kids to sing while we were traveling in the car/van sung to the familiar tune of the Sailor's Hornpipe (you can youtube it). It proved particularly useful for passing the time during long family vacation trips we took. In retrospect the lyrics seem a little on the dark side, but both kids have grown into perfectly normal adults, save for an inexplicable aversion to the ocean and ketchup ; ^) //
I glide carelessly, smoothly, and contently through the deep, dark, murky lake water,
Not knowing that the devious, mysterious, and ruthless hunter is quickly approaching
With the sole intent to plot against his prey then mercilessly yet blissfully slaughter and
Not knowing that today I will meet my maker; I will be the victim he is poaching.
Down my undetermined, winding path through the weeds and small schools I saunter,
Gleefully blowing my bubbles and creating my carefree traveler’s tune, but
I halt in my water trail at the first hint of the presence of the fearfully dreaded haunter.
The hunted cannot evade the condemning temptations of the beast treading the lagoon.
The renowned blue attraction is easily distinguished and catches my attention at once.
I repetitiously bark commandments at myself to move on and ignore the dazing bait but
It entices me, causing a controversial, internal, real battle where there are no fronts.
Back and forth I sway, losing grip on my sanity; I feel suppressed by a heavy weight.
It is simply a mind game that none have overcome and I foresee my despairing fate.
I lose control and dart after the blue wonder out of desperation just to reach it and
To be able to experience adventure derived from curiosity and a purely rebellious state.
The frightful chase begins, puzzling me as the tricky figure eases up yet refuses to quit.
Though I am apprehensive of moving forward I decide to pursue the shadowy feature.
It is like I am racing from the law toward my drug and I know I am about to be booked.
I am gaining on the insistent critter when I glance at the bank to see a giant creature.
Ignoring it, I catch the blue bit, chomp down, and immediately realize: I am hooked.
Meat in my smokehouse a bit light,
With the weather about right,
One morning at first light,
I headed to buzzard roost hollow,
A leash on Brownie’s collar,
But Brownie went crazy as a goose,
When I turn him loose,
My worse fear, I could hear,
Him chasing a deer,
Out of pope county, was clear,
Anyhow, now, down in the pope county wild woods,
Seated on an Arkansas hollow log,
With my finger on a trigger, and my eye on a hog,
I pulled that trigger, and the bullet went zip,
I jumped on that hog, with all my grip,
Though I knew I had missed,
I couldn’t resist,
Now as my grip would slip.
The hog would rip,
Tusk 8 inches long,
Like ice tongs,
Would chomp and rip,
As the battle begin to tip,
Hog getting the best of a bad situation,
Sure wish my dog hadn’t taken, his deer vacation,
At about the time,
I thought it was, the end of the line,
I heard Brownie coming,
Man, that dog was running,
He had heard the fight,
Was coming back, to claim his right,
Old Johnny Cash, in the boy named Sue,
Ain’t shown my dog and me, nothing new,
Blood guts and hair, rose up in the air,
When ole Brownie took hold, this fight ain’t fair,
Didn’t take no hour,
Untill we were back in our own lair,
We were saying a prayer, within the hour,
I was seated in a chair,
At my kitchen table,
Razorback meat, the label,
Ole Brownie, proving himself to be, very able,
To sit under my table,
For he’s my mean hooooog,
DOG!!!
Dedication: "MoonBee Canady" An outstanding poet of light poetry, as far as I am concerned.
I certainly enjoy reading your light poetry, as well as the other types you write. You go girl,
I hope you like these poems! Godly love, Sincerely Moses
9-27-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com