Long Clowning Poems
Long Clowning Poems. Below are the most popular long Clowning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clowning poems by poem length and keyword.
Well swollen boobies on bullocks Boris is boss
our nations Prime Minister at J Hunt's loss
some say a buffoon and they say it sinister
like the mans brain is only miniature
think Corbyn the codfish would be better
Brexit, Labour and Lib Dem protestors
"it's another Prime Minister we haven't elected,
this isnt the person the people selected"
these thickheads argue their knowledge of politics......
you vote for the party not person you ricks
Boris played football tackled like rugby
once on top gear like the Crazy Froggy
we didn't no May was mad she's crazy
we can't do worse but some say maybe
Boris is mad we and him no that
can't put him down when he looks a prat
I will Corbyn cus he's a wat
As for Boris has he a wife?
you want to mock his private life
what are you doing with your life
pay attention to your own life
I think it needs filling like turkey
your innards and guts have been freed
shall we sprinkle breadcrumb or bird seed
look at his private life mate you're pervy
Stop making Downing street a frowned on street
with you in the seat it would be clowning street
rant repeat after your vote defeat
we want Brexit stopped please delete
Come on Boris bloody deliver
make Lib Dem babies shiver
they call themselves democrats
I say all of dem is crats
truth is dreams need to be shattered
the Lib Dems have never mattered
So Holy bullocks with boobies and tails
every politician always fails
Churchill the last one to do well
beating Europe let's repeat that tale
I must admit it's a tangled story
I'm loving Boris
hating the Tories
I'm 13ft away looking down in this hell Im in
Man i think I'm drowning,things are looking up too, no clowning around man,
if you come at me with false words then **** you, i did without love, stacked hate as pain in bank accounts,
As I remain the one looking and seeing everything backwards
The Lord never dealt with me harshly, you wants fact here,
I receive more mercy in one day then u received last year
but it aint my fault just ask Him
If you disagree It's Okay Im still saying **** you
Not like im right about it or seeking your trust here
so trust them, hold your nuts on me,
when u see me u keep your mouth shut
Oh you thought u could crush them]
what you an enemy me of mine" respect my motha****in boundries
Form:
Purposely off center, on tippy toe.
What a feat; completely nuts.
Tummy tuck, umbrella in hand,
just clowning around; on the brink
of a niagara fall. Tintinnabulation of
power, provoking an audience cower;
…over the rainbow it seems.
The audience holds on for dear life.
Colors blossoming like sunbursts.
Muscling up courage to close my eyes.
The ringing in my mind, an eruption
of a pale face, red honker, on the edge.
Blinking umbrella with ab rise and fall.
What was I thinking? Can’t turn back,
losing my grip, decentralized.
The audience holds on for dear life.
today at two
thirty two pm
eastern standard
time i decided to give
up writing
poetry and take
to scraping paint on
a canvas or at least a board
stepping off of
her pillar she
offered her
self to
take a pose and
model those frozen hours
for a still life on canvase that
ran out lastly as i collapsed on to these
those that
she danced
with ballerina
ease taking me
to piano keys to
unlock what mystery
the metronome clock would
tick in adagio talk time and i
realized i hadn't
found how to express
her and so spun a wheel and
filled it with a mound of clay minus
her not having a rib
bone she turned
on her own
letting my
fingers fill in form but
deformed and not
what i was trying
to form from
the dirt of
earth for her
birth was complicated
making her mad and made
her jump into a cast
iron frying pan where
though i a chef served
her well as a delicacy that
all would agree but she
not tasty enough so
she punched me
and then we
went to the martial
arts and then to
any and every
art form there
was and she
was with me
juggling and
clowning
around for
without
finding
her it
was
her
that i
found
Form:
Where me cry,
Men don't drink much;
Where me stare
Till eyes are sore;
Women never come,
How did this one do!
Coming to me, she wears
Denims, short to show off
Beautiful legs;
I am busy clowning around for you.
She does not sleep,
Dreaming wishing I could be,
Making love to her;
I am busy begging to make you smile.
She call me at odd hours,
She has never seen any like me;
Yet I have never seen
One like you!
She calls my mother,
Your son loves another not me,
I have tried all I can do,
I even pay for his rent;
But his heart is stuck on another.
Where men cry!
You know…I like drinking,
But I’m not sure I like drunk.
Because then I’m stuck thinking
About the depths to which I’ve sunk.
All the insults I let loose from my lips.
Saying whatever to make sure a balance tips.
Mistruths spoken and stories just made up.
Maybe if I put the glass down I could trade up.
Maybe i could shine more clearly, like light through perfect glass
And maybe I’d stop stumbling and sounds over my lips could cleanly pass.
Because I hate what I’ve said in an inebriated state.
So I think I’ll chill for a minute; actually think straight.
I hate what I’ve decided to bet when I’m drowning
And it’s probably high time I stop fooling around and clowning.
Because 1-20 isn’t a funny number when I’m behind the wheel,
And the bottle we just bought already has a broken seal.
So instead of starting ignition by turning some keys,
Perhaps, instead of vodka, I’ll drink in the mountains, trees, and breeze.
I’m an anxious person, that can’t be denied,
And I thought that liquor could help me hide.
But anxiety becomes paranoia, which either spirals to angry or sad,
And I don’t like the paranoid person I am when I’m drunk and I’m mad.
Trust and loyalty mean nothing to a poison-drenched mind,
And though no evidence exists, I’ll make it up, then that I’ll find.
And I would like to have that all be avoided.
So I think my future alcohol purchases can be voided.
I wear a smiley face, the sad world to cheer,
With a red smile painted across my face from ear to ear.
My shoes are monstrous, my laugh billows, raucous out loud.
I'm the jester dancing in your face to please the crowd.
But deep within this masked disguise of paint,
Something inside has died, that's neither funny, silly nor quaint.
For the tears painted on my face are not fake but real,
For I cannot shed the dark cloud's doom, and its thunderous peal.
Playing the fool, clowning around is a shield,
For the somber dark sadness felt within and revealed,
When the tears of clowns roll down my painted cheeks.
Warm, wet and fresh, as the sadness within wells-up, and bleats.
Clumsily tripping, over our own feet
Sometimes, minds aren't meant to meet
perhaps we're off just a micro beat
thoughts obscured, behind glass covered in sleet
Sure there are those, who wish to exploit
but really in the end, what's the point?
We're all merely visitors, in this joint
Trying our best, with words to annoint
Cloisterd in shadows, wanting to be found
glimmers of earlier selves, clowning around
When others laugh, why do our fears compound?
Downturned mouths, strangled crying sounds
Embarrassing moments, last an eternity
Sometimes I'm my very worst enemy
Thinking hidden messages, are meant for me
Is that what poetry is meant to be?
I let essential words, roll off my lips
Credentials have no taste, when I take deep sips
Preferring a message, from a page that drips
My mind unfocused, takes many trips
I like the power, of words intrinsic
Flavors and texture, is what I like to lick
If it's too saccharin and sweet it makes me sick
My pleasure comes, from words hot and thick
So you see, I too like to word explore
Words found, behind a cryptic door
I start upright, end up on the floor
Keep on reading, until I can't absorb anymore!
Written at the request of James Horn.
Response to his "to Come Back Again" Poem.
Thanks James, our interaction led to a poem of the day!
Form:
The boy was only four years old
but he’d watched Scoobey Doo
Seen them chase many a monsters
who’d escaped at the zoo.
The October sun was soon down.
His parents day was through.
His Mom had hand sewn his costume
SHE thought he looked real cute!
The boy was only four years old
but even small men new;
you didn’t stop the mean monsters
as a clown at the zoo!
In many stripes of red and white
a white ruff at his neck;
he thought of Shaggy and Thelma
and monsters soon on deck…
The boy was only four years old
HE can make a RATTLE!
So, he ran into the kitchen
for an empty soda bottle.
A few small stones dropped down the neck
some yarn made it dangle
and he’d made a fine hoodoo charm
and bring it to battle!
He’d seen Shaggy fighting zombies
witch doctors in their day.
He’d watched Scoobey scare the monsters
He knew just how to play!
Frankenstien and Dracula
frightened kids in his line
but when they came to that cute clown
HE scared THEM you’ll find!
He shook his homemade hoodoo charm
and watched them skedaddle
cause theirs nothing quite so frightenin’
as a MAD CLOWN with a rattle!
[ Poet’s Note : This poem was written as a Companion Poem
to my Poem : Gold and Blood : 2018 ]
Placed 2nd in Contest: The Race for Hollow Gold
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh: July 26
________________________________
much of humanity magnetised by
hollow yellow sheen shine
feels kind, divine, sublime —-
such energies enlarge into
desires
acquires, attires, identifiers
sallow
hollow —
it liquid floats in dreams upon streams
glittering downstream
nuggets that suck muck — brings no
joyful luck
vain it transmutes purity
into insecurity
illusions becoming sureties
as Midas asked for everything
to turn to gold
many enter this foolish fold
……. …….
save these oh ALL from drowning
in glowing frowning
clowning ___
howling bloodied
gold running thick brings drownings !
oh ALL ! let pointless futile races become
pauses for peace facing
godly causes .... acing
let shores of spirits restful pulse
heartbeats escorted by
angelic applauses
let gloomy gold unshackle
morphing
creation becoming not mere dwarfing
races for hollow gold
can alchemise bold
into veracity
w i s d o m
c a p a c i t i e s ~
________________________