Long Collared Poems
Long Collared Poems. Below are the most popular long Collared by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Collared poems by poem length and keyword.
Stubbing my toeses and whiskers on women
Stepping on nettles and by a swarm of bees bitten
Bounded like hostages tied up with strings
These are a few of my suckiest things
White collared phonies and bills piled in oodles
Bad smells and poop felled from schnauzers and poodles
Old geezers who cry when the old swooner sings
These are a few of my suckiest things
News from the presses with more stock value slashes
Cornflakes that grow soggy when in the milk splashes
Little wood splinters that felt like a sting
These are a few of my suckiest things
When the moon lights
When the glee sings
When I’m feeling glad
I stumble upon one of my suckiest things
And everything turns bad
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Little Susie was everyone's favorite. She usually caused people to smile;
Like bouquets received from yesterday, traveling on mauve, Memory Aisle.
Susie Partridge was loved by all, since she was indeed sugar and spice;
Like honeycomb riches of sweet summer, which all bees deem very nice.
Susie played with fun dolls, pretending they were actual, factual people;
As dusk fools the eye with fun colors, when saffron light has grown feeble.
Frances and Fanny were favorite friends, like favored, shadowless noon;
The interval when fabled golden floods, prior to the birth of fuchsia moon.
Silvery flutes filled the air with music, as beloved, first family came calling,
'Ere the sun's flame of fascination faded; and velvet curtains were falling.
Susie lived in the house of rich sunshine, which followed her everywhere,
Its radiant beams spreading warmth; like the fine jewels you happily wear!
Scarlet summer was savored sweetly, on wide, stately Strawberry Street,
Where Little Susie played steadily; and longer days were summer's treat.
Neon butterflies ofttimes gave notice, that nifty neighbors would soon call,
Just ahead of green, gemmed fireflies; preceding the nickel moon, over all.
'Red masked' birds came at evening, all dressed up for a fun masquerade;
And 'emerald collared' birds sparkled like twilight, recalling plans she made.
Soft bird melodies wafted from the 'velvet ash,' on eves made for summer,
While golden plumed birds enjoyed sunshine riches, in hours of living color.
Susie had been promised a new doll, on a soon day, coming like tomorrow;
But the lake flooded the highway, delaying the present, to Susie's sorrow!
So, Susie's sunshine mystically vanished, like joy moon in magenta haze!
She sat herself down, facing the wall, sulking, with dolls of younger days.
'Mother said, 'Here's Sulky Sue. What shall we do?' This behavior was new.
Father said, 'Turn her face to the wall, till she comes to.' Such limited view!
By raspberry sunrise the next day, marigold sunshine returned, with smiles;
For Susie learnt sulking was no fun, and how to live with jade nature's trials.
Shaken snow globe disarray
Stark format unfamiliar
Relocated mountain ranges
Jacket assets of chameleon
Wobbled flesh given for return
Eyeballers display dollars
Fixated focus planted firm
Subject unacknowledged
Drifting body parts ignite
Lust of lurid possibility
From actuality retired
Maggot eaten depravity
Gyraters' slip into depiction
Resigned, pilot drives auto
Puckered faces maintain rhythm
Minds' contents, peeled potato
Stiletto gripping charicature
Formed from Adam's vital rib
Collared stilled near provocatuer
Audience outcome pathetic
Satirical image conjured as ideal
Patron clean faced gullible
Sensation powders scene unreal
Hand fulls of snowballs - impossible!
Blue collared of the swindled lot, cannot resent just brace
Credibility so easily slapped for rough hide when pieces put into place
Daybreak compels list of chores into focus
Semblance to rain faberge for owners of circus
Stolid apparell for hauling load, a sanctioned acrostic of strength
Entered by destiny but no exit even if they desire from this labyrinth
Justice a joke in fractal trigonometry
Law a limbered warble for rich but austere for those in poverty
Dusk time in regailing assortment of means to satiate hunger pangs
Overlooking the shoulders, for the voted cult may suck scraps over tax returns
Samiha's serpentine gaze keeps vigil for mendacious ritual by rich perennially every May
Sustainance on others ration will ensnare them in a time warp of condemn and ruin someday
We Look For Holy Moments,
And In Looking, Overlook
Moments Blessed And
Filled With Things
From Mountains We Once Shook.
Small Events Unfolding,
Each One Smaller, Briefer Still.
As Cavernous Creases
We Call Brains,
Migrations Fill.
Spark-lit Seconds
Speak For Us
While Destiny Darkens Past.
Pointing And Branched
With Lightning Flare
To Futures Guided, Where
We May Draw Away
Or Follow Our Natural Inclination
Through Your Waveless Spray.
Shotgunning Every Now
Somehow;
To Cast
Bigger Pictures,
Brighter Futures,
Holy Moments Blended,
Bending To Form
Crooked Sutures.
Aye,
Care Not Weary One
Traveler And Father To All.
Mind’s Eye Behemoth,
Where In Grains
As In Pearls
Do You Lie;
Barbaric And Windswept,
Dressed
In White Collared Time,
Grafted And Stylized;
With
Only Your
Teacups Remaining.
Your Grin, No Repast,
Discomforts All.
Bears The Stain,
Of The Holy Moments Gain.
Slanted Slivers
Of Hanging Pictures,
A Youth With Glasses Scanning
Hills Of Gifted Summer’s Passion,
Pages Each In Need Of Fanning.
Now,
With Hallowed And Bellowed Tear,
You Will Steer
Amongst Those Mighty
Many Memories
Of Futures Past.
This You Give Us,
Single Sight.
The Now Of Every Thought To Last:
A Day That Ends In Night
Heartthrob in damsel drag
Belief of human bile
Completely instilling cascading dregs of mechanical flesh, bones and spit
64th avenue
And coiling deft doom
Winged balls of bulging blood and speckled steel
Merry wails and flutters of moths unsealed
Fitted upon falling kneel
And reckoned release of rotten roadkill-
Rats and babes and brats
Congealed candy and sickeningly sweet brandy
And hailed light of epiphany to choke, swallow and spit
And strangle without a hand nor handle but grit
Of groil and crevices of menaces heralding honed notes
And a lone liver in fathered infirmary
Black backed in breachers
Potted a bulge to indulge the fickle maggots of dissociation
Emulsification and hearty sniff of
Whitened slice and slithers of snow
Dregs to drag and hone and throw
Up upon bedded saline laden road
Of rows and rows and pounds
That drag rotten flesh afresh from the hound
Sutured from spine to fluttered wing
The hide
Plucked apart from rat to brat
And collared collier stepped afresh with new hide and throw
And stubborn stubbled child with a new mind in tow
5//5//2025
The undertaker at Butcher's Funeral Parlor received the dreadful call.
Seems old Senator Cheatum keeled over and succumbed at the local mall!
His untimely demise spurred the undertaker to set a series of events in motion,
To ensure that everything went smoothly with a minimum of commotion!
Senator Cheatum made prior funeral arrangements including the care of his cat.
He was to be interred in Glorious Sunrise Cemetery in a pleasant, shady plat.
Mr. Butcher, the undertaker, had to arrange for guys to excavate his grave,
So he collared three of the town's ne-er-do-wells, Arnold, Cletus and Dave.
He found them hanging out at Clyde's Saloon guzzling Old Milwaukee beers!
Those fellers had dug graves for dozens of townsfolk for years and years.
They loaded their shovels and a couple of cases of beer in Dave's pickup truck.
They figured on having the job completed before the sun set with any luck.
They measured the plat to a precise four by six and when all was ready,
Their elbows flew as they shoveled that hallowed clay, albeit, a bit unsteady!
They paused for a break every fifteen minutes or so to tap another brew.
As the grave reached the prescribed six feet, it grew more and more askew!
In their bleary-eyed state they weren't concerned about the esthetics of it all.
They just wanted to pack up their gear and head for Clyde's Saloon and Pool Hall.
They eyed their handiwork, drank some more and Cletus was heard to expound:
"Shucks, that old fart was so crooked that they could screw him in the ground!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Stay tuned - sequel to follow!
The tears of women, men and children’s death.
It’s small and cozy pews, there’s no one left —
The church near water’s edge sighs Spirit’s breath.
Up comes the dawn, of heaven secureth.
The resurrected saints no more bereft;
The tears of women, men and children’s death.
The bride does brightly shine with gentle-strength.
It’s quaint, alone, but filled with trousseau’s heft —
The church near water’s edge sighs Spirit’s breath.
This collared man does dunk heads underneath.
The ebb and flowing robes in the Lord’s cleft.
The tears of women, men and children’s death.
With illumined faces and free from wrath,
They splash out of the sea and no one’s left.
The church near water’s edge sighs Spirit’s breath.
The Pastor’s pay not much but with great depth,
For one by one regains the devil’s theft.
The tears of women, men and children’s death.
The church near water’s edge sighs Spirit’s breath.
1/22/2020
Your Best 2019-2020 Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Today the darkness comes.
Music is subdued and low --
measured beats -- an ebb and flow
of oboes and of drums
to pace the sluggish feet.
I do not choose to meet,
this day of blacks and grays,
the collared priest who prays
but ultimately betrays
the cant that fills his days
with repetitious words.
I view the streaming hordes
descending from the church,
watch them as they lurch
about -- in apparent disregard
for any ordered exit from
the sepulchre, dank and dim.
They met to worship Him --
but I -- I try so hard
to suspend my disbelief --
to find, in faith, relief.
Still, the darkness comes.
Poker Sketch “The Brotherhood of Eternal Love”
What did we contemplate;
while at the fire-front, sooted:
Hot faced, In three D:
In those long minutes, of pleasant ;
extended hours of misguided endless,
diluted from an unseen “two named” hourglass !
Dripping; its sandy content.
It the darkness ; crept, It
sat behind our thin shoulders:
And hair strewn thinnish necks:
Levi collared rough stitched !
Thread bare to time. What ? did we consider ;
Pushing that heavy poker;
cold brassed, not utilised ever by Leonardo !
Sketching dreams, in the long cold ashes;
While Peters, "Supernatural"
soothed our innocently: dirty minds and egos.
It had no identity name ! Just night;
It may have been Winter outside
as coals spit, and sparks spat,
bare wrists sting ! But ; you continue the ash sketch.
What did we concoct ?
Wild ! in that balmy warmth
picking apart bristles: Stretching upward,
Glancing a fleeting glimpse,
at the tick tocked face, with muted bell,
its loose hands skipped,
falling quickly too six.
It didn't matter;
Warming the poker, Maybe !
To brand, the early hours,
making all of those hours ours,
proven marks; proof,
vainly legal, safe from
inquisitors, and hungry dogs.
What did we digest ?
Through these nights of -
“The Brotherhood of Eternal Love"
until ; that creeping dawn,
broke the Witches spell while along we rode
In those ashes of dreams forbidden
and coldly stagnant: Our days closed.