Long Comically Poems
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And thus began their heroic journey through the fantastical labyrinth of the escape room, where every twist and turn carried the promise of freedom, laughter, and the unforeseen—the perfect remedy for chaos and an unexpected road trip back to normalcy. After all, in a place where even a bunny could be a hero, and a Man is a Woman, anything was possible. Even a Media run Presidential Campaign supported by Big Tech, Google and the FBI !
As Penney and Gus entered the vibrant escape room, the door clicked shut behind them, "Penney parted from the impending loom, weaving her curiosity in a gape driven plume; punctuating the chaotic symphony of the mall with a sense of immediate sanctuary. The room was a kaleidoscope of interesting colors, smells—walls adorned with whimsical murals of enchanted forests, floating bubbles, and scattered stars. Even some Left Wing styled fecal graffiti, as if plastered from the hand to Trump sign out of TDS. It felt like stepping into another world, far removed from the madness outside. A home away from home !
“Okay, what’s the first clue?” Gus asked, glancing around at the eclectic decorations, which ranged from giant inflatable mushrooms to shimmering disco balls. They needed to think fast, and the first challenge awaited like a Mother given the news that the police would be escorting her child home after a bonus round of shoplifting at Castle Megastore had landed her in the "Stoney Loaf".
“Over there!” Penney exclaimed, pointing to a large, comically oversized egg perched precariously atop a pedestal. “There’s bound to be something inside!”
They approached cautiously, the soft thump of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that crunched as they stroke on, I mean strode on, apparently-designed to match the room's carnival theme or was it Carnivaal, Carnibaal? No matter, with a gentle push, Gus nudged the egg, and it wobbled dangerously before them. A creaky voice echoed from within, making them jump.
“Beware the wrath of the bouncing bunny, and tell Nanceycat to invest in BlackRock!”, it croaked, before the egg split open, revealing a tangle of colorful ribbons and a single, glittering key.
“Perfect!” Penney cheered, plucking the key from the chaos. “Let’s see what it unlocks.” She scanned the walls for a keyhole, eyeing an intricate door covered in glowing glyphs.
Endorphin power is about positive politics;
it votes with little fading feet running away from negative politics
and WinLose competing economies of victimization,
marginalization.
Stress, dissonance, competitive over-indulgence are toxic
including to the abundant production of endorphin,
which, like its endo-morphine namesake,
creates a peaceful co-empathic trust feeling
that it's safe to believe all is well,
has become well,
and will continue well,
both endo-symbiotically and ecto-symbiotically.
Paranoia eats endorphin,
lays it to waste,
mows our mojo down,
while pronoia feeds shy endorphans
what they swellfully appreciate receiving,
especially if they need not ask,
Please Sir, may I have some more?
Mutual helping,
cooperative games and strategies,
regenerate pronoia invitations into each Earth day,
or maybe an hour,
or just a moment at a time until time evaporates,
builds deep sensory awareness of WinWin ecopolitical,
social and cultural and climate health trajectories,
well being inclusive of future generations
already flowing their/your imaginations
through your champion endo-chemistries.
So pronoia-healthy politics
incarnates cooperative economic intentions, designs,
structures and plans,
networks and gestalts and climates,
regeneratively
deeply ingrained
of/for ego-self optimizing through eco-self-identity-emptying,
through helpful health-wealth production with and for Others.
Our most fluid full-strength Yang egos are those most ecopolitically abundant
performing, practicing, intending endorphin driven and derived health
as we expand our ecoconsciousness of self-therapy with other co-mentoring therapists,
some of us comically bad at producing more confluence than dissonance,
but all of us doing our best
to extend our endorphin-provoking family empathic trust
back through regenetic recombinant reiterative history of time's enlightenment ourselves,
stories embodied within each organic turn of Earth years,
and forward toward shared endorphin ecopolitics
regenerating multiculturally positive therapeutic futures,
which also degenerate
absorb
endorphin traces erasing monoculturally negative pasts.
Endorphins swell power-with helping,
not condemning or faulting or neglecting, others
toward ecopolitically healthy wealth abundance.
I Asked Myself A Rhetorical Question...
Asper daily expounding fostering
inchoate manifesting mod
er writ writing quality,
solitary scrimmage tackling
undertaking, yielding whir
ring, sputtering, kickstarting, and
buzz-feeding at competitive, communal
crowed did metaphorical trough,
where household named author's
top New York Times best seller
tier, overshadowing under
rated genre bending, breakout aspiring,
story board qualifying,
opportunistic newbie man
use script artful dodgers
mere dust collecting drafts,
anticipating to stir infectious interest
incumbent - at mercy,
tripwire activating quint
essential key, which anchors print
ting projected uncertain
popularity first edition,
awakening, guiding, nosing
asymptote analogy steering
reader toward nascent
scribe, where paper
back writer wannabe,
toils away incorporating subtle
(hook, line and sinker) techniques,
(albeit apropos literary
ploys, a true test tum ment,
viz sophisticated gambits
to massage late tint
prestidigitation abra ca dab rah,
sine non qua cogent
see kant, and tangent triggers
modest mien fortified, exemplified,
and downplayed akin
to unassuming Clark Kent
in his cape ably nonchalant
transformation into superman,
and/or more pointedly,
some original heft leant
to set apart striking
poignant implement
exhibited by aspiring
writer daily revising,
albeit gal or gent
his/her uniquely obscure
trademark, but
eventually keen agent
assays non-boastful writing style
im prim mature print,
sans unassuming swiftly tailored
harried style seduces seek
curing sincere overnight reverent,
well deserved kudos
comically marveling
at thee most im portent
salient strengths, per
hops hue moored opulent
quality instigates
affinity toward nascent,
bar riddle be, bill leading,
bud ding scrivener,
not necessary alluding
to a hypothetical outlier
thus, any similarity between the
above statement and
a living person perchance named
Matthew Scott Harris
purely coincidental.
Twittered Via Chilled Wren
At Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
Prior carte blanche to confessing illicit
extra-marital affair
I embolden tomb ache
elicit, and baldly bare
faced laid out some
of the sordid details clear
embarrassed at one escapade
in particular constituting dear
peppy's questing randy romping caper
necessitating vigilance 'ere
a park ranger, (or other unsuspecting
winter weather way
Farer attired in gear
adequately bundled
cold as a witch's tit
seasoned trooper)
reluctantly repeated here
(unforgettable if only be
cause this "FAKE" Casanova ace
thee Missus i.e.wife)
did conversationally chase
beseeched, hen pecked,
and implored me NOT to erase
boot to recount with (itty bitty)
Monty Python glory, a straight face,
that one particular amazingly grace
obviously penned up,
and not in the write
mind (pre poetry daze),
which scurrilous anecdote
did (and still does) in vite
guffawing, sans
peculiar public philandering,
with atavistic cave man
designs tried to unite
where daunting phallus spite
confronting Arctic Vortex when right
lee let loose from pants
froze like a little popsicle quite
purposely remained flaccid
leaving me in a penile plight
when trying to hump
(standing up like a good Knight
comically ridiculous travesty)
With Barbara B****, light
of adventurous Green Beret spirit, the
Unabashed MILF about average height
fifty years, whose busty bosom
silicone breast implants
tell tale viz radiation
and chemo therapy fight
(resulting from post
Ductal Carcinoma in situ)
needless to tell
nary an erectile spell
Asper tinker soldier
tailor spy didst quell
basic animal instinct,
and feral gonadal horniness
with intent to consummate sexual intercourse
according tummy ought to occur,
cuz that blustery air
mirroring said day when hell
nearly froze over invoking
intervention from Cain and/or Abel.
Thus when prick remained
limp and nearly frost bitten
(at a boulder christened cock rock),
aye frostily smitten
slogging wet sneakers, thru
knee high snow...now, no mo' tubby written.
Form:
In Ongata Rongai's club, a memory song weaves,
A tale of Newton Karish and daring thieves,
Late '90s, New Year's Eve, a lively show,
A sold-out crowd, in high spirits, they'd go.
Karish, unlike modern stars who mime,
With a live band and dancers, he'd shine.
From 10 pm till dawn's early light,
He'd entertain with all his might.
Dancers lost in rhythms, the crowd in delight,
As midnight approached, spirits took flight,
But then, at 2 am, a sudden hush fell,
Speakers went mute, a foreboding spell.
A gang, six or seven, with weapons untamed,
Machetes, clubs, and rusty guns they aimed,
"KILA MTU LALA CHINI!" the leader's decree,
Patrons, sobered, herded, as fear grew free.
"EVERYONE, GET NAKED!" his next demand did ring,
So, they stripped down to nothing, a peculiar, shocking thing,
As the gang searched pockets, taking what they could find,
The crowd cowered on the cold floor, fear etched in their mind.
The gang's leader, bold with humor in tow,
Ordered the speakers to once again glow,
Onstage, Karish and his band stood bare,
Naked and vulnerable, in the chilling air.
"START SINGING!" the gang leader's absurd command,
Karish, his voice trembling, had to withstand,
"Muthoni Kifagio," the song he must perform,
A satirical piece, to ridicule and inform.
Adding humor to the tale's unique lore,
The gang chose a dancer, a man to explore,
An old, pot-bellied, short figure in a cowboy hat,
Dancing comically for the gang; imagine that!
The heist was brief, mere minutes had passed,
And the gang disappeared, leaving the patrons aghast,
Naked and frantic, like a colonial scramble they raced,
For clothes to wear, in haste, they embraced.
Karish and his band, furthest from the pile of clothes,
Landed mismatched attire, confusion arose,
Karish in a spaghetti top, a scent of perfume so strong,
His wife at home, his troubles, he'd explain ere long.
No offense, but imagine the scene so bizarre,
As the pot-bellied dancer, in a cowboy hat, old by far,
Wore lady's biker short, oh what a sight,
In an unexpected place, a humorous plight.
To this day, Karish worries and ponders,
How the dancer, in his unusual wonders,
Explained to satisfaction, to his wife's delight,
Why he wore lady's biker short that night.
Nature made convenient sluice,
when pool water did wend
down the gentle slope
describing gargantuan wetsuit vend
er steadily chugging, chiseling,
and channeling straight away
blindly coursing upend
ding (mankind imposed)
property boundaries demarcations tend
with futile diligence,
asper the whimsical barenaked lady's
propensities, viz mother nature
made short shrift send
ding hours of surveyor labor down
into the behavioral sink also rend
ding inhabitants within the flood plain
to vacate premises and return,
when storm didst abate
comically shaking angry fist
at darkening non sheltering sky -
faux imitating to berate
meteorological processes
many complex systems create
the downpour seemingly
appearing (to me) rainier date
then years gone by scattershot memories,
(which figurative, somewhat unreliable
yardstick of boyhood) did equate
climate affecting
Southeastern Montgomery, Pennsylvania,
registering *****sapiens ultimate fate
burgeoning population, which impact great enough
for this lix spittle country bumpkin to ejaculate
(not prematurely) Hawaii hate
to reckon my environmental impact doth irritate
fragile ecosystems, and
holistic lifestyle aye would trade
(hint...mebbe ya know
of eco-centric intentional communities)
even (yes absolutely)
necessitating sweat of brow spade
work agreeable to this sometime joker
renting from management Grosse and Quade,
who primarily bolster increasing monies to get paid,
perhaps partnership incorporates hiring maid
service for their own households,
no doubt beds get properly made
yet, this regular John Doe (dependent on
social security disability because
debilitating panic attacks undermined
ability to function found (yours truly) laid
up (prior to acquiescing strong suggestions
to accept prescription medication), where grade
to cope much less steep, plus un huff frayed,
now rowing tha old skiff to destination
for to long not fostered and delayed
(christened matthew scott harris) to feign charade
nod duh so merrily lee down the time stream.
Aah... how great the taste of water...
After lounging in bed until
late morning/early afternoon
we (the missus and I) felt restless
as garden variety buffoon
or think chrysalis itching
to escape encased within cocoon
nevertheless, she mustered hubby
long since retired dragoon
late morning/early after light
clothing he must post haste festoon
he protested against testing
comfort zone merely donning galloon
his self conscious morphology
declaimed repeating honeymoon
embarrassing circumstance,
when caricature artist accentuated
pitiful spindle shanks published
front page see national lampoon
most recent issue or possibly
toothpick legs ought be printed June
a boot six days hence excluding
counting Memorial Day 2020
whereby barenaked ladies
(spouse included) unwittingly ironically,
farcically, and comically forced
skinny dipping under full moon
after newly bride & groom
pledged troth unwittingly nudist beach
entered momentarily devoid
of swimmers, who suddenly at noon
witnessed madding crowd
momentarily oblivious to laughingstock,
one after another burst out guffawing
(at my expense) at picayune
sorry/lame excuse for male
adult *****sapiens peculiar physique
courtesy anorexia nervosa
(when thirteen years old), I caused ruin
permanently stunting psychological
and physical characteristics,
for better part of existence
(mein kampf) uttered lamentable tune.
Absolute zero self worth (the
big goose egg) matter of fact will
state being earnest and frank
going on walk thru Schwenksville
thought person in every
passing vehicle (quite brisk traffic) rill
lee mocked appearance when
espying long haired pencil neck
geek fortunately blessed with
few gray strands deliberately colored via quill
to ad some convincing heft
to boyish good looks, though mill
stone metaphor linkedin with
living little approaching over hill
soon petering into becoming old
and senile, nope never got fill
of teenage romance, I started
dating during early twenties
deterrents to integrate among
including sounding think duckbill
nasal honking, and even hot spell
temps spiking high eighties/
low nineties dressed head
to foot ready for big chill,
especially cuz dehydration less likely.
Can you forgive me for my honesty?
I speak about my pain but try to do it comically
I don't need you to crown me or honour me
I'm just trying to correct my mistakes and act responsibly
Do you hate me?, do you love me?
Do you want to fight me?, do you want to punch me?
Do you want to push me?, do you want to hug me
Just a few questions I ask the man in the mirror daily
My mind has been getting less clearer lately
I was always the first to blame myself
For all the hurt and pain I felt
Battling suicidal thoughts, but I'm trying not to Kurt Cobain myself
I'm tired of being judged I just want to be free
Anxiety so I barely leave the house, friends don't understand why they never see me
Forces me to over think and worry about something that's not happening until next month
I drink in moderation, I don't like to get drunk
Depression hits me harder than Mayweather's best punch
I don't have any kids and I'm not sure if I want any either
Dated many girls but Haven't found one keeper
I pushed Chantal away due to depression
Now I'm better and willing to do anything for her
She doesn't want to know, and I've had to come to that acceptance
If I could go back, I'd have got help for my depression quicker and gave a ring to her
I'd have tried harder, but instead I thought I need my pride
Bed hopped so much, that most places I go now, I need a disguise
The truth is, every girl I slept with was there to complete the lie
The lie that I was okay and doing fine
The lie that my scars had healed and I'd got better this time
The lie that I had new girls so she wasn't on my mind
The truth is, people will probably think I'm a womanizer from these rhymes
Let me continue being honest, I guess I have been
They say honesty is the best policy, so you shouldn't get mad then
I can fake smile for my depression, but I can't write a happy poem with a sad pen
I thought seeing them naked and sex would be the cure
Turns out that I needed a hug and kindness more
Why is it, if I fight depression back, it's my blood on the floor?
I'm battling my demons and trying to improve my living
Should I have hid this?, can my honesty be forgiven?
Continued From:
13. BTK Coming Attractions Part 5
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195839
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Truly A Kid
BILLY the Kid was truly a kid when found in the company of children.
Many children of his day would go on to say
how much they wished their playtime with him would never end.
Good Guy / Bad Guy were one of the games Billy would play with the children in town.
"Bang! Bang! You're dead Billy!"
Billy would then grab hold of his chest and comically fall down to the ground.
Salsa Bocca recalls her playtime spent with her playmate Billy Bonney.
"He used to bounce me on his knee for what seemed like hours as if I were riding a pony."
The following story might not be true but I'll still share it with you
because it certainly fits Billy's profile.
This young boy in dismay kept following Billy all day.
Wherever Billy went he was followed by this star struck child.
"Do you know who I am?" Billy asked the young lad.
The child simply nodded, "Yes" was all that he said.
Billy took off his hat, dusted it off and placed it on the young boy's head.
The innocent young child was overjoyed and smiled
and then this is what Billy said and did.
"If anyone ever asks you who gave you that hat,
you tell them you got it from Billy, the Kid."
Billy was also very respectful of the elderly
and very sympathetic towards they who were poor.
Many times he would extend acts of kindness towards them.
He was a true philanthropist at heart to be sure.
The newspapers portrayed him as this dangerous desperado,
someone to be hated and feared and appalled,
but to all of the residents of Fort Sumner, New Mexico
Billy was very fondly adored by all.
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To Continue Go To:
15. A Short And Violent Life Ends. A Legend Begins.
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195837
Whenever in the company of his trusted friends
St. Paul Lafargue had always said:
"I sure hope I never get a sainthood someday
- That would be supremely lame for an atheist
In any day and age."
The man was modestly honest - If not honestly modest
So I did everything I possibly could
To make sure we would celebrate his feast day,
Every-single-friggin-day!
I ran all the way straight to Vatican City,
Where I skinned all which remains
Of my horrendously disfigured knees
After tripping over my own two feet and half a sheet of LSD
- That's when I said: "Serves me right for not taking it easy."
"Jesus I'm witty!" I was nervously thinking,
as I picked broken grass
and bubble gum
Out from under
My gaping wounds - "My God,
I don't have any time for this modern-day humdrum!"
I defiantly said as I proceeded ahead
Demonstrating little more concern
For my previously acquired gangrene
Than I did for my recently sustained ruptured spleen...
...So to make a long-story painlessly short
And to keep all threats of (comedic) violence
Condensed to a marginal fault,
All that I really had to say was this:
"So; How about it? What do ya say?"
- After smashing up the whole place
With a couple of my favorite teamsters
- And that was just about that!
Paul Lafargue had been canonized
All for a philosophical laugh!
- I must've cracked every single situational gag
His Holiness had been expecting to be pulled
Straight outta my brimstone hat!
I guess it's true what I hear everybody say:
The Pope is behaving far too liberal these days.
So the next time the stupid boss comically asks:
"Why is you writin'?! - Why ain't 'cha workin'?!"
Tell them as many times over as it may take
Until it fully absorbs into their tyrannical brain:
"I refuse to work when I don't really wanna;
It comes on like a hunger, sometime, after lunchtime."