Long Costumed Poems
Long Costumed Poems. Below are the most popular long Costumed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Costumed poems by poem length and keyword.
The world in 100 years ... Oh, perish the thought
Former President, Ronald Dump, who was cryogenically frozen following his assassination after winning the ‘No Bull’ Peace Prize in December 2018, has been successfully defrosted.
Ronald Dump recently defeated his son, former President Barrrrron Van Dump, in the lunar by-election. President Dump will be taking up his forty year term at his office-in-the-round penthouse suite at ‘Lunar-Tic Towers’. This magnificent golden palace-like structure is situated on the fringes of the 29th bunker on the dark side of the moon. Naturally, it is a member’s only golf club and entry is strictly by special invitation only. It will be staffed by scantily costumed Honey-Bunny girls and models who the Dump handpicks. They will attend to every need and whim of his guests, unless he requires their expertise "handling."
President Dump will be supported by his android wife, Argenta, (humanoid model number 3060 with real hair and life-like body parts) who superseded the old model 'Milionairluva', who sadly could not be revived due to silicon and botox poisoning which ran rampantly throughout her Barbie doll body
The Lunar-Tic Towers will be totally off limits to the paparazzi so there can be no photographs taken of the Irn Bru brewing facility of his favourite drink which was banned in Scotland. He seeks to insure that no "fake news" stories are leaked by the press.
In his bid to tackle rising unemployment, currently standing at 99.6%, Dump will be advised by his new best friend and strategist, Kym Dung Hung Lo. This humanitarian almost obliterated the human race by detonating a nuclear warhead at the Dung Hung Lo Toy Factory which was caused when Dung Hung Lo threw his dolly out of the pram. So impressed by such a move, Dump hired him and invited Dung Hung Lo to be his number 2 to succeed him.
May God bless the earth, what little is left of her .. she needs all the help she can get with these two lunar tics in charge
6/1/18
100 year Contest sponsored by Brian Davey
In the chill of night, when shadows dance and sway,
A tale of Halloween, I'm bound to convey.
A story woven from the threads of scare,
Beware the whispers in the haunted air.
In a quaint old town, where cobwebs hung,
Where eldritch secrets from the rafters clung,
The people gathered, dressed in fright,
To celebrate the Eve where day meets night.
The moon, a ghostly galleon, sailed the sky,
As children laughed and revelers did cry,
"Trick or treat!" they'd chant with glee,
Unaware of the true horror, soon to be.
Beneath the Hunter's Moon, a figure stood,
A specter draped in tattered hood,
With eyes like embers, glowing in the night,
It watched the townsfolk with an eerie delight.
"Boo!" it whispered, soft as velvet breeze,
And one by one, the laughter ceased.
For those who heard, their blood ran cold,
As ancient dread within their hearts took hold.
The figure moved, a silent, creeping blight,
Through the town it glided, out of sight,
Leaving in its wake a silent, deadly trace,
A chill that clung like a spectral embrace.
The revelers, they felt it, deep within,
A primal fear, a shivering skin,
For the figure in the shadows was no mortal being,
But a malevolent force, its true form unseeing.
It chose its prey with a malicious grin,
A young man, costumed, full of sin,
It followed him down the moonlit lane,
And in its gaze, he felt a deadly strain.
He turned to face the spectral foe,
His heart did race, his courage low,
But too late did he realize the plight,
That he was now the creature's chosen for the night.
With a final scream, the man was claimed,
By the horror that could not be named,
And the townspeople, they'd always remember,
The Halloween when fear was truly tender.
So heed this rhyme when autumn leaves do fall,
And the veil is thin, and spirits call,
For on All Hallow's Eve, when ghouls do roam,
You might just find you're not alone.
From my window, darkness was quickly descending.
Costumed creatures were walking about, pretending
to be goblins and ghosts, expecting me to be scared
and totally freaked out, for which I was not prepared.
I'd been warned about evil spirts on Halloween night,
and vampires rising from coffins to give my neck a bite,
but no one had cautioned me, "Beware the living dead!"
I laughed it off and scoffed at a zombie's decayed head.
Around me creepy crawlers slithered. I felt an eerie chill.
but I was trick-or-treating for candy; my bag I'd yet to fill.
Across the blood red moon, flew witches in pointed hats.
Their dark silhouettes joined by a flock of shrieking bats!
I saw a man dressed as a baby, but he looked like a brute.
He growled at me, so I ran as he chased me in hot pursuit.
I thought I'd be attacked when suddenly there appeared
skeletons whose clicking bones pointed at me and jeered.
With worry I started thinking, Could these things be real?
Something nibbled on my hair. How horrid it made me feel!
I went to a house with a porch light, hoping for Tootsie Rolls,
but screamed when in the open door stood sneering Trolls.
I tried to convince myself that this was just some silly hoax,
by friends trying to make me cower with their wicked jokes.
With a bit of bravado, I rang another doorbell, undaunted,
but fled again when I saw signs that the house was haunted.
How I wished for the power to fly away on a witch's broom
and escape the macabre apparitions on this night of gloom.
Now filled with trepidation and dread, I darn near fainted
wondering if the sweet treats I'd collected were all tainted.
Somehow, I managed to make it home but could not sleep.
Snarls from under my bed gave me goosebumps, skin-deep.
October 22, 2022 ~ Halloween Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Poem 18
Percival Jordan
1892 - 1912
I am where I am
Because of who I was.
I imbibed a million breaths
And observed the stars dotting the night skies
Like actors taking the stage for another eternal encore.
I am in the air
As I am in the ground.
And I know the truth now.
Life was an impossible possibility.
Born of pleasure and fear and desperation.
And I’m relieved the ridiculous race is over.
I spent most of my carefree days here in Clark Cemetery.
Helping Artilissa water the flowers.
And as a boy I played amidst the sunken graves.
I sat in silence like a scheming spider
Under the stretching shadows of the old tombstones.
I wrote poems to the dead
And read the Psalms aloud
With my many lady friends dressed in silk
Sitting scandalously close to me.
Under a darkening full moon shade one evening
I kissed Ethel Woodstock on the lips
And I released my emerging manhood
With a simmering sigh.
I felt strangely odd when Ethel died that night,
Enveloped in her mother’s helpless embrace.
I placed a rose bud upon her mahogany casket
And I cried as a light rain descended
Upon the drinking gorged ground around us..
Indeed I was the annoying little boy in the graveyard;
That flim-flaming rascal
With the cocky smirk of a broken gentleman.
With costumed enterprise,
I tricked many a passerby
With repeated low-moaning dirges
From behind the Hadley tombstone.
Their screams were hilarious but they never caught me.
God knows I had plans.
Plans to be a lawyer.
Plans to be an electrician.
Plans to be married and to find peace of mind.
But when I awoke one cold morning in 1912,
My bed was soaked in warm blood,
And all my plans were forever harvested by the Grim One.
I love Clark Cemetery in the autumn.
When the leaves turn dark and deadly.
When the rippling landscape illuminates the truth and finality of all things.
Life is just a fast-moving storm
And none of us has the time to notice the returning rainbow.
Oh, for a simple cup of coffee again!
The blood curdling screams rang out into the night
The little beggars were dragging someone to their lair
Huddled together, trembling with fear, we closed our eyes
She whispered “Do you think they will come?”
I held my breath and forced my hand across her frail chin
There was nothing I could do or say to ward off the knockers
Paralyzed I watched her as she bit deep her lips drawing drops of blood
As the screams echoed into the black night air I grabbed a bottled drink
The putrid odor caused me to wretch but I forced a sip
She pushed it away causing the grey, dank liquid to spill
What had we become? Monsters, sickly beings, animals
This was no life for a human, this was not our world
It began with what they called a pandemic, a virus
We were forced to isolate, forced to wear masks, our identities were lost
The vaccine came in a hurry, one dose or two, it was forced on everyone
The elderly got sick first, hair loss, teeth breaking, nails turning black
Then animals changed dogs grew long sharp teeth and doubled in size
Cats turned to mangy horrific beasts that would gnaw tails until they fell off
A nightmare began nation against nation, trickery from those in power
The sun was barely visible, plants wilted and turned to mush
The water changed to a grey gel and then the eclipse hit
Once the moon covered the sun it froze and our world became dark
Freezing temperatures killed off many of the children
The heat suits were rationed and some malfunctioned burning those inside
No one survived the burns, it was as if they melted in the suit
The little beggars with their pointy ears and scraggly hair would run up and drag the remains away leaving nothing but a burn mark in their wake
We, the survivors live in fear, costumed in soiled rags, visions fading into darkness
05/02/2021
Written for A Poem of Horror Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Funom Makama
If you ever espy a latitudinally
and longitudinally challenged
older yet shopping savvy woman,
(wedded to yours truly
for almost twenty six years),
who stands approximately
four feet and ten inches
a strong hunch that gal
stacks up as mine missus,
she dons costumed headwear
to avoid station identification,
whenever she steps out
into the public limelight
anywhere outside these four walls
of our one bedroom apartment
here within bucolic Schwenksville,
the town that town forgot,
and the decades could not improve,
where all the women good looking,
the men strong, and the children
wise to the ways of technology.
When this logophile
quite a few pounds lighter
ever since I first became acquainted
with unnamed aforementioned woman,
she adopted predilection to don apparel
allowing, enabling, and providing
modus operandi to present herself incognito.
Ofttimes said spouse of mine
upon returning from
grocery shopping spree
(ever price conscious of various
and sundry commestibles -
with a knick knack paddy whack
give this doggone husband
a plant based NON GMO bone),
she can rattle off the prices
of targeted items on her mental rolodex
how much food cost at:
ALDI, GIANT, LIDL, WEGMANS...
While scurrying to and fro
hither and yon,
a stranger might unexpectedly
pay a compliment to iterated getup,
which bobbin noggin makes her
easy to identify, when yours truly
tags along, (but despite
being considerably taller
by almost twelve inches),
these spindleshanks of one
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned, senseless
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer
find impossible mission
to keep pace with the wife.
The sugar maple and the oak hold tight their leaves,
barely green, yellow tinged lines sway in the breeze.
The plum glows in a deep dark purple dance
feathered soft and small along the branch.
Another oak stands a mix yellow orange peach
with etchings red crimson pink burns out of reach.
Standing alone and in between the naked eye
mere skeletons remain touching a clouded sky.
Autumn holds true to reputation
producing a multitude cacophony of colors, dark unseen
ominous lightly draped in emerald greens.
The first and quickly mid November hush
comes the fall and holiday rush.
Wind still calm yet wildly ready
as blinding sun beats down hot and steady.
Songbirds seem to no longer sing stray cry coos
rising on the breeze as they seek shelter and others bid adieu.
The weather soon to change
to a chilling wind and rain.
Holidays break the lull of comforting fires
with harried shopper rushing of want and desire.
As quickly as it comes, just steps behind a party scene
of costumed revelry and gatherings, the seasons pass to dreams.
Thanksgiving turkeys with cranberry sauce, potatoes and stuffing
waft the air as frosted glasses rise eyeing pie and whipped fluffing.
Families toast and taste the holidays,
with the memorable pictures taken holding out for Christmas plays.
The together that solidifies relations of the crew
of grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, cousins too.
Children yelling, crying, playing games to a hullabaloo of cheer
but makes parents glad it comes once a year.
The gathering of faces and acquaintance celebrations
folds a memory happening just a little more patient.
That laughter and joy so endeared in time,
a right of passage lost to happiness, tears and wine,
missed yet fondly remembered
as time passes November into December.
fter nine episodes
Our new generation must know
The whole thing started
With President Carter
Who was in the Commander's chair
And the computer dreamers were setting off Internet flairs.
Billed as a trip back to the matinee cinema of decades ago
It was a marathon sci fi adventure picture show
Star Wars it was called
And the movie industry was in awe
Starting off in the middle
This space air force tale was all the twitter
Starring one who made a mark with the name Hamill
During a time when Dorothy was not in Oz but doing a camel
Then there was Eddie's little girl
Who was cute as a pearl
Add a hunk named Han solo
This fantasy project was a Go Go
Light years past with everyone taking other gigs
But when duty called the troupe made the franchise their digs
With the final one released
And the storm troopers are now resting in peace
Taking over the Jedi force
Is Daisy Ridley who just graduated from the light saber course
Carrying only one-word name right
Rey dug in her heels with all her might
As she fought a fight that was her descendants’ plight
But this seemed to be all a dream with all the work in front of a green screen
Geared to an amusement park ride
The latest Star Wars entry tried
It was nice the characters brought everything home
in a saga where everyone found a friend when they are alone
After nine episodes the credits have run
Saying goodbye since the good guys won
Skywalker, R2D2, C3PO, Chewy
Your mission is complete
And Vader no longer has heat
Han and Lea what can we saya
Besides we hope Lucas now can a paya
Now with everything in the can
And you have created all these costumed hams
May the force be with you
and many thanks making all this look cool.
When Fall arrives in Munich, Germany,
Exciting times bring visitors from far and near,
With people dancing, singing, mugs of beer held high,
In halls or tents, saluting so rambunctiously, and
Loving our Oktoberfest with heartfelt cheer that
Lasts more than two weeks with much to see and do.
Parades, arcades, and rides, much like a carnival,
Aglow with dancers in bright Bavarian dress, and
Rides on quaint, old-fashioned pretty carousels,
Together with the varied puppet shows, are fun;
Yes, even shooting galleries to test one's aim.
Laughter and cold beer in mugs enjoyed by most;
If not one's taste, great wines are sold 'neath tents.
Kept close at hand, champagne, cocktails; also
Enjoyed are fresh-squeezed juices if one must abstain.
The delicious food consists of many tastes and treats:
Hearty eaters gather round wild ox roast on a spit, or
Enjoyed is chicken with potato dumplings, red cabbage;
Relished too are Bratwurst, spaetzle, and baked beans,
Ending with desserts like rich black forest cake, plump
Strudels filled with fruit and gingerbread creations.
No one goes hungry at this great Oktoberfest, and
Of many fests around the world, is rated one of best.
To dance and sing with spirits high and free
On meadow grounds in city center, brings joy to
Munich, where feasts were held since eighteen-ten.
Opening with carriages and floats of costumed scenes
Reveals the promises of drink, loud songs, and dance.
Resounding well into the festive night, we sing,
Oh, happy time for us! Let's toast to love and life, and
We will party like there's no tomorrow!
Sandra M. Haight
~NA~
Premiere Contest: Wild Acrostic
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Judged: 11/11/2016
Freedom with no responsibility is taken for granted
Legislated out of the society, Flankers left on the margins to pine
Ambition liberated with some, but others were too stunted
Native children in nothing native schooled, a long line
Kicking and squealing into zones of penury thrown
Excluded from the patrimony of father's blood and mother's tears
Restitution sought, but none given, except the costumed clown
Seducing them to slavery by pittance of wage, and weight of cares
Ridiculous that he did not see, he could not understand
Emerging from canefields before glass plated doors, bare
Dreamers, inhabitants of this Flankers, driven from dried to sand
Excised to hard rocks and viciouus knocks, nothing to share
Mentally figuring their place in the universe, and the scheme
Paraded before them for hope, and then the piling lof uprooted others
Tumulting disgust upon disgust with the withering dream
Immigration was only for the few with fare to swim troubled waters
Onset of demand for drugs and sex for consumer tourists and new orders
Nation and community with no immunity for these porous borders
Felt no moral sense of right or wrong when survival was so strong. Boys
Alternating between death and regret they chose both. Limited choice
Inspires limited action: they did not make nor imported the killing toys
Laws that deny them justice cannot keep out the weapons? They rejoice
So to die, heroes too of pain. So too Europe warlords became dons and kings
Anathema these walk, then and why? The violent smile outside the rings
Let us from within build our redemption still, for we are better mettled than all
Let us stand for self, if Bentham and them is right, we shall reverse the fall.