Long Cubbyhole Poems
Long Cubbyhole Poems. Below are the most popular long Cubbyhole by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cubbyhole poems by poem length and keyword.
I admit tubby distracted by a modeling
female physique when attempting to write,
an aching agony rips thru this son,
gripping with hard on – tight -
by Dickens constricting sensation,
who orbited the sun LX times
coon sitters himself heterosexual male,
where slumbering testosterone forces unite,
no matter my libido feels
deadened, this despite
the above mentioned
asthma ordinary devoid sexual drive,
when these eyes (brown and myopic) sight
even just a picture
oven an attractive gal fanciful flight
evokes dormant longings
crashing thru concentration
without any invite
sparring dueling animal urge,
I know ain't right
since being married,
and all (witches nothing to celibate)
boot even if aye hapt tubby
dim witted with cerebral blight
prurient predilections, would
nonetheless prevail causing affright,
whereby the photographed lovely lady
dashes out like shuttered image,
though only so few inches in height,
would make a bee line into an
unreachable cubbyhole,
not totally airtight
just enough breathing room
to await darkening hour of night
than with lightspeed akin to meteorite
off into the farther reaches with a blink quite
invisible this quasi
holographic like pseudo sprite
leaves yours truly in the lurch ignite
ting a supposed sexual propensity gone cold
nay, no can do, cuz
untethered high as a kite
electrifying animal desire forced to bite
the dust, though thankfully concupiscent pang
ordinarily not the least bit aroused, aye attest
nope, not lascivious provocative
Barenaked Ladies can NOT excite
an older fellow, whose adolescent body
seethed with hormonal secretion,
and any pretty young thang did alight
a stick up between still skinny legs,
hence people watching
(particularly gals), a birthright
even migrant and/or
teenage mutant ninja turtle doth delight
tool hook, but NOT touch
most times an effortless fight,
yet every once in a while atavistic
pulsations, asper call
of the wild bobwhite
overrides instagramming, snapchatting,
and twittering uber with such might
even erupting sexless interludes of eunuch
or "FAKE" shining knight
chess moonlighting also as “FAKE” playwright,
hence if perchance a beauty catches me sight
lack of youth in your favor
from my penitent penile plight!
Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.
"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms,
"Someday soon you will understand."
And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.
But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.
So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.
NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.
my curiosity coaxes me into sneaking in
to this cubbyhole built under an old robust tree
a rumor I heard, there’s a clandestine
so, I peep through its small and dusty window pane
I widely open my eyes as I could
while I’m surreptitiously gazing inside this empty room
the only thing I see is a barricade of wood
Oh, I think, playing hide and sick in there is still good
as I go around to find if there’s a small door
to my dismay, it’s locked with a rusty knob
then, I find another small window on the other wall
on big branch of the tree, I clamber to view the whole
watching all over again the void inside
shadows begin to appear behind the wooden bar
as they accrue, my braided hair rise up on both sides
for a high jump, I prepare my legs while thinking where to hide
their ears likely found on top of their nose in shape of cone
so creepy things they are, I’m so scared but I must know
are they giants or dwarfs who’ll give me their magic stones
or a black lady to transform to white and lurks me with her bones
while my whole body is reverberated with numbness
I hold on to the small branch of a tree with a glued grip
suddenly, a mother cat with her five lovely kittens
coming out buffing their fur softly with tenderness
March 31, 2013
Note to the contest sponsor:
My dear friend Seren, I’ve seen your blog before but I’m so sorry if I was not able to leave a comment because of time constraint. However, I vividly remember the picture because it was truly beautiful. I’m pretty sure it was one of your awesome paintings. You’re a very talented artist/painter and I was inspired to write a poem today for that beautiful paintings of yours. Thank you so much for sharing!
Fourth Place
Contest: What Lurks Within
Judged: 4/7/2013
Sponsor: Poet Seren Roberts
So what country did you make?
Is it a penthouse, or a rented cubbyhole
in the same sky high city where the difference
is the size of your hold-out that can also peer out.
When the TV is silent and sullen
do you wonder
what other country you belong to?
Do you risk getting shot
for just looking out of a window,
or do you lollygag over fine wines
and does your bowtie spin
when you grin?
Do the people guard you
or impinge upon your sovereignty
with their greasy knives and forks?
Did you register as a foreigner
with the borderless guard dogs?
Did your country come with
a trash compactor and a rattrap?
I also come from a land as isolated as yours.
I travel incognito
as a stranger known to be unwanted
until kidnapped.
Did you choke twice
over an olive in your dirty martini?
Did you vow to stay far away
from the drug-dazed
and only send out or call in
for your own addictions?
Does your country salute you
for having regular bowel movements,
for not clogging up the toilet bowl?
I, like you, wrote my own constitution
it is written on an old postcard
that I sent to myself.
Are you a founder or a spy
snooping from an eye in the sky?
I may visit your county;
feel free to borrow my nose hair trimer,
my first born.
We, the Emperors of just enough space
should ratify unworkable treaties,
we may need to test
the limits of a mutual hostility.
When you turn the TV back on
do you, like me, wonder what country
this is that hates us from afar?
Blow smoke, smoke blow, suck when necessary,
bruit a patriotic vapor
into a rattling air conditioner,
never surrender.
Sometimes even in these chaotic times we can sill get a little old fashioned, find a brute of a tree and relax under its shade.We can then mentally attempt to travel beyond that day in an attempt to step inot another life creating within ourselves a separate reality.A reality we can run and hide in when things in the real world go sour.What if you where to get stuck in this world or let me reprase myself, what if you ran into your little cubbyhole in your mind and the door slammed shut behind you.What if the reason you ran into this world was so severe that you were the one who slammed the door.If you were to get locked in this world what would you really find there?Maybe your worst nightmares would become as real and vivid as you imagined them to be. How would your actions change physically?Would you become a reclive person or possibly become violent?There are very few things in which we call artificial that are proven to be totally posittive, so in saying this how could a artificial reality ever be a positive attribute within oneself?Those of us who are capable of opening and closing this door at will are fortunate.Those who have become trapped inside have created a battle within themselves that will truly rage on until they grab the keys that have been dangling in front of them throughout their ordeal.We all hold our own keys on a ring that is overloaded making access to the correct key difficult to some and impossible to others.
Form:
I am a shy girl who's never been on a date
But I'm twenty, and Mom says I'm just blooming late
I'm destined to be an old maid without a mate
Soon, I'll be past my prime
Always a wallflower. Alone, I brood and sit
Sometimes I'm a little quirky. I will admit
But talk with me and you'll see, I've got charm and wit!
I've mountains yet to climb
I'm the guilty one that no one ever suspects
Overlooked, as one of life's pathetic rejects
Here's a clue: I used a knife, and other objects
I committed the crime
I'm the actor never given the starring role
The person always shoved into a cubbyhole
I'm not invisible! I have a heart and soul
Might as well be a mime
I'm the elusive word for your poetic line
Look in a Thesaurus and you'll find me, Einstein
We can be a couplet, two planets that align
Let's make our poem rhyme
Sometimes I feel like the hands of a broken clock
Going nowhere fast should never come as a shock
But where is the man who holds the key to my lock
The one who'll ring my chime
A troll followed me home one day,
Looking to bring me down.
I told it I didn’t want to play,
To go dig a great deep hole,
Roll its little soul into the black hole.
It didn't matter where I went
It just wouldn't go away.
The troll climbed up the phone pole
Stuck its drooling tongue out and scolded.
I had troll in my soup bowl,
Troll in my egg-roll,
Troll my keyhole,
Troll in my buttonhole,
Troll in my toilet roll,
Troll in my toilet bowl.
It followed me to school and crawled
Into my cubbyhole.
It followed me to the barber shop
Sat on top of the barber's pole.
It followed me on my date
Sat between me and my date.
I finally decided I was going to get control,
Ignored the troll and foiled its day,
Until one day it got bored
And slithered away.
3/12/2021
Children Story
A dark road creaks, a crackling carapace of ice
under bruising rubber.
Driving to the all-nite store --- need antacids.
It's pre-dawn, an hour behind the light;
potholes dream in their black bunkers.
No one rides this deadened road,
no car beams, or open-eyes gleam
until the car drifts into
the low magnetic hum
of a forecourt.
The neon Mini Mart has sunk
inside an insane façade of purpose,
lost as it is, in an electric trance.
Nobody dwells here at this hour
only the heavy-eyed-blue-heron man.
After the purchase, he disappears
into a cubbyhole of shadows.
Back home, the grinding jaw
of a garage door
seems to awaken a lick of daylight,
not here, but in the back of my mind.
~~~
edit
A dark road creaks, a crackling of ice-skulls
under bruising rubber.
Driving to the all-nite store --- need antacids.
It's pre-dawn, an hour behind the light,
those black hollows of the night
where time goes blind.
No one rides this deadened road,
no car beams, or open-eyes gleam
until the car drifts into the low hum
of a forecourt.
The neon Mini Mart has sunk
inside an insane façade of purpose,
lost as it is, in an electric trance.
Nobody dwells here at this hour
only the heavy-eyed-blue-heron man.
After the purchase, he disappears
into a cubbyhole of shadows.
Back home, the grinding jaw
of a garage door
seems to awaken a lick of daylight,
not here, but
in the back of my mind.
Welcome to the "Wheel of Misfortune"
With your host, “Dirty Clothes” Pat
And dear sweet “Hole In Her Gowns” Vanna
You could lose your fortune like that
Players contribute ten grand of their own
The one with the most money loses
Ain't easy giving all incorrect answers
Ya feel like a bunch of silly gooses
First contestant is the one that goes last
Are you following, it can be a bit confusing
Audience get baffled, some leave in a huff
A few were even caught snoozing
Where's all this leading, I haven't a clue
Really feels like I've lost my control
Maybe I'll just gracefully fade to black
And crawl back in my wee cubbyhole
© Jack Ellison 2015