Long Dapper Poems
Long Dapper Poems. Below are the most popular long Dapper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dapper poems by poem length and keyword.
Out of the concrete jungle the big cats prowl
from Grafton Gully to the great plain,
and when the big cats begin to howl
you know Leopards are loose in The Domain.
I strode out to the middle swinging my bat,
and all day long they chase the ball and shout
when I would get rapped on the pads “Howzat?”
but wink wink, the umpires ruled “Not Out!”.
Friends, Romans, Countrymen, gathered in awe
to watch The Master and his name exhort,
and at the crease blazoned a century score
by the Lion slayer in fierce onslaught.
“Bravo skipper!” roared the crowd, “More! More!”
Dapper in his white zinc and red bandana –
Howzat! into Wisden and leopard folklore
run-out on that great urban savannah.
I should have stayed my crease – instead I ran -
but cometh the legend, cometh the man!
Cover and square leg would scurry and duck
when Excalibur blade threatened again -
cut, hook, pull, and drive - each ball thunder struck
by the forged willow of gods and men!
A rank sledge and slog over midwicket
was the fatal shot and call of “no, yes, no!”…
and in the post-match bar in the oak tree thicket
rose puffs of stupefying herb that billow.
“Bravo skipper!” roared the crowd, “More! More!”
Dapper in his white zinc and red bandana -
Howzat! into Wisden and Leopard folklore
run-out on that great urban savannah.
I should have stayed my crease - instead I ran -
but cometh the legend, cometh the man!
Written: December 1996
You know the Old Lady who lived in a shoe,
She led the Autumn Jive with Little Boy Blue,
DJ Peter Piper looked suave and dapper,
The Old Grand Duke of York, *MC and rapper
The Trees of the forest turned up for the rave,
The old Willow sporting a clean cut and shave,
As they twirled gilded leaves in a single file,
There is not one shred of doubt, autumn’s got style
Jack and Jill jived the best in town,
And this time Jack didn’t break his crown,
The cow didn’t jump over the moon,
Thought she’d wait till the afternoon
The Birch and Sycamore thought they had the edge,
As they tangoed into an overgrown Hedge,
Little Jack Horner witnessed this disorder,
And set up first aiders in the corner
The Sycamore gave a ‘wide gold leaf grin’
As the Owl and the Pussy Cat sailed in,
Old King Cole was not a merry old soul,
As he found the Fox Trot ever so droll
Hi! Said the Mulberry “Come on over,”
As she gently rocked to the Bossa Nova,
For the old oak tree, dancing was no mean feat,
As he creaked in time to a rock steady beat
Said the cat and fiddle, “tap your feet,”
Hey, diddle, diddle please take your seat”,
“Mother Nature’s waltzing at the door,”
“Now old winters turn to take the floor”
At Twilight,
lullaby voices will drift afar,
Singing, 'Twinkle, Twinkle little star.'
*MC – Master of Ceremonies
08/11/22
Be creative poetry contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
He is so dapper and dashing! The ugliest dames said.
One of them on board now, as her husband was dead.
One old toad gave her the cold eye and a shove to her head.
These toads in waiting had learned at court, ‘twas how to get ahead.
The pollywogs were listening, and they began to titter.
The tadpoles being born were swimming fast in their bowl litter.
A mature frog had just swallowed a moldy fly that was bitter.
Her counterpart smirked, for she had almost grabbed up that critter.
The frog prince walked down the aisle and looked at the throng.
To select a young froglet would be lecherous and probably long.
There were hard looking women singing a preening fine song.
He stood in front of one who was not hideous and said “come along.”
The prince has chosen! The Royal Court said, with a murmur.
It was Prissy Per Persnickety Frog Puzzle from east of Bermer.
He married her quickly and rapidly whisked her away.
In a sleigh fashioned from cattails; it was his last lovely day.
As we reach our so called golden years
Time seems to pass by so fast
We realize each day still has 24 hours
But minutes take 30 seconds to pass
A phenomenon known as old duffering
It's the time to fit in all we lack
No sooner it's the start of a brand new day
When it's time to hit the old sack
Where did it go, what the hell happened
Was a dapper young lad then poof
People are now asking if I need any help
As I stumble around quite aloof
The dazed look on my face could be why
People are always trying to help
Sometimes my trousers are on back to front
And I quite often forget my belt
Don't laugh, you'll all get there eventually
Though it seems like forever away
Surely hope you don't embarrass yourself
By walking around nude all day
© Jack Ellison 2013
C. Cure T. Clarence
Been making, (sans
daily) regular appearance
in the news oval
hate gambling arrogance
vis a vis spewing,
shouting, and scathing rabidly
foaming explosive clap
trap in ascendance,
asserting how incredibly
tremendous collusion between
CIA, FBI and media
(must warrants revocation,
hence heroic intervention,
and emergency dis
Pence sing balance
of security fabled
clearances Aesop - Asap)
hounds engaged "brilliance"
in (community) chance
of making an very
usual fool of himself,
viz the "FAKE"
trumpeting dapper Don
expostulating the latest ploy,
raging against the machine
i.e. entire popular culture
will get their comeuppance
being so freely outspoken,
a disgraceful unconstitutional defiance
which oh press
sieve act of deviance
spluttered, thus an extreme
measure to clamp down
on all news outlets,
and immediate disappearance
all the while poor
Melania stoically, objectionably
and lamentably stands
right alongside him,
(nonetheless nonverbally
metaphorically exhibiting
vitriolic livid rage)
as he rancorously spouts
(ala VERY) convincing impression
of la va reenactment qua,
Krakatoa volcanic disturbance
lambasting utter disgraceful disservice
(foxy Dis Putin
commercial stations construe, conspire,
conjure egregious collusion
outlets asper dominance
a pugilistic ringside fan loathsomely
(re: scowling non verbally),
wherein pejorative spectators whether
(moral less minority, and/or
majority whips lashing) weather being
Without a silver spoon I was born,
Caused no riches that I morn.
It's not an excuse to say,
To a generation that you need to pay.
Erst a lawyer, he had a hopeless plight
Now, his future's bright and light.
A doctor, who was nearly a dead,
Now helps to save lives embed
The celebrity, with rags to wear,
Now dresses dapper, and without a care.
So no matter what your life has been,
You can still make a brighter scene.
Though the journey may be long and hard,
The rewards, will be your future's card.
So take heart, and keep your faith strong,
And your future, will be where you belong.
Saint Monica's Mission
Tots rushing and jostling, reaching for gifts
Three hundred and two presents we did carry
We drove to the shore, used pallet jack lifts
Children gathered about cheerful and merry
Everywhere bows, ribbons, bright wrapping paper!
Sandcastles decked with candy cane ornaments
Boys and girls enjoying this wild zany caper
Eggnog, carols, and the smell of peppermints
A dapper Santa in his swimsuit chuckling, ho, ho, ho
Grab your boogie boards he bellows, time for a swim
We all shout out, hey Saint Nick, go man go!
Some of the crew followed Santa and joined him
Goodwill and cheer were now within reach
With broad grins, ringing bells, kids thanked us guys
These unfortunates grew joyful this day at the beach
As did Saint Monica's who brought Christmas in July!
CHOP SHOP
The Villages at Carver ate
Four tires and a steering wheel
Their hunger pangs would not abate
So they acquired plans to steal
A screwdriver
And a wrench too
A steel hammer
Golf carts unscrew
The Villages at Carver hide
Its many parts in a chop shop
As golfers exercise their stride
Wiping balled sweat until they drop
On dapper lawn
For evil’s spawned
From dusk to dawn
Behind closed doors
The Villages at Carver search
For splintered wood and tools of trade
Amidst the oak and pine and birch
The hidden door reveals a blade
Village gone mad
Carvers past sad
Pitchforks take stand
Revenge at last
The Villages at Carver mass
Drawing a crowd to view a home
Overlooking manicured grass
A course with four golf wheels and chrome
6/27/2017
January 24th, 2023 Hair washing heralds huge happening
Hark….the herald angels sing, and twitter
for mass communication
mediums stop the presses
when I, a regular schlemiel
take shampoo to mine matted mass mop
(no less than once a week)
of straggly follicles, and commence
to dispense with the heady eco system
viz rare crop of flora and fauna
(some rank as endangered species)
rub and band together
to scratch envy of
flaky key neigh bring ponytails
and create quite an niche,
and where also can be found
lousy knit wit vendors ready to scalp
and give shaft to razor sharp purveyors,
who mane lee scout out available
head and shoulder room to nap
without a stir, tub bed down
(praying Holy Scott no wash out
nor Harris mint occurs),
or burrow vis a vis,
where subcutaneous porous droplet size
watership down pieces
of prime residence found
counting one mister comb lee
bald bold faced realtor
amidst competing rival
bulb buss Edward scissorhands
(with knot to heavy a price toupee)
affianced to rapunzel,
whom he sheared split ends
as her barber of civil,
one dapper dander ruff dude to offer
lice cent shuss insects a tonsured
cut above other stylish habitués
preferring to fraternize,
glad-hand, and hobnob
amidst a cluster of big wigs
housed by yours truly - Samson
in gleaming puffy pompadour
pads tightly secured
with the best dreadlocks,
which harum-scarum
green barrettes serve
as first line of rinse able defense
IdentityGuard (with franchisee
Bob O Link averse to split hairs, but fierce
as a Mohawk and ring leader
to protect any curl of mine)
waving away intruders,
who if insist tubby persistent
and tangle with fate
cannot expect camaraderie
from buzz cutting crew i.e. the fuzz
to give expletive filled lathering,
severe shame poo wing subjugation
plus an up braiding experience),
and teach stragglers
they will suffer
a real perm in hint bang up job
if they brazenly brush
against brylcreem of the crop
rooted as rightful heirs
(hairs) of tousled doo mane,
thus concludes my tail.
Postscript: Yours truly
an aging long haired
seventh generation pencil neck geek
finds ultra joy when
volunteering for kitchen duty,
hence imagine the hypothetical picture
portraying Geico caveman
mimicking pseudo dawn of humanity.
Oh, the vicarious thrill of watching it unfold.
Something I could never do, I never had the courage.
Yet, there she stood, alone, a raven haired beauty
Silken strands of delicacy, caressing her shoulders
Something to exult, to worship, at least from afar.
And then he came in, as dashing as one would expect.
The chasm between dapper and dashing and
modest and mousy, too much to bridge.
No night club was dark enough to compensate
and so I just watched.
I watched him approach her, the impetus to do so
as natural for him as combing his wavy blond curls.
His dress and his manner clamored of opulence.
And yet, she seemed to resist.
Had she tasted this brand before.
Had she already been just another bauble
or conquest, meant only to adorn.
Embarrassed that she caught my gaze,
I turned, just as she smiled
Could it be that that such grace and beauty
could have an eye for me.
It was not mockery I saw in her grin.
Perhaps courage will find me yet
and lessons learned will ensure a thrill of my own.