Long Doodled Poems
Long Doodled Poems. Below are the most popular long Doodled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doodled poems by poem length and keyword.
who knew
sounds like YOU
bravo romeo
you’re at the hotel
whiskey at the bar
and papas doing well
he played two rounds
and his echo said tell
juliet his sweet
that an oscar cost a mill
....get dressed
almost time for the ball
the mr.mc.melon
made a million dollar call
Yankee doodled a candy
November is handy
for remembering
to give our thanks
Fox trotted to the bank
and booked a flight
x-ray vision
wants to dance tonight
charlie says to victor
“i knew she could hear”
just slow to bet
she is a sweet
my dear
i do
i owe you
one kilo
“horse knows the way
to carry a sleigh so it's
off to the 'hood, we go”
the delta is wet
there are beans
in a net
and a play...
is what she swings
;) x.wings.
.
~just for fun
i like to dance
Form:
In the hallowed halls of college,
Where dreams bloomed like wildflowers,
I walked with a pencil in my pocket,
And a book cradled close to my heart.
My friends, oh dear companions,
We laughed under ancient oaks,
Shared secrets in dimly lit libraries,
And danced through midnight exams.
The pencil whispered courage,
Its graphite etching hope on paper,
While the book held worlds within—
A passport to realms beyond reality.
We scribbled notes in margins,
Doodled love stories and equations,
And when life felt too heavy,
We leaned on each other's metaphors.
But as the seasons spun their yarn,
And we crossed the threshold to university,
Some friends faded like ink on old pages,
Their chapters end abruptly.
They chose different paths,
Grew distant, their laughter echoing.
In distant corridors of memory,
Like faded bookmarks left behind.
Yet my faithful pencil remained,
Its lead unyielding, marking time,
And the book—oh, that cherished tome—
Still whispered tales of resilience.
For in solitude, I found solace,
The pencil sketching new beginnings,
The book unraveling narratives,
As I wove my own story, ink by ink.
So here's to the pencil and the book,
My steadfast companions through it all,
Their silent presence a reminder:
True friends need no spoken words.
And though others may change their ways,
I'll forever treasure these faithful allies,
For they've etched their lines upon my soul,
A timeless ode to friendship's enduring grace.
Post-its, coat the
Brain I keep controlling
sticking to my skull
Without holding their notice
Maybe I have spiraled out of focus
Leaving all my thoughts to obliterate my homage
It's really you on my mind
Your carving words Into my eyes
Leaving notes on my spine
As I gash into my thighs
It’s really you on my mind
I scribbled nonsense on your veins
You doodled through my tangled mane
As the pages ripped
Between words and skits
Our seats became too distance
Too far to send our visions
Of the present we desired and the past we wished to admire
etched on crumpled stained paper that was soon to be waste
Sprawled across an abandoned place that was meant to house the unworthy and the disgraced
I punched you out for what it was
That small space we call real estate
Beyond the Island of doom the cock doodled at noon
Then I saw that time for you
Became more urgent
More urgent than purchase
I saw haunting silhouettes of the people you drove crazy
I punched the clock that took advantage of time
But you blowed up and you thought of the country and it's need needing you
Sit down and listen that the world is calling us. Yo survival
It's escalated from whisper to shouts
But not only you ,everyone who can listen
So far aware of what they do
Skillfully planning their day
How does it compare
I have zero for those who won't be clear
What has life become
A giant marketing ploy
One by one
All get set
I plow through the disasters and find my self under the foot of Tyrants
Depend on yourself as doctor, shrink and someone else
Protect from no one just yourself
Everyone else does
What they want
life mutates into a cherry pie before the beginning of man
Never underestimate the pie power and a journey
Of which we be damned
Its equal partners to kill at will
With odds to favor gods
who will remember the forest and the water
Which once brought life
Now just games with our lives
What do you get for the Man,
That's parlayed a yacht or two?
He's flashing the perfect tan,
Wearing diamond studded shoes!
The women he dates are fakes,
But, still have some style and grace.
They'll do whatever it takes,
Like pancake or peel their face!
Got a mansion in the West,
And a mansion in the East.
Dining only on the best,
On the rest he plans to feast!
Well, you know he loves to boast,
Those new "Tatts" on his body.
But, which one he loves the most,
His Porsche or Maserati?
At the gym he does the plank,
At Casinos loves to bet.
If he ever breaks the bank,
He'll just buy another jet!
Doodled oodles of Poodles,
But, he's tired and he's bored!
Might think our noodle's doodled,
Here's a doodle not explored!
Commodity Clones, DePaul,
We're willing and we're able.
If your heart should ever stall,
Put a new one on the table!
If your liver has been pickled,
By the finest wines in France.
And vintage only trickled,
Put a new one in your pants!
So, you harbor a "wee" crush,
On first or second cousin.
No need for you to blush,
We'll clone her by the dozen!
Now, back home from the "Island,"
Yum! The sushi was sublime.
The maids, they left you smilin',
By takin' two at a time!
A doobie soon relaxes,
Your accountant's at the door.
But, what the Hell are "Taxes?"
Never heard of them before!
Yep, there's one name you can "Trust,"
DePaul's Commodity Clones!
We might rifle thru your dust,
Hell, might even clone your Bones!
Not to sound so personal,
so hard to speak out of frozen cold,
but from old to young-
framed to freed...
From bossed to doodled,
to cop-land inside my noodle,
call me into the brewery-
set sights on chewing me,
because time is my only eulogy,
and your prank is not doing things.
Banging isn't what's new to me,
and you are not a tool to bring,
though you're not much weight-
so I can still sing,
I am just doing things,
you keep the hate as you're schooling me,
because in one more age we will truly breathe,
...One more phone call and you are suing things-
such as a bird with ugly wings,
the earth isn't turned to the burning its leafs,
and this wage I am paid isn't buying jewelry,
like lazy Lizardry, I wiggle at the spilling of things,
eye ball when I ruin the breeze-
in the aisle with a basket and some briefs.
Higgins was the worst Math teacher,
and that year I was his worse student.
Higgins had loose blubbery lips.
When he taught long division or algebra
his words were full of spit
and phlegm.
Higgins had big feet and he carried a large
thick-soled sneaker
which he threw at slow thinkers
It hurt
especially if hit by it 3 times in one lesson,
especially since we had to pick the damn thing up
and hand it back to him
especially when he loomed over you glaring,
daring you to be a wiseass.
Higgins was really very big
his massive form always intimating
to young minds.
Mostly I just doodled his form
on my school math book.
Happy to flunk any test of his.
Once I drew him naked,
his fat backside bouncing on the back
of a spavined mule.
Underneath this masterpiece I wrote
'It hurts don't it?'
Sadly he had snuck up behind me
too late
I felt his hot breath
drooling down the back of my neck.
Higgins was hit by a bus,
but that was years later.
When I heard
I felt sorry for the bus.
Slush coated figures
have been drawn on the sidewalk,
dribble people, their disjoined limbs
twisted into guesses to be pecked over
by hammer driven beaks.
After the hard-packed snow
acrobats were doodled flying slipshod
below a trapezing wind.
If the frigid sky were a wall
its graffiti would spray can itself.
Here on the pavement the 20 questions
party game is in full swing.
Prompted by the ice art, we ask:
“Is it a place?”
“Is It an object?”
“Is it real or fictional?”
The answer to all these questions
is “YES.”
Meanwhile the swirling unfurling of meaning
still has legs
until feral pigeon wings sweep
even those last appendages away.
What is left
once meant a fleeting abstract something
but that was before
the concrete forgot how to read itself,
and the sky grew too puzzled
to play anymore.
There's a new kid at home,
One nobody sees
But we all know he's there.
His name is Not Me.
He took out all my colors
And doodled on the wall.
You can tell from how high he reached
He isn't very tall.
When my mom asked,
"Whose art work can this be?"
The answer was unanimous.
We all said, "Not Me!"
Not Me is very naughty.
He always makes a mess,
And what he did with Sister's doll
Is anybody's guess!
He ruined Mommy's makeup.
He messed up Daddy's hat.
He even cut my bed sheets.
Now, how bad was that?
And when he takes a bath
He gets water on the floor.
And just last night
He got toothpaste on the door.
He spilled Kool-Aid on the carpet
And broke some dishes in the sink.
He left the milk out on the counter
So now there's none to drink.
When something's going wrong
And Mom's angry as can be,
You can always be sure he did it-
That kid named Not Me.
jsc.2004
This was written when my children were small and yes I read it to them often. Not me lived in my house for many Years and still makes an occasional visit.
** Mother Nature Draws the Dawn **
Already,
Dawn sets off
This longitude’s waking,
Displaying nearby trees
Into their scribbled silhouettes
In shades
Of gray with blasts of black masses —
Points gathered
Fronting the quick brightening over
Yesterday’s leaving darkness,
And bringing forth this day’s white-glazed,
Cloud-faced sky —
Appearing before my sleepy eyes
Without any distinguishable color, and
Simply seen as an unfoldng background —
A lightening
That shows even before the blendings —
With the coming gifts to sight
Of the perception of dimensions
And the aspects of perspective,
To be seen in the expanse beyond my window
In this dawning moment ~
As the world appears quite like
A flattened Earth,
Like a doodled scene
Of blotches and specs — in
Mother Nature’s ink line & wash
Landscape
Created on her personal, unbordered paper.
———————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 8/17/2023
(For Jim. Happy 40th)