Long Dormouse Poems
Long Dormouse Poems. Below are the most popular long Dormouse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dormouse poems by poem length and keyword.
Skylights warn and warm where acorns drip. The slight angle of acidity in the air can be measured accurately with a ruler or the nib of a ball point pen. Ball point pens are not really balls or points for they are pens and pens are prints, paint, and form occasional prisms in a paper whorl of scribbled ink. Of every hue. Fine and finer. And details outlying the plans are interrupted by a sixteen ton coffee cup whose snores cause vibrations then the liquid seeps over the edges and lands upon the written words causing much smudge marks. Suited earwig headed man with round glasses is not amused. Most perturbed to be exact. All night he had spent revising and crossing the t's and dotting the I's. And now it was indeed a rather sad scrawl of blur. Oh dear. Picking up the pen he walked over to the papers and spoke loudly in order to wake the cup. The cup was startled. What had it done? "you were snoring" shouted the earwig head. "you have spilt liquid onto my work. MY work is thus destroyed." To which the coffee cup gave a nonchalant look and folded his arm handles. Great thought the man. But wait are not those pieces of building blocks left from the babies ball banquet. Great they are. I can make a little model of what I composed on print. He began work immediately. Five seconds of sleep. Wow. Always astonishing how a window cloth can gather a stronghold over smears. The model began to take shape. It would be ready for the board soon. Remarkable. The thick pieces of plastic were soon assembled into formation. Overseen by a paperweight swan which glided around the desk hissing at the cup. And later the widow spiders would wave, the whales would walk, the wallpaper would wink and all the grounds would begin singing operatic arias and clouded liquids would clear the residue of a fallen road kill of a suitcase. Suitcases can look quite messy of left at the side of a road. Especially when they are run over. Splattered. The nylon wire in the air is humming today but isnt in tune with the birds. Ha the sentinels are sweeping the little play tent. Ha ha the paleontologist is playing with a patented patterned platypus. Xxxxx multicolumns z z z z z with a twist of a dormant doorman dormouse standing at over three thousand feet in a stable. Ok then. Interplanetary. Z.
Form:
Then one day you ask Alice
And she whispers in your ear
There’s a special place built just for you
To misplace all your pain and fear
There’s a hole unlike any other
Infinitely deep
Some things in there will awaken you
While others makes you sleep
Although the order may appear
Unnatural at first
I assure a little bad is good
But too much good is worst
This place is where the universe’s secrets
Are kept inside a jar
Where atheists can talk to god
If one dare go that far
Where white rabbits turn to dragons
The further you go in
Where small and tall chase them both
Until they’re childlike again
Where fun and games run amok
Alongside magic and alchemy
Brilliance and creativity intertwine
To live in harmony
Where empaths are sympathetic
But carry open arms
Where wants and needs melt away
Replaced with Fabergé charms
The perfect place to self reflect
Travel deep into who you are
A university of self respect
If you can to reach the bar
An outer space inside yourself
Devoid of gravity
Where up is down and left is right
And you eventually becomes me
Where math and physics mean nothing
Except for paper and scales
Anxieties are stripped away
Co-experiencing chasing tales
Where everyone is equal
Ultimate freedoms known
Angelic faces slither toward you
So that you’re never alone
A place where all are welcome
Unlocked doors that always chime
And it can last up to forever
Because you control the time
If you get lost don’t be afraid
Because I got a guy
At first he was a hat maker
Now his parties teach those to fly
If you choose to let him guide you
He’ll take you on a trip
A magical tea he’ll brew for you
So go on and take a sip
You’ll see a closed eyed kumpel
Appearing grateful to be dead
A dormouse leans and whispers
“Go on, feed your head”
Continued... See Part 2.
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/drink_more_tea_-_part_2_1146786
In her ivory tower, she was raised,
A sheltered child, a life of ease,
But Alice's tale, Lorina's heart had seized,
Her mind now set on a different phase.
Married at twenty to a man much too old,
Her life as a trophy wife grew stale,
And so she plotted, her heart gone cold,
Her husband's demise she'd avail.
With her inheritance, she set out to be,
The White Rabbit, a villainous spree,
Robbing fast-food joints, with hi-tech toys,
Spider-Man and Frog-Man, she'd often annoy.
But one day, a Kwikkee Burger spat,
Refusing to serve her breakfast repast,
She beat them up, two cops arrived,
And Judge Elkhart's son, poor Dan, he died
Elkhart sought revenge, in the courtroom,
He shot Dodson, a thundering boom,
A court reporter died, and in the hare came,
Her giant rabbit mech, saving her name.
The Terrible Two, with Walrus by their side,
They caused havoc in Brooklyn, no longer tied,
To clumsy matches with amphibians, they sought,
Vengeance, with the help of the ones they'd caught
But Spider-Man, Leapfrog, and Frog-Man too,
Defeated them, their victory in view,
White Rabbit resurfaced, with new help in tow,
But Mad Hatter and Dormouse were there just for show.
Grizzly and Gibbon stopped her bank heist,
She tried to ransom them, but they didn't bite,
Bombing the city, demanding five billion,
Spider-Man and his team stopped her, just winning.
She fell for Arcade, his deathtrap design,
Kidnapping Wolverine and Black Cat, he'd be fine,
But the heroes they won, leaving Arcade and her,
Abandoned in Savage Land, whining loudly as churr.
Joining Hood's Gang, she fought for more power,
Against Mister Negative, she never did cower,
But dealing in drugs, an effort foiled by M. Jane,
White Rabbit, was defeated once again.
March 22, 2023
Marvel Superheroes Supervillians and Superanimals Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
RUNNING ROOFTOPS TO RUINATION
Long Island had raised me but the island wasn’t long enough
And everyday I had upper-middleclass b******t to rebuff
Day after day I’d stride the stairs to the roof of a building where the wicked would meet
Well not so much wicked as just a black man and a white boy trying to be discreet
A white boy who’s short on cash and so dope sick he could hardly speak or see
And for a white boy like me they ain’t going to give nothing away for free
So I’d run and jump from rooftop to rooftop because I knew a chick who always had money
I didn’t give a damn for her or her noisy f*****g parrot yet I called her honey
Of course I called her “honey,” s**t, I’d swear her the queen of Sheba if needed
We’d argue, she’d claim “I’m drained of cash,” but finally her will would be defeated
She and I both knew that an upper east side chick always has revenue somewhere
And this confrontation would always end up with cash lining my pocket and a “see you when I
see you,” my dear”
Now it was back to jumping rooftops to tell the man I had the bread
And had enough for two half loads, 26 bags that wouldst feed my head
Ain’t that what the dormouse said to Alice in the last book I read
I stopped reading for reasons only known by the junkies who wound up dead
Long Island is long but if you travel the expressway way it’s faster
And Long Island led me to Manhattan to meet my lord and master
So don’t think for a minute your teenage white boy who was, by his family, well raised
And four years later you won’t remember the photo of a fine young lad on graduation day,
whom you praised
© 2011.…..Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
The sun was high in the sky, so hot, so unbearable
as the heat bares down, making life, unlivable.
A walk in the woods amongst the trees
tall waving branches makes a cooling breeze
Mystical noises erode from above
like squawking parrots, making love
The leaves flutter to earth slowly at leisure,
drying to a crunch making walking a pleasure.
Your never alone as you walk these woods,
ghosts of yesteryears would show if they could.
Instead they guide you along the paths of delight
your face lighting up as you see the sight.
Of butterflies gathered a hundred or more,
wings gently beating cooling their core.
Making a myriad of colour to please the soul
They are the flowers of the forest making you whole
The birds with their splendrous songs of life.
Not always in key their sounds easing your strife
Dont forget the tiny dormouse under the trees
looking for nuts and seeds, hunger to ease.
Find a grass covered mound, sit down ease your feet,
Close your eyes, listen to life from the drivers seat.
Your body is the forest, birds your ears, a tumultuous sound
Your eyes are the butterflies, life, the leaves falling around.
Thinking of these things help keeps your life in control
When life is hard, look within, look to your soul.
Take a walk in the Woods.
Penned 3rd September 2013.
Contest : Caleb Smith - In the Woods.
My feet are under the table,
white linen is beneath the blue and white plates,
the cutlery is sparklingly clean
I have been up all night polishing it.
Whatever the answer is
I need to always be a question mark.
It’s good to be a guest of myself.
I will sit on a seat near the door
least I need to go out and in again.
There is nothing questionable here.
I go to the kitchen
to set fire to a cloud of fruit flies.
The cloud hovers simmering for a while
then bursts into flames.
A phoenix does not arise, but the cloud takes a seat
planting its burnt vapors under the table board
while staring intently left where I had just left.
Teacups tremble.
When I come back to the dining room
the burnt cloud of fruit flies
morphs into a beautiful woman.
Her pink lobster tail
is tucked coquettishly under her right arm.
I may have to spray her with Lysol
or eat her before she attracts more flies,
but the butter has not melted yet.
Now I have questions,
now certain answers must be observed and served
from a silver engraved tureen.
Pea green pepper soup pours into open mouths,
mouths I have previously allotted place-names to,
cards printed in gold leaf
in front of pockets of air and folded like unspent money.
Any questions must wait now
until the dormouse wakes up to ask what time it is.
Sitting and waiting in a field full of olives is not a bad way to spend an hour but an hour can be long and long is a length and a length with a leaving leading light is not a dividend, a milestone, or a key part in a global televised production of cow ballet. Cow ballet is very pleasant to watch but so are peeling pansies whose playfulness is amusing to pandas who watch with baleful stares at pretty petals whirling around and around and around. Astound no Peking duck in a village tent because the quacking can turn grass into ultra large crackers. Murmur an atmosphere to a mild day and see the sunset sweep away the times. And times take training trains turning tulips tempestuous tantric tanks. So rank not a sergeant pea horn today. And deliver no stalks that talk to a laughing leering longboat. Bathing brilliant beanstalk battles. Ha a dormant dormouse delivering doors. Ha a milkman mouseman in a cloth bringing caskets of dew. Ha a kneading knee says hi to a shawl on a bedroom rug. Pillar post posting prating pirates. And clap clap then hop sixteen times on a left leg. Hee hee hee from first genetic milk buds. Xxxxx catastrophic cat climbing. Xxxxx actualisations z z z z z z at forty four spoonfuls of dough to seventeen foot of pie mixture. Z attempt leaping now then? Z
Form:
Mabel was so busy knitting baby things she sold them at the fair
Used spiders webs as knitting wool or sometimes babies hair
Sent her friend Beryl searching for more to finish the bonnet she was making
Silly Beryl got stuck up a tree though I gave it a good shaking
Loads of apples hit her head not a spiders web in sight
Gathered up the fruit instead will make an apple drink delight
Beryl still stuck up that tree was crying out louder
Call 999 for the fire brigade,who will come with a big ladder
Rescued poor Beryl from the tree clutched tightly in her hand
Was a spiders web she had reached for when she found the spider land
Was a little town of spiders busy making webs you see
Sold them for any knitters please sell some web to me
Mabel made a bargain they would spin a web for her each day
She wouldn't tell where they lived a secret it would stay
Mabel sells her baby clothes at the fair just in the field
Sought for cos of the fine web plenty of money it does yield.
It all goes to a special charity for the homeless dormouse to survive
They have turned their field Into a housing estate for humans to live
A spider is so useful eats the flies from where it sits
Might be just the spider that spins for Mabel's knits
Penned 07/07/2014
The idiosyncracies of a diary entry is a zone of unauthorized review. And subsequent beatings of coconut trees can be viewed as no sport. But leaning heavier than most on a barrier is most definitely a sign of acute tiredness. Yet the tendency to kneel by a fountain and taste cooling air is akin to rubbing one's brow with an ink blot. It is to be said that when the meals gather its supersonic time for the racing of the graters,peelers and knives. Twirling a lethargic disco ball. Taming a bud. Unhesitatingly unwittingly under unison. And a clever coin smiles. Great. Good news is not a dog nor a kitten. It is wise to take in shrew juice when bathing in rivers and rock pools. Never shout dormant to a dormouse. And clinging to ivy os not wise when swinging over the houses. Interesting igniting inching. And a very large ball of dough grinning. At lengths. At widths. And commentary is not a fable playing with a dramatic pin board. Hahahaha and a misty mountainous mouse moving. Hahahaha and the turtle having a sunbathe wearing Bermuda shorts. Hahahaha equatorials' equalling xxxxx gestational Z
Form:
The spring was on the way
time for the farmer to plough
straight lines running parallel
gleaming in the rich red loam
It had laid all winter waiting
now it was time to sow and seed
yellow mustard glinting in the sun
so pretty as it grows in leaps and bounds
Little animals made their home
borrows in between the roots
even a dormouse always sleepy
soon they scurry off as harvest begins
Harvesters hard at work birds feasting
on those that were far too slow
crops are now gathered in and stored
the horses fallow the field now it rests
This spring the field will remain fallow
all part of the master plan of rotation
it's life is simple following a four year plan
to maximize each year's yield without stress
Following being fallow potatoes go in
these help clear the land of weeds
while adding goodness to the soil
then the golden wheat which the land depletes
Last to go in will be turnips for feed
completing a long term cycle of crops
If it could talk many tales it would tell
of all of the goings on within it's boundaries