Long Fibbing Poems
Long Fibbing Poems. Below are the most popular long Fibbing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fibbing poems by poem length and keyword.
My dad told me when he was young
And fit as fit could be
As the best Saharan lumberjack
He cut down every tree
He rode a wild dinosaur
From York to Timbuctu
He took it back to London
And put it in the Zoo
Then later on in World War two
The German horde he beat
With just his trusty penknife
He forced them to retreat
He’s swam the Indian ocean
Ate crocodiles for tea
Paddled up Niagara falls
And still got home by three
I relate my fathers exploits
Friends give me such a ribbing
They say his tales are tall ones
And that my dad is fibbing
But I know my dads not lying
There is no way he can
I know my dads not fibbing
He’s a real life superman
April Fools is on the new horizon
When the next time the sun rises
There will be innocent fibbing and lying
Is it a prank, a joke?
Or just a forum for one to stand up to insult?
It is a whole day dedicated to giving
Laughter an opportunity to make a better living
Hopefully the day will be relaxed
And nobody will face the issue of being sacked
Beware of the pen
With the exploding ink it could send
Then there could be an alluring call
That rings inside the working stall
Look at things closer
Especially if the reading is off the informative poster
All in all a good little spook
Could end up as a romantic hook
And as time carries on
From the flirty spring fling con
He could walk down the aisle to say ‘I do’
Allowing her to reply, “April Fools on you”
People don’t think of you the way that you like
who do you think you’re conning when talking all that ite
blagging everybody you come into contact with
proud of the first opportunity to take advantage of gifts
boasting about your blagging skills as if you ain’t known as a blagger who can’t be trusted with anything always a late giver backer
when the first impression you make shifts to a shady replacement
to never reappear after that first meeting you’re different
and when debts ain’t paid you never blame yourself
you go and point incompetence at somebody else
so it’s never your fault and therefore cannot be helped
treating friends unfair
until there ain’t no one there
because you just don’t care
but in your stories you swear
that you’re selfless and prepared
to save everyone who is facing despair
after blaming the individual for their own fate
comparing the fact you made decisions that they ain’t
because you make the right choices and have superior vision
sounding authentic to those who don’t expect to hear fibbing
and when you big yourself up there’s also somebody digging
and though they helped you back up you forget that as you kick ‘em
saying you wanna help as you continue to hit ‘em
acting like it’s all their fault as you leak criticism
combined with a sad face to ensure the sympathy’s given
because you lost a mate
when they fell into this place
but last month they were fake
and it was too much to take
for now they’re nowhere to trace
as they avoid you with hate
as you remove yourself
from any involvement or blame
and act all confused
saying they must be insane
because to not like you
must mean they haven’t a brain
and then you emphasis this point
by saying they’re the slow train
who you have to help by shining
a light that explains
the simplest interactions
that they take the wrong way
in fact if you speak to your friend
they would be right as rain
as the fact they don’t like you
is their stupid mistake
The narcissist in you evident
cold twisted malevolent
suffering though you’re innocent
from someone far less intelligent
now confused by developments
believing things deemed irrelevant
a friend you’ll save cus you’re brilliant
despite the painful experience
Mightier than fibs and sharp swords,
Manacled truth will with time prevail
Against high peak and gigantic vale,
And glossed lips' deodorized words.
Sharper than lucre's nectared studs
Stabs tested truth's right-driven nail;
Till all wrong-worn tongues wax frail,
And fain betray old veneered guards.
Unfettered truth predates olden floods.
Earlier than Noah's Ark and hasty hail
Unbowed stood her long-tenured trail,
Defanging vibes of fact-twisting nerds.
Unbent still won truth's candid cards,
Outlasting every knavish fibbing tale;
And justice bespectacled favored jail,
Where oft cool heels of reptiled duds.
Why not tell it to blank wingless birds:
If stoutest truth's tempest-tossed sail
Long neutered was by wealthier gale,
Over gold's Monsoon-storming girds?
~~~Magna est veritas et praevalebit~~~.
don't count
on me be
cause odd
ly enough
though i'm
one of the
ranks i've
always
stunk
at be
ing
one
to
actually say
grammatic
ally not ma
the ma tic
ally why
when i
add up
the sum
of us as
some
thing
i am
all
ways getting
oddly even
after doing
it with you
twice i still
come up
with a to
tal of one
though
on a
calc
you
later
it reads
two but
that's
one
too
man
y so
i use
bi nary
be cause
counting
your fin
gers gets
bet
her
aft
er
we
get
past
ten an
d need
to use
your toe
s to get
the prop
er tot all
e qual to
a mount
of one
of me
and
one
of
you
to add
up to
two
th
ough i'm
go ing
down
on you
i'll sub
tract my
self and
gladly
allow
you
to
ri
de
me bucking
bronco style
so you go
cow girl
moo ve
me use
me butt
do n't
for get
to brand
me as be
long ing to
you
Form:
Almost
Decided to make that post
A tweet
That I thought would put on the heat
Entire world could read it
Some may say to me ‘beat it’
Wanted to get things off my chest
Since my blood pressure it did test
Almost I did this vengeful act
Based on an opinion feeling and not fact
Resulting in a meeting where the boss would give me the sack
I said I almost did something like that
Confessing to being a trolling rat
Instead, I caught myself as I sat
And cleared my mind
Decided to decline
Making that post
To the social media ghost
And in the end
No need to defend
My keyboard used instead of a pen
Work I deleted not pressing the button send
So, I will honor my duties of formal host
Giving the award winner the special toast
No telling them what I honestly felt
As they fill their money belt
Tightened in a way
Where it would stay
Silent and quiet
Not stirring any tabloid circus riot
Am I committing a crime worthy of an arrest?
Fibbing about whom was the actual best
In a situation that truly is a mess
Ready to confess
Unless
I went through
With what I was going to do
Almost
Post
About why I did not want to be the tuxedo wearing entertaining host
Have you seen the new curly red haired girl?
Cannot say that I have, he replied, wondering.
Why was everyone saying this to him?
This was the fourth person who had asked.
There she is! Four people shouted, watching his reaction.
The minute he saw her, he understood why.
She looked like his mother had looked when she was young.
She had died when he was six, but he remembered her face.
Her hair was a bit darker than this girl’s but her eyes were the same.
Everyone wants us to meet, the girl told him, except she was not a girl.
He invited her to lunch and they talked; she was a terrific listener.
He felt he had regained a tiny bit of his mother, which was soothing.
I guess I remind people of your mother? She suggested.
She looked a lot like you, he admitted, but she was not a great listener.
I prefer speaking to you.
And he was not fibbing.
Birthdays.
What a dubious way to celebrate the imminent proximity of an epilogue.
A concept I have found myself familiar with, as I wait for its darkness to breathe my flesh into an eternity of condemn.
It’s so monotonously profound, rousing my revulsion into a cavern of numbing ecstasy.
The hallucination of confetti blinds me in a disdain of joyous vibrancy I beseech for a defrauding.
A joyous vibrancy I elude in a hope of inevitable invasion.
A joyous vibrancy I hunt until the trail of its scorn boils with the distraught of my blood.
The mascara pours down my face; a river of infamy, coercing the heft of my obscenity.
The lipstick smears down my chin; a sadistic endeavour to ravage the dereliction of my leeches.
The highlighter gleams; a grotesque jubilation of a fibbing mockery.
And the fundamental rigour of my perished rot derides in a soul prompting conjecture;
I hope this is my last birthday.
Cat on a hot tin roof, and I am not kidding. I am really not!
This black cat is lying in wait. I am not fibbing. The roof is his cot!
I saw him up there in the heat of a hot summery Arizona day.
I yelled, Hey, bummery of a cat, are you up there to stay?
He was lying on his back, scratching the tile with his boobly-doo.
I knew he was enjoying himself. Did not think he’d ever be through.
He was lying in the sun, soaking it up like, well, a warm black cat.
I decided to climb up there, and see what I could do about that.
When I got closer, he opened one eye and said “Just give it a try.”
So I flung myself down and looked up into the pretty blue sky.
This was so much nicer than anything I had done the entire week.
I decided to stay up here, and rest. My breathing became weak.
“You like it don’t you?” the black cat asked, in a most peculiar way.
I realized he was my grandfather, reincarnated, on that Tuesday.
No one could get me off the roof with supper or promise of a bed.
I lay back and relaxed, and did not care if I was ever fed.
When I awoke my grandpa was gone but the stars were out so bright.
I knew I had been gifted another peek of him that every night.
I had not seen my favorite grandpa since November 13th of 1964.
I will never forget this day with my grandfather, it was enough and more.
Mr. and Mrs. Pinocchio are carvings of wood
No matter how they try, they cannot be good
Lying is their habit. The constant fibbing shows
by the length of snouts; each has a distended nose
They bray like donkeys in the Disney movie
Arrogantly thinking they're impressively groovy
They will never be able to become a real girl and boy
unless they stop lying and end to their cunning ploy
Geppetto, why'd you give these imps a tongue
Their lies are far fetched and their tales far flung
How they love to fabricate fibs and wickedly conspire
Perhaps that wood would be put to better use in a bonfire