Long Fizzling Poems
Long Fizzling Poems. Below are the most popular long Fizzling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fizzling poems by poem length and keyword.
Night dons a spectacular sequenced shawl,
sparkling with trillions of stars, like cosmic candles
twinkling within the blackness of space.
And a golden moon hangs high;
a gilded bobble mirrored on a placid lake,
where moonbeams dance to the sound of applauding waves.
Vampire shadows, clinging to shifting silhouettes
gorge on the remnants of colors bled from Day;
while liquid ebony inks every crag and crevice.
Darkness descends like a curtain;
creatures of the night frolicking within its folds.
While fizzling shooting stars unzip the seams of space;
martyrs to beauty, plunging to their deaths.
And as a scarlet sun slowly sinks,
crimson, encapsulates lovers entangled in the night.
And passion sets the air afire;
as electrifying sparks of euphoric bliss,
summon spontaneous fantasy wishes.
An emotional trance, out of phase with time,
invites innocence to dine at the table of love.
And intimate feelings are shared and explored;
afloat in sensual waters.
A phantasmagorical bonding of flesh and spirit
is forged by the heat of desire,
fueling two hearts, beating as one.
And as a blushing Mars rises to the occasion,
Venus peeks down with envious eyes.
Wind and Fire
Oh my Lord what have I done. Maketh the pain go away holding hands with vista pleasure beyond my expression I am punished for living dead with needle and thread is it so bad? Let me live.. the last few days of life. This time of your losing your place is due at the altar dear! My how can you see it..can't: think! Come, take me hot top off bosom displayed at a ginger spot going on with my new hymn. Lie sweet mother lie down for the guilty who stole your money and heart dead now. Like last hearth fizzling out timber rotting and smoking in the way roll up the window will open your eyes looking at me? What do you want hey? My soul? Death comes naturally I find. He waits patiently until next time perfect for me darling I love you. Amen
Christmas Contest
Can you keep a secret?
‘cause I’ve got one to share
I’ve a friend called Fazzbot
With green and purple hair.
Fazzbot met me yesterday
The day before today
Fazzbot is an alien
SSShhhhh!!
It’s a secret by the way.
He’s like a purple dragon
And a penguin too
He’s got green stripes
All down his back
Like the zebras at the zoo
He’s really good at magic
All he does is flick his hair
With a whizzle…
And a fizzling pop!
You’re neither here
Nor there.
Last night he whizzled us
Right up to see the moon
We ate green cheese and lollipops
And floated on balloons.
We splashed around in puddles
Gave the mermaids such a fright
And when some pirates came to swim
He whizzled us
Out of sight.
He’d whizzled us invisible
No one could see us there
Could they see us?
NO!
So we burped
BUUURRP
We burped right in their ear.
Then with a whizzle…
And a fizzling pop!
We went behind the sun
Roasting marshmallows on some sticks
The sun is lots of fun!
Playgrounds full of whirly gigs
And whatsa-ma-call-its too
Mud that tastes like chocolate
Pink elephants
That turn blue
Then with a whizzle…
And a fizzling pop!
I could feel my head
Resting on my pillow
I was tucked inside my bed.
Can you keep a secret?
About Fazzbot,
My secret friend
Then
You and I
And I and You
Tomorrow
We’re off with our new friend.
Form:
His eyes tired with endless sights
Against web's background whites,
Heavied by seas of tips and dots;
All spun and cast by lifeless bots.
His ears deaf to loudest bangs
Listen still to thundering gangs,
Detailing zillion wares of worth;
All distinguished by fiscal math.
His lamed limbs yet peregranate
Between countless errands' bait,
Each more vital than the previous;
Fettered by cords fizzling devious.
His breath and total being all sore
Last collapse under fatiguing woe,
Every ghoulish groan more piteous
Than doom's under-soil enclosures.
And sigh not for he has lived.
Pen eulogistic elegy trimmed
With nifty poets' finest tropes,
On one who nursed tall hopes.
It was at civil twilight when my lips met his.
I had been dreaming of that kiss
since the time I had first seen him earlier that week!
Brilliant red and orange splashed the sky.
The heavens were ablaze with passion’s hues!
Our mouths touched, and as they moved together,
my burning expectations (If they were to have been given a sound)
sputtered!
Although I kept on going through the motions,
my lips, after just one minute,
knew there was no hope;
they were simply fizzling out!
Wondering and wondering why there was no chemisty
and why he had no clue by this time in his life
on how to smoothly kiss a woman,
I gently broke from my embrace with him.
I asked myself whether or not
I should just break things off right there and then.
The answer came to me with the clarity
of that brilliant sunset.
I told him I had acted too much in haste
and that I knew I was not ready then for a relationship.
But I decided not to tell him
how horribly he kissed,
and that, in fact, with all the drool his mouth emitted,
his kissing was disgusting!
I was as cordial as I could be.
After all, this had occurred at civil twilight.
March 4, 2019 for Edward Ibeh's Pick A Title - Free Verse Poetry Contest
Title chosen: Civil Twilight
Rolling back
Reeling in laughter
Reliving phases
Thus revealing faces
she slides through phases places
Placing faces
To deaden places
Creating an illusion
Of bizarre cases
She Mastered the lines
As she dance the puppets
Taking crunchy chunks
From each suspenseful moments
Reaching for their minds
While touring their heads
Transcending their hopes
With vivid visions
Thus transporting lives
to fading places
Reliving facts of ancient cases
Drumming them to screaming heights
Then with a sudden pause
Fizzling out the echoing sounds
He slowly gathered the scattered faces
Staring with wide guesses
admist this Ominous silence
Though amply rested, I still yawn
And feel energized after
light exercise doth spawn
break through viz mental impasse,
where endeavor to coax
germinating ideas to sprout
about as successful as
buzzfeeding, jump/kick starting
rooting brown lawn
to whether drought.
Long fostering literary creativity
analogous to prying open
figurative curtain drawn
shut tight within
thy noggin unresponsive
even when brute force
strongly applied, but still...
no progress (for aging Pilgrim)
made come crack of dawn,
thus I temporarily abandon intent.
An effort to craft satisfactory poem or prose,
(which coveted, kindled, unexpected...
futile endeavor deluges me when
least able to jot down eureka,
whereby brainstorm burst adrip
saturating yours truly head to toes
dribbling out nostrils,
asper my porpoise size bottle nose,
hence this feeble effort to appease.
No expected attaboy, kudos, bravoes...
discerning metaphorical whaling expedition
beseeching, imploring, soaking...
mine mindscape with
profuse voluminous wisdom
sans anonymous followers
waiting for me to compose
usual meaningless gibberish or
rare profound nugget of wisdom to disclose.
While thrashing within cyber sea,
possibly abandoning ambition to compose
superbly laced, ginned, coined...
poetic adage gee oh
into magnum opus masterpiece
eye catchingly exotic creation
exquisite as silk negligee pantyhose
(yea...perhaps yours truly
will also send near nude selfie,
a worse fate than death
cab for cutie)
and chuck stock inhibition
brokering favorable frescoes
tattooed across flesh
accentuating anatomical contours of flab
wharf flexing muscles simulates geckoes,
(albeit selling progressive insurance)
appearing to slither across body electric
predictably ejaculating Freudian peccadillos,
now bolt upright - ******** awakened,
no longer sleepy,
but dwarfed by giant spuds,
no small potatoes
eh...yar right to deem this poker face
eccentric - born (free) this way,
how Elsa to explain (without lion)
rambling riotous rumination
one among many bumptious desperadoes,
and oh...mooch hoe gracias reading poem
bumbling, degenerating, fizzling...
into lobbying primal salvoes.
Pitching electioneering, albeit Democratic ticket...
as 2020 presidential election nearing
pleading joshing, and endearing...
The choice for commander in chief dum...
dum... dum... dum..
will winnow down, thus
political prognosticator pundits
no longer remain mum
between Donald John Trump,
whose second term win,
would find yours truly numb
versus Joseph Robinette Biden Junior
could infuse flickering
uneasiness among electorate
(quite a few skool
of hard knocks alum
including yours truly),
who attests surfing cyber seas
as seasoned beach bum
up until this moment
feeling rather glum
regarding fate of American democracy
fizzling, muckraking, and sputtering
linkedin with kickstarting,
snapchatting, and twittering
along ever so ho hum
awaiting fateful deliverance
as dueling banjos strum
meanwhile irritable bowel syndrome
nsync with nausea
bubbling, gurgling, quickening
within collective tum
no doubt alleviated chugging,
guzzling, and quaffing
countless bottles Bacardi rum.
Nothing less at stake than (an ill eagle
feebly clutching cherished symbols - regal
representing land of the free and
home of the brave
analogous to once buoyant seagull
encompassing United States)
metaphorical snooping Beagle
only finding peanuts after landing
discovery (of America) triggering extralegal
imbroglios, which courtesy...
Thank manifest destiny
wrought accursed land grab,
where survival of fittest (think militarily)
nonchalantly, insouciantly actually
quite aggressively did nab
great juicy fruited plain continental slab
...to the mountains to the prairies
to the oceans white with foam...
where indigenous people
once stood tall and proud
applying contrived accoutrements,
which implements rendered mortally to stab
invaders, hence convenient plug to jibjab,
(while sack religious lame chap
donning unisexual hijab)
whale within poetic license
to orca straight heady
i.e. think lame muck cab
bra (even garnering groan from
ghost of captain Ahab)
denouncing cheesy pun,
whereby I (Stuart Little) best remain
as caged mouse
subjected to experimentation
within bore writ Tory lab.
And feel energized after
light exercise doth spawn
an mental impasse,
where endeavor to coax
literary creativity analogous
to a figurative curtain drawn
shut tight within
thy noggin unresponsive
even when brute force
strongly applied, but still...
no progress made come crack of dawn,
thus temporarily abandon intent
to craft satisfactory poem or prose,
which coveted brainstorm burst adrip
saturating yours truly head to toes
dribbling out nostrils,
asper my porpoise size nose,
hence this feeble effort to appease
with no expected attaboy, kudos, bravoes...
discerning whaling imploring be
sea ching, sans anonymous followers
waiting for me to compose
meaningless gibberish or
profound nugget of wisdom to disclose
while thrashing within cyber sea,
possibly abandoning ambition to compose
superbly coined adage
eye catchingly exotic
as silk negligee pantyhose
(yea...perhaps send near nude selfie)
or chuck stocking favoring frescoes
tattooed across flesh
accentuating anatomical contours
wharf flexing muscles simulates geckoes
(albeit selling progressive insurance)
appearing to slither across body electric
predictably ejaculating Freudian peccadillos,
now bolt upright awake, no longer sleepy,
but dwarfed by giant spuds, no small potatoes
eh...yar right to deem this poker face
one among many bumptious desperadoes,
and mooch hoe gracias reading poem
bumbling, degenerating, fizzling...
into lobbying primal salvoes.
(a 7/5 Trochee)
Once upon a time, I got
Right inside my ear
An infection that was bad;
I could barely hear.
It was like those times you fly
In a plane so high
And your ears start popping,
But not up high was I!
I was told to see the doc,
But that costs so much
I just googled for myself
Homemade cures and such.
Hydrogen peroxide was
One I thought to try:
Soak a cotton ball with it;
To your ear apply. . .
So I’d tilt my head, press that
Cotton on my ear,
Gingerly at first, for I
Felt a little fear.
But a fizzling then began
Just like Google said -
(kind of cool). I kept putting
It inside my head!
Once you’ve got it all cleared up,
Bubbles should abate.
So in increments of time,
I would stop and wait. . .
When I thought that fizzling part
Couldn’t stay for long,
I would try that “cure” again.
Bubbles came on strong!
So I gave up in disgust,
Worried now that I’d
Put into my ear too much
Of that peroxide.
To the doctor I would go
With my $hundred plus+.
Doctor looked into my ear;
Saw a lot of pus.
He allayed my fears about
My home remedy,
Saying it could do no worse
Than just annoy me.
Doctor's cure was not to be
what I would suppose.
I should have to put, instead,
something up my nose!
Sometimes eating apples won’t
Keep that doc away.
Ultimately. . . to get well,
Be prepared to pay!!!
For Deborah Guzzi's "The Road to Well Ville"