Long Flippantly Poems
Long Flippantly Poems. Below are the most popular long Flippantly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flippantly poems by poem length and keyword.
I have a strange malady
curiously effecting me
for I am very susceptible
to words of a variety
Words like cushlamachree
or hobbledehoy
give me such joy...
that my brain begins burbling
at a fantastic rate
things like bamboozle, bumfuzzle
blatteroon, and bombinate!
Bogged down in boondoggled
bedraggled, beware
I'm not making sense
and I really don't care!
Gushing galoot, galumph, galore
something inside crying
more, More, MORE!!!
I'm an insatiable verbavore!
Flippantly tripping through
flibbertigibbet, flumadiddle
filipendulous to the stupendous
sounds of mellifluous eutony
I am getting so tongue-tied here
my mouth is in mutiny!
But, oh my Dearie-
there's whigmaleerie
wifty, whimsical...
mugwump, moppet
words keep wheeling through my head
'though silly, I can't stop it!
For there's slubberdegullion
mollycoddle, hobgoblin
and gumption, too!
With all the splendiferous words about...
what's a logoleptic to do?
The silence that envelops,
Only when peaceful,
When my heart is full enough to sleep,
Filled with the newest memories.
They are sported like new technology,
Not so limited, but loved and invested.
And I do not even dwell if I am loved because it is known.
I love them, and the word,
Love,
Is not used flippantly like those around me.
It is purer than life itself,
And it travels across my body,
Intravenous in the way is swallows me whole.
And there is no word known better to describe my obsession.
Who cares if I may see them everyday,
That their names will always remain on my mind,
All I care is that my heart still beats enough
To see them everyday.
Their laughs, hugs, nervous touches, smiles,
Gazes and dependency, it drives my heart as if
It were laced with nicotine.
Because they make me smile,
Among little in the world that is happy,
They are like pre-made lunches and fresh carnations,
Like sunflowers and washed clothes,
So clean and genuine.
Things I would have taken for granted,
I now cherish every second, because I love them.
Fruitful faeries flying freshly frightenly faraway
Flashing flea-bitten furry fireflies fantasy fey,
Faux flash-dancing flowery figs flowing flippantly free,
Ferocious fierce foursome fruit-flies flying fantasy’s flea.
Fast-fingered flicker formidably frugally fit flexible.
Frosting frilly flounder’s fluorescent fetish fully fixable.
Fanciful freckled fathomably frosted filly fibs flitting,
Fashionable forcefully fanatical farmhand fuzzily fretting.
Fun-loving, flippant foolhardy fivefold finger’s foghorn.
Fooled fellow’s fervent fleecy foppish fire fuzzily forlorn.
Fantastical fanged frolicking fishy fuzzy fickle frills.
Fixes froggy’s fanciful fanned fox figs from freezing Frankfort.
as the sky lids peel back, my lovely twitters in back-
yard, a lovely swoon of spoken word. hoping the
circles of your eyes will be bluer than the Caribbean sea.
will you? Will you please...me? The song continues,
true magic ripples...my ears awaken to your tune.
pink sky, no steal, no thievery of swank. be-a-u-
tify and mystify my burgeoning imagination, will you?
slender branches with no leaves, like a pen and ink
drawing pull into view. i can almost preen the silky sheet,
the blandest pink...am i drinking the cool aid? Winter
blues, steel shoes, no flurry fodder of snowy white -
this girl needs a lift of snowiness, not business as usual
like a calendar flippantly flipping page after page, ignoring
its seasonal duties. will I feel the hot breath of the sun,
seething teeth of Spring that runs into Summer or gentle
dandelion seeds that sail and land on verdant grass,
refreshment of lemonade and a blanket blending with
the holiday of artist’s plaid,
bucolic land breathing life into lungs.
such lack of seasonal imagination
leads one to wonder and wander.
keep singing, my darling,
sweet nothings in my ear.
i shall dream and dream some more.
2/3/2020
I Adamantly Refuse to Care or Show Concern,
After All
I Served Sincerely and Genuinely, Now I Sever
Hoaxed Mundane Emotions that No Longer Appeal to My Growth
Flippantly Burning Icy Bridges
This is More or Less What You Think
Even More that Spilled Ink!
Pages Stained With Expressions of Clustered Ink Lichens
For I am Sole Custodian of My Emotions
Strolling Flamboyantly Through the Emporium of Memories
Some Insipid, Some Cherished, All Purged for Space
For This is More or Less What You Think
Even More Than Ink!
I Castigate in Order to Reciprocate by means of Detachment
Sharply Dismembering Familial Ties
For I Rather Drown in Water than Blood
My Behavior And Actions May or May not Appear Imprimatur
Shunned Mundane Conformities, Autonomous One
More or Less what You Think
Expressing Choreographed Ink!
Most are Unable or Unwilling to Embrace Their Shadow
A Glimpse In the Mirror Shrouds The True Reflection
My Response is Isolation
Because My Energy is Mines to do As I Please
Such are Normal or Reactive to Both Inner and Outer Influences
I Shall not Partake In Friendly Bantering Where Venomous Strife Once Proceeded!
My Silence is A Science Blaring In Ink
More or Less!
"Babylon Candy"
“My god you
babble on”
he said.
the guy
thought he was
a giant,
as far as writers go.
She chirped,
“it’s all post humus
humour, from here on in
you know”.
Code-named,
“The Owl”,
she rolled her eyes
and hooted,
“You may as well play
with your marbles
before you lose them.”
“God only knows -
I Am.”
he replied,
“me, myself and I!
By the way,” he adds
quite flippantly,
“you think they could
choose better music...
and what is it
they’re putting
in drinks these days?
The Green Fairy?”
the response,
“Yes, The Green Fairy,
I hear he’s somewhere, here.
Lethal agent that one, excels
at camouflage.”
she elaborated further,
“The Lights don’t help.
You'd think they could
turn them down.”
Meanwhile,
back on the dance floor
of the U.a.U.
(Unicorns are Us)
Publisher’s Ball,
dressed to the 9’s
in 6 inch heels,
a silent observer,
unrevealed
sweet and sour Candy
stood sucking
on a high ball,
some long island iced T
watching on bemused,
waiting
for The Owl’s
next move…
in the bird’s
pocket, not very
well hidden, fully loaded
like a water diviner
perched
the inevitable
big gun
seeking out
The Resistance
burned,
a slow rising story.
flashforward
Hypodiegesis
Chekov’s gun -
"all guts"
the dossier read,
"and by God...
all glory."
Everything
for the
story.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
We see ourselves unimpeded initially
Some are stricken with a view artificially
We are told by others very specifically
There is a ceiling so proceed timidly
We try in vain with no support futilely
As we age blazing the path dizzily
Sometimes we see the results dismally
Eventually we learn to climb skillfully
We began to achieve sufficiently
Eventually finding success brilliantly
Living life with dreams so vividly
Sadly, a haunting voice still speaks flippantly
Reminding us of the ceiling frigidly
We remain in the arena mistily
Each overcautious step taken judicially
We endure the voice shouting viciously
The battle to continue is done willfully
They entered my mind at four a.m.
An hour past their usual witching hour.
Adjectives arrived first.
Dashing, sparkly, dimpled, dynamic, melodious, mercurial.
By five I have created six poems.
Adverbs are still dancing in my head
Begging for poem numbers seven and eight.
Cautiously, flippantly, studiously, meticulously, joyously.
Hey! What about a monorhyme?
Maybe one, but another time.
On a roll of a silver dime.
Good grief. Does this stanza completely rhyme!
Suggestions in my word play brain
Get put on paper pretty fast.
Trixie has an assistant now.
And they keep busy too.
I hold on tightly
Out of sight-ly.
As they do
Word play
Stuff
/Locks and Clocks
We change locks
like we change clocks,
as flippantly as daylight dims,
as easily as days grow slim;
we try to bolt the sunlight out
with combinations masked in doubt
to shorter hours, as if we could
feel like the conqueror who would
shut out those close and dear to us
who used to be the ones we trust.
Clocks and locks are both the same
as tokens in some wordless game
to keep out fear and trusted waifs;
our meager souls no longer safe;
the locks have failed and so the trust
is gone and turned to flaking rust;
the moths have eaten through
those things we hoped to keep brand new;
again our dark night will descend
and we will once again offend.
Like locks and clocks we change our friends
(if ever we could make amends
for things we did with ignorance in place)
and do not receive the coveted embrace
from absent friends who come and go
as night to day diminishes its glow;
where hope runs true within,
returns to come around again
to lengthening days where suns shine bright,
and will dismiss the darkness of our night.
When failure hits you hard,
you realise you have played all your cards.
Stuck in a room with just yourself,
you inner voice filled with hatred can turn you deaf.
Time that's passed makes you guilty.
The achievements of others makes you feel filthy.
Standing on the edge you realise what you lost,
you fret every second for the opportunity you flippantly tossed.
The smile you give camouflaging your sadness is ephemeral,
it's followed by a night which leaves you devasted and vulnerable.
You are daunted by the future and its uncertainty.
You look out of the window remorsefully.
You wonder will life ever give you another chance?
Will you forever be stuck at this mediocrity or will you ever advance?
There's this feeling inside you which makes you feel worthless.
You try to shut it but you are helpless.
Self love seems like an imaginary concept.
Optimism seems something you cannot accept.
My tunnel has turned into a maize with no light at the end.
I am too exhausted to keep smiling and pretend.