Long Flunk Poems
Long Flunk Poems. Below are the most popular long Flunk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flunk poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was in college, and in college, and in college, and in college, and in college,
I never thought about my classes by any name except “have to do it” class.
There were so many have to do it classes, that I did not bother to learn their names.
Frankly, I did not care about their names. I had other things to do that I did care about.
To save my soul, when I was in graduate school I took a poetry course.
The instructor kept telling me I was going to flunk it.
I did not care.
Because that poetry class was balm to my soul.
It lifted me up and spread me through the campus on angel wings.
I could sit through all of my nonsensical psychology classes, taught by
People who did not understand people half as well as they thought they did,
As long as I could be in that poetry class at 2:10 on Wednesdays.
I received all A’s and one F, and the F was my favorite class.
That F class was the only class that kept me going in graduate school.
Poetry, you are my kryptonite, and although I do not frankly understand you yet, I love you!
Let’s go skiing ! Said my wife
It gives you such a thrill
So off we flew to Canada
To face the bitter chill
We took a bus from Calgary
To Banff’s National park
Found our hotel, went to bed
To get up with the lark
I brought a bright red jacket
My mate Stuart let me borrow
I thought at least I’ll look the part
When I hit the slopes tomorrow….
In the bright blue morning
I went to hire some skis
And boots that felt like concrete
I could hardly bend my knees
The minibus dropped us off
By a mud stained snowy drift
My wife said “ I’ll get the passes”
Just go meet me by the lift “
A group of red faced skiers
Were gathering in a throng
To sit on a revolving seat
That didn’t stop to let you on.
“I cannot get on that” I said
As I stared in disbelief
With slats of wood upon my feet
I knew I’d come to grief
“Come on Mike” my dear wife said,
You’ll be fine once you get on
So I stood as was directed
Then “whoosh” and I was gone
Hands gripped round the safety bar
As we rocked on metal ropes
Thinking “how will I get off this thing
When we reach the nursery slopes ? “
The chair in front began to slow
I heard their bar go “clunk”
They deftly skied away with ease
While I prepared to flunk
I ejected from my seat
To a ramp of icy snow
I soon was sliding on my back
With both legs akimbo.
Sailing down the green runs
My instructor in a strop
Kept telling me to slow down
But I didn’t know how to stop
I saw some awesome sights
I learnt the “pizza” wedge
I heard a muffled scream
When a friend slid of the edge
I lasted just three days
Till we skied toward lake Louise
I handed in my ski poles
When I couldn’t feel my knees
Time to sample “Apres Ski”
In my warm, hotel retreat
Dipping bread in fondue
Was much more up my street
While My wife “carved the powder”
Meandering with such skill,
I rubbed ointment on my kneecaps
And took a pain reducing pill.
I would not trade these memories
I will treasure them for life
I am not built to be a skier
But thank you my dear wife !
Hell and Heaven are both homes.
Homes for very well committed angels.
Angels who have lived dissimilar norms.
Norms for august adventures and tough rituals.
Hell in Heaven no one dreams in a dhow.
For five fines follow no fine choice
To plait soften or hard mat for a pillow,
With the help of Joyce in a meadow.
Hell in Heaven patronizes pepper into food.
Food that the family does not like ever,
And never anyone will twitter such mood
When parents cannot hike together.
Hell brings a beam of fire in the house
That breaks the beat of home cadence
Lack of rhythm makes mad the mouse
No mouse, no mere measure around the fence
Each angel has taken personal direction,
For Abel and Cain have no common mission.
Such selfish mission messes mum’s vision,
Hatred hinders harmony to flunk home in Hell;
And so Heaven has no home to fail.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Don't be amazed by what I am about to say.
We all dream, like we all breathe. The day,
That we don't do so, is when we are no longer.
We're gone with the wind, done, and we are
Sunk, flunk in the quick sand; we died in the war.
We're nobody, deceased; and there's no future.
No more dreaming...
We all dream; nobody really knows where dreams
Come from. Dreams just happened, fled like steams,
Appeared and disappeared like the errant clouds.
We dream all night long, sometimes we remember
Them; most of the time we forget them. The crowds
Can't forget the star; like the chorus, and the master.
We all dream night and day, while standing or sitting.
We all dream while resting, but don't remember a thing.
We all dream of a better life, and a better spouse.
We all dream of a nicer car, and a bigger house.
We all dream of better days and a better tomorrow.
We dream of better health, more fun, joy, and less sorrow
And better everything and much better living.
Copyright © February 2016 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
A Political Opinion
For 12-17-2019
By: Tom
Washington has become,
a huge political gabfest.
If I were grading,
they’d flunk my test.
Doing very little,
many consider worthwhile.
Sure makes it difficult,
to conjure up a smile.
Many exist on perks,
and have chauffeur driven cars.
Feeding egos with camera time,
like most Hollywood stars.
Most all will become rich,
due to political graft.
Being second to none,
when applying their craft.
I’ve heard too much talk,
concerning swamp draining.
But it remains business as usual,
and our world image they’re staining.
I was pretty cranky when my spanky new bike was janky.
The frame was too short for my body, too tall and lanky.
The tires too fat, too hard to push up boggy maintain trails.
The deal I got clearly a lemon janky, all wrapped in hanky-panky.
The bike looked so nice out of the box, its chrome frame so glint and shiny.
The first sign of trouble was rust on the chain, which made me angry.
Squirts of oil needed on chain and axles, to make pedaling smooth.
Front and rear nuts needed tightening, else wheel retention was dicey.
I set off for ride, bike all fixed up and ship-shaped I hoped,
but the brakes did not work when handle grips I groped,
Disaster averted, just in nick of time, by dragging my feet on ground.
The handle bars were loose, the seat too nippy on bum, but some how I coped.
Back home from first ride, mad as hell, I swore I would return the heap of junk,
I found the guarantee and read the fine print, but my hopes were sunk
when I read that the bike could only be returned to get full refund,if never ridden!
So I’m stuck with my Jekyll janky skunk of a bike, deal a flunk, ego shrunk.
"Drunk as a skunk"
Flimsy after whimsy
Flunk and debunk
Or mastered getting "plastered"
"Tipsy as a gypsy"
Sunk like a monk
Miss nights out "on the p*ss"
We shan't blush...can't hush
Us as we gush about the rush
Bliss to kiss the alcoHOLE abyss
Have a crush on the plush
Flush flights of a proper "lush"
Grinned while you sinned
Smile..getting in a right mess
Room spinned ... plans binned
Betting the style's "blotto" lotto
Pinned motto bless the "legless"
Jolly golly gosh "sloshed"
What beats "3 sheets to the wind"
Need a slash..have to crash
After being out on the lash
"Smashed"..bish bash boshed
'Off your trolley" wally or dolly
Bedazzled frazzle on the razzle
Laughter after a dafter shindig swig
On the "sozzle"..off his head ..off to bed
Reason for that big red schnozzle
Let's be frank those who get "tanked"
Get thanked...no..blanked & spanked
Don't deride those who decide
To get plied with or "pie eyed" with pride
Have a tiff with those who chose skew whiff
No need upsetting or fretting
Over a drunkard with a tankard
Rum dumb herbert on the sherbert
Woozy boozy floozy doozy
Getting whistle whetting "wanker*d"
Abuser..winner or loser
The boon of the last saloon
All soon forgetting having hankered
For.. then regretting that final boozer
"Wasted"...sauce basted I stammered
Could've plucked for being "f**cked"
Decoded it besetting with maybe "loaded"
Why's he passed on the class "rat-arsed"
Not fussed..nonplussed he cussed
Sussed just with mates getting 'hammered"
So don’t muzzle the "guzzler"
Cripple the ripple of the "tippler"
Can’t match "down the hatch"
Or sip & sup..because "bottom’s up"
No frowning cake-hole sold on downing
Beer.. .neck oil by heck will spoil our laughing gear
Crowning the glory or gory story
Comedy gold told of being "arsehol*d"
Ickle fickle wee "pickled" trickle tickle
Temptation of a nifty sneaky shifty
Iffy & squiffy in a jiffy veneration
Don't be piddly about diddly while tiddly
They might from afar mutter
Wot a nutter...one too many jars
One too many bars ..not caring...I would utter
Have a flutter...I’m lying in the gutter
Rego & I flying while staring at the stars
I think I know what life's about
It's ten a.m. when I set out
To eat, and then I snarf my food
You know that I am looking good
I go to class, get on my phone
I tell the teach: "Leave me alone!"
She tells me that I'm gonna flunk
I tell her: "What a bunch of bunk!"
She sends me to the dean, for what?
I open his door, begin to strut
He says, "The game is up; get out of here."
I say, "Thanks much, n'go have a beer...
Now it's six p.m., time for dinner
Fries and a coke will sate this sinner
Then I'm off, to hit the town
Rock-and-roll, and come on down
I get it on with a foxy chick
We smoke and drink till we get sick
I hit the sack by midnight's end
Then I'm up at ten to do it again
******
I trust you liked my little story
I hope it didn't anger or bore ye
That it's the truth is plain to see
The bad part is ~ The joke's on me
Matthew Scott Harris, whar art thou *****?
The following admission
honest to dogness haint no bunk
nobody, but yours truly
bore deeply and countersunk
his spontaneity satisfactorily
lightweight corporeal mein kampf,
didst more than baptise or dunk
cuff, which admirably aided to flunk,
(whereat no universal solvent,
could (kant) kelp dissolve barnacles
of sea sonned gunk),
asper thickly congealed
encasing this laughable
antithesis of hullo kit ting hue man
overweening tricky hunk,
which thought to attempt
skidding row bust humor
as a "FAKE" teetering drunk
ken-pro lit tarry overgrown punk
(riotously swinging balled fists
way of course), and mine
feeble insubstantial poetic jabs, where
teenage shadow boxer slunk
tis my harmless recourse to peddle
as sway to escape funk
seriously, Aesop hoes,
this personal mockery
wrote for no rhyme nor reason junk
bonded really gluten
free self deprecating
playfulness of course as chipper munk
makes any sense, neither kerplunk
emanating from atop me notch noggin
swishing with grade A klunk
emasculation par excellence, asper
out thee talking head of this lunk,
whose upcoming "talk therapy"
every other Monday
at 11:00 a.m. with preshrunk
kin shrink finds tarnished psyche resonating
analogous to reverberation while spelunk
king in an echo chamber futilely
questing, searching, rummaging...why I trunk
hated living when merely thirteen
courtesy Anorexia Nervosa
with spindle shank (chicken legs)
to attest as permanent stunted growth.
FANCY A TAXI?
There was once a young man called Mark,
Who worked at a local bank
As a clerk.
He went to Spain for a holiday.
Got quite drunk one night,
And after a roll in the hay,
With a girl who he met in a bar,
Moved in with her, she told him
That she was some sort of star!
He married her.
When sober realized that things
Went way too fast,
For he knew nothing of his new
Brides past!
He would soon learn the truth,
Which, would leave him aghast!
One day his Boss said
He could take the day off, and had
Promised his wife to buy
A new bedspread,
He came out of the office into
A blazing hot day,
And waved down a taxi that
Was going his way.
He gave the taxi-driver his address,
And the taxi driver looked at him,
Thoroughly perplexed!
You want to also go here, you are
The second passenger I have picked
Up in the last hour,
The last gentleman was holding a flower!
Mark became suspicious,
Paid the driver his fee,
And climbed the stairs to his flat,
He, had a key so didn’t knock,
And what he saw gave him
A jolt and a shock!
A flower was in a vase by the bed,
And a gentleman was entwined
In the sheets with the woman
He had wed!
No need to say,
He called it a day
Decided to continue his travels,
Gave in his resignation, and went
To Japan,
He knew a girl who lived there,
Her name was Anne,
This one he would not marry, or
Dare to get drunk,
He was no monk,
But would hate the idea,
that again he would flunk!
Just a short twist to this tale!
The taxi driver picks up another passenger,
This one was also on vacation,
And also a male,
Who gives the taxi driver another,
Destination to drive to,
This can’t be true thought the driver,
But drives to the address and
The passenger descends,
And ascends,
To a flat, it is the taxi driver’s wife,
He was visiting,
The driver could never think
That his wife was a cheat,
He was just lucky today, he was
On this beat!
He caught them in the act,
The taxi driver divorces his cheat,
And goes for a holiday to Japan,
He also knows Anne!
How complicated can life be,
That two men travel to Japan,
And both know Anne!