Long Grossly Poems

Long Grossly Poems. Below are the most popular long Grossly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grossly poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member All In the Family

A family lived in a little row house in Queens.
When we saw them each week, there were numerous funny scenes.
The household head was adamantly opinionated.
This loading dock foreman was grossly undereducated.
His wife Edith was unassuming and subservient.
She and daughter Gloria witnessed many an event.
In the living room, raucous arguments we saw,
as he clashed with his educated liberal son-in-law.
Gloria’s husband was a live-in student named Mike.
This “meathead” was someone the father-in-law did not like.
For years, Archie called Mike a “dumb Polack”.
On television ratings, this family had a lock.
In the seventies, the Bunkers were a sensation.
We can still see the show’s reruns in syndication.
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member America, Where Are You

I don't digress, my search is true
Land that I love, where are you?

The freedoms that so richly rang 
From every mountain top
I stretch my ear until I strain
Still I can hear them not.

The pledge we held so very dear
I hardly recognize
Our God who made all possible
We've grossly put aside.

In offense to the forefathers
Some even dare to change
That great time-honored document
The one that bears their names.

How long can we hope to stand
On a foundation grown corrupt
Indeed the blind now lead the blind
We're headed for a bitter cup.

And so I race to find a trace
Of that America
The one I knew and loved so well
When I was growing up

I'll not digress my search is true
Land that I love, where are you?


RETA PRUITT
September 15, 2016

Premium Member There Is No Escape From the House of the Dead

In a barren apocalyptic landscape,
under a withered, bare, and grossly malformed weeping willow tree.
Lies a lone stone which reads: There is no escape From the house of the dead.
The stone, in pristine state, stands as a testament to all who enter there.
The interloping tendrils of a wisteria vine, have encircled and strangled all in its path. Except for the stone, which emits an eerie glow, as a lighthouse beacon in a fog laden ether. 
THERE you will experience true solitude.
Approaching closer, you feel the frigid breath of the cemetery breeze, enveloping you and drawing you nearer, t’ward a single oblique whisp of a specter as she floats ominously over the stone. 
Her once great love left her for dead, and
from the depths of sorrow, she acquiesced. 
Since that day, she has clung to the life she once had.
Her happiest days were spent in the garden behind a house where no one else played.
Laughing, singing and running with her once great and true love they spent endless days together.
Now, in her current form, she lists as she sways, her tattered ghostly shroud  swipes against your leg.
The window curtains’ lace whips wildly through the night air, flicking against your feet and wakes you sharply from your sleep. 
Opening your door, as you head down the hall, in the corner of your eye, you spy a translucent figure. Turning to look the shape disappeares.
Was this a dream, forebodance, a warning of some future catastrophe? Mark me, and heed these words well......There IS NO ESCAPE FROM THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD.

February 21, 2021
Poem written for Constance La France

Ghost Poetry contest

Premium Member Bear

He is sheer, unbridled power.
His size belies his agility and speed.
Though savage, his world is one of innocence and beauty.
His rules are simple;
Feed, breed and stay alive.
To the Native American he is the symbol of all that is good;
Wisdom, Courage, Strength, Honesty and Beauty.
He is the protector of the forest,
And a king in his own right,
Deserving of our respect.

                                    Judy Ball

Like most large creatures of great strength who are unpredictable the bear has been grossly misunderstood and feared.
He has been exploited and hunted into almost extinction by Man who kills anything he can't control.
© Judy Ball  Create an image from this poem.

Handmade From the Genes of Boyce and Harriet Harris 2nd Warning

HANDMADE FROM (the genes of) BOYCE AND HARRIET HARRIS 
(poetry my atypical mode at introducing myself).

How apropos and divine to stumble (merely by happenstance) across a chance to claim my (virtual) fifteen minute fragments of fame just in the click and nick of time.   

Although gainfully unemployed (do to a series of unfortunate events that now finds me receiving social security disability), I can still vividly visualize utter despair and vouchsafe to acquire the requisite trappings emblematic of psychic misfortune.

Indelible, permanent and unfading abysmal damaging domestic dynamics got etched deep upon the memory of this erstwhile individual! The general gist in the form of quick brush strokes (namely written) of psychologically traumatizing recollection now follows.

I can attest to malevolent mean-spirited objections by my father (and late mother) in regard to my grossly unacceptable attire, deportment and work ethic.
Form:


Premium Member Only Todays Poems We Read poem One


Tell me, why is is it that only today’s poems read?!
The latest poem...is it just for speed?
You might find gems from a poet's great past, 
Written in great beauty, that forever does last!

Even, the most transcendent poets of all time, 
Were not three or one line poetry machines!
I wrote close to three-thousand, which in retrospect, 
I find, grossly obscene!

Great quality, learning true, classical forms is my new norm.
I was akin to a craven college student in a dorm!
Was popularity only my woebegone daily bread?
What was crawling in my hagiographic head?

Honors to my poet-mentor, I have finally calmed down.
There is no joy for me, being a winner in poetry town.
Life breezes by like an Eagle, then, alas, soon ends.
Poetry, by august writers, awaits me, tween my bookends.

{A tribute to my mentor, and great friend on his birtday}

Whose fine authorship, teaching, and newpsper column.
Using classical forms only, reminds me.
That new, cute forms, keeps souls, minute and lonely. 

                               12/3/2024
                               Poem One
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Wished

Ted is a novice when skating on ice
Kept slipping and falling twenty times twice
Body shattered and battered
And his teeth were all scattered	
Prayed the tooth fairy will give a good price

Soups and soft food is all he can now eat
But he fancied something that is more sweet
Poured treacle in a large cup
Then quickly drank it all up
Feeling sick, vowed he would never repeat

He felt very hot and started to fret
From every pore he was pouring with sweat
He went outside to cool down
Some wasps where flying around
And saw his body as a sweet object

He screamed loudly, hollered, blubbered and cried
As the wasps were all stinging him with pride
His body grossly swollen
And dignity now stolen
Wished instead gone for a horse and cart ride

    14.09.23
Form: Limerick

Premium Member Game of the Corporations

Never in the world was there a greater calamity
than those infamous years when they had fought World War Three.
There were cities throughout the world obliterated.
Millions of people’s lives were annihilated.
Only small pockets of civilization remained.
The world as we knew it could no longer be sustained.
Old nations ceased to exist in the new century.
Corporations now prevailed in this society.

Even after the corporations ruled everywhere,
the people would not see the end of global warfare.
Corporate wars took their toll on the population.
These struggles exacerbated the devastation.
The numbers of peoples were grossly decimated.
Somehow, hostilities had to be sublimated.

The corporations would invent an ingenious thing,
a brutal team sport that is played on a banked track ring.
Heavily armored men on cycles and roller skates
compete against each other to determine their fates.
The teams both attempt to retrieve a shot put-sized ball
of steel, and throw it into a goal to win it all.
The action is so intense; the crowds are so enthralled.
This is a deadly game.  Rollerball is what it’s called.

Based on the 1975 film "Rollerball"
Form: Rhyme

Spectacular Doe Eyed Prodigy Drummer Nandi Bushell

Nirvana protégé podcast/youtube
phenom quite mature
talented young lass promising future
media attention did capture
overnight starlet exhibits bravure
generates profuse nonstop
outstandingly positive conjecture

nine year old greeted in France bonjour
mademoiselle so innocent and pure
guaranteed future success 
near anonymity one day
household name the next,
automatic fame secure,
whose beautiful swarthy
complexion compounds allure.

Courtesy technological tentacled
trappings everywhere
twenty first century raw
talent discovered anywhere
across world wide web
instant cash cow bajillionaire
clinched record deals guaranteed
linked immortal wealth crystal clear
financial woes never nightmare

flush electronic deposits buffer
sudden renown claim heir
reddit teary boosting
quantity kith and kin here
rilled predictable feigned
interest to care,
when yesterday no hoots given
toward young person's welfare.

Such simplification possibly doth err
grossly inaccurate, I aver,
rushed prediction unfair
nonetheless interesting how
forgotten friends and relatives spur
unexplainable long

atrophied well timed flair
to buttress crumbling complex edifice
long forgotten grudge doth disappear
tangentially madding crowd
metaphorical boatload relative
strangers ferried jostle appear
amazingly enough out thin air

human nature inexplicably fickle
another case in point here,
when yours truly did not roundly square,
among classmates nasty glare
but triangulated, threatened, teased...
convenient token (non smokin')
scapegoat bullies throve to scare

name calling, spitting, suckerpunching,
a curse this then skinny, puny, dorky...
boy never did dare
raise his non hazardous dukes fear
ring being clobbered, pureed, whipped...
perhaps thugs menacing scissoring my long hair
passively internalized deplorable angst.
Form: Elegy

Premium Member Reborn

shooting stars twinkle

sprinkling sparklers on the loose -

fading light expires


vows everlasting

impermanence tightly squeezed - 

woes’ storms intertwined


sunshine’s radiance

reflects warm silent repose -

disquieting loss


winter breeze swishes

seasoned kindness transgresses -

permafrost daggers


future corroded

skies disunited in pain-

new love on the rise


listen to my words

it will only last three moons-

passion sprung open


it’s all about sex

carnal desire corrupted -

wild new passion heals


yesteryear future

dream catchers barely composed-

golden communion


seasons have faltered

grossly dishevelled it seems - 

autumn recovers


jetsam’s drift reclaimed

anchour line in secure knots -

the universe heals



20th July 2019


Writer's statement:

Haikus normally do not have a title, but I cannot leave the field blank on the website.

In my opinion a writer's statement distracts from the poem.

They have a turn after the second line.

They are about nature and nature is love and love can be lost and rediscovered.

This haiku is personal and autobiographical.

Enjoy reading.
Form: Haiku

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