Long Grubby Poems
Long Grubby Poems. Below are the most popular long Grubby by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grubby poems by poem length and keyword.
She peeked through the keyhole espying a messy cool lair
she ate up the tiniest bowl she could find
disheveled, disarrayed, disordered were they with wild hair
She chose a tiny seat and turned a bears world upside down
smash went the wood, and he howled
grungy, grimy and grubby were they and sadly they frowned
She cleaned up there mess though she caused them distress
come the night, the little wee bed fit just right
muddled, mussed and mussy were they but also such bless
She learned how to live in a world full of bears in plain sight
though she called them all "dears, "
it was the baby bear she called, beautiful, beloved and bright
Another dreary journey down deaths highway
The daily life of cursed work
Outside Glasgows fair kiss
The free tv shows views as cars driven by the undead squeeze past
The grubby bus window that no one seems to use
All heads in prayer to the constructed deity
Creators of a binary god
My eyes survey a barren space of kermit green
and mud filled divots
And as if positioned by a godlike hand
A family of dearest deer
unspoiled and prohuman glisten from sunlights kiss
A miracle not that a wonderful moment in
a day of unlived life
But as we pass another moment holds hand with the moment before
A boy surgically attatched to his phone and headphones
Catches sight of deer a frolic
And unopposed and unreserved a smile lit his face
And the bones that slowly kill me
loosen for a breath
And a scottish poet finds inpiration and a warmth inside his chest
Chubby cream grubby against white ice
Hungry somewhat clumsy polar bear heist
Hopefully loping over to an asylum of seals
Tusked beasts bound to become tasty meals
Damp nose oscillates, catch tongue anticipates
Hook claws extend, jagging his cumbersome gait
Ungainly angle rotates blundering bear ballerina
Jaws roar frustrated, mishap sadly signals dinner
Jolly bodied, barrel stocky well insulated brood
Swivel protruding chests to avoid being food
Fear pulls polar threat away, phew! - Relax
Pack pacify, raft drifts after cold cracks
Snowy blows his nose with hankie huge paws
Lucky that chubby has arms strong as oars
Iceberg dips, whiskers twitch while wishing
Imminent swim success - in frigid fishing
8th March 2023
Written for Contest: Cracked
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Grouchy is a grubby feeling,
with the nasty taste of blah;
makes you out of sorts with living,
the opposite of hurrah.
You don’t like anything
you used to really love;
instead of giving kisses
you would rather pinch or shove.
You are bored to tears;
your toys - worn out and old;
you sit before your breakfast
until the eggs are cold.
No one can please you,
not even mom or dad;
and if you are not careful,
you’re in your room for being bad!
Some people say, “You got up
on the wrong side of the bed;”
maybe you should get back in,
crawl out the other side instead.
What makes you feel so out of sorts?
You think you just might cry
and mommy says she’s sure you ate
a slice of gritty grumble pie.
We all have days that go kerplunk;
we do some things we shouldn’t do,
but it will soon get better;
pull your feet out of grouch goo.
Just put a smile on that sweet face
and tell the grump to go away;
the sun is up and life is good,
get busy, go outside and play!
© September 18, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Gutters are bending, everywhere dripping,
patches of snow pattern the ground in blocks.
It is tricky to walk without slipping
on the old snow trodden. Booted, my socks
drop to my heels as I follow the wall
where the snow still lies in decaying drifts.
Sheep scatter, regather, look at me, all
grubby grey in the white as the mist shifts.
I stop, lean on the wall, my socks adjust,
pull up my collar against the rising
wind. Winter landscape now no longer hushed
by fresh fall of flakes so lightly lying.
As the old snow thaws I now slip on mud
and downstream rivers will threaten to flood.
Talk about me
Like I am not in the same room
Push me from your priorities,
But your mind will not obey
You must engrossingly aknowledge
The edges that mishapen me
Slide your grubby fingers against the surface
Like you do,
Like you tell your friends
Unlock my insecurities,
With one horizontal swipe
Erasing history
Sustaining shame
All you have gained,
Is what you tethered on the surface
The very surface you despise
That you misunderstand,
The ones that you feed the lies to
Will you never realize,
The reality that hazes into black numbness
With your lingering actions?
You will never see through me now
Because I am shattered, paralyzed
Not victimized, just barely survived
I am rough to the touch...
But what did you expect,
After dropping me so much?
5/13/2016
Rise and shine,
Know you are Divine,
You get to draw the line,
Let your heart and mind align,
Feel your energy intertwined,
Within all of your design.
Love is the light you shine,
Finding your way through the dark,
Your spark turns into a flame,
Lighting a fire to this game,
Life will never be the same,
Living free of guilt and shame,
I AM renaming my reality.
Reflecting what I wish to see,
I AM Shining so brightly,
Spreading love excitedly,
Showing it to everybody,
WARNING, It gets muddy,
Downright grubby and dirty,
And no matter how much it hurt me,
My reward Becomes eternity.
I have many qualities and talents
that make me popular and likeable for my kindness,
and unpretentious gallantry;
ask me if I'm blue-blooded like the gentry!
I exist for a purpose and I intend reveal my cause;
honesty and shrewdness will guard me against errors...
do weeds grow in a well-maintained and embellished garden?
A grubby garden attracts gloominess, mine appeals to sunshine!
I have traveled down rough and dark roads,
grabbing the attention of bad-wishers,
who handed me gooseberries, not gorse;
it was a clumsy course swarming with rocks and thorns!
I exist for a purpose that puts fear into my unseen enemies,
who grumble and judge more than the-assumed-righteous-ones,
they are obsessed with their perfection and like to impose it on me;
but do they know that I control my destiny by spinning my fortune' wheel?
My belief is not to accept anything of worthless beauty,
I love to hide myself in the grain fields,and shake their stalks...
to celebrate a harvest more bountiful than sunflowers;
and I imagine myself gorging on fresh-baked bread daily!
O golden grains, your seeds satiate many that earn their hard living,
saying grace at mealtime...as God gives them His blessing;
and those hands that cut the husks off are much detested
by the elite with a feeling of inferiority and a lack of gratitude!
I exist for a purpose to bring glory to the Heavens,
that magnificently dazzle upon me in times of desperate need;
pity is an unacceptable word whenever they attempt to make a deal;
I change no direction and try not to fall into the trap of moral weakness!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Zolpidem kept me late, the library had been open for hours.
Young children studiously ran amok
from one poster plastered aisle to another.
I have this thing about female librarians.
I had hoped to have grown out of such fantasies,
emerging perhaps like some immaculate moth
from the grubby chrysalis of this crumbling body but…
The sight of a full-figured, middle-aged bespectacled lady
pushes demanding impulses through my bloodstream;
I retreat to the dark heart of the Napoleonic wars
where history archives many a pervert.
Old men fight wars, the young die for them, but outcomes
(exactly when the bloodletting must stop), they are played-out
in the deranged minds of those who then publish the books.
Of course, they always knew they would get away with the lies,
probably knew that I would be here hiding
between these dishonest pages,
with nothing on my Ambien fueled mind,
but middle-aged female librarians.
~~~~
When I was in pigtails, years younger than him,
my big brother’s bedroom was filled to the brim
New comic books, from the small corner store
would light up his eyes, from the ceiling to floor
Every nickel or dime, that he earned doing chores
would be spent for the latest. A hundred or more
My brother, the neat freak, a geek,... I would say
would sort them, like treasures, kept neatly in bins
His room was off limits, from small grubby, hands
I was given such warnings, or my life was to end
Of course, in ignoring….the rules I would bend...
I loved, most, the skin-flint (That old duck that quacked!)
I'm not talking Donald, in the blue sailor suit
I'd choose Uncle Scrooge, holding big sacks of loot !
Perhaps because my brother, was a bit like that duck
A skin-flint with comics….he hoarded his stacks!
I never dared touch them, or war would be waged
Dread if I tore one, or bent just a page!
But there came on that day, that I'll never forget
My birthday arrived, almost eight, I would bet
I woke in surprise, for at the foot of my bed
Boxes of comics....a present he said
My “Big Brother, Scrooge”, with his heart so divine
Had given me love, of the comical kind !
$ $ $ $ $ $
True Story!
__________________________________________________
For Contest: Comic Book Characters
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Revised 5/29/15