Long Half cocked Poems
Long Half cocked Poems. Below are the most popular long Half cocked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Half cocked poems by poem length and keyword.
Slovenly winter's sojourn lingers, but dwindles away.
Petulant cold snaps, squalls and hail the exit price you pay.
Riddance wrung from season squeezed by hugs to relent reluctantly.
In dawn's budding yolk core, a sign of hope that Spring's door shunt
Nurtures renewal, renounces enfeebled winter gloom with enlightened lilt.
Get those shoes on, ready for a gamboling, frolicking dance in kilt.
Impatient expectation threatens to half-bake Spring's coming.
So easy to go off half-cocked, like cock miscalling a morning.
Conjure up your juggling balls, and warm your hands as well,
On stage you go, to keep your baoding balls chiming a spell.
Meditating on what Spring may bring when plated to please, and charm.
Inviting renewal, a fresh go, mindfully aware of warnings strung on yardarm
Nevermore to be ensnared by false hope and expectations
Growing too fast and withering on vine, denying your supplications.
So often your hope chest is wrecked when predictions are dashed
On rocky shores, hidden behind a rosy mirage of beach on shore bedecked.
Only expect half your quiver of Spring gambits darts to hit home true.
Never be disappointed that Spring's coming only delivers an IOU in lieu.
"The Fiery Breath of Certain Death"
Or
"Alarm Bells Are Ringing"
You wear your anger well, it suits you just fine,
but, do we all have to feel the fiber of your fabric?
You toot in your zoot suit, then you scoot for a toot,
head wired, eyes fired, lip licking, lip flicking, chicken!
Snarling, snapping, rapping, grueling gruel, your fangs drooling,
rabid dog reflex, we'll just have to call you Rex!
As in...T-Rex, flexing oral dexterity,
you flex your pecs Rex, then your text is next!
OMG! The "Prankster," you're the original "Gangster,"
blogging and feeding, we eat floggings and bleedings!
Melting minds of the masses, you chair literary classes,
we suffer the choir, with heads blazing, ears on fire!
If kindness kills, then you kill us with "Carols,"
glock half-cocked...lock, stock, and two smoking barrels!
I guess the bullets you spray, helps keep the conscience away,
while you skin us alive, to be meat on display!
You drank angst from the wagon, a flagon "Snapdragon,"
wagging, gagging, with hellfire halitosis bragging!
Your breath of quick-fire death, inflames our thrombosis,
we pray today, that our blessed death, doth soon approaches!
But, till that day, we pray, for blessed redemption,
if we're lucky, maybe God will give us an exemption!
With excerpts from the movie: "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels"
Just Chris
Nothing very special here,
I’m young as old can be
Grey is just a state of mind
that’s come to set me free
Laughing at the future
as I’m tearing down the walls
Standing on a corner
with my cardboard sign and all
It reads, “I’ll work for poetry”
although that is a lie
Just a silly message sent
as you are driving by
Some insist a heart of gold
does beat inside my chest
I am merely but a man
who hopes to pass the test
Tapping on a keyboard
placing verses on this place
Wishing you to read them,
though some you may erase
I always try to wear a smile
yet often times I frown
Happiness is happiness
but sadness gets me down
Know that I am very rich
though I don’t have a dime
My fortune is the people here
that I call friends of mine
A worn out shirt is what you see,
a half cocked smirking smile
Fraying on the edges fast
and going out of style
I dream too much, I know it’s true
these visions that I see
Hope that when my life is through
you will remember me
But if you don’t, well that’s ok
my tombstone will dismiss
Carved in stone for all to see
the words will read “Just Chris”
Shoot Em Down
Going off half cocked !!!
My spirit, you rocked !!!
Thought processes a mess ion.
Dangerous as a Smith & Wesson.
Tongue – explosive 45 caliber ammunition
tearing, ripping through to submission.
The flesh, the spirit of this old soul,
you cannot see, do not see, may not know
how much you have torn this spirit apart.
How it is experienced in this aged one’s heart.
Time’s passing has made it possible, not to be shocked
at the spirit, the soul, the heart you have socked
with all that has become, you should never start.
I am blind, not to bright, but now is time to part.
And so my dear, I wonder ?, how will it end ???
In days to come, will I still be considered a friend ?
Or will I be considered your foe ?
Is this what I will come to know ?
B. J. “A” 2
April 16th 2004
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place - but England. Now.
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place ... but England. Now.
by Bob Moore © 2018
For man to live he has the need, for coal and oil and gas
and if the Greens don’t understand, they can stick it up their a**
They’ve buggered South Australia, with their solar and windmills
and now their blaming others, as they swallow bitter pills
Jay says it is the Feds to blame, and coal fired stations, so
he will do it all alone, and off half cocked he will go
He’ll build a brand new station, for the one he had closed down
cost taxpayers half a billion, ‘cause he has played the clown
He’ll fix the problem pretty quick, and a hero he will be
the silly bugger cannot grasp, the biggest problem here, is he
Sometimes folks get notions,
'Bout certain people, places, things,
And get the wrong impression,
From the feelings that they bring.
Without finding out for certain,
The impression that they got,
Was correct in the beginning,
They go off half cocked.
They hold forever grudges,
Make enemies, lose friends,
And clinging to false sense of pride,
Don't try to make amends.
It's the mind of the human being,
In this case that's to blame,
What goes on in your own mind,
Oft leads to pain and shame.
Some folks are so wrapped up in self,
That they see nothing else.
They never learn from their mistakes;
For they're caused by someone else.
This I've learned from watching,
Taking notes and keeping log.
The more I see of people,
The better I like my dogs.
Conceived In Sin -
Cincinnati, Ohio
(most Up To Date Virgin)
Any attempt for fecund woman
to successfully counteract biologic
reproductive force to whit
deserves grudging testes
meant to garner at least tidbit
sans, ejaculated kudos (by Dickens),
where aborted squirt,
viz skin flute, gets writ
off as sad sack pit
tiff full seaman unwittingly spit
outside sought after vasocongestion
swollen phallic doth intuit
thwarted down thrust trend,
where offspring of genetic
inheritance since Eve soffit
a dam nibble prickly outcome
braking abrupt copulation,
where half cocked drill bit
attempts to hit
bulls eye included with animalistic kit
and caboodle born toward illicit
propagation of species,
this indomitable overbearing gen nit
till foreplay to liberate dill lib writ
lee, pointedly and instinctually
continue human race,
where a bajillion threads did knit
world wide web steeped with lit
richer replete with orgiastic nit
tee gritty prurient details
recounting bacchanalian debauchery
nun such breakable classless habit
ah what a dog send to gift
and empower women to inhibit
unwanted pregnancy (of childbearing age)
equipped with superhuman heft quit,
while erect phallus unable to lyft
uber penetration, no doubt miffed,
especially in throbbing throes far drift
from coital provenance, one agitated fitbit
feeling royally screwed
particularly virility predicated
on loose sing penile glue stick
within secrete slit.
I crawl into a cave called myself.
It’s dry and dusty, cobwebbed.
So afraid to be, alone in the dark,
“Who am I,” is my cry.
Then Trixie’s best friend comes along,*
like a cowgirl set out on a romantic adventure.
This changeling becomes a pirate or
a faerie tale...mingling with the deer and frogs.
but not too sweet, ‘cause she’s a spark plug.
She squeezes out a saturated rag of tears and snot,
for this cowgirl spots the forgotten one -
a little child who needs a hug,
and she has a way of embracing the child in me.
...and her poetry like taffy pulls,
twists in a delicious way, half-cocked.
I’ve learned from her to grab the stars and fly
as if Tinkerbell dusted me with rare pastels.
In my mind we’re dressed in
kicka$$ gowns and fascinators
merrily sipping sherry in
the garden of Make-Believe.
And by the way, I love my souper friends. Don’t feel left out.
So many touch me in so many ways. God bless you all.
And one last shout out to Caren Krutsinger!