Long Haughtily Poems
Long Haughtily Poems. Below are the most popular long Haughtily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Haughtily poems by poem length and keyword.
Let us go chase some tail I say
So we all run into the yard
Screeching our truth
Squirrels scatter
Now what? Trixie, my prissy muse asks.
Unamused by me; rather haughtily indignant
This is all you got?
Let’s not go to a store I suggest.
We play some music and dance our truth
Kickboxing our way through a living room of zombies
Who used to be relatives
But all died of same-oh, same oh.
The skeletons nod at us, their teeth chattering
Neighbor phones to ask us to put the music down.
A human voice! We are excited.
Pandemic zero today, us six as we begin roller skating in the house
After eating peanut butter pancakes and throwing water balloons out the window
Hitting no one as no one is here anymore
Let’s go mad, today Trixie suggests.
Too late
We are already there.
They call me the charger I told white string haughtily.
Then who am I? White string asked.
Sticking up her aluminum cubed nose,
Refusing to be plugged into my adaptor.
"Daddy calls Mommy the charger!" Sadie defended me.
Sadie is four, and I am her she-roe, teaching her the art of charging.
"I call her that!" My mother-in-law agrees from the backseat, where
she prefers to sit, where it is "safe" according to her own snootiness.
I want to take my daughter and run back into the store and charge
more stuff now, feeling slightly irritated. Charging always puts me
into a much better mood. It's like not paying, rather like stealing as
I never see the bills. My husband pays them after grousing unmercifully about them.
"I am the charger or I am not going to be plugged in today," Charger One says. I rapidly realize I am surrounded by enemies here, so I back down and say, "You can be Charger One, and I will be Charger Two, okay?"
Darling One from the backseat calls out, "Lunch is on me. Let's go to McFrizbee's," making her now the ultimate favorite in my Sadie's world. Assuming she will be using plastic, she has slyly snagged the Charger 2 position. I am livid.
Though your eyes may not see it
when you look at me;
I am a child at heart.
Into my Crayola box of colors
I dive and dance;
my crayons, my best buds, shout,
“Pick me…pick me!”
I can’t decide and close
my eyes and grab one;
how it haughtily gloats upon the
page I am coloring.
I get excited when I color;
my crayon shouts,
“Don’t squeeze me so hard!”
I nearly drop it; I wasn’t expecting that;
crayons don’t usually protest.
When I am finished, there’ll be
jealous crayons who weren’t picked but,
I tell them, another picture is for you;
and they calm down.
Coloring releases my muse to play.
Children laugh when I tell them about
my competitive crayons;
It inspires them to color-dance
along with us.
2-4-19
Brooding River
This winter saw a lot of rain in the river near the houses, still running clear and lucid, giving its soul
to the ocean
On the old Roman bridge, I asked the river to stop wasting its precious sweet water on the salty sea
One cannot let thirsty horses drink brackish water
having hauled a cart full of dead sheep up to the mountain top as offering by an idiot savant, a gift
to a god that only exists in feverish minds
The river hears me not, its job is to run dry during the summer for at fall be reborn.
Beware of a river that has no fish!
Those who haughtily laugh will be turned into frogs banks, are full of them, petrified seeing nothing.
Only a princess can make them human again, but they will still retain the souls of frogs.
Alas, due to hard times, the princess is a dancer in a Spanish nightclub, knows nothing about emails, and is not on Facebook.
What Gets My Goat - By Noah Kidding
Though I shy away from drink,
an unexpected case
of DT's finds this ace
of spades (also known as the spadille)
bleating heart liberal,
airing how disgrace
full the Tommyknocker of zee prez
doth aspire with
Desperation toward efface
sing outspoken, knowledgeable,
intelligent, et cetera grace
full Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, sans
The Shining eyes of dragon light,
and self deluded Dreamcatcher
importance bulwark brace
sing, bullying, and spewing
pot shot vitriol toward
said neophyte lace
sing his blather with
spongy bobbing parrot head
of his papa, who hoop fully gets
ousted by Democratic
candidate from place
de resistance on pedestal,
he haughtily perches touting
himself as superior race,
aye pray to dog his trace
as human wrecking ball
expunged and reprehensible
brewed den mean ways vanishes
upon election day
November 3rd, 2020,
and his ilk (henchmen
one and all) in vase
sieve like Kudzu, or
other aggressive choke
king courtesy intolerable, inhospitable,
and ineradicable testy,
pesky, and grumpy folk
especially one bearded
Dudley Doright dressed dude
with gray flecks poke
king the brown grizzle
blindingly shimmering from
"FAKE" filal smoke
and mirrors Junior Firestarter
slicked back hair doo evokes a joke
lame Kujo, albeit
cheap tricks up pa's city
faux Taj Mahal sleeve!
Brooding River
This winter saw a lot of rain in the river
Near the houses, it is still running clear and lucid
giving its soul to the ocean
On the old Roman Bridge, I asked the river to stop wasting
It's precious sweet water to the salty sea,
One cannot let thirsty horses drink brackish liquid
after having hauled a cart full of dead sheep
up to a mountain top,
offerings to a god that only exists in the mind of an
idiot savant.
The river hears me not; its job is to run dry during
the summer and when fall arrives, be reborn.
But beware of a river that has no fish
Those who haughtily laugh will be turned into frogs,
The banks are full of them.
Only a princess can make them into humans again.
But they will still have frog souls.
Alas, due to a hard time, the princess is a dancer in
A Spanish nightclub knows nothing about emails
And she is not on Facebook.
On stage he struts in sequined costume,
a plume of feathers cocked high on head
A thespian poet of no account is ranting
though his troupe boasts of his skill and talent
But the look of a charlatan paints his face
when he's alone. Heartache he embraces
for he's aware that he's been misleading
himself and his bleeding heart followers,
the extras he casts to applaud his show.
"Bravo! Bravo!"
He paid them to sit in the audience shouting,
and boasting on him while standing in ovation.
They whistle for more, for his unearned encore.
He promises, "I'll support you all one day."
Foolish would-be, presume without a doubt
that he's a man of his word, but that's absurd
for actors such as he never share the limelight
once the spotlight shines on a narcissist's face.
What price does he pay for his moment of glory?
The highest toll is the loss of a soul.
Each bow he takes should give cause for worry
that one day the bird catcher will collect his due.
He'll barter with Satan for being haughtily boastful
for being puffed up with pride, and for his crime
the foolish one must relinquish his soul.
Outside the four cafes, four dogs awaited their caffeine crazed owners. Sniffing different street signs, taking inventory of who’d already been there. Four dog “owners” exited the cafés. A tall blonde, possibly bleached, retrieved the dog and haughtily gazed at the “other” cafes and dogs. A slightly rumpled donut muncher hurriedly hustled away with a slightly rumpled mutt. A lithe and limber, skin tight yoga panted Latte carrier, glided away. The dog, nose high, sniffed nothing. A rather large flannel shirt exited café number four, the dog nuzzled its owner. It’s reward, a hearty greeting and vigorous petting.
Shortly thereafter they all met at the dog park, the dogs that is. The owners took their places. One sat silently engrossed in a book. One talked loudly into a cell phone. One primped and posed while taking “selfies”. One watched and laughed at the antics of the dogs.
As they left the dog park the cups told a story. One was left on a bench, one tossed on the ground, one rinsed and filled with water so the dog might have a drink, and one placed in the recycle barrel.
John G. Lawless
©3/3/2023
For this wondrous blessed adventure
My faith revisits divine stones’ feature
Commencing from great Creator’s gesture
for Eden garden’s functional posture.
Toward gem stones’ trip showcasing beauty
I behold them displayed with dignity
Adorning high priest of integrity
Twelve of them sparkled midst obscurity.
Along valley-battle where God’s might reigned
David’s stone prevailed; championship gained
Over Goliath’s force, haughtily stained
Proving the power of child-like trust, unfeigned.
Magnificent upon the holy land
Flashing redemption encounters so grand
Chief corner stone* stays as foundation-stand
Saviour reaching-out by His loving hand.
The lively stones** midst revival-worship
Testified about the Lord’s leadership
Thanking Him for entrusted stewardship
While triumphing in His gracious kingship.
Finally, my heart sings with blest praise-delight
Enthralled by precious stones*** before my sight
New heaven and new earth radiantly bright
Where Jesus Christ is forever the light!
*Ephesians 2:20 And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone.
**1Peter 2:5 Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ.
***Revelation 21:19 And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones…
August 11, 2021
10th place, "STONES" Poetry Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco; judged on 8/14/2021.
A warm embrace from little arms
Outstretched to reach my nose
She presses hers into mine
She holds her breath then blows
I feel the crinkle of a smile spill out the corners of her lips
She sneaks a cup of mama's coffee
Haughtily takes 3 sips
Belly ablaze she rumbles now
Uncontrollable and proud
The room starts to dance
At the sound
I watch in awe as the lights go in sync
With the twinkle in her eyes
She commands her audience
And calls home the prize
Pitter patter footsteps come up from behind
Gently pulls my sweater
As if i'd ever mind
Sweet hushes of morning's first breath
Fall on my waking ears
Faint hellos
Dancing across the room
In tip toes
They wrap their fingertips finding a home in the other
This my hearts yearn
To be a mother