Long Heigh Poems
Long Heigh Poems. Below are the most popular long Heigh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heigh poems by poem length and keyword.
“Nobody likes a clown at midnight.” Stephen King
CLOWN AT THE ABYSS
Darkroom abscessed
with neon blush and black-blood —
sunken eyes look surprised
to find oneself in a dank dungeon.
Fecal stench, not humorous,
screams on each bold painted-on face.
“Are we dead?”
“When did I die?”
“I didn’t want to take along this honking nose! It never quits!”
“These humongous shoes, like flippers, so cold they grip!”
The clowns, their smiles and frowns,
continue to gripe in the big tent abyss.
The epic fail of their lives an applause
from the demons who have them in grip.
Like fools, they suppose, they can feel their way out.
They march in one straight line with clanging chains,
chortling, “Heigh Ho! Heigh Ho! It’s off to work I go!”*
You see, they can’t help being funny - never could.
So on they march clinging to claustrophobic walls.
Yet they, one by one, begin to notice no floor exists.
Squalid birds, their chains rattle and roll,
with cheap jokes that never cease.
“Take my wife…please.”
Rings through the air. The demons cackle and boo
their despair, occasionally deflating the roof of the tent
on their heads - it sticks to their gooey faces, causing
them to run out of hot air, go limp, confine their space
even more - no audience to exploit. When the roof rises
each one finds water caterwauled at their faces, then
strapped to a chair as sufferable makeup - acidophil -
leaks behind their eyes, into their pores, maliciously.
Clown at the abyss digs his nails into the soil, climbing
a mountain of ill will, always failing...falling, and then
the jokes hammer again...over and over, head over heels.
...head over heels,
with no end…
2/27/2020
Clown at the Abyss Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
*Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
October seventeenth ninety sixty one ...
Born sixty one years ago,
the follow poem from your bro
transmitted courtesy flagship
named Jacques-Yves Cousteau
constituting countless ones and zeroes
instantaneously traversing cyberspace
as packeted, framed dataflow
binary digits bit of information
to acknowledge when
thee transitioned being an embryo
(approximately the second
to eighth week after fertilization)
approximately nine months prior,
whose birth marked debut
of bouncing daddy's little girl,
whose inquisitiveness nourished
birthed perception buzzfeeding
capital one earthlinked baby
fostering, kickstarting, and
orchestrating cognitive aptitude,
who throughout storied existence,
which kudos ye
proudly promulgate to and fro
hither and yon across
social media platforms
understandably, opportunistically, and
humbly letting family and friends
across the webbed wide world
know amazing accomplishments,
when ye did initially grow
from being precocious genetic pedigree
into a whip smart self confident
globe trotter, whose curriculum vitae
dwarfs (by powers of seven)
feeble accomplishments of mine,
went thee invested with a heigh-ho
positive state of mind
every endeavor undertaken
(in one physically gruelling instance)
biking, hiking, riding
to your private Idaho
(fast as a B-52)
versus humdrum life of one common Joe,
whose heightened perception
aside from singing the praises
of admiration toward youngest sister
after countless years, he failed to know
about her trials and tribulations
exercising your potential to the maximum
invariably feeling dog tired
with a dose of lumbago
thrown in for good measure
nevertheless adept as bilingual person
quite helpful travelling
to Spanish speaking countries
during your roaring twenties off to Mexico,
and just recently taking a jaunt
to Portugal donned accruing
vibrant sense and sensibility
treasuring richly pocketing nouveau
memories attracting natural outgrow
of ardent followers, whether online
or in flesh, who clamor for selfie photo
with thee and steadfast husband
unlike henpecked wife of mine
enjoyable as pesky miss Quito
who pesters me to get off computer
so she can binge watch Netflix
hence adieu as I hop on my cubii
off to complete
another stationary roadshow.
painted in black from head to foot
like a mourner
why not a veil and snowy white
showy wedding gown
after all, nunsense knows
that we are the bride of Christ
while we are at it let’s glue
some angel’s wings and halo
to our ensemble
and heigh ho purchase
a white horse of course
the nuns are coming
fast like gunslingers
but prettier
and the weapon of choice
the two-edged sword
no, nunsense knows, it’s sharper
the good book
open all day
what nunsense knows
you might suppose
is that God
really knows it all
and might suppose
if he really does
that we might want to
glitter-gold plate
our fingers in the endowment
of the Great Creator
of the paramount groom
his word is his promise
Christ’s grand promises are always kept
and on point
is that brothers and sisters in Christ
from all lands
will wear white
and inherit all, beside the lion and lamb
fill your lamps with oil
don’t spoil your marriage
when it’s dark you need your supply
of extra oil
the nuns they ride
as they hear the groom call
as they hear him call
too many nuns are left behind
in mourning gowns…
It took me time to embellish
myself
And long to reach you!
And there I stand confronting
you and lionise,
Behaving uncontrived and
candid!
And now you waste golden
moments talking to my better
half,
Bereft me and become
nonpareil!
Your fairer half still sits staid,
Not inveighing our inexorable
closeness!
Do not evince your antediluvian
ideas,
And undulate perplexed
disconcert!
If you vitiate my selfhood
today,
It would addle and might moire
me beyond identity!
Look into my eyes I am
dogmatic,
Very positive that Love will
triumph!
Written on 22/9/13 for
' Charles heigh wood contest'
I roning clothes – I love that job. Oh, my gosh!
L aundering them first is another one
O f numerous chores that let me wash
V arious things. Wash this or that. How fun!
E ven pots and pans! I must say . . .
H ow much more pleasure can there even be?
O n my hands and knees most of the day
U sing so much zeal makes me feel so free.
S uch a good place to be in mind and soul.
E very day I search for things that I can dust.
W ithout things to wipe off, what might be my role?
O ven cleaning. What joy! Mopping – a must!
R are are nights that early to bed I go.
K eeping up chores, I sing Heigh Ho Heigh Ho!
Sept. 6, 2021
Acrostic sonnet for Message in an Acrostic 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
To the ship they row
Pirates Pete and Bo
Sea prowess to show
Sailing!
Argh! They proudly crow
Greeting all they know
With a 'Yo-ho-ho'
Hailing!
Sea terrors, heigh-ho!
Stolen treasures stow
Overboard men throw
Quailing!
Storm winds fiercely blow
Apprehensions grow
Enemy adds woe
Trailing...
Formidable foe
Tragic overthrow
Sad, their ship's death-throe
Failing!
Sloshing to and fro
Amid undertow
Down and down they go
Flailing!
Out the waters flow
Bath-time over, so
Out the pirates go
Wailing!
Another attempt at a Lai poem... still not sure whether I'm getting it right, but either way, it was fun! ;D
Space travel is already taking place
in minds all around the world
looked on as kookaburras
but way ahead of the rest of us
talk to themselves, wonder where we are
the weather's fine, c'mon up
we're friendly, our welcome mat is out
never mind the vacant look in our eyes
a side effect of the journey
our hair started out... yes
but baldness is an unwelcome byproduct
especially for the ladies!
well now that I've told you about the side effects
you may want to rethink your decision
get back to me when you've decided “yes”
you name will go on the list
now I don't really have the authority
but trust me the reservation
won't cost you the moon
just your first born and a harem of beauties
not much considering this life-changing trip!
Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, it's off to Mars we go
Walt was away ahead of his time!!!