Long Hen pecked Poems
Long Hen pecked Poems. Below are the most popular long Hen pecked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hen pecked poems by poem length and keyword.
A Cat's that's Bullied
Wussy
Pussy ;)
Farm Animals that Enjoy the Classics
Dicken's
Chickens
A Corn Farmer with Turn off Jokes and Turn on Passion
Corny
Horny
A Humorous Song
Witty
Ditty
The Fastest "Gun" in the West
Quickie
Dickie ;)
Monica's L's nickname for the President
Billy
Willy
My Belly Dance MODE
Wiggle
Jiggle (Ah...you got to see it! ;)
So...As the story goes...Poor Wussy Pussy hen-pecked by Dicken's Chickens
went to Farmer Corny Horny for help, but he was busy laughing at his witty
ditty about Quickie Dickie and Willy Billy who were staring at my wiggle
jiggle...THE END!
Eileen Manassian
September 12th, 2019...12:00 p.m.
inspection/ emission finally possible
but...hopes dashed to smithereens
August thirty first
two thousand nineteen shortly past,
no matter 2009 Hyundai Sonata at long last
scheduled with ample funds
checking account blitzed
now back home
(Highland Manor apartments)
absolute zero money left cents lessly gassed
exhale incomplete sigh of relief
cuz necessity to dodge fast
escaping deafening police
ear splitting siren blast.
Congenial customer service
representatives at CJ's tire,
and automotive dutifully require
loose fender securely attached,
but hood latch replacement more dire,
thus postponing mechanic
to affix inspection sticker,
no matter old one did expire
once again driving on borrowed time,
cuz both driver and passenger front tire
plus rear right TPMS metal sensor
re: passenger rear tire
malfunction functionality
hoop fully explains this wire.
Your truly uber verging wreck,
no complaints regarding trained tech
very competent mechanic
even for peripatetic pluperfect prospect
reference I recommend unsolicited
advertisement plus aye inject
relieving anticipatory anxiety
oh yes, said vehicle
in good hands absolutely correct,
no matter sucker punch
to checking account
doth severely affect
mine psychological aspect.
More legal (zooming) tender
zaps lion's share of this thrifty spender
wannabe, which cruel tread full fate
unquestionably, ostensibly invariably...
every year without fail doth render
finding me in poor house
desperate to pray divine
rolling rocker alms lender
whether he.she major criminal offender,
nor no preference regarding gender.
Fat/slim chance
wishful fantasy will become true
escapist mindset bolsters
this hen pecked forlorn rue
stir standing glum within
long fostered, and winding queue,
this dirt poor dude intuitively knew
bubblegum, toothpicks and glue
holding psyche intact turned hue
man into sad sack... boo hoo
minus auto body work
undertaken by trained
heavy metal punk ken cutting crew.
A lifetime of waiting, stacks of National
Geographic half as tall as me, piled on
every step. A girl with nothing to do but dream.
The yellow-black jackets buzzed, I flowered
as I turned the pages. The relics of Tutankhamun
fascinated: gold, turquoise, lapis and the slaves
in mud-brick houses they live in still.
I longed to be the Pharaoh’s daughter;
I kohled my eyes.
Egypt called to me. Pyramids, deserts baking,
heat mirages, and oases of palms with still blue water.
The twenty-first century’s reality is far different.
Cairo teems with discontent, Mubarak’s campaign
posters hung from each lamppost.
Two weeks before the Arab Spring, I was there.
The only safety found behind the gun-guarded,
razor-wired gates of the upper class, and even then—
A country espousing religious freedom was killing
Coptic Christians in the streets, and bombing churches.
Cairo’s one poster child synagogue stood empty,
except for tourists—dark, decorative, haunting,
full of tales of Christ’s sojourn in Egypt?
The pyramids rose hen-pecked by pollution
through a surreal orange sky. Masked women
walk the male dominated streets. Women
live in fear in or out of the hijab.
The majesty of yesteryear, the pyramid of Giza
squats like a discard in the ashtray of desert.
Vendors and tourist litter the site.
Baksheesh is the only God in Egypt,
baksheesh and the horded water of the Nile.
First Published in here & there magazine
in the UK
Just in case you wondered...
Yours truly, (i.e. I) quickly
became hypnagogic afore
subsequently segueing soundly
into autohypnosis booklore,
while binge reading courtesy
regarding aptitude chore
treasure trove books galore
five dollars as many
paginated fictitious stories ('bout deplore
hubble basket cases) fit into authorized bag
infernal challenge sifting evermore
alum skid more or less
bending and reaching skyhigh
toe tilly (ejaculating
what the heel) footsore
compromising writing, rather heretofore
indulging insatiable knowledge
(surpassing narcotic fix),
the world wide web hide ignore
engrossed various and sundry
enchanting, kickstarting, and revelling - bonjour
dear reader buzzfeeding...
Till chief hankering
(regarding appeasing passionate
word loving aficionado,
albeit temporarily ceased
(think intellectual fancy feast)
getting imagination (mine) linkedin
outspeeding lightning greased
experiencing cerebral capacity increased
virtual make believe
terra incognita leased.
insatiable jabberwocky yen
countless hours elapsed when
inconvenient wont head sleep
wracked courtesy (bowling) ten
pins nabbed mettlesome ambulation
often found me - hen (pecked) hex pen
sieve dishabille scattered brained brute
somnambulant analogous awake burning ken
kindled smoldering cognitive tinder even...
Chilly cooling off, where
temporal lobed hiatus taken
beefing portfolio in effort to scare
back poetic proclivity despite near
severe withdrawal symptoms
reacquainting novelty here
with effort to jog capacity
to craft poem quite aware...
Unsuspecting readers breathed
sigh of relief interim joker I went absent
posting trademark gobbledygook,
now unnamed fool rushes in,
where angels fear to tread - nay cent
return of native son unequivocally, pinterestingly
digitally... afore written dive versification
brandishing said as unsung literary event
psalm time sacrilegious Jew bull gent
bringing entertainment intent
to thee anonymous
analogously, humorously, and parenthetically
lamely affecting (i.e. poorly emulating)
Shakespearean belles lettres,
perhaps coronavirus pathogen
t'will cut me down, whereby
microbial size Clark Kent,
whoops twas Lois Lane I meant
to empower one meek and obedient
primate even during
but, and, or conjunctive
rutting season quiescent.
DECADENT = ten teeth
CONFUSION = against melting with intensity
DEDICATION = a vacation in the afterlife
PURPOSE = Kitten posing while purring
INFORMATION = soldiers on parade
DELETED = Getting rid of Ted
FEATURED = An adventure about walking barefoot
SYLLABLE = Funny antics of a bull
CLASSICAL = A student eating a popsicle in class
MORNING = A lot more ning
PREVENTING = Before letting out air
PERPETUATE = Average for each pet you ate
ASSOCIATED = Your bum has social skills
BEAUTIFUL = Beauty filled to the top
REPRESENTED = Announce Ted is present again
PARTICIPATE = Average part in your hair
CONSISTING = Against your sister's hurtful remarks
WEAPONS = Small chess pieces
DEPARTMENT = Leaving your apartment
SENTENCE = Uptight delivery
PUBLISHING = Getting drunk in a bar
THOUSAND = Your beach
CANTALOUPE = Unable to run away and get married
IMPORTANCE = Buying ants from another country
DEFINITIONS = Hard of hearing finitions
EXPECTED = Ted who used to be hen pecked
GOVERNMENT = Vote for Vern election ad
POPULAR = Dad's favourite pew at church
© Jack Ellison 2014
Twittered Via Chilled Wren
At Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
Prior carte blanche to confessing illicit
extra-marital affair
I embolden tomb ache
elicit, and baldly bare
faced laid out some
of the sordid details clear
embarrassed at one escapade
in particular constituting dear
peppy's questing randy romping caper
necessitating vigilance 'ere
a park ranger, (or other unsuspecting
winter weather way
Farer attired in gear
adequately bundled
cold as a witch's tit
seasoned trooper)
reluctantly repeated here
(unforgettable if only be
cause this "FAKE" Casanova ace
thee Missus i.e.wife)
did conversationally chase
beseeched, hen pecked,
and implored me NOT to erase
boot to recount with (itty bitty)
Monty Python glory, a straight face,
that one particular amazingly grace
obviously penned up,
and not in the write
mind (pre poetry daze),
which scurrilous anecdote
did (and still does) in vite
guffawing, sans
peculiar public philandering,
with atavistic cave man
designs tried to unite
where daunting phallus spite
confronting Arctic Vortex when right
lee let loose from pants
froze like a little popsicle quite
purposely remained flaccid
leaving me in a penile plight
when trying to hump
(standing up like a good Knight
comically ridiculous travesty)
With Barbara B****, light
of adventurous Green Beret spirit, the
Unabashed MILF about average height
fifty years, whose busty bosom
silicone breast implants
tell tale viz radiation
and chemo therapy fight
(resulting from post
Ductal Carcinoma in situ)
needless to tell
nary an erectile spell
Asper tinker soldier
tailor spy didst quell
basic animal instinct,
and feral gonadal horniness
with intent to consummate sexual intercourse
according tummy ought to occur,
cuz that blustery air
mirroring said day when hell
nearly froze over invoking
intervention from Cain and/or Abel.
Thus when prick remained
limp and nearly frost bitten
(at a boulder christened cock rock),
aye frostily smitten
slogging wet sneakers, thru
knee high snow...now, no mo' tubby written.
Form:
Friday Night Check-ins
The days have been calm and collected.
The guests have been happy, content.
The weekday staff scurry out from the hotel
To avoid the upcoming event.
Weekend receptionists tremble
As the Friday night check-ins approach,
Fearing the tsunami of wrinklies
On their three-day excursions-by-coach.
The first vehicle’s brakes squeal their warning
As its door opens up with a sigh.
The girl at the desk and her male teammate
Watch the porchway with dread in their eyes.
The first wrinkly disembarks backwards,
Reaching up to be handed her Zimmer.
The scowl on her face giving more than a hint
Of the litany of protests within her.
Slowly the vehicle disgorges
Its fifty malcontent arrivals.
The front desk staff offer a brief heartfelt prayer
For their sanity, composure, survival.
Like an unerring wave of displeasure
The wrinklies shuffle in through the door,
Shoving aside anyone heading out –
They’ve made this manoeuvre before.
The party’s predominantly female,
Determined and far from benign.
Apart from one chap, in windcheater and cap
Looking hen-pecked and toeing the line.
They descend on reception like locusts,
Complaining, demanding and cackling.
The staff at the desk have nowhere to hide
From the surge of objections they’re tackling.
Ground floor room! No steps! Wheelchair access!
Why no lift? Single occupant! Porter!
The tottery old girl with the big Zimmer frame
Demands a young man to escort her.
The onslaught is tough and relentless
As the wrinklies press home their attack.
Then, deftly dealt-with, the tidal wave thins
As they head to their rooms to unpack.
Pleased with the way things were handled,
The reception-staff think they’ve survived.
But outside the lobby, brakes hissing with glee,
Another full coach has arrived…