Long Hideously Poems
Long Hideously Poems. Below are the most popular long Hideously by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hideously poems by poem length and keyword.
transmitted trashy talks
(partially presented pablum pertaining
particularly - president ***** (PAC -
phallic action cum mitt tee)
portfolio playboy philandering)
baneful boorish boastful bullheaded
Brobdingnagian beastie boy balks.
conspicuously cavalierly crudely curtly
cavorts, capitulating, claiming,
championing crying chauvinistic
concupiscence, coital cupidity caul
king crooked cowboy cakewalks.
Donald daringly, dastardly, defiantly,
demonstrably, deplorably, deprecatingly,
devilishly, divinely dumbfounded,
duplicitously desultory, debauched, duckwalks.
eccentric effrontery, egregiously enervating,
excitedly exculpatory, extremely evil eyestalk.
"fake," faultily fervently fiendishly flagrant
fool, frightful.
gaffe galling, gamesome gawker, generating
gerrymandering.
harboring hectoring heinously hellishly
hideously horrendously horrible hulk.
ignominious illicit ilk, imbecilic immodest
immoral impetuous, impishly impudent,
incarcerate, incinerate indecently, indecorous,
iniquitous, intently intolerant, irascible
irksome, itching ii incite iv iiiiii ix intercourse izards.
jowly jackass jackdaw jackknifing jaywalking
jumping jerk, jilting jinn.
knowingly keeping kryptonite, kinky Kardashian
kvetches, kris kringle ken kool, kissing kitty,
kosher kumquats kippered, k-nine kooky korps,
kowtowing ku klux klan kinsfolk.
legal leafstalk lawlessly locked, lacerated,
lambasted, languished lost lively lust,
limped, legal levity limited.
menfolk made macho mission. many moons
monthly mandate marked maybe mars,
mercurial maladroit monkey manumission modified
modus mystifying maze moonwalk.
“It’s time,” she said in a deep throaty voice,
She picked him up and carried the preacher who had little choice,
He hung over her shoulder as she walked with ease,
Her blistering flesh when she touched him could be smelt on the breeze.
Now and then, she would let out a whimper from the pain,
However, a pain she was all too familiar with, she carried him to her ultimate gain.
She reached the old wooden building and opens the boor at the back,
The building housed the crowd as they parted once again for the man in black.
The people, stared shocked to see that he was alive,
Their mummers were as if it were bees in a beehive.
Then a man shouted, “His supposed to be dead, ho can this be?”
She lashed out slicing his neck, and he dropped like a freshly felled tree.
The crowd stirred into a panic and tried to smash down the door,
But, there was a powerful presence locked them in for the long awaited gore.
When their efforts of escape were fruitless, they turned to face the girl
Who’s flesh bubbled, and the stench caused many to hurl.
She dropped the preached on the elevated stage,
And clawed at her burning dead flesh like an animal enraged.
She shouted angrily in a deep throaty voice, “Who is in charge?”
A man walked toward the front, seven foot tall, muscular and large.
She flew through the air and gave him a talon embrace,
As she stuck a finger nails in his neck and gnawed off his face.
The crowd screamed some came to his aid,
But eight died too in her deadly crusade.
She walked slowly back to the front stage,
“Who is in charge?” she screeched ever more so enraged.
She fell on her back and wriggled, screaming in pain,
Her body split in four forming creatures hideously insane.
The merciless creatures hungry and wild ,
Pared not a soul skinning man woman or child.
They left them skinless but alive, to slowly die a gruesome death,
Then squelched through the blood cover floor toward the preacher who was next.
In the early 80's I was a scary lady.
Dressed up in the tattered clothes
of the wicked witch in my place.
I had an ugly rubber mask with
a bad eye and a big wart on the nose
Really was a hideously ugly face
I'd add more things to it with time
For ten long years I added everything.
I had the long flowing tattered skirt
A crooked witches hat bent at the top
Every year it'd keep on winning
I had spiders of all sizes on my shirt
Then rubber rats pinned onto my arm
and on both of my shoulders as well
I perfected my witches cackle and laugh
Those that knew me were not afraid
I had the others under my spell
It was the perfect personification to have.
I'd always walk through the haunted houses
To see how the other witches were dressed.
The witches or warlocks were frozen and mute
Wondering if I was part of their crew
I really miss those days I have to confess
I'd have to say it was everything except cute.
© Bonnie J Hollywood-Cutts, a month ago
I wish I had a picture to show how much I accumulated and increased the look and realistic motions and actions my witches's life was like. The uglier and more frigthening it was for others to see the happier I became. I gave it to someone when I had my baby as it scared her so much. but now I wish I could recreate it perfectly. Though I've never seen a mask like it again
Why do you come now?
Why do you besiege me
with your fowl unholy presents?
You are the Prince of Darkness,
the keeper of tormented souls,
you are Satan himself are you not?
Oh call me what you wish!
History has seen fit to adorn me
with many provocative names
and I detest each one of them.
For they perpetuate the myth
that every bit of the world's evil
springs directly from my loins.
Why do you come now?
Why do you torment me?.
I have been a great man of God.
I spread his word with relentless zeal
wielding the sword of righteousness
toward all I deemed evil and wicked.
Why I have come to take you home.
You have been a fantastic disciple.
Few have served our cause better.
You have made the worst sins
tolerable to the great masses.
Cloaking evil under Godly robes
was a masterful work of genius.
No! No! This cannot be?
God has spoken through me.
I have been his earthly conduit.
I am one of God's chosen people.
I devoutly followed his teachings
and actively preached his word.
You perverted God's so called revealed word
into a twisted rendition of your own creation.
You stoked the fears of the ignorant into a inferno
and reaped all you could from the true believers.
You have spawned a most delicious type of hatred.
One that will continue to bear fruit for years to come.
Evil has many faces, but none more hideously vile
than those who hide behind the curtain of religion.
I put two garbage bags of junk into my husband’s car trunk.
I am ready to start filling up the lonely green dumpster.
Most of the year he sits forlornly with two or three measly bags.
I am off school for eight weeks; so I am giving him some food.
He is green and hideously ugly, but a terrific landmark.
Because we live in an earth home, people do not see our house.
They fly past our driveway, not noticing it either.
Sometimes their GPS laughs as they drive back and forth.
“When you see a green dumpster, turn in,” I tell them.
“If you pass a green dumpster, turn around.”
“What kind of place do you live?” They ask me.
“We live in a van, down by the river.”
I delight in saying this.
It reminds me of Chris Farley each time.
The sun sets and rises all over the world
African mornings
Are gold
The waves roll along the shores
The moon’s pull on them is constant
There are new beginnings as well as tragic endings
The gentle lull of the boat is ever so soothing, and set sail far from the westward
coast
My journey to the warm radiant sun is just beginning
Insignificant specks
We
Are something
And yet at the same time nothing
I marvel in it
The outward reach of possibilities.
The universe does not unfold her mysteries
Passion and Disgust
Hideously coexist
And yet this
Is a constant reminder
That life is beautiful.
Alone for the very first time, but still surrounded.
There is love and hate
Love yourself
Revel in your beauty, and loving life itself.
Revel in your life, because you’ve just got one chance to do it.
Revel in hope, because your lost without it.
Revel in finding yourself, and your life will never really finish.
Form:
Open up the Mask Drawer Please
I cackled delight as I opened up my mask drawer.
Naughty Wednesday mask was on top. It had a permanent stamp on it that said “Call in sick.”
Wednesday is the longest day at work, an extra hour every Wednesday.
In the back of my mind, I felt Purple. Purple I kept thinking. I know Sunday’s mask is purple.
I glared at yellow-green mask; distorted, ugly, hideously angry. I tried never to wear my
Angry mask. Nothing shuts children down faster or harder than Angry mask.
Being a school counselor, I know that it’d be better for me to stay home than wear Angry mask.
On a whim I throw it on the floor and began stamping it into the carpet.
My husband comes around the corner and says “Boo.”
So glad I had that can of vegetable soup in my hand. I am in such a rare form mood when I’m
Anywhere near Angry mask. Husband yelps, and wisely retreats,
In a small scared voice I hear him ask, “Where is pink mask?”
“Probably in the washer, because I’ll bet you forgot to DRY it TODAY!” Angry mask and I yell, angrily.
I can hear the pitter patter of a husband’s feet. Hear the dryer open. Happy mask is flung inside the room with us.
Angry mask and I glower at it.
“Come on,” My muse says. “You could try to change your mood.”
You’d think me being a school counselor and teaching children they are in charge of their own moods – changes, swings, etc. I could do this. I struggle to think of my best lesson for changing attitude. Aha!
Now I remember. I pull out stop sign. Hold it up to the mirror where a mean angry woman is glaring at me. God, she’s old! Much older than I ever think I am.
“STOP!” the reflection and I yell. “STOP! Your mood is up to you. You can be mad for a week, a day, an hour, or….” A buzzer goes off. Time to get up. I run over and slam the alarm clock into the floor hard,
Breaking off every piece I can.
“STOP!” the stop sign in my head yells. “STOP! STOP! STOP!”
I am taking a hammer to it now.
I really have to get off the steroids.
Too bad my choice is between breathing or sleeping.
And yes, Mom, I have NOT slept in 5 days, and do you want to fight me, really?
You are 84 years old, and I know you can take me out as well as you put me in….
Damn steroids.
I’d best go back to the doctor today.
I love my job, and I certainly
Don’t want medication to
Make me lose it.
I reach for Pink Mask.
iron snail scalloped decorative lamp in the evening light
I saw her in the distance and she seemed less bright
I walked quite close and saw a pompous pigeon proud and perky.
She was staring at a distant field, ogling a hideously ugly turkey.
You are way too pretty for that old geezer, I said to the bird.
She pointedly looked my way and said, “Don’t be absurd!”
This surprised me so hard I fell back and hit my head on a branch.
Falling with my salad, losing every scoop of my ranch.
A crow came by and made fun of me, heckling like mad.
If I had not been laughing so hard, it might have been sad.
That’s the last time I try to help a prissy pigeon, believe me.
The last I saw of her, she was flying with a squirrel to a tree.
I awoke again from a sound sleep – as
with my previously described experience –
more a sense of spirit rising as opposed to actually
getting out of bed; before me, in the darkness, appeared
an old, dilapidated mansion, something
one might expect in a horror story – unable
to resist I found myself walking up the
creaking, wood staircase, then entering the
structure by way of squeaky door. Inside was a long hallway;
as I progressed deeper into the sanctum, to my
right were illuminated, glass enclosures
that I walked by, something someone might expect to
see in a reptile zoo or spider exhibit. Inside were
hideously tortured beings – arms were
attached, extensions of dead, leafless trees;
legs, sunk, welded into solid rock, black and
cold, not a shred of mossy green, not the sense of
anything remotely alive and thriving. They struggled
to free themselves, to no avail. I began hearing,
wailing: "Light! Light like I have never seen
before!" -- followed by crying, a shiver of teeth noshing;
"What do you want with us?", the wailing and
groaning now almost deafening. I replied,
I mean you no harm. Don't even know
why I am here. At the end of the hallway
there was curtain I parted...stepping inside,
only to be startled by a medusa-type-head
sitting on the floor – snakes wreathing from
the top where hair would be. "Paul Lucius
David...do you known this name?" I reassured
her, for I sensed it was woman, that I do not
know this name, nor I am here to harm
you -- the snakes wreathing wildly. "Paul Lucius
David. Do you know this name?" I don't
know who this is. "You will come to know this name" –
and it was morning".
There could be rats and snakes hiding in here.
Yes, I am talking about asps and cobras, big ones.
Hiding under the bed, no, not in my head, under my bed.
Okay, what about way back there, in the darkest corner?
Did you check out THAT corner? My voice is rising. I hear it crack.
Better take my flashlight and look hard this time. No, not in my head.
Under my bed.
Well, no the rat would not be. He is hiding in the closet.
A big gray monster with that hideously ugly pink rat tail.
He is probably under that pile of clothes. Not that pile, the other pile.
It might take you awhile to find him. He’s really sneaky.
Probably eating my new jacket.
Can you read me another story while you are here and can I have
two more cookies? What about a drink of water? I am thirsty.
And I have to go to the bathroom again. No, don’t leave, yet.
If you do, I am a goner. Please leave the flashlight, PLEASE!