Long Hissed Poems
Long Hissed Poems. Below are the most popular long Hissed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hissed poems by poem length and keyword.
Most adorable gift I've ever received when I was a child
was a lovely kitten who often nestled by my side,
I named him Kuting from her overloading cuteness;
We became best buddies, my precious toy, my happiness.
He grew up into a fine feline, helping us in the house
and in our small barn too, driving all rats or mouse,
Trained to use his improvised loo was a high rate;
At meal time, he quietly sat in front of me to wait.
A well-mannered and most friendly pet I’ve ever had,
Never stole foods nor scratched me…my parents were so glad;
To our farm animals, so playful gentle and kind,
Ducklings and chicks were always following him behind.
God has given him so many years to live -
reward of great cat's love purred to us at immense heave;
His life ended after fighting with a poisonous snake
that devoured some eggs and hissed my dog, Spotneck.
Oh, Kuting you were my best friend, pet and hero!
We hold you in our heart, we’ll never forget you,
Our photos together on shelves are great reminders
of your many beautiful memories that'll be treasured forever!
It was morning when my cat Fluffy
meowed a warning . . .
for on our porch was a stray cat
his tabby fur a tattered mess
eyes so sad ~ that they spoke to me . . .
and they broke my heart
oh, how he growled and hissed
too late-
for my very soul had been kissed
and each day "Grumpy Cat"
was on my porch waiting
yet, I could not catch him
and that was very frustrating_
I started writing short stories
'cause he was such a character
(I finally caught him)
my nephew was young and loved them
the titles were things like~
Grumpy Finds A Home
Grumpy Gets A Bath
Grumpy Goes to the Vet
Grumpy Follows Me To The Bus Stop
and many more . . .
they were written in the moment about
the antics of Grumpy Old Cat
the stories were funny and delightful
but something horrible happened . . . .
Grumpy suddenly died
I had grown to love him so much
I cried for a long time (still do)
and in a moment of deep sorrow
I could no longer keep the stories
so, I destroyed them, even the last
unfinished one
I realize now that it was a big mistake
I have tried to re-create them
but without the main goofy character
it is impossible to go back in time
so, in the end
Grumpy's stories have no ending
for . . . the last page is missing -
Daily, Diana coils herself
In a dirty corner on top
The ever patronized Mararaba
Pedestrian bridge
Cold mingling in her ribs
Like a poisonous snake, she
Hissed and turned thru and fro.
Hunger, offending strongly, her stomach
The Sound of her crack voice,
Her very cherished choice,
Refraining from exuding properly,
Though she yearns for the passersby to come to her aid.
So, her bony fingers,
She straightened in the air,
Calling for food or water,
Pedestrians roaming, every man to his own
Even they can see she’s like dying,
Packed aside like cabbage garbage,
By life’s fateful decision.
Hungry Diana, lonely and bony
Some time, some take note of her
Duty post and dash her a penny or two.
Most at time majority disdain and discard her,
Some stigmatize her,
Some defraud and rob her
Others even rape her.
Oh! Stark and dark world,
Adding the pains to the wounds of her life.
Hungry Diana, give me a clue,
Why shouldering the plights of this Earth?
Were you a delinquent?
You are not alone Oh!
Lonely Diana for my prayers are chiefly with you.
Onyilo Charlesmelody
Lightning Ink
I’m thrilled to have my students joining me
for milk and cookies on this lovely day.
For fun we will pretend it’s scones and tea.
The maid has left our tray. Without delay
we’ll eat and chat; then for a while we’ll play.
For table manners, each of you has earned
a gold star. You’re so pleasant and polite,
not like my brothers, who have never learned
how to behave at tea time. They’re a sight!
They need to be in charm school day and night.
You’ve come so far. On your first days of class,
you growled and hissed. You were so rough and loud
Now you’re quite cultured. You don’t sulk or sass
when I give you instructions. I am proud
to say I think you’d all impress a crowd!
Urban dictionary: marm. a British word meaning an old school teacher
picture 4
October 31, 2021
Rhyming Me a Poem 2 contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
courtesy sharp pointed objects
(that string of words
doth hoop fully connive fist
(cuffed) around handles of knife
discounting divorce (from wife)
i.e. remaining uncoupled
mandated eventually note hissed
unbridled love and apology
toward thee missus and progeny
who forever did blacklist
das scribe, how objectionable
now, he profusely kissed
mouth of other voluptuous
(zoftig) older women
(consensually, flatteringly, indiscriminately)
and amazingly enough spouse did insist
to forgive, boot never forget.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
thus very little paternal (filial) love expressed
and she chose to live yonder
Oakland, California her temporary dwelling
no matter, her papa blatantly confessed
YES, more'n his eye did wonder.
At present petty coated junction irreparable schism
doth rank as horrendous on par me adopting fascism
forever sullied image ("daddy's girl")
who once thought the world of me
selfish misdeeds buzzfeeding swelling egoism
no more how enlightened I became
ex post facto, pure unconditional acceptance
refracted light risque behavior thru prism
where primary parental accountability
not satisfactorily explained away courtesy
Darwinism (to seed genes), nor chauvinism,
whereby ever since time immemorial
men disregarded and hardened libido
against marital covenant.
We sat in the fallout
of last year’s gift exchange—
smashed angel centerpiece
taped back together
as good as a rogue bomb
if someone mentioned it.
Our voices dragged
like anchors through an ocean—
low, cold, summoning something
older than Kris Kringle.
I strained to recall
a time when it wasn’t like this.
The kitchen table—
a battleship, whipped tension
and potatoes. Dad’s knife slipped
once, then twice. Mammaw clutched
her rosary, counting sins like beads
of gravy on the drop-cloth. The whiskey
isn’t worth your soul, she whispered.
Our air was burned sugar—
a water pie, depression-era relic
left too long in the oven.
As they say, it’s the ingredients you have
that bake the cake.
Mom whispered, Let’s just get through it.
The corners of her mouth disappeared—
I knew better.
When my sister reached for a biscuit,
I grabbed her wrist—too hard.
Mine, I hissed. The room turned
quiet, the kind of silence snow wears
before an avalanche.
By sunset,
half of us were crying—
over the ruined pie,
or the family tree
we couldn’t stop cutting down.
When I reimagine it—
and I always do—
I don’t erase or the snowfall
or the tension.
Instead, I break the bread
without a flinch,
leave my sister’s wrist unmarked.
Dad’s carving hand steadies,
and in my version,
we get grandma drunk—
the old broad needed to lighten up.
The angel still shatters—
but this time we laugh,
our elbows knocking it over
reaching for seconds.
In the end, we huddle closer,
ash still falling, we celebrate
cold on the other side of the door.
Our hands stay sticky, glue healing
the angel’s cracked wings,
sugar crystallizing our fingerprints—
we press lightly, only to test for doneness,
we are patient,
we watch as snow smothers our wreckage—
call it DNA, an elegy.
there were yellow cats in Willow's sinks, gray cats on the stairs
Cats in the kitchen, next to the frig, you were caught unawares
kittens in the pantry, an old gray tom on the stove.
they spilled out of the windows into the large apple grove.
how can you live with all of these creatures? her mother said.
An withered old hair-sparse tabby hissed at the woman’s head.
Her daughter laughed and said “Don’t mind old Red.”
Then she began opening tin cans, for she kept her creatures fed.
They ran in from the stable, they ran in from the barn.
Hearing that tin open, brought them in from balls of yarn.
They fought and spit and snarled as they fought over their cat food.
Putting Willow's outraged mother into a worse more angry mood.
I heard them talking in low voices.
“I will watch her today,” one hissed.
“It is my turn,” argued the other one, in an even lower tone.
I scrunched my eyes tightly, pretending to remain asleep.
“Shh! She’s awake!” a loud whisper.
“How do you know?”
“Look at her.”
I scrunched my eyes a bit tighter, but tried to relax my forehead.
Fooling neither. Silence came.
So I sat up and began blinking around the room.
The dog was snoring loudly.
Both the clock radio and Alexa were silent.
Had I dreamed these voices?
I felt a small petite whinny.
A psychic clue.
But what horse is in here?
My eyes traveled over the top of the dresser.
There are fireflies, butterflies, raccoons, and angels represented.
But horse? No.
Snicker. A small psychic one.
Two horses. I glance sharply to my right,
and look into the face of a purple unicorn I have painted.
Suddenly knowing, my face throws herself to the left.
Where the pink polka dot unicorn is silently snickering.
It helps to have a sixth sense sometimes.
I call neither out,
glad for their protection.
The whisper went through the warriors like lighting of the night
Most knew rumors of the beast, but had not had him in their sight
The valiant gathered and headed into the woods, ready to be brave
More actually turned their blade and hid shaking in an everglade.
Is it the skeletal griffin? Someone asked me. As if I was in the know.
We walked through the meadow, trailing the ones whose courage show.
I did not know, but there was an absolute feeling of death in the air.
Being empathic, I could feel it, for to others I always care.
“It is he," the knowing woods breathed into the ethers, in a sudden way.
Without a doubt more than one of us would die before the break of day.
We marched, the six of us, knights sworn to uphold honor and be fair.
Finally saw the monster, he was coming out of a grave like lair.
He hissed and was as terrible as any champion we had ever seen.
Sensed he was here to kill us, was doing his duty, not being mean.
What do you need? I asked as he breathed fire into the night.
He turned enormous green eyes upon me, and I nearly died of fright.
He listened to our argument with a smile on his face.
Who is this guy? My husband asked, pointing to the place.
That’s just a stuffed snowman, I said. You can ignore him.
That’s when he jumped down and chucked me on my chin.
He gave a whoop-dee-doo and he turned himself about.
He whistled and he wiggled and he gave us both a shout.
He’s dangerous my husband said, hiding quickly behind me.
It made me mad and so I gave him the bony part of my bad knee.
Is he alive then? My husband asked, shuddering in his boots.
I had no idea, but just then the dogs ran in – both enormously big galoots.
They chased that snowman around the room, and he laughed a happy laugh.
The argument had all but stopped and there was no aftermath.
He’s better than our therapist, my husband hissed, and I had to agree.
He lives with us now, and he stops arguments between him and me.
Saving a hundred dollars an hour, and he gives us something fun to do.
We chase him around the room and wiggle and whistle with him too.