Long Hoopla Poems
Long Hoopla Poems. Below are the most popular long Hoopla by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hoopla poems by poem length and keyword.
The hoopla of the Holiday Season has now come and gone.
Cash in the bank to pay for that spree is nigh overdrawn!
Just when I thought I was free from financial strain,
A packet arrived from the IRS hinting that it's tax time again!
I'll bet the feller who wrote the instructions is still grinning,
As we common folk try to figure it out with our brains a-spinning!
My learned wife is smarter than I but she couldn't help me any.
The consarned thing may as well have been written in Afghanistani!
Although the intracacies of the system I don't quite understand,
With my trusty calculator, records and sharpened pencil in hand,
I attack the puzzling task hoping that I can prevail,
Preparing it to their satisfaction, thereby avoiding jail!
Double checking my figures and searching for deductions,
I can find no legal way to come up with any further reductions.
I stare in dismay at the 'taxable income' on line twenty-seven!
Alas, again this year there'll be no manna from heaven!
With astute pencil-whipping, withheld taxes still come up short.
I may have to mortgage the house to send funds with my report!
Another tax year has ended and again they've bled my dry.
As Abe Lincoln said, "It hurts too much to laugh and I'm too old to cry!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Ambiguity within mine
doodling Yankee mind that
arises, asper current
hoopla harrumphing
American Civil War statues,
which verbal/written spat
particularly regarding southern generals
(many atop horses) arouses
call to arms whereat,
excited curiosity possibly twill incite
dangerous extraneous, mutinous,
treasonous tit for tat
promulgation exhuming ghosts
abolitionists of Dead Poets Society
screeching like a wildcat
signaling resumption, sans
war between the states recruiting
every able bodied proletariat
after well nigh one
hundred fifty four plus years,
which repurpose sing reformat
might transform mine
humdrum friggin existence
into one enviable secretariat,
where these ears will
hear constant ratatat,
when bombardiers din
temporarily doth pause
scampering atop rampart
analogous to polecat
espying the freshly minted "enemy"
unconcerned if maneuvers induce pitapat
cuz resumption of battle will drown,
this weasel granted leeway within Union
Schwenksville, Pennsylvanian nonfat
spry old man confident fighter
despite civilian life
extant, viz noncombat
acclimated to rustic/primitive conditions
honest to dog abode comprised
thatched hut housed within mudflat
only during rainfall rigging
makeship shower plus laundromat
counting lucky stars kismat
blessed without necessity
to whip out handy dandy hemostat,
thus yours truly ready for action
quite content nsync
within no man's land habitat
linkedin with nearest battalion via
microchip embedded within
noggin rock solid as hardhat
genetically modified lest
Johnny Rebel lob brickbat
also on lookout against
swampy hungry creatures,
thence I will thrust
these lovely bones akin to acrobat.
Thankfully, another American election cycle has come and went,
Providing folks across the land their opportunity to vent.
For months, we've suffered a gamut of inane hullabaloo,
Now, maybe the pundits will find more productive things to do!
The politicos proposed various schemes and grandiose ideas.
For our nation's ills they offered numerous panaceas.
We've heard it all from no new taxes to fixing social security,
Most of which will be destined for the bowels of obscurity!
We voted to retain judges, for governors and county clerks,
And bonds to increase taxes to improve the sewage works.
We defined marriage as one-man, one-woman for each legislator.
(Somehow, I thought that was determined eons ago by The Creator!)
We watched on the television as pails of mud were tossed.
Such political shenanigans upon the voters were not lost.
When the elections ceased, campaigners vowed togetherness.
How long the love-fest will last is anybody's guess!
The people have spoken, to borrow the political cliche.
Some folks are elated, others fraught with dismay.
Despite all the hoopla, babble and circus atmosphere,
Our election process guarantees the liberties all hold dear!
Entry for Kim Rodrigues' "After The Election" Contest
A boy King was born in Bethlehem piquing the interest of three very wise guys.
They came from the East guided by a mysterious Star streaming from the skies!
They got a fix on the Star with their GPS and with AAA aid, planned their route,
To make the trek to that unlikely place to see what the hoopla was all about!
They mounted their royal camels named Chrysler, Lincoln and Cadillax.
(Lesser breeds named Chevy, Honda, Kia and VW toted MREs and packs!)
Reservations were made to stay at Oases Embassy Suites along the way,
Ensuring they provided swimming pools and golf courses on which to play!
They took along a generous supply of gold, frankincense and myrrh,
And platoons of Green Berets as guards should any funny stuff occur!
Their route took them o'er mount and vale and through dunes of shifting sand.
Sans their GPS and I-pods they would've become lost in that desolate land!
As they neared Bethlehem, they enquired, "Where is this King of the Jews?"
They were told, "Take a left on Palm Mews, then a right to Holy Mews!
There you'll find Him wrapped in swaddling cloths in a modest shed.
There was no room for Him at Holiday Inn so He was born there instead!"
They paid their respects and presented their gifts as they knelt in adoration.
Learning in a dream of Herod's plan, they high-tailed it East in a new direction!
Herod tried to find where the sweet Babe lay and his innocent life destroy,
But he lived to become King of Kings regardless of Herod's nefarious ploy!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Hey, don'cha know I'm Punxsutawney Phil
Yah, I give folks 'round these parts quite a thrill!
'Round the second of Feb. they all gather here
Grab me from my hole to predict weather each year.
Yep, I'm one special groundhog by the hoopla I hear
Flags flying, bands playing, there's plenty of beer.
But I'd rather stay in my snug little place
and eat what I want and just hibernate.
My cheeks are chubby, my tummy is fat
I'm warm and I'm cozy, I like it like that.
But now can I hear them coming for me
They pull me right out of my quiet reverie.
The crowd gathers 'round, they want me to speak
To make proclamation, wise counsel to seek.
Out into the cold winter air with a lurch
All eyes trained on me, I cry out, "BUURRP"!
YeeHaw! We are about to be entertained with America's favorite sport!
No, it ain't football, baseball or basketballs bouncin' on the court.
Nor is it soccer, wrestlin', NASCAR racin' or tennis whereof I speak.
Nae! 'Tis the inane antics of politicians we'll watch as our votes they seek!
With bated breath we'll watch debates where buckets o' mud they'll sling,
Babblin' on and on about big schemes that in the end don't mean a thing!
They'll promise us anything, anything they think we ought to hear,
Includin' a rooster in every pot, more welfare and free pilsner beer!
We'll receive tons of useless stuff this election year in our mail slot,
Touting stellar records - no way to believe whether it's true or not!
People will be bangin' on our doors and buggin' us on the phone,
All pleadin' for our votes - all I'm pleadin' for is to be left alone!
We'll see Oberman and Matthews from the left spewin' venom,
And Limbaugh, O'Reilly and Beck from the right goin' after 'em!
There'll be vacuous panels on cable news includin' contradictions.
Self-appointed prognosticators will charm us with their wild predictions!
Politicians promise never to raise our taxes lookin' us dead in the eye.
We've heard that one too often - they'll increase them bye and bye!
I suppose we'll have to abide the hoopla and circus atmosphere.
After all, there are few other sports to entertain us at this time of year!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
O'er the undulating prairie where grows soy beans and corn,
Generations of premier basketball players have been born.
The Hoosier State of Indiana, where budding talent is so replete,
Where small towns can conquer titans, shocking them in defeat!
Long before lads and lassies leave the cradle to crawl upon the floor,
Dads have hung a backboard and hoop above every garage door.
Seldom is seen a Hoosier home without this indigenous adornment!
The flame begins early in Indiana, stirring souls with excitement!
Ah! The exuberance builds as high schools begin a brand-new season.
Not to support the hometown team is almost akin to treason!
Creative cheerleaders perfect frenzied gyrations honing their skills.
The marching bands look sharp having perfected intricate drills!
Moms, Dads and coaches take pride in their young men and women,
As they mentor, teach and train them to develop their acumen.
Young warriors opposing each other upon friendly fields of strife,
Strengthen character to meet the challenges facing them in life!
A Canadian invented the game using peach baskets and a soccer ball.
You daren't mention that to a Hoosier fan - you're apt to start a brawl!
But Hoosiers don't bother themselves about that, caring not a whit.
Basketball is an inbred thing in Indiana, everyone is happy to admit!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Written at the request of the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame, New Castle, Indiana,
for publication in their Winter 2004 publication, "Indiana Basketball History Magazine"
Carpooling in the Monday traffic jam,
Wondering what we are and who I am.
Since we’ve already raised a family,
Is there anything left just for you and me?
Seems each day is just like the one before.
Exactly what have we both been working for?
So many years lost from nine to five...
Making ends meet, but barely feeling alive.
I wanna find us some tropical getaway--
Somewhere lost where the locals play;
With fishing boats and mango trees,
And spicy scents carried on the breeze.
I wanna find us some island Shangri-La—
A quiet spot with no hoopla...
Some place where it’s easy to hide,
That can’t be found in a tourist guide.
I wanna find us some tropical paradise
Where nights are warm and folks are nice,
And green birds sing exotic melodies
While monkeys play high in coconut trees
We could lounge in that tropical paradise,
As bonfires spark like fireflies;
Watch lovers dance while steel drums play
Calypso tunes from dusk till day.
I wanna hold you close on an empty beach,
With a full moon just out of reach.
We could sneak behind a big sand dune
And celebrate another honeymoon.
Let’s forget about all the noisy mobs,
Grown-up kids, and annoying jobs,
And swing in a hammock made for two—
And snuggle close, just me and you.
(Chorus)
Bamboo torches and starry skies
Will be mirrored in your big brown eyes.
We’ll dance away each endless night,
Lost in love, with no dawn in sight.
These two have pretty hectic life all year around:
they walk and run, they jump and stomp, skitter and pound,
they never cry, squawk, whine or pout when we have fun
while bearing weight of a child or a man.
Our busy cheerful feet lead an artistic live,
invigorating us with their contagious vibe.
Once music’s on they hit the dance floor till they drop
in a slow fashion waltz or hoopla of hip hop.
We better pamper these two since they serve us right-
keep them clean and dandy and stretch them out at night.
Our busy feet deserve tender loving care
because we cannot do without this prancing pair!
April 10, 2021
Well there’s Hooverville
on the edge of the river
haint nuttin boot flimsy cardboard
e’en with clothes will shiver
waiting for tension to be released
like a arrow in a taut quiver
major organs ready to burst open
cuz day r all a failin'
unless salvation does da liver
from a stingy farmer
nada one of him a giver
Hence a goin to Cali for n’ya
in battered up truck n wailin' wah wah
ta feed da chill n beasts o burr den –
‘cept un shaw
if me pa
will ever appear on Oprah
whar guest’s literary car –
rears into grand prix hoopla
An win free dim lifts us lock a hawk,
this kid rock will nah
dat he suffered faw a distant few cha
migrants we may be – butta we bah
dog on judas priest, Christ and allah
Rose of Sharon wool extend
da family tree
dat ma will live to see
re:
charging the Joad jalopy
in part from me
tink rin hands dat like ta mess
with oil hand stains
one mo scar – craning neck 2 earn
An huh tha red badge of courage
upon this Okie
hunched o’er with stiff back
while wounded knee
continually bunged up with utter glee
at engine cough fin smoke
to git us free
whar we kin sally in da pacific fields yipeee.