Long Hopped up Poems
Long Hopped up Poems. Below are the most popular long Hopped up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hopped up poems by poem length and keyword.
The wind cooled Witchy’s pumpkin-orange,
yummy orange,
handsome face.
She rushed so worried south-east through a lace
forest so so silent
(in her pink boar shoes) watching so silent.
Fog came. Wind got worse.
Her conical crown and wide brim hat remained.
It was made of a rabbit named Morse
There Witchy wasn’t at all entertained!
Suddenly the wussy fog flung itself away
in all directions.
Plants sneezed. They felt harebrained and grey.
Leaves cheered. No affections!
Why? The wind had died in all directions.
She guided herself aside the truly up (so glad)
about river rolling mad,
and hopped up onto a perma-tanned sad
log (she worried she’d get
her titanium dioxide-stained muumuu wet).
On a royal silver tray called Rummy
sat like a medical dummy
three stripped bare
vacuum cleaners didn’t stare.
'BRRRM, BRRRM, BRRRM,' one said kindly,
the one with the less parts.
‘Hello, hello, hello,’ Witchy said kindly.
Time slothed by (she wasn’t even half way to Hiss).To
her, Hiss
was a true place of bliss.
Soon she was so bored.
Not even all the great thoughts about being
at the party could cure her from being bored.
So for fun she jumped with zoom
through a picture frame four times her height,
and smacked onto the floorboard of a bedroom.
All she could say was, ‘UMMMM. HUHHHHH?’
A blueberry woman, who was old,
and was planting many totally fast-growing gold
coloured veronica plant seeds in old
rotting skirting boards (totally old!)
ignored Witchy’s questions: ‘Where am I?
How can I
go through a picture frame and end up in here? How will I get back out of here
to the party?’
The woman just dropped (Oh Marty!)
and napped about a guy named Marty.
Veronicas grew without water.
Some pretties wallowed with their new daughter.
No sign of future slaughter.
Witchy was very angry, very scared, and blue.
‘What if I NEVER get out,’ she complained.
What else could she do?
The floorboards went CRACK! CRACK
CRACK!
“Why do I always try and fly Puddin’?
Still somethin’ feels like it’s pullin’.
Weapons, poison, I’ll go grab my mallet
dangerous bombshell come and get it!”
“I love you, Pumpkin Pie, get me out of jail,
I’ll send them a calling card in the mail.”
They went over such a flawless scam,
Joker and his protege’ the Harley Quinn;
Every idea a bit more convoluted,
they just want the guards executed;
Surrounded by doctors and locked doors,
eyes on destruction and a stolen car;
“I’ll just go make a couple of pipe bombs
Not to worry Mr. J soon we will be gone.“
“If we get separated just get kiting,
There won’t be a need for classless fighting.
All the pandemonium in the halls,
they won’t be able to watch us all.”
‘A simple goal for her.’ Joker thought,
Harley has been so perfectly taught;
The dance of the Arkham Asylum,
the condemnation of a dirty slum;
Psycho with a woman on her knees,
Bent psychiatrist she can steal the keys;
“Puddin’ can you imagine the frenzy?
They always seem to underestimate me.”
Joker looked at her “It will be fine,
they won’t see it coming this time.”
As they sat in closed session,
they fleshed out the coming deception;
Parted ways with smiles so bright,
saw freedom and fell asleep that night;
Delusions rose with the morning Sun,
they can’t stop until their mission is done;
Harley and the patient right on time,
handed Joker the keys turned on a dime;
Quietly he sat regarding their plot,
waiting to hear Harley’s first gunshot;
Hopped up with a laugh began to sprint,
monitoring the halls ever vigilant;
Found Harley heard the sound of the alarm,
Headed to the car running arm and arm;
Berserk Harley and Joker fit like a glove,
Happily ever after in psychotic love.
Willows waving in the window frame.
Six cheerful mice dancing on the door.
I’ve changed my sweater to the same;
It’s gray as the daytime clouds outdoor.
Deciduously delicate as lace, ne’er still.
Dependent on limbs, movement with wind.
Inside the poet’s space, her spouse sawmill.
Does he dream of the zigzag step incline
Or a lovely walk to church on Easter Sunday?
Does he trace the smiles and shadows of sun
And the rising of our Savior; celebration heyday
As we praise shoulder to shoulder as one?
The willows wiggle like children on the pews;
Dressed in Spring green, sunny yellow, sky blue.
Like branches, the mothers hold them in the queue,
Though little bodies, hats and ties are all askew.
The poet’s husband’s hopped up in time,
Forgotten what was on his mind, in sleep.
The writer’s rat-a-tat-tat must quit her rhyme
And ask her tree for help with counting sheep.
A frog once asked a wizard to turn him into a prince.
So, the wizard granted his wish and cast a great spell.
The frog was pleased and he hopped off into the distance,
Looking for a princess that was worthy, a beautiful belle.
One spring day, while hopping through the woods,
The frog came across an amazing, but dreadful thing.
It was a band of men, all wearing robes and hoods,
Laughing at a female frog that was looking for a king.
After they all left, and she was sitting there alone,
He hopped up close and asked her if she was alright.
She said she had just one wish, to sit on a throne
Next to a kind who’d care for her every day and night.
He told her his wish was to be a prince for life,
But he had to find a princess to accept his kiss.
So, off they went looking for a husband and wife,
Stopping all they could; not one person did they miss.
After days of searching, they saw a royal carriage.
They looked at each other with hope in their eyes.
There was a princess and a king, both looking for marriage.
Finally, their time had come, after so many tries.
They hopped inside and quickly explained their plight.
The princess and king both sat back and thought a bit.
They said, “Why not? This could be what’s right.”
So, they kissed in turn and waited for a long minute.
Suddenly, there was a poof, but the frog wasn’t a prince,
And the female frog did not become a royal queen.
The wizard was nearly deaf, you see. He heard, “Bag of mints.”
And as for the queen to be, she became a sardine.
The princess and the king were, of course, in awe.
They looked at the food and gave up their dieting.
The moral of this story is: There’s always a flaw.
When dealing with a wizard, always get it in writing.
“...The great teacher inspires.“ William Arthur Ward
“Gratitude is a powerful catalyst for happiness. It’s a spark that lights a fire of joy in your soul.” Amy Collette
“Gratitude turns what we have into enough” Anonymous
THANK YOU MR. FOX
What does the Fox say -
his kind eyes, emphatically speak;
his hopped-up ears in tune.
A sheltered girl sans life experience
in a room full of snapping turtles.
Mr. Fox did not extinguish the timid light.
Instead he sprinkled ideas — fireworks explode.
The Fox says very little and so much.
His pointed ears and gentle spirit
saw hope in a teenage cocoon.
The Fox was wise...his tale goes on in mine.
Dendrites lift you up — rolling out the clouds.
10/29/2019
Favorite Teacher or Professor Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Cooke
He says his name is Gene Pool,
right away I know he is probably American,
there are few to no males
called Gene elsewhere.
Yes I recognize him instantly.
My friends could have all recognized him.
Dogs with their wet noses attuned to the moistness
of blood, sweat and tears would affirmed him.
On main street the sleepy eyed or hopped-up
working-girls nod at him
with the same unconscious neck springs
as the frog in my garden pond,
or the half-submerged toads in their slippery swamps
or –
well almost all we brain-fed
air-breathing, genetically sculptured life-forms.
A silver-backed gorilla peers out of its jungle nest
grunts in recognition,
as another Gene Pool, spear in hand,
slips through the leafy smudge of the jungle.
My thoughts return to the man in front of me;
strangely enough, he resembles me not.
I shake his hand, it seems
the only correct response,
he smiles weakly -
says:
I’m sorry sir, do I know you?
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Scientists have traced the evolution of the four-chambered human heart to a common genetic factor linked to the development of hearts in turtles and other reptiles. The research shows how a specific protein that turns on genes is involved in heart formation in turtles, lizards and humans.” - Gladstone Institute.
Steampunk Stella woke up in the thick of an alternative world.
Colorful mechanical flowers were dancing and singing.
The gold band on her top hat changed a gorgeous fuchsia pink
orange poppies and fancy golden engravings adorned it now
her dress had changed from black to a marvelous seafoam turquoise
gold trim at the bottom was new, as was the ornate embroidery.
where was she? she blinked her eyes a few times,
This was no dream; it was magi world, and she was a key player
a marching band went by; the drummer was insanely loud and clever.
people began cheering from rooftops, and there were lots of them.
She felt a kinship to this place; without knowing why or how.
a toad wearing a monocle hopped up and gave a distinguished bow.
you are our honored guest, we have to fly up to the clock tower now.
no idea what it meant, but her boots took a leap and she was flying
She landed on a balcony surrounded by hanging clocks.
The mayor congratulated her on her ginger locks.
I do not have red hair, she argued, so he showed her a mirror.
Her entire face had changed, she was amazed that she was beautiful.
With blue eyes! She had always wanted blue eyes.
I will never go back, ever, she vowed.
So she stayed in the magic kingdom, and married a prince.
But he proved to be boring, and she tired of color.
One day she simply returned to her own kind.
A steampunk world of fantasy with limited color.
Curio cabinet full of
Memories; a small dent from a wild child
All hopped up on penny candy, running on
Giggle energy, because of the excitement
Of the Little Orphan Annie radio program,
Stopped in her tracks, and stopped in her breath.
Scraped on the lion paw spindle leg,
From when nervous grandson watched
One small man shoot 3 small bullets into one small skull,
Like a whole book depository landed on point.
A stain mimicking the Grecian coastline,
On the drum top, from the spill
From the redwine from the news of pa-pa's death,
A slip and fall when reaching for the remote.
The drawer can't close correctly because
Daddy's head landed sideways after the bullet
Pierced his temple; how many times can you be laid off
On December 24th?
Curious cabinet guarded loosely
With skips in posture and hiccoughs in time.
Maker o maker,
Here is my resume.
Roommate is on my plate
Dropping herself into my grits
Little flecks of warm porridge splash into my eyes
It is one of Trixie’s assistant muses
She has a killer smile and rainbow hair
Hi she greets me with telepathy
Lump of eggs rises
I see two glowing green eyes
Getting higher and taller.
Fascinated I smile
Wondering what will happen next
Grape jelly jar falls over with a clink next to plate.
“She is comin!” A tiny red brownie driving gem encrusted chariot hisses.
Rainbow muse and mini-dragon jump aboard the chariot
Trixie my main muse is riding black puma with stars chasing them now
Her head turns toward me. She glares and sticks out her tongue.
The perils of having a hopped up overly territorial muse
I cringe wondering what diabolical fate will next befall me.
Black-blue and purple-gray, barred from florescent in amber we play
scratched across vinyl, we sway, arguments in amber we play.
Hopped up on booze, blow, and the down beats blare where we grind
the twenty-first centuries bruised gene pool is content in amber we play.
Fused in secretions, saps, drink thrust and dine whoring for more
like the short lived denizens of earlier times in amber we play.
Alive in the moment pupils blown, see them sway
selling their innocence as if it were blight
oh the pretense of love, found, lost or betrayed.
Drunken dancers grope for holds, bleary eyed strays
tasting the bitter fruit bone weary of fright
alive in the moment pupils blown, see them sway.
The disc jockey's spinning tunes stage dive, surf the floor
in the jaundiced light of bars where love's betrayed in amber we play.
Whites blown and blood shot, cigarette smoke a thick haze
jaundiced death walks to the bass beat as in amber we play.
SONG: Whiter Shade of Pale