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!
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.
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.
The dog and the flea decided to compete
The dog said to the flea, ‘I bet you can’t get me.’
The flea said to the dog, ‘you wait and see.’
‘I can get you what ever you do,
you can’t get away from me.’
The dog said to the flea,’ I can run faster that you can hop.
You don’t stand a chance, your hop I can stop.’
I can hop high and get you from on top
Said the flea to the dog, the dog was a bit shocked.
You can’t fool me said the dog to the flea
I can jump higher than you can even see.
.
The dog and the flea stood looking at each other
Neither wanted to give way.
The flea hopped up high, high in the sky
The dog yelped and jumped as though he could fly.
It was a mistake the flea landed on the dog,
the dog landed on the ground.
Neither the flea nor the dog won that day.
As they were hit by the truck the corner coming round.
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
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.
He served as a deacon in his church and was as pious as they come.
(But on the side, he sold whiskey from a thirty-gallon drum!)
He taught junior high Sunday School and was a Bible scholar.
(But on the side he 'stilled' moonshine way back up in the holler!)
He was faithful in tithing ten percent of his ill-gotten gain.
(For his John Barleycorn he used only the best obtainable grain!)
He occupied the same pew every Sunday listening with attentive ear.
(It was rumored about that he also brewed some very potent beer!)
He proffered an 'amen' at appropriate times and wore a suit and tie.
(He was renowned throughout the county for his very delectable rye!)
His tenor voice blended well when singing, "I Love Thy Kingdom, Lord"!
(On back roads he did a bit of bootlegging in his hopped-up V-8 Ford!)
He was the first to offer succor to widows, orphans and others left bereft.
(He'd run his still for years - at evading 'revenooers' he was very deft!)
When folks were needed to serve on committees he was first to volunteer.
(When asked his occupation he replied, "I'm a 'Spirit'-ual Engineer!)
At Yuletide he was generous with the parson giving him beef, cash and pork.
(At annual church picnics he surreptitiously passed a bottle to uncork!)
There couldn't be found a finer saint in all of Boondock County, Kentucky!
(He'll continue to 'minister' to parched throats in the county - if he's lucky!
Won First Place in the Soup International Poetry Contest -April 2012
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.
A frog went on a day trip to a pond just down the road, where he met up with his friend, Ribbity the Toad.
They found their favourite lily pad and hopped up side by side and called the taxi fish to hail them for a ride.
They went right in to the middle to where tadpoles sold ice-cream and newts were selling tickets for a concert at the stream.
Toad had had too much dessert and felt a little icky. Frog had dripped it down his front and made himself quite sticky.
They hopped in to the water to swim and cool off a bit, then climbed out on to the bank to find somewhere to sit.
They talked about the weather and the kids were doing at school and the latest people living at the Grand Lakeside Hall.
Frog had brought a picnic of barbeque flavoured slugs and they bought fresh maggots with honey coated bugs.
They shared a bottle of pond weed wine and some chocolate and fly cake, which Mrs. Toad that very morning, had kindly said she’d make.
They said that they’d buy tickets to the comedy show tonight and asked directions to the booth; straight down and then turn right.
The pair sat and laughed their way through a very funny man who told them that his name was Frogosauras Stan.
He did dinosaur impressions, which is hard in summer heat. Frog and toad both laughed so hard that toad fell off his seat.
When Frogosauras Stan took his final bow, Toad and Frog decided it was time to go home now.
They went back to the pond and hailed the taxi crew and the fish moved so fast across the water that the lily pad nearly flew!
Once Frog and Toad were safely back upon the bank the other side, they shook each others hands and said their goodbyes.
Frog enjoyed his day trip to the pond just down the road and he really enjoyed seeing his friend Mr Toad.
Form:
A very special treat when I was a lad,
Was going to J C Penneys with my Mom and Dad,
To visit Santa sitting upon his elegant throne,
Hoping my youthful follies with him I could atone!
I'd been warned by Mom throughout the year,
That if I behaved I would have nothing to fear,
Because somehow Santa knew if I'd been bad or good;
If good, toys beneath the tree was a likelihood!
So with fingers crossed I hopped up on his knees,
To make known to him my youthful pleas.
After hearty ho-hoing he got around to asking me,
What I wanted him to leave beneath the Christmas tree.
I gave him my list and he said, "I can't guarantee,
But I'll do my best if you will promise me,
To leave a snack other than cookies and milk,
Like salami and cheese or vittles of that ilk!"
I was a nervous wreck, my angst hard to conceal,
Wondering if Santa would stick to his end of the deal.
There were heaps of toys when I awoke on Christmas dawn,
And mysteriously, all the salami and cheese was gone!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)