Long Hyperbolic Poems
Long Hyperbolic Poems. Below are the most popular long Hyperbolic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hyperbolic poems by poem length and keyword.
If you had to pick...what’s your kind of comic
Do you find you pine for slick ironic
Or get behind a line that’s quick..sardonic
Opined by design.. aligned to resigned laconic
Unkind with the mic..sick at taking the mick
Defined by sly dry wry alcoholic hyperbolic frolic
Or less refined grind.. moronic the comedic tonic
Swoon at boons of the goons or cynics picnics going manic
Ready as lampoons buffoons with an unsteady heady histrionic
Idiosyncratic…emphatic witticisms..feeling victims reeling.. erratic panic
Keen lyrical hysterical mean criticisms scene stealing whims.. talismanic
What about who croons your tunes …go slow..metronomic
Choose the muse & fuse of rhythm & blues.. free flow tectonic
More giddy Philly Delfonic than tidy Taffy Stereophonic
Or raw roaring baselines scoring plus eleven ..soaring supersonic
Soul or rock & roll heaven.. acolyte delight.. bright totemic
Atrocious Metal in ferocious fine fettle...furiously demonic
Bespoke notes of sublime folk strokes always curiously bucolic
Pizzazz…elite razzmattaz of jazz.. seriously neat hedonic
Classical..technical feat regalia…deliriously sweet symphonic
Dance hall & reggae.. calypso beat.. all imperiously euphoric
Quadrophenia paraphernalia or more quadrophonic
Wurlitzer chutzpah delightfully or frightfully electronic
Tip top non stop hip hop drops like Dre’s the Chronic
Don’t do generic…when you could do mesmeric
Wiggles or giggles.. this is a witty ditty polemic
To big up shindigs..grins at gigs..sins at jigs…guffaws & encores..stratospheric tunes & comic buffoons..scores on the doors...simply iconic!
I stitched your names into the seams of sleep,
Where shadows whisper secrets I can’t keep.
The night became a chapel of your breath,
A sacred, suffocating hymn to death.
I lit my thoughts like candles in your name,
Each flicker feeding softly on the flame;
Anaphora of longing—you, you, you—
A prayer that burned the world until it’s through.
My heart, a drowning clock that will not cease,
Ticks tidal rhythms, begging you for peace.
But peace is foreign where your ghost resides—
A storm that blooms beneath my ribcage tides.
If to love you, I must drown—I cried,
And drank the depths where all my reason died.
A hyperbolic ocean filled my chest,
Where sanity sank slowly with the rest.
Your absence claws like ivy through my veins,
An anthropomorphic ache that grows with pains;
Each pulse a petal poisoned by your hue,
Each breath a borrowed moment spent on you.
I loved you louder than the world could bear,
A fleeting breath—no oxygen, just air
That never reached me, hollow, thin, and bleak,
A love so vast it made my spirit weak.
I carved your memory into every dawn,
‘Till even time forgot to travel on.
Obsession wore your face and called it fate,
And I—its willing martyr—learned too late.
Bar none, no shortage of soap shampoo, nor detergent
Courtesy food pantries
Saint Eleanor's Saint Mary's,
Our Daily Bread,
the missus and yours truly (her spouse)
well stocked with good n plenti of
soap, shampoo and detergent.
Spongebob squarepants
would be in seventh heaven,
where sudsy clouds (resembling
Mister Krabs, Plankton,
Sandy Cheeks, Squidward, et cetera),
would drift across celestial vault.
Gratitude bequeathed to prophets of virtue
benevolent good samaritans
who trend righteous true
to the calling of helping hands who renew
faith (mine) in goodness of humanity
assisting not only yours truly
and the missus, but people
from South American country named Peru
or even indigenous tribes
accorded recognition comprising
population of inhabitants occupying New
Zealand, offered reparations
under the Treaty of Waitangi,
a process of reparation allowed
Maori to be fully recognized
at political level in lieu
of unfair practices inflicted upon
original occupant loosely similar
to descendents of long lost tribes of Israel,
endowed with (pure tin) pride
wishing I too could call myself proud Jew,
nevertheless attraction manifests destiny
(mine) someday to learn Hebrew.
Courtesy atheism more so Unitarianism,
I need not adopt
an explicit dogmatic, fanatic, humanistic...,
lunatic, narcissistic, puritanic... paradigm,
but only tout poetic justice (mine)
to recognize laudable traits
linkedin to orthodox faiths,
albeit rationalistic rubric
that caters to selflessness
for no other reason
than allowing, enabling, and promoting
random acts of kindness
without any forthcoming great expectation
downplaying remuneration,
no matter destitution begot mein kampf
hard times living within bleak house
slight hyperbolic exaggeration
poor as a cheesy church mouse poet.
Lemme coast to a fitting conclusion
bringing reasonable rhyming blather
originating courtesy me noggin,
within which wool doth gather
thus I a halt and
dial down philosophical lather,
cuz most likely
ye dear reader would rather
experience palmolive oil slather
preparatory to full body massage.
Four Letters Spelling Blah...
generally define mine anatomical phooey zook
corporeal status, essentially feeling like gook,
not my usual babbling brook
self, thus finds yours truly whooshing, he
could wave a magic wand (all thee
while exjaculating abra
cud dab bra, or whatever
applicable spell -
spot on - to re:),
vivify mine pathetic sluggishness,
hashtagged with nauseous
tsunami waves, and inxs,
where these nada
so lovely brittle bones,
and atrophied muscles free
quint times this day
feel robbed of lee
ping lemurs (yule
grant me hyperbolic
indulgence) spirited energy
versus experiencing hypersensitivity,
which head toot
hoe soreness analogous
(ache and burn'n ken to
contracting the Amish Flu),
where this jumpy,
manicky, persnickety, rickety,
and totally tubular ancient
tomb mess scent body
finds ordinarily endeavoring
scribe this moment tub bee,
a little horse and bug gee
(in other words), aye
experience over sizeable
(bare ten able) boots
of dizz zee
ness (as if pitched to
and fro on rough sea),
where webbed venting
helps this wordsmith
to sum men strength
tube (boo hoo)
himself from bing nsync
king mode, sans (10,000
leagues...in Dave vee
Jones locker) as a dee
pull lore hubble skidrow re
sid divest news junk kee -
do dilling with zero hap pee
go luck key
ne'er do well bummer, I...he
barely exhibits signs
of life breathe
thing inaudibly inhaling
and exhaling wei
zing all the while
with pronounced je
nais sais quois nasality
emitted racking prithee
moren slight lee
jarring with achy breaky tree
men dose skeletal pain,
thus fuhr re hiss lee,
heavily relying on wing,
and broken prayer hope fool lee
fully helping this
old codger (yepper me)
do magical wonders to re: captcha
lapsed la pas suh zoo lee
infusing this corporeal being i.e.
once again me
with spirited resurgence.
My parents have been married for thirty years at least. Probably more than that but I don’t want you to think I’m being hyperbolic. There’s a lot you can learn in that amount of time.
My father has learned how to shut bedroom and bathroom doors without a sound when my mother is sleeping. If you’re up early enough you can see him slowly turning handles, pushing gently on wooden frames, and releasing the latch into place like releasing a bird nursed back to flying condition.
My mother has learned to put his outside shoes right by the red front door so when my father leaves on his trips to the mailbox and marina, he won’t track pollen back into the house. She hates the pollen squatting on their hardwood floors, so he slips them on every time.
My father has learned not to whistle in the house anymore.
My mother has learned to tuck bar-stool chairs back in with careful symmetry.
My father has learned to put the classifieds on my mother’s chair in the morning.
My mother has learned to save crossword and sudoku for him.
I think most critically they’ve learned to communicate in anecdotes and small talk. Every “it’s a cold one out today” is laced with “take a jacket, stay warm–because I can’t stand the thought of shivers in your spine.” Every “Well, honey, the stock market is down again” is laden with “Our financial future is never sure, but at least we’ll be in it together.” Every “I love you” has the weight of thirty plus years behind it and
I have learned that when I’m with them I should be taking notes.
Case in point comprises emotional state of euphoria
would deafeningly, definitely, deliciously get
frenziedly expelled from stadium. Roe ting for
“our boys” packing every last seat in the bleachers
all manner of humankind would (during lulls)
Instagram, Kindle, Messenger, Outlook, Quicken,
Snapchat, Twitter. Santander, Verizon,Wells Fargo
might be sponsors for major competitive challenge.
Zero tolerance imposes winning at all costs versus
grievous miserable rapacious violent yawping
linkedin loss outcome of sporting events. Under
stand able home team owns an advantage (true
for rival players on their turf) predicated on avid
loyal fans boosting morale from family members,
friends, neighbors, et cetera. The ear splitting
roaring cheering hoopla emanating from spectators
(housed in relatively close proximity to handsomely
paid putting Pontius Pilate and bad ass Brutus brutes
rolled into one mean human fighting machine.
This previous comment meant as an honorable
kickstarter, hyperbolic endearment. My humblest apology
if said statement misinterpreted as a NON off fence sieve
strong moderate slight against any creed, race, religion,
et cetera. I merely sought an analogously effective
impact asper these hypothetical Popeye muscle
bulging arms length professional athletes plush residences
lodged in general metropolitan area to rubber baby
buggy bumper screaming banshee spectators. A
winning score affiliated with bruising, cutthroat,
dynamo...fierce-some giant, heaving, indomitably
jinxed, “killer” macho no nonsense, outlandish packed
quintessentially robust searing troopers translates
into utter screaming, quaking outrageous merciless
krazy individuals generating ecstatic cacophony
Neoliberal Elections
Actually my hyperbolic suggestion is not that new
apart from the vote casting honesty it might pursue
as it is known to democracy with all its respect due
no more veils from rich over poor to give you a clue
We have cell phones and finger prints for transactions
iris photos and soon microchips for regular satisfaction
in commerce we trust so there might be some traction
to link consumer sales with how we vote in elections
How many ballots we have to establish who is the winner
must tie to overall purchases what we spend on our dinner
and luxuries cars perfume Democracy 101 for the beginner
proportionally less say when our wallets are much thinner
The big spenders will directly determine who’s in charge
they can simply make more crosses so no change at large
far fewer concerns no hoodwinking for those on the marge
only truthfulness in that some do not rule as they are ‘savage’
06th September 2016
Geometry shows us God’s great fondness for lines
In the gazelles, birds and butterflies as well.
Everywhere we search in the midst of His designs,
Even in the sea we find many an animal in his shell.
Not stopping His ingenious design with mere creatures,
Or objects He fondly blesses with roundness,
That appear most often among celestial features,
He drew woman’s figure most curvy and boundless.
The womanly figures are of an exquisite selection,
Running the perfect outline from legs to hair,
Expressing haunting beauty with divine perfection,
And designed to please the heart willing to dare.
With circular lines it seems that He began
Depicting the face and hair with round design.
He moves then to the bust with a span,
And with symmetry amazes with the circular line.
Now on to the waist with its hyperbolic form,
He shapes with alluring symbolic notion.
Now cycling to legs God departs the norm,
And now straight lines obtain His promotion.
All of these sacred shapes and borders,
God draws from the world’s great sweep.
He conveys them from land’s four corners,
Cross mountains high and valleys deep.
God is the master of geometric arts;
He is the architect of spherical dreams.
And He fashions woman’s celestial parts
From the lines on landscape’s four extremes.
Now all of this is just to make very clear
My prayer that you be my spherical dream,
With starlight in your flowing hair,
Your glory will fuel my modest esteem.
You have the hysterical look of mutes
that roar through narrow straws.
I see in your yellow eyes – a Jules Verne winking moon.
Soon that ribbed pink cave will release
another flock of demented coots
hacked from the craw of an ancient macaw.
Soon the whip of your vocal squawks
will pluck my eyes from their trembling stalks.
Maine Coon, part Persian, part whiskery herring,
grimalkin mouser,
I love you not when you sing.
Verne goes to the movies, a flickering French theater
of painted malarkey, where mice threaten to Can-Can.
Buck Rodgers shoots rays of hyperbolic sound
from the open nozzle of your mouth.
Lucubrations fuels ebullience
Unsolicited, revered, and praised
potential literary fete,
(yes a bit hyperbolic),
sans mine posted poems that perambulate
such feedback, whither donning trumped
("FAKE") facade, Oriel sincere
twittering, nonetheless tis great
for an ego striving to maintain
hum bull modesty, yet I hate
to be misperceived as
arrogant, boastful, pretentious,...wait
et cetera, cuz honestly,
these conglomerations create,
themselves, via some inexplicable
literary process which generate
prestidigitation soon after
affixing wired thinking cap,
whereby positioned electrodes exfoliate
on scalp yup thence, off miniature oblate
spheroid (suddenly barren) of golden locks
most soup Priam wantonly depilate
(envision candidate
undergoing biofeedback,
or...captured as bait)
by...yea (of course) alien invaders curious
to experiment, and subject a random pate
with out of this world tests that agitate
most precious anatomical accouterment
'bout size of average poe tate
toe (actually...almost same consistency)
okay...sorry, this chap doth relate
such comparison to
his own cerebral aggregate,
where he starkly realizes
neurological concentrate
takes a permanent vacation
to distant Palatinate
essentially leaving a void, ah...just
perfect for cosmic outliers to allocate
(no...no...no noninvasive, i.e.)
their laser like gizmos scrutinize how
(albeit unwittingly) to ameliorate
writer's block, thus
glad tubby ("Guinea Pig"),
and let abductors amputate
my killed expense trumped ("FAKE")
noggin pulp struggling to articulate,
(hence quite a relief,
you cannot imagine), dear mate
when fiber optic threads of light
essentially painlessly
(rather ticklishly aspirate)
clump of useless gray matter,
yours truly does implicate
as complicit to cause unnecessary
difficulty to associate
with *****sapiens, an extremely
strenuous task, thence joyful to dedicate
(without being headstrong),
an organ minimally missed at any rate
long last free to babble poppycock
oblivious as ambitious readers berate!