Long Idiot Poems
Long Idiot Poems. Below are the most popular long Idiot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Idiot poems by poem length and keyword.
He says caw, caw, caw—yes he crows
With roll, pitch, and yaw Branson goes
My space ride’s high price
Makes me feel oh so nice
Though it takes the earth's health to new lows!
Author's comment: Apologies to Peter Pan who crowed about feeling good (I've gotta crow). Using earth's resources for a joy ride for the rich seems odd considering the state of our planet, but the mainstream media did not cover the ridiculousness of the endeavor. It's likely quite harmful to the environment and moves effort and focus away from critical challenges. Looking at Richard Branson's body language carefully, I can't help but feel sorry for him. He doesn't strike me as being happy, but a joy ride might help as a short distraction. BTW, I wouldn't go on his plane ride, even if he paid me.
The hag Mordicahia thought she had captured the Sorcerer King
In truth she had gotten his cousin, who was a ridiculous ding-a-ling
The real king would have left him there to rot like a buzzard’s lunch,
But his mother and aunt sent him to save his idiot cousin Munch.
Munch was an empty-headed skeleton with green eyes and no brain.
He was ridiculous in sunshine, thunderstorms, blizzards and rain.
The Sorcerer King came to the hag’s palace and chopped off a head.
Thought he'd snagged Mordicahia, was hoping the old hag was dead.
They were in the middle of making their way with her bounty and loot
When she transmogrified up wearing a crown, and one ugly red boot.
She and Sorcerer King got into a battle that lasted a week and a day.
But he sent her packing finally, and she never ventured back that way.
It's one in the morning
And I can't get to sleep
So I've tried various things
Like counting some sheep,
But they just won't stay still
They keep 'milling around
Backwards and forwards
All over the ground.
To make matters worse
What on earth can I do
When this big randy ram
Keeps mounting a ewe.
There's no sense of shame
Not a sign of shock
As they're doing all this
I'm front of the flock
Who just keep on milling
And munching the grass
And tooing and froing
In a big woolly mass.
It's being watched by the cow
With the big crumply horn
Who seems to be enjoying
This display of soft ****.
And I sigh with despair
As this ruminant steed
Keeps ravishing more ewes
And spreading his seed
It's two in the morning
And I'm still wide-awake
Counting sheep is no good
For heavens blooming sake
And to my despair
As insomnia get worse
I ve switched on an iPad to write
This bit of dodgy verse.
And while I wasn't watching
Littkrb Bo Peep and Little Boy Blue
Have crept under the haycock
And they're at it too.
If only it was possible
To just quickly reach out
To fetch that randy pair
A good solid clout
And that bloody idiot who said
It would help me to sleep
If i closed my eyes and counted
Some Imaginary sheep
Somewhere the snooty scholars of the world
quietly locked inside their dusty hall
Under the dim light of a candle’s flame
decide which label to put upon us all
I see them now with my book in their hand
yelling to destroy this before it grows
Crying to the world “stop this idiot”
he who disregards every rule of prose
Running around their dusty libraries
Banging their cymbals of fear and alarm
stowing me away on some hidden shelf
before I can do anyone some harm
To all those so-called experts of the world
who will stand upon their soapbox and cry
That I am a con for not following their rules
I tell you that I do apologize
Perhaps it’s true, I am a foolish man
to think this qualifies as poetry
I do not know your rules of form and rhyme
to write the way you tell me it should be
If you’re the kind that cares about such things
you might be right to call this a farce
because I don’t use proper form and rhyme
but to you I say “kiss my ****”
Maybe when it comes time to place this book
back upon those dusty forgotten shelves
Someone who reads these words will find courage
to be the poet that thinks for themselves
Yelling their displeasure, my toenails kept me awake
Angry at how I was not trimming them
We are ragged and thick! We are jagged, not ripped!
They chastised me to hell and back. Have they quite flipped?
I promised I would do better if they would let me sleep.
They called me names like idiot, moron, and big creep.
I got up and trimmed them so low, they were now crying.
Walking on them felt excruciating, I was now dying.
I guess that by trying to teach them a lesson, I learned one instead.
Sometimes I am impulsive, do not use my head.
The next time they wake me up, here is the deal.
I am going to grind them all off with a power saw wheel.
(a poem in Senryus)
Let’s rerun the play,
take up strings, so the puppets
can start fresh their dance.
Summon the old ghosts—
Shakespeare’s doomed heroes
—pronounce them reborn.
Recall the actors,
lead horses from their pastures,
raise the curtains.
Pay Shylock his pound
of flesh, give Richard his horse,
let Viola love anew.
Old, ever-hallowed
villainy, once banished,
has taken new stage.
Human suffering,
live—don’t fret, you won’t miss it
—it’ll come to you.
.
.
Songs for this:
End of the innocence by Don Henley
The Perfect Idiot by Fievel Is Glauque
.
.
Songs for this:
End of the innocence by Don Henley
The Perfect Idiot by Fievel Is Glauque
I felt this moment coming on before
The anticipation of union
The strange breach from friendship to romance
I know he is pining for my touch,
His eyes pour forth a passion I can barely dare to behold
He talks to me softly,
I listen attentively
I am afraid of him
I am afraid to move forward or away
He clasps my hands
And we laugh, and I sigh with relief
We are both scared
That is a great comfort
He says, “You are so cute.”
And I say, “No, I’m an idiot.
I’m stupid around you
The words I say literally make no sense!
When you speak, you make my IQ drop,
My innards flop,
You make me oh so weak
You are HOT,
In every single way
Your lips, they sing to me
They challenge me to play
Your eyes, they take me to your dreams
I want to be lost with you
And never be found
I want to kiss you
I want to never again miss you.”
Okay, I didn’t say all that,
But I did say, “So are you….sort of. Just a little.”
;)
You seem not to comprehend
That I'm still so young
I speak my heart and mind
And deep inside I always think I'm right
My vision to me is then so clear
I'm full of life and love, I have no fear
You look down at me and never cease to me judge
You blame me and you tell me to hold no grudge
How wouldn't I and you barely seem to comprehend?
That you are far beyond my thoughts and set of mind
I'm still so young and my journey ready to go through
I'm full of passion and eager to reap what I sow and do
You claim I'm idiot and unable to see what is in me wrong
You let me think that my beliefs and values have no root or bond
I can no more with you argue and prove my vision to you
I'm confused and couldn't put into words what I believe is true
You push so hard and show me how wise and insightful you are
How dare you undermine my wit, the youth growing in me you deny?
You actually seem to forget how you once were that young
Rejoicing life, doing whatever you like, all your songs not yet sung
You seem not to comprehend
That of experience you are but young
That you are a warhorse facing a novice
A pity for a golden ager not to notice
You are still as I am an apprentice.
After thousands of years
due to global ice melt in the permafrost
my carcass has been unearthed.
Not surprisingly I was hairy and
proto-Slavic.
Some idiot named me ‘Derick Specimen 974.2’,
My spirit watched as they soaked me in warm water
then froze me up again.
How many times must my remains
be poked about like this?
For centuries I have been interned,
exhumed, washed away
and bulldozed into dust,
leaving my genetic footprints all over
their dumb brains
and now some fool
looks upon my preserved remains
and names me ‘Derick’!’
Just wait until I dig one of you up
ten thousand years from now.
I won’t care how bald and scrawny looking you are,
I’ll name you: Aphrodite
even through your flaccid popsicle of a scrotum
is clear for all to see.
Thousand thoughts rummage the grey fluff.
Gloomy, godawful voices thump in self-talk
"I'm an idiot, a loser,...... it's all my fault".
Autopsies of the past, tear my flesh,
Regrets of a decade, devour my heart.
Rant of betrayals suffocate my breath.
Capricious sentiments egg me to a wreck.
Loud conch shells stalk me in heavy weight.
I sink in the abyss of "What'll people think?,"
I wish I could not hear what my mind says.
Isn't that echo the shadow of my sound ?
With a mind of steel, the Ventriloquist vowed,
I'll flash away that swampy dummy puppet..
I'll end the endless sabotage of that parrot..
It's my journey, .. my thoughts, ..my dreams.
PLACED FIFTH IN THE CONTEST
13th January, 2019
Plucking the Poisonous Parrot Contest
Sponsor Maureen McGreavy