Long Incognito Poems
Long Incognito Poems. Below are the most popular long Incognito by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Incognito poems by poem length and keyword.
Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain
both beloved affluential cognoscenti,
(took their life via cerebral hypoxia)
neither death can one explain
left family and friends to speculate
without lapsing into speculation
impossible knot
to veer off toward inane,
where fame nor fortune no immunity
against unbeknownst
deathly accursed mental illness
impact their adherents
plus affect large swath
of population in the main
cuz, (strictly my opinion)
the tightly woven
world wide web doth plain
lee meld humanity linkedin
by avast societal reign
forcing the global community to train
energies toward heightened
awareness (yes in vain)
for those who tightened noose around neck
as grief doth wax and wane
no doubt less prominant persons
amidst every walk
of life give admittance
to grim reaper, who doth stalk
every mortal being tempting surrender soul
for eternal peace, where soul asylum
sacrifice forsaken to black hawk
swooping down soundlessly
to snatch priceless human life
subsequently, whence
benumbed onlookers gawk
aware how precarious, riotous, and tenuous
the psyche offers no resistance,
nor doth balk
at absent awareness,
how collective adoration wears
a funereally ghostly, horribly immensely
joylessly knitted veil
eludes measurement, though nonetheless
unanimity that far reaching sadness
weighs heavy on tear filled side of scale
witnessed by grievous next of kin,
who struggle to accept severe de rail
ment of unsuspecting hidden agony im pail
ling corporeal flesh gouging body electric
on par with a nine inch nail
jaggedly renting asunder (an unseen male
strum) pitching one incognito,
no matter she/he appears hearty and hale
leaving a wake of inconsolable paroxysms
causing thee human league to ail!
Looking from the humble cabin
An old man glances out to observe
The meadow lays even at the edges
Flat by the deep waterway incognito
Shades of green seldom seen emerge
Subtle multicolored to be exact
Though there appears to be more
Much more to the story to be told
At last, the rain falls then ends
Along with the last drop of coffee
Finished as the porcelain cup rim
Reaches the lips with thin fragility
Warm and friendly to the touch
A spoon falls to the floor unattended
Never reaches its destination
Never landing
As expected, there can be no rest
While the thing is suspended
A beginning without ending
If your verse is subpar and your output is low
These could be the signs of a poetry troll-
Do you spend most of your time stalking blogs
launching caustic bits while your quills full of snot-
If you get sky high off another muse's low
You just might be a poetry troll-
Do you fire impotent arrows then cover the quiver
when somebody hits back, do you tend to shiver?
Do you add fresh fruit or rotten to the bowl
if it's the latter, you just might be a poetry troll-
Do you get jealous when somebody masters a form?
or hops on the podium donning their finest haiku bow
are you jealous when a poet deftly weaves ink into snow
if so.... you just might be a poetry troll-
When a muse spills their soul for the whole world to see
do you respond in kindness or get off watching them sink?
when your games are unveiled, and it's your time to go
are you already plotting another sneak attack incognito
if so...you just might be a poetry troll-
Do you really want your gravestone to bellow.
"Nothing down here but an old poetry troll".
Jammin' in Jamaica
Driving my DeSoto
Being pursued by
My foe Quasimodo
Lying on the dash is
The missing person photo
When my phone rings
I hear "Hello Moto!"
(Chorus)
I don't have to work
When I'm in my pajamas
Acting like a jerk
When I'm in the Bahamas
Really go berserk
When I'm feeding my llamas
We all go to pieces
When we’re talkin' to our mommas
Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...
Rush hour traffic
So I park my DeSoto
Nowhere in sight
Is my foe Quasimodo
See a man who looks like
The missing person photo
Then his phone rings
Shouting "Hello Moto!"
(Chorus)
I don't have to work
When I'm in my pajamas
Acting like a jerk
When I'm in the Bahamas
Really go berserk
When I'm feeding my llamas
We all go to pieces
When we’re talkin' to our mommas
Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaica
With the man in the photo
Who's not really missing
Just roving incognito
Suddenly appears
My foe Quasimodo
Truce as we pose
For a group selfie photo
(Chorus)
I don't have to work
(Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...)
When I'm in my pajamas
Acting like a jerk
(Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...)
When I'm in the Bahamas
Really go berserk
(Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...)
When I'm feeding my llamas
We all go to pieces
(Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...)
When we’re talkin' to our mommas
There's a pesky mosquito hoverin' around our ears
If he keeps it up he'll soon be splattered in smears
T-Buzz tries to draw our blood
When he gets hit with a THUD!
We'll celebrate his demise with a party ~ Cheers!
by Lin Lane
A mini vampire with wings,
in annoying high notes he sings.
Tries to fly incognito,
this imp called mosquito.
With blood thirsty appetite stings!
by Carol Connell
That darn mozzie was buzzing like hell
Til I sprayed him with a can of Repell
He can no longer fly
I watched that mozzie die
I’m happy he’s gone – you can tell!
by Jan Allison
That skeeter was in for a thumpin'.
I swatted, but he just kept jumpin'.
I got out the spray,
winked, said, “Come my way”.
And now I'm no longer a-grumpin'
by Dale G. Cozart
There's a pesky bug upon the lawn
One his mother should have never spawn
making noises here and there
wish he'd just disappear
One big ol' zap and poof he's gone
by Tim Smith
T-Buzz flies around in pestering irritation
One good swat'll take care of his elimation
No more buzzin' sound
He's garbage can bound
Thank goodness there's no reincarnation
by Marti Sutherland
I was singing karaoke, acapella
While eating a sandwich of mortadella
Along came a mosquito
Named Little Esposito
I smacked him cuz he wasn't a nice fella
By Mystic Rose
A skeeter singing for a favor
Was wanting blood for a caper
He's playing with fire
His future is dire
Joining others on my wallpaper
By Cheryl Hoffman
A mosquito was buzzing loud
Of his bugle, he felt so proud
My hands would squash fast
That buzz would be his last
Soon, he'd be covered with a shroud
by Jo Daniel
If anyone dislikes the buzzing of a mosquito, join in the collaboration by sending me your lines in a SOUP MAIL.
master bait catching fear
some skipper known in whirled wide webbed
under water world,
cuz rumor did hear
auld his death defying exploits infiltrated
into the most remotely secluded lair
asper rugged crunchy captain
who didst dare
the devil with dirty deeds
done dirt cheap, which flair
subjected suffered gross distortion
due to optical glare
pandemonium ensued, sans each small hair
along backbone viz zit ting spinal tap vie
tall hetty to rise
a flickr ring shutterfly
more years than anyone could reckon, even Pi
Tha Gore Ass, hence
mystery fed legends,
any rhyme or reason asper
ruddy faced weather beaten
expert, who sailed every square inch
of the globe well nigh
cutting down to size mythologized
outrageous Leviathan sized monster
mashing machine with jaws of steel
that did wonders for the tourist industry the my
tee buck reared, snorted, twittered no lie
as truth told by Ishmael,
whom aye did befriend
(said galley hand decked the halls,
of christened ship Pequod),
who strongly attest didst descend,
despite incontestable stance,
sans supposition,
aye aver Captain Ahab
DID NOT perish at sea,
thus, his privateer life
did not meet a cruel end,
but believe his doppelganger incognito
body double electric reincarnation fiend
actually said peg legged swash
buckling adventurer of the high seas,
that saline mosh pit - by gosh
(hee...hee...hee
how blimey lame such archaic balderdash
(anyway...i gotta hunch), ghost
of spirited sailor lives incognito,
here at 2 highland manor
a this bucolic schwenksville,
pennsylvania enclave.
By middle-age he became unseen
as he slipped by unnoticed
through a changing world.
When down town,
he walked unremarked among
the throng
though he clearly heard
fanfares, and the regal cry of celestial eagles
announcing his presence everywhere.
Head up he strode past hurrying shoppers,
all intent on ignoring
the supranatural evidence
of his transition into non-appearance.
He maintained an air of calm dignity
as the cahier oblivious
to the grandeur before her
or of his omniscient comportment,
bagged a bottle of cheap vodka,
and a family pack of salt and vinegar chips.
Shortly thereafter, he ambled home
whistling a high-pitched prayer of gratitude
for his exalted position and unviewable radiance,
still traveling incognito to his kingdom
on the third floor of nowhere.
God would eat giant marshmallows the size of mountains, I think.
He would turn up his nose at leftovers thrown down the sink.
Lollipops and popsicles would be easy for him to reach.
Lined up in his bedroom, next to his pet llama, Screech.
God would devour tuna and salmon, but leave beef to us.
Red meat is a killer, he confides to his servant, Gus.
He loves key lime pie, goes to Florida incognito to buy it.
Was in line next to you yesterday, please don’t have a fit.
German chocolate cake with coconut icing is a favorite of His.
He drinks twenty-two cream sodas daily, if they have extra fizz.
God is a sweet-eater, he loves sugar, and honey.
Salt is also a favorite; he buys potato chips when he finds money.
ARROWS AND QUIVERS
,
Arrows and quivers,
Of the common people,
Glued to his shoulders,
He walks incognito,
His paths are invisible,
Like the speed of light he runs,
On the roof tops he walks unnoticed like an ant.
Comes in the colors of shadow,
And with camouflage of a chameleon,
That perches on a tree,
The whistle of his arrow roars like lion,
Sticking to the chest of its prey.
The terror of the tyrants,
Hundreds of troops to guard,
But he breaks the flanks and strikes,
Down are the tyrants,
That terrorize the weak,
Though he strikes,
But his sword is never stained with blood.
ANYABOLU IFEANYI GENTLE
A.D 2018,NOV 10{whatsapp 07061816037}
The Atlantic was an ocean once unexplored,
even the Romans with their naval might, took no interest in conquering beyond;
so it remained an incognito in their minds:
perhaps its wrathful waves kept them away: they made very frightening sounds.
Columbus, the fearless and fair explorer, made frequent voyages...
he never encountered and fought a whale: it didn't impose a threat;
despite his first voyage was an horrific one, he didn't end his quest
to discover a vast and rich continent inhabited by the peaceful Indians.
If whales were scarce in this immense deep, they were more abundant off Nantacket,
as the Pacific Ocean swarmed with these monstrous mammals it didn't scare Moby Dick
by searching for the biggest white whale that was able to jar his ship and make it sink;
and he could only salvage: a pound of bread, fish, water besides and his treasure chest.