Long Ipso Poems
Long Ipso Poems. Below are the most popular long Ipso by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ipso poems by poem length and keyword.
It's because of the bacon.
Yeah, it looks good on the menu, sitting there at the rim of the plate. Glistening. Archetypally ridged and ruffled. Positioned perfectly next to the eggs over easy, the pancakes, buxom and buttered, the sausage links, dwarfed but respectable.
Net, the Grand Slam holds its own. At $5.99 ($7.99 in select areas), it's still a bargain. The eggs are fine. The pancakes are as good as any. The sausage links are, you know, OK.
But the bacon... The bacon b-a-con. A swindle, a masquerade, a false promise, a double-cross, tissue-thin, gossamer, anorexic, nervous (nervosa in Spanish), frail, skittish, fragile, and afraid. Overcooked, ipso brittle, short crust, and crumbling. Try to cut a slice, and "snap-chink!" Chips fly everywhere. The knife (if you use one) smacks the porcelain. The fork is stunned, helpless; its tines useless as the spoon.
"Crack!" Oh, I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to do that. Do you want me to brush it off your plate? Hey, a little piece went in your salad, a bacon bit. Do you like bacon bits? I think they're good. And there're not usually made of real bacon."
What are you gonna do with your eggs now? The Grand Slam doesn't come with toast. Everybody's looking at you, waiting to see your next move. "Yeah, I like to mix eggs with my pancakes. You don't do that sometimes? Really? It's good. You want a bite? No? OK..."
It's not the cook's fault. What's he supposed to do? He can barely see the damn things on the grill. Can't blame the waitress or the shift manager. The pigs are probably regular size. You can't expect the stock holders to take up pitchforks. What do you want for $5.99 ($7.99 in select areas)?
That's why I stopped going to Denny's.
Note: The person who lived next store to me growing up invented bacon bits for McCormick. True story.
awaiting interpersonal subsequent situation
aye tend to get ants
see when in the midst awaiting
said sub routine involving
outcome of circumstance
the parameter, perimeter, potentiometer,
et cetera extents
sifts out the destructive sycophants
versus real boot not nacho
munching macho gents
thus ipso facto fur cher
pro bono, and hence
gaining kudos for fas innocence
je nais sais quois joie de vivre personal aim
finds this lapsed passive pen sieve blame
less body electric alternating
between defendant versus claim
"FAKE" aunt Emma, who wrote to said
real or fictitious dame
purportedly gave solicited feedback exclaim
ming absolute zero tolerance
for acquiescent docile frame
within the real versus make believe
Milton Bradley board game
of LIFE as well my late mum (Chris Anne)
whose maternal sermons
included a ban
against blindly enlisting
into any sect chew will clan
purporting pretending posturing
as Dudley Do-right dan
sing with the stars amidst a Euclidean
Geometry auditorium,
where the glitzy dazzling audience
flush with many a fan
gnat tics toward a particular couple
said open eyed spectators
focused glazed eyes and grand
huzzahs on a man or woman,
who took charge hand
dilly directing his/her partner
acrobatic aeronautics inland
pro active with guiding he or she
toe till lee tubular counterpart re
speck ting decorum, yet pre
zen ting a choreographed production nee
an utterly out of this world with lee
ping skyward ward jumps key
pin equipoise holy jee
purrs, which scenario
analogous to taking bold
measures tubby
forthrightly assertive fold
ding arms crosswise
across chest, taking hold
din stance without conveying
a haughtiness mold.
It's prime time for the new Raj
Facts & acts must just sabotage
All baloney with no camouflage
Racist fascist pacts back in charge
De facto crypto crony arbitrage
With an aristo phony entourage
Ipso facto know who's the sarge
Nige does show pony dressage
Truth and proof will just massage
Aloof uncouth ranter going large
Just pub banter a bit of badinage
Trump leader of hit populist collage
All aboard greedier tech T-Rex barge
Seedier far right sh*t media montage
Vent at the establishment's espionage
Decent and democratic only a mirage
Bet just cover for yet another barrage
To other bigots & despots pay homage
An abhorrent torrent he does sparge
Hilarious no it is nefarious persiflage
Nutter's not butter but cheap marge
Spread thin in the gutter Nige Farage
(alternately titled: excuse me while aye...
touch the sky, hen derrick lee
and pull lightly gag.)
September third tooth house sand
and eighteen didst find me
to awaken with a start
during the wee
(Willy Paine Weber) re
duck tee yo absurdum painful hour
of predawn this morning
with an experience
nada so grew vee -
feeling (the unstoppable) tree
men diss urge (lance
sing arm) strong
sensation to regurgitate,
which tum me,
(and ma tummy)
prima facie (pre
mud Donna Brownian
bow will Movement)
processing) ranks as
the moost unpleasant –
basic bodily condition,
(hence disqualifying this former
anorexic tib bee ya
bulimic), which nauseous repulsion
to stomach tomb muss elf
(yea - pertaining to
yours truly: Ma
Thee You Scott) a tinny
brass, heartless, and
dis straw hit cow
word lee lion
dew wing ever re:
thing in my "FAKE" NON GMO
gluten, lactose (i.e.
dairy substitute), and
monosodiumglutimate free,
wand door full
wizard ding once fore mid
able superman, (and now fee
bull powerless reign jars
ipso fact-so) dee
did immediately whee
kin n ding excess see
ville lee more, dee
pull lore rib hill
den das bloviation
spattering, Obi
Wan Kenobi, Casanova,
(Don Quixote) key
ping figurative lid, prithee
a boot mine gag reflex
within very limited nee
zero printed edition on reek
quest not to
publish very disagree
hubble reader's un
digest tib bill
(authored by this atheistic
secular humanist gib
brush gabbling, (sans
reincarnated doubting Thomas pre
lapse Aryan) Unitarian scree
ming cowabunga herbivorous
droning baby bee
nix nox zippity doo dada
lix lox nicks nox hip pea.
An unreflective Bodhisattva
nods to the unwashed dishes.
Once again I seek my morning
liberation by ways of a dark libation
Next a phlegmy mantra
gummed through spongy lips.
“I sleep, I wake. I sleep, I wake”
The mug is perfunctorily rinsed,
the stains of past desires
ring the rim like hungry ghosts.
I am aware of not being aware.
Ipso facto: I am aware,
but only in the cracks
between random thoughts.
Sweetness comes in pink packets.
The sacraments are torn open
two at a time with habitual practice.
A Zen-like work,
by rote and thought-free.
The percolator bubbles a last breath.
Like the Tathagata, I am truly gone.
An arm pours black oozing bliss
Into my mug.
A beatific smile
escapes from grungy features.
If rectify means to right a wrong
Shouldn't singify mean to sing a song
Then again, there's the word, compose
Which would thereby be composify
Back to good old singify, which looks like
I can't spell signify...though I sincerely think
That singification should never replace song
Just as wrongification must never replace wrong...
For if so, ipso facto, a simple composition
Would turn into a composifiication --
Which would be as complexify is to complex
And complexification is to complexion --
You thought 'twas on me to write 'complexity'
~ 'Twould've nullified my rhymificationity...
January 27, 2019
Entry in "Failed Sonnet" Contest
Sponsors: Mo Howard and Larry Fine