Long Jointed Poems
Long Jointed Poems. Below are the most popular long Jointed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jointed poems by poem length and keyword.
Balderdash
I will not listen to iris eyes,
those lids for covers; frightened lies.
And cannot hear the nostril's fear
that calls you to me over here.
Balderdash
is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way
Balderdash
I will not listen to faint of heart.
Half a story; a lie apart.
And cannot wait for one more pause.
A lie; your drama; without a cause.
Balderdash
is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way
Balderdash
I will not listen to yellow bellies
who's waves break lies to coward's deli's.
And will not watch a brow fall down
without it's fear; without it's crown.
Balderdash
is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way
Balderdash
I will not listen to crooked smiles
who's heart beats twice in self denial.
And will not watch the gizzard sink
to form a gully's fear of shrink.
Balderdash
is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way
Balderdash
I will not listen to jointed nose
that prays for healing, as one knows.
And will not notice the patient smile
that lies back to you a waiting while.
Balderdash
is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way
Balderdash
is all I say.
Balderdash.
Going my way.
I reckon I'm showing my age and am pretty well set in my ways,
But I have zero tolerance for the 'noise' called music nowadays!
The metal bands and rap are loathsome to my sensitive ears.
I haven't heard a melodic tune on the radio for over sixty years!
Pleasing to the ear was Vaughn Monroe and his mellow baritone.
Likewise, the romantic, comprehensible crooning of Vic Damone.
A songster who could stir even the most unromantic soul,
Was the silky-smooth delivery of debonair Nat King Cole!
I truly enjoyed the ballads belted out by the ever-living Elvis,
And got a kick out of watching in action his double-jointed pelvis!
Delightful were the songs vocalized by cheerful Doris Day.
It was so relaxing listening to the Velvet Fog, Mister Mel Torme!
Will there ever be another Glenn Miller, Perry Como or Peggy Lee,
Dinah Shore, Frankie Laine or Jo Stafford entertaining me?
Oh, to hear again The Mills Brothers and their sweet harmony.
Now all I hear is dreadful screams and gross disharmony!
Today's drivel to my romantic soul gives me great offense.
'Tis alien to my ears and doesn't make a bit of sense.
Music back then invited you to hold your gal in close embrace,
As you danced and murmured sweet nothings face to face!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for Nayda Ivette Negron's "Favorite Music Type" Contest
His disposition sweet and sour
Laden personality stuck by the hour
A water bearer an Aquarius
Hot pink, missing link
An unusual unconstitutional cunning consumer man
Just buying time crossing righteousness line
Doused in the oils at the fragrances of sinner strands
Adjust how can he stand
He needs to be reprimand
Snow day in the middle of summer
Spotlight shadows in the bright
Double jointed Gemini
Double piercing blinking eyes
And unusual unconstitutional cunning consumer man
Just buying time crossing righteousness line
Dressed in a suit of unrighteousness in flaming pants
Missing Link hot pink
Sinner man happen stands
11/21/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
The Spider
The spider climbs from inside a drawer
Then, on eight legs he scuttles to the floor
Walking closely by the kitchen wall
Moving slowly toward the open door.
On hairy jointed legs he stops and waits
Then he turns and appears to concentrate.
Looking at me with large arachnid eyes,
For a moment he seems to hesitate.
I wonder now, what can he see
(I do not know arachnid 'he' or 'she')
His expression is meant to terrify,
He's staring intensely straight at me
Should I run away or should I stay?
Then, to my absolute dismay
This tiny monster that seems so large,
(Something I remember until today),
Springs suddenly up on to my chair,
Not heeding that I am sitting there.
I give a loud cry of great surprise
Then, (it is genuine I do declare),
This alarming monster is no more,
He turns and scuttles toward the door.
No longer a hairy fiend grown large,
Just a tiny spider on the floor.
Barry Stebbings
4/5/2016
I
As a person
Me
Without devoid of a spine
Green
Buckle at jointed knee
Cap in hand
Crackle like the wilderness
Inside my stagnant mind
My skin is red to the bone
She'd upon my empty bed
So care no more
Angel fair
Ghost of nowhere
Declare the wanting is pray over
For if as please be for the deaf
Born with pallets cleft
Numb and horse of voice
1 , 2 , 3
A , b , C
Then open up my heart
So my eyes dare feel
In which or whatsoever category
I should sit
In order to fulfill my remit of aligning interplanetary love division
So I can bleach , spit , and shine my
Hubbard shoe's and house in order
Before I red bone buckle and she'd
this ghostly angel back
From whence it came unto me
She waits,
eight black spindles joined at one end by a pivot, a compass.
Each pinpoint balanced at the intersections
of self-drawn polygons.
Legs jointed like the fingers of a skeleton,
deft, dexterous as a harpist.
Body in two sections with ample abdomen,
the African who carries the water jug on her head.
Or an Indian, the untouchable with her caste mark,
the microscopic grains dropping through the hourglass
like drops of blood.
Blind, she has the surrogate sense of a seismograph.
She would feel a disturbance in the web
were it only a thought.
Never mind she lives in a dark corner
as devoid of light as she is of personality,
she needs neither.
She does not look as the wrapped body of her cannibalized mate
as at a gilt-framed photograph of the dearly departed.
The egg sac is not a silk-lined bassinet,
the hanging ornament
to all her future hopes and dreams.
She is absent of frontal lobes,
moralizing modifiers,
second thoughts.
An instrument of logic,
mate=food
sac=young,
syllogisms minus all prepositions,
additional excess cargo to be jettisoned
as the dried shells of devoured prey.
No welcome mats on the front step,
no settees in the parlor,
no cunning seductress with scarlet claws.
Only a modem waiting in the spaceless black.
Knowing you as I do,
you entered the room shyly.
Saying nothing, you took a seat
next to your sister.
Then your ear homed in on the speaker.
You tried not to notice
some of the ladies paying
way too much attention to your blouse.
Sensing your insecurities,
your sister leaned into your ear
and urged you to pay them no mind.
"They've been like that for at least as long as I've been here. Ignore them."
She gave you a smile full of teeth and
just like that, you were home.
"Maybe I should button up my shirt a bit?" You whispered to her.
"Stay just as you are," she reassured you with a gentle rub on the small
of your back. "You're JUST fine."
The speaker kept speaking
and you both kept whispering, attentively catching up on each other's lives and giddily reminiscing of the shenanigans of your youth.
Then, the door opened and the third sister barraged in.
"What did I miss ?" she almost shouted as she pulled up a chair next to you.
"Shuush"! The others said, giving her an eye roll, and then, with pouty mouths, returning their attention back
to the speaker.
"Forget those ole biddies," she snapped
and then immediately jointed in the conversation.
"What are you doing here?"
You asked her.
"You said you were too busy."
"I know," she said. "But, I thought about it and I said, 'I don't see y'all near enough. So, I dropped everything and came!"
The three of you sat and talked and laughed
til the sun died,
and rose again.
Finally, you broke the chatter.
"Maybe we should pull up another chair.
She could be here anytime now."
The eldest eyes smiled. She took both of your hands and replied,
"No need for that just yet.
I spoke to her just before
I left to come here. She has a lot still to do. She'll join us
as soon as she's finished."
They all smiled at each other.
And with that,
the conversation resumed.
(cuz ma life iz such a drag...
this toke kin “FAKE” hemp
pyre aye roll out to you dear reader).
As a double jointed mathematical abbot
and amateur chemist
specializing in cannabinoids
my favorite delta-9-tetra
hydrocannabinol (THC),
isolated and synthesized in 1964
weeding thru bathroom rag
while athwart the potty
i.e. measuring adequate perforated
square roto root er, sans
regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter
on the sacred porcelain chamber pot
Mary Jane made a token appearance,
and boy she looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry (Jane) her attired
in drag at a joint where Billy Bong
banged on by the hands of
a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings – holy Scott
the immediate utterance,
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got deprived a hit,
nonetheless got shot
unwittingly by his own (confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per southern cause during
the Civil War and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide available
instead of primitive treatment he got
(as well other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield),
whose faith the any almighty power
could do little to save their roach invested lot
yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that Mobius strip
mortally wounded rebels and Yankees
free from facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip cotton
as king as export to trot
orange you glad I avoided
the analogy with a kumquat?
A screen door
creaks
small incursions
into rip and hole.
Unseen, a creeping grub and thriving,
chitinous mandibles
munch upon the desiccated dead,
thrive in the thrash and mingle.
Corruption forms its disorderly queue,
jointed question marks
walk on segmented legs
spindly limbs pry
where slick eggs incubate.
As time swings its metronome,
splintered chips
flake away, wood
cracks its rotting bones.
Internal scaffoldings
crumble,
mold multiplies,
mildew clings to
muck.
A festering wriggles forth.
"Honey, can you oil the back door,
it's creaking again."
I scrunch my butt deeper into the sofa.
"I'll get on it after the game." I say,
making a mental note
to get more beers in,
Tomorrow, slap some paint
over the wormholes
maybe.
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
I LAMB COVING MY LINKAGE
My beef is forced anger
So goose my way through life passages go figure
I goat what I eat what I ate aspirate danger
My by product waste excrement, temperament
Cleanse out covered wrinkle tribe
Neither lamb fry nor black pot
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
Spiritual and Physical
~
Left over thrown away chitterling
Skins of mine intestines
Mutton never tasted spiritual under taking
I’ve been bomb basin
A jointed of veal provide
How we feel been denied
Speaks of feces yum turn inside out
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
Physical and Spiritual
11/12/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©