Long Juiced Poems
Long Juiced Poems. Below are the most popular long Juiced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Juiced poems by poem length and keyword.
juiced spare moments,
and tubby direct, ernest and frank
lemme communicate without resorting
to caginess,
but NON GMO, gluten free roaming thoughts to thank
ye (Amelie Beth), and Rich McGeehan
for welcoming a small group
of family and friends
to your Woodbury, New Jersey abode,
somewhat near Redbank
to relish the salad days of times gone by,
when as kids residing in Audubon
or Collegeville, Pennsylvania,
we tricked each other with a harmless prank
such as hiding a fuzzy wuzzy Willie,
or scaring the other
with the molded Creepy People that doth rank
as laughably innocent, these topsy turvy times,
when faith no more
eroded camaraderie among village people
unity withal fellow Americans did tank
especially as the world wide web
iz going necessitate thee
to fill in the BLANK
thus moments to share
a tasty repast did help me to crank
out this artichokes gibberish,
which when placed
atop pyramid of cranberries sank.
as didst this heart of darkness
within soul asylum
of papa and momma genes
to two beautiful young women
re: daughters, whose absence
felt as gloomy fiends
similar to the Ogre encountered,
when goose that laid golden egg stolen
by Jack and beanstalk
of story book fame as a cash cow means.
SHE THOUGHT BETTER THAN TOSS THEM OUT
THEY WERE PRIZED FOR THERE PERFECT SIZE
SHE JUST DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO
SHE HAD SO MANY FROM THE FIRST PICKING
ONLY IF SHE HAD MADE BETTER PLANS
ONLY IF SHE HAD THOUGHT IT THROUGH
THEN SUDDENLY SHE SAID " I KNOW WHAT TO DO"
I'LL INVITE ALL OF THE CUCUMBER LOVERS
OVER TO RELISH IN MY FABULOUS IDEA
I HAD BEEN SO TIRED OF SALADING
THAN I CAME UP WITH THIS CONCEPT
THE PEOPLE FAR AND NEAR SHALL LOVE ME
AND ALL WHO LOVE ME SHALL DRINK MY CUCUMBERS
SHE ROUNDED UP EVERYTHING SHE NEEDED
THE CUCUMBERS, THE GRAPES, THE APPLES
THE MINT, THE STRAWBERRIES,AND 5 CUPS OF LEMON JUICE
THIS SHALL BE AN
EXOTIC BLEND TO MAKE ALL THOSE
WHO SEEM PUZZLED LOVE MY
CUCUMBER
SHE HAD 100 CUCUMBERS: SHE SAVED ONE FOR HER
REASONS, BUT THESE 99 SHALL DELIGHT THE WORLD
OF CUCUMBER LOVERS, THEY SHALL FIND MY JUICES
DELICIOUS AND SATISFYING
SHE JUICED ALL THE FRUITS AND VEGETABLE
AND THEN SHE ADDED HER SPECIAL INGREDIENT GIN
SHE MADE TWO FIFTHS THE SECRET OF HER
DELIGHTFUL JUICE
THIS GIN AND ICE SHALL MAKE THESE CUCUMBER LOVERS LOVE ME AND
MY DELICIOUS JUICE.
WHEN THE PEOPLE CAME TO HER HOME TO TASTE HER CONCOCTION, THEY WERE PUZZLED
WHO WANTS TO DRINK CUCUMBERS THEY SAID.
SHE SAT THEM DOWN AND SERVED SALMAN BEEF AND PORK
WITH THESE DISHES, THE CUCUMBER WOULD
SHINE LIKE THE STAR SHE MADE IT INTO BEING.
THEY SIPPED, AND SIPPED UNTIL ONE GENTLEMEN ROSE TO SPEAK.
HE WAS SO DELIGHTED, HE ASKED HER TO COME TO HIS RETREAT AND MAKE HIS
CUCUMBERS TASTE AS GOOD AS THE ONES HE HAD JUST DRANK.
OF COURSE THE WOMAN AGREED.
AND EVERYONE WAS HAPPY
WITH THE CUCUMBERS THE WOMAN HAD MADE FOR THEM.
“God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma,
like this dopamine boosting flavor I taste.
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart,
breath by breath so that my soul may be chaste”
He is the one that loves me and watches me night and day
as I sip my coffee I ponder on my future and His way
How can I yield to Him when my hopes are on the fringe ?
A caffeinated woman highly stimulated by life, unhinged
like the fences of my childhood past, ...
He is the scent that clings to my bones at my most secret hour
the shadow that never leaves me, my Babel Tower
How can I be obedient until death when life continues to shower?
Juiced up to the max by life's contours I tend to cower
like the deer in the forest I shrink away fast, ...
He is the light at the end of a long and darkly tunnel
a few prayers on the lips and I am able to leave this jungle
How can I serve Him best, when all I do is stumble
revved up like a strong cup of espresso I can only guzzle
like a thirsty beggar, without a solid repast.
Whit dat tight till - say
yes, aye wool thank ewe
mooch at least for today
hoof fully (this Joe kerr)
can easily bide his time weigh
beef hoar rammy cows come home.
Meantime India interim
lemme clover - reaching
far out on dam moost precarious limb,
bot do nut inspect me tub bark prim
and proper, nor procrastinate for tim
marrow, cause spontaneous whim
will lose heft, no matter how inane
poetic palaver could by then
elude ding me noggin to explain
nebulous jibber jabber hokey folderol
even confusing to a Great Dane
a dog (of course)
man's/woman's beast friend,
not hounding visa vis discovering
you improperly verb (bait him)
bone a fied with noun (sense)
barking up wrong tree
dangling modifier as gerund
faux paws and inquisitive,
nonetheless countenance do lend
sincere cachet gnome hatter compared
to average superficial *****sapien
said former doggone creature just thru
facial expression can mend
"broken" heart and soul,
which rhyming tangent did send
yours truly off scent, asper initial trend
actually truth be told, no paw tickle har
matter, I sought to sink teeth into,
but let babbling stream of consciousness wend,
where petty full extemporaneous tooting
oh my didgeridoo, which initially scares
the dickens out gills of hooting
blowfish until they recognize
this bloke juiced pooting
air thru a long wooden tube, be yule
then their piousness piqued to pisces,
gather together as if attending school
always mindful to follow
the goldenfish rule
i.e. aldi tom not erring,
floundering, and getting
tricked, royally suckered, and
hooked becoming gruel
resulting within tummy higher
up the feeding chain,
survival of dragnets cruel.
fission expedition for
salmon to hope fillet
enjoys almost done hook,
line and sinker - hooray,
sans to steal mental energy,
and precious time may
king another reason to be
persnickety and every ray
zen to be guarded, when
wading in cyber seas tay
king precautions, once
I return from Uruguay.
Matthew O' Harris Ease A "FAKE" Irishman
Juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull o' Eire rush deuce cent)
aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -
good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent
scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet
ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed stitch of truth!
Paying The Piper
By: Tom
1/26/2021
In my twenties, when woken, I felt juiced,
long before age started plowing my field.
Now, I’ve sleepless nights, most pain induced,
and four hours sleep is a good nights yield.
When in my twenties,
I’d work all day and howl most nights,
thinking who needs sleep, I’ll sleep when I’m old.
Now I spend time reviewing those highlights,
thinking perhaps my twenties were too bold.
Now in my eighties,
I lack sleep, due to my pain’s after effects,
derived from those “twenties” nights of howling.
I don’t have to guess about what comes next,
when I wake up and my face is scowling.
"canon service"
“We follow the rules here”, he said incorruptibly
like he was untainted as holy water
from the incorruptible font,
he had an upward inflection in his voice
at the end of every punctuated point,
delivered like a canon service
his gun and bullets were larger
apparently...he was high, the pulpit lofty
far above the soaped-up sinners
some of us inside were grinning
too much alter wine
he was probably juiced,
then unctuously he shared his fat sermon
as if to convey to the congregated
a good and proper sluicing,
the service was poetic
no hymns in this church
salvation tamborines
to beat the devils out,
some of us inside were grinning
Candide Diderot. ‘23
canon.
cannon.
With Ma Lil Nude Dill
one bilabial fricative smacking
tongue thrusting (lizard like)
indefatigable prelapsarian
Garden of Eden dwelling primate
doth pine with two lipped treating zest
for Eve fun juiced a tasty droplet, wrest
ting kitty meowing Mz er loo,
sans verboten fruit Yukon die vest
via jump starting
a hovering damn
electric kool aid acid test
Hair and there, a bare naked lady attired
in her birthday suit, the sexiest
plump bosom roseate
sear suckered nipples trickling milky nectar
when casting shadowed umbra at rest
thirsting, unleashing, vaunting,
et cetera viz prurient quest,
whereby this rambunctious
horny bull lever severely oppressed
condemned with life sentence
of penile solitude, nest
souled (sorely testing
agonizing Victorian modest
tee primly and properly
tortures carnal temptation lest
surrendering syllabus "C" ) even jest
a jot, cuz tis pure torture restraining
feral, hormonal, integral hankering
to stoke libido at Parochialism be hest
thus, aye feel unfairly deprived,
no hello kitty will be guest
unsure how helpful "getting off my chest"
works thee unnatural tethered
sexual suppression, perhaps best
left unmentioned, encumbered
with jiggly, flabby droopy breast
works, and unwanted love handles
state of reined swiftly tailored
harried stylishly groomed
FitBit bridled uncertainty I attest.
Courtesy the mighty Amazon successful deliverance reported...
Regarding unexpected Gadshill gift
(as if delivered from Magi)
tamper proof wrapped,
thus an obligation goads me
to communicate following
trademarked™ poetically apt
reasonable rhyme capped
with feeble airborne attempt,
no matter arms waved futilely,
madly, and ridiculously flapped
fortunately I eluded being kidnapped
by men in white coats
spellbound and rapt
before arriving at 20965 Young Avenue
Bend, Oregon 97703-8461
without energy being zapped.
The abovementioned transmission to whit
hesitantly, yet immediately, wisely scuttled
cuz analogous to Icarus, a free spirit
ignoring Daedalus warning soaring
too close to the sun
earning stronger epithet than "you nit"
true to adolescent hubris,
the son blithely ignoring
his father as a hypocrite,
but honest to goodness truthfulness
of above line entails
caution and discretion I readily admit.
Just now, I sample
Navitas Organics blueberry
hemp power snack(s)
wondering how many chewy squares
yours truly needs to consume
before me noggin
goes wickety wickety wack,
but... just maybe amply ingested
cubed plant based superfood
could allow, enable and
provide me means to take flight,
whereby off gray carpeted tarmac
goes Matthew Scott Harris.
So best be on the lookout okey doke
for one nondescript buzzfeeding bloke
long haired pencil necked geek fella,
who juiced awoke
and suddenly found himself at Trader Joe's
(with a twenty dollar gift card)
among garden variety generic folk
such as special people spanning Costco calendar,
who sport and trumpet surnames such as
Dunning, Harris, McGeehan no joke,
yet amidst madding crowd there could be
spy versus spy donning dagger and cloak.
anyway hoop fully thee above laughter did evoke,
perhaps e'en yar own literary juices
I didst unwittingly stoke.
I’m pinched, not sweet, and ferociously piqued!
A stomp of vines, my feet juiced red — and drunk.
Embossed my boss — his painted smile. He freaked.
Impertinence! I’d put up with his junk!
Worked extra hard to please this balding… (squeeze).
The constant drip...the bitter pills...my wrath.
No girl! No life! To serve this jerk...this sleaze!
I’ll pluck this fattened grape. His stink needs bath —
An hour long shower walloping...indeed!
I’m a great guy - no sense of humor mean.
This cream of the crop creep, he has no creed.
I’ll hire this donkey’s toot and shoot the scene.
But cheer this vat, I cure my awful state.
Conceive revenge, sour pittance for my hate.
8/13/2018
Mark Massey’s Sour Grapes Poetry Contest
8th place
*Embossed - hunted like an animal, to exhaustion