Long Kitsch Poems
Long Kitsch Poems. Below are the most popular long Kitsch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kitsch poems by poem length and keyword.
Alright have to admit that whole drole Bazball or Baz Bat cool cat vibe…rabbit out of hat tribe.. is taking its toll..sunk in a hole..losing it’s goal and soul..not being a vitriol troll..maybe need to mull over a cull of this rigmarole..
Can’t pretend..is the end of this spangly jangly new fangled trend…nothing off the shelf…just express yourself…won’t spank you..will almost thank you.. if you tank…bonkers fools rules you can’t bend…must always go stonkers.. all cool no old school…when you shan't defend and depend on a blend of soft conkers and tracks to conquer..
Let’s explain there are many ways to play and entertain…the lotto of the Baz grotto..no dull lulls …no more bore score draws…one motto…just high octane insane where seemingly the sole means to control is a flat track that blunts and shunts how every attack does bowl..
I know..have already banged on..had a go at the pitches…feather beds so flat you can bat gung ho heave ho from the get go.. no wear and tear..glitches or hitches.. despair to stop the flair.. no real movement in the air or off the square..the Bazball pest…Bazbat conquest..effectively saying no we won’t be surfing the crest of a true test contest of willow and leather..hey ho nonny no…to the real deal Test fest..tally ho..
No pretension..apprehension of the lacking dimensions and few mentions of the best Test tensions..
Also must rebuke how they have turned the duke ball from a serious nuke which would spook.. enthrall..now reliant on a cherry that gets so soft you need a fluke ..well Dukes will be compliant as England’s their biggest client…we saw our copper haired laird no longer..stronger defiant..again came a cropper..and this was hardly a proper whopper green topper..
It seems kitsch Bazball rule needily greedily avoids any glitches or hitches in batter’s riches which in turn.. does spurn and bewitches merchants of seams and stitches..
Well it can be dicey to make your tracks at home too spicy..get in a lather…at the palaver as runs become rather pricey..when you could goad..milk that ilk as you explode on a silk road..
Our selector trifecta…the three wise men..Baz..Bob and Ben.. know if there is no speedster thuggery… no Geoffrey jaffas…bunsen spin skulduggery..they will be the gaffers with some Bazball muggery..
10/17/19
"Brand New"
I'd be damned to quit
Putting out some brand new s***
With a brand new drip
In my a step a brand new skip
Brand new tint
Steering wheel with a brand new grip
In a brand new whip
With a brand new chick
On my hip a brand new stick
With a brand new clip
The man who's lit
Got a brand new script
Just picked up a brand new zip
And a brand new brick
No better time to make a brand new flip
Never been brand new to it
It was time to get a brand new skiff
So I bought a brand new ship
Blessed with a brand new gift
As well as a brand new shtick
On my shoulder a brand new chip
Ready to take care of this brand new itch
Towing a trailer, in a brand new truck with a brand new lift
And a brand new hitch
Found a brand new niche
Only out for brand new not no kitsch
Accomplished it, and now got a brand new wish
Currently on a brand new mish
While solving a brand new twist
Companies advertising a brand new pitch
She got surgery for some brand new ti**
In a state of brand new bliss
In the air a brand new drift
The tectonic plates near a brand new shift
Soon in the sky a brand new eclipse
Purchased some brand new kicks
About to use some brand new tricks
All these brand new cliques
And brand new pricks
I'm going to handle it
In the dark, don't need no candlestick
It's my problem, so i'm dipping my hand in this
Stunning crafts like amulets
A planet full of inhabitants
Areas full of contaminants
Sitting atop their palaces
People obsessed with extravagance
Others starving and ravenous
Not all became graduates
Some got into accidents
Causing a state of paralysis
Folks so haplessness
This life is nothing short of fabulous
The verdict wasn't always unanimous
Still into cannabis
But not abstinence
Got it done, regardless of short handedness
Near and far from waters with platypus
I'm working on my own analysis
The results shall be nothing short of miraculous
By: Dalton Ogletree
Ominous Foreboding Augurs...
Innocuously incubated kindled
imperceptible dire strait
restlessness like tinder
with pinterest Deutsche agitate
barreling like a freight
train running so much
faster than an eight
track uber twittering,
rumbling, quickening and inculcate
dissension among dissolute
rabble rousers, who
do obediently initiate
rank and file will not abate,
boot re:reed out (bus) soon,
thence coalesces into ablegate
insidious encroachments
no longer patiently await...
ideal conditions to hatch
schism within parched
soil perfect for hate
mongers of democracy
breeds anarchy to facilitate
chaos, which quickly spreads
like kudzu, or wildfire Arson
Welles immediately forcing leader
of free world to abnegate,
(heard to trumpet "FORGET
THE WALL" mate),
(despite being caught in his
pink frilly underwear), to late
for Mar a Lago escape, where
formerly great wealth did
pool lightly coagulate
elite class heard faint stir of echoes,
then earsplitting clangorous louder
than an ICBM din (er bell)
rent asunder forcing
freedom of "FAKE
MEDIA" to abdicate
all the while pointing beringed
index finger to accentuate
his Taj Mahal ululation
interspersed veni, vedi,
veci stopping for spate
to coif (died in the will)
hirsute and aerate
said wind swept hairdo
pausing every now and again to snap
selfie portraits, plus
instagram loved ones to alleviate
that pompous, outsize,
and humongous ego fast deflate
ting into a shriveled up POTUS
float hissing boilerplate
hot airy premature ejaculations,
he would not capitulate
(sooner be rocketed
to Pyongyang and cell bate
good times with Kim
Jong-un to emasculate!
I now absolve myself
that aforementioned jest,
a tongue in cheek diatribe belies
my means to predict any forecast,
yet if any resemblance
of chance events
materializes between
my pablum childishness at best
there could arise fruitful market
for kitsch sheen collectors items
high as Mount Everest!
Restless soccer moms,
whose kittens have all become mature,
got plenty of suburban boredom
Time enough for sure
to get hooked on every advertised lure
As daytime soaps and gossip kitsch
are the mundane, daily double feature
So they buy themselves some
beautiful, youthful promises,
packaged in a slick cardio video
Victoria got some bedroom secrets
that frustrated spouses wanna know
Put the proper promotional letters
in the slotted payment space
Then they sit back and anticipate,
let that warm scented water luxuriate
their uncaged primal thoughts:
That lackluster romantic routine
with the half-interested spouse
has become so very predictable
Mannequin lovemaking so emotional sterile
When expedited delivery late evening come,
they strike their favorite sexy pose,
in their most come-hither revealing clothes
But such meticulously planned foreplay
gets the usual NITM treatment today
This last straw has stirred these tigress spirits,
but not in a good way
When the Good Wives Club start breaking bad,
there’s gonna be divorce hell to pay
Those Ladies Night Out
now grinds to an adulterous sway
Neglected desires are maritally hated,
lost fidelity mourned in Goth black
Intimacy ignored is so cold calculated;
bad math, write digits for call back
Cougars don’t like being domesticated,
coyote ugly do love to run in a pack
Foxy motives ain’t hen house overrated,
passionate predators are on the attack
Suburban lionesses on a stag hunting mission,
got dark jaguar urban jungle keen night vision
Painted panthers on a one-night-stand prowl,
coy cheetahs moving fast with their claws out,
Hot, feral women with cougar pent-up emotions,
are lethal loving leopards with spotted devotions
Passionate predators,
only lascivious hearts dare venture
If you got a taste for the forbidden,
then you got a wish to be eaten
Acronym alert:
NITM
(Not in the mood)
**Poetic shorthand —
Romantic Warrior
I say the word and feign a Freudian slip
From between its legs duplicities drip
Often doubling as a quip and tasting chalky, just a bit
History will record the troubling truth
that I never existed if I don’t submit
I’ll submit this thing as if it’s a soliloquy
while being transparent with reverse psychology
When transparency is brutal it packs a voice
and reverse psychology, feudal and conundrous
remains my voodoo doll of sadistic choice
I’ll submit to this contest and play my part
of being a number somewhere south of the winners art
Once again I’ll suck up to the system
and once again with all its heart the system will suck me down
without even a gesture of orbiter dictum
A social mirror once said, “we love you, submit to me”
I used to show it what I wish I could really be
but it cared more for its own scripted ego
and tried to love me like a gas-lighting lover
so I gave it the finger more than ten years ago
I’ve been told that only the cream earns Summa Cum Laude
I graduated Some Come Later from the hallows of a Christian god
So how should I wear the facade upon this stage?
I shouldn’t use “dude”, nor cliched kitsch like I just did
But I’ll not to be sullied by a tired script from a mirror’s page
Yet for the scripted glory this poet pines
He rolls his eyes at the rules, and colors colors outside the lines
Prismatic angles he declines and spanks his colors with twisted sticks
With blinding tinnitus in his transient sight he thus surrenders
and submits (to) his magniloquentesque amateur parlor tricks
Earth to novice poet... Dude, submitting is not as painful as it seems
Novice poet to Earth… No Dude, you know when falls the silent tree
I hear poetic voices but my poetic choices have disqualified me, so
this is my last reverse transmission into my pathetic poetic pipe dreams
Thank you kindly. No offense but I should just go
i will probably die before you know the truth
before something original ever passes through my lips
about how you’re a ripple in the space-time continuum
a montage of things that isn’t supposed to exist together
a bismuth crystal wrapped in tattered bags
you’re kitsch to me
is it selfish to say that how i see you
is the only sight of you that is true?
you are something unexpected
i entered the dark mine that’s been too feared for years
and discovered that there is something about how crystals are beautiful
that passes through the general atmosphere, unseen
they reflect the light of what is around them
and they bend it
wrapping around necks and wrists
and fingers
and even the rocks that surround them
you’re the reason the antimatter and matter doesn’t cancel out
because you are the embodiment of it
and i will live in you, discovering you, and creating with you
like you’re the Earth
but we will not stay here; we will find our home
somewhere out there
and shoot off this place
like a rocket; like a gun
and put a crater on a land that is as big as you matter to me
you are the sun like a filter over my view
but that’s okay, because you are the view
and you have layers to dissect and analyze
and you will shine bright, nurturing me
the only one who will do so
the only one of your kind in this system
because i’m a distant, dusty mask on a shelf
it is very rare for me to speak to someone and mean it
to float away and stop possessing that mask
and become the ghost that i’ve been
and say I love you
for the first time after my death
for the first time in this distant shape-shifting spying game
it’s not a game any longer
now pull out the tarot cards and let’s create our own
because we are real
and real is something i haven’t been in a while
There's something called Nescafe Nights,
Written upon midnight kitchen counters,
As I sway to your voice,
On a phone whose connection
Is keen on abruption.
During these Coffee wafted midnights,
Conversations are suspended from knowledge,
Who knows?
Who cares?
Who sees?
Do you?
Consumed by the stretched sheet of time,
Isn't there something about you and I
that almost makes this longing a syndrome?
I try to ask, nonchalantly.
There's something
What could be the adjective?
Endearing about these Nescafe Nights,
Feeling of your favourite poetry collection,
Your first paperback poetry collection,
against your skin,
when the first poem, sinks, seeps, simmers you in,
And how I luxuriate, and then Dissolve
within this Nostalgia
that's dispersed over space and constellations,
waiting to be mourned and mooned over.
There's something about a caffeine stained room
That lingers and follows
With every lane, every day, every thought.
Within the scoops of swirled up ice-cream
There's something about this swirled up ice-cream
on my tongue, within a dimmed, always sunset room
that reminds me of Midnights,
Curled upon my tongue,
Melting, overflowing,
A scented, marked kiss of "Wish I was there"
Maybe, It's the version of reality,
that I've loved for the first time without
any caution of moment, and Maybe,
it is the first of firsts where words flow carelessly where
meanings mesh with others, Maybe
just Maybe this is how simply heartbeat feels
a simple skip of happiness,
a simple leap of
passion, sometimes a symbol within pages,
sometimes damasked with metaphors, but always a
stained, kitsch-like memory.
Last Halloween was scary
with evil brewing strong
when Peggy planned a party
and things went off all wrong
In tatty robe, her hair awry
she slaved all day with care
her neighborhood to satisfy
with an elegant affair
Fine treats she baked and broiled
and decorated in detail
until her appetite was spoiled
and strength had almost failed
The house she'd scrubbed and polished
to a frighteningly bright sheen
every speck of dust demolished
she worked like a machine!
But, oh- the guests arrived too early
before she was quite dressed
and between her looks, and manner surly
were somewhat less than impressed
And to make things even worse
they quipped in her living room
their clever lines, so well-rehearsed
“Oh Peg, we LOVE your costume!”
They waited half a second, while
still within earshot
and sniped with vicious smiles
about all her house was not
How her home was far too small
to host this gathering
with depressing rooms and narrow hall
too shabby for anything!
The kids came in rolled their eyes
at tacky Halloween kitsch
and consoled themselves by cracking-wise
about it all with Mitch
Now Mitch was Peggy's husband
and should've known her mind
but he said things offhand
that came off as unkind
Then Nan came in with Merrilee
a chef of snobby taste
who (nose turned up), quite warily
declared the food “a waste”
Then as the midnight beckoned
Peg raged against the room
(a “woman scorned”, I reckon...)
the party met their doom!
___
A Halloween poem to make up for my deceptively titled 'The Living Dead' poem... which has nothing to do with the holiday!
Creative side suddenly began to flourish
With mom's home interioir design.
Now I foster it, fully embrace and nourish.
Goals with my actions are to be aligned.
Vivid colors, textures, shapes, patterns, and sly styles
I could have spent hours choosing window blinds.
Visit furnuture stores in radius of miles.
Came unnoticed in myself. Was I blind?
I am not prone to impulsive decisions
Today fell in love with furtinute piece.
I have a dream house and in which I envision
It. My unborn child would play with my niece.
House is not big but pragmatic yet elegant.
Three bedrooms, dining room, a vestibule.
My daughter rattles a lot, whistles, sometimes chants
Songs yet it is never a ridicule.
I am hoping my vision is not a kitsch.
On Sundays we don't visit nearby church.
I'm hoping to discover my magic mood switch.
Next to the house there's a forest of birch.
Another side of myself is somewhat nerdy.
Software, data structures, algorithms.
Plus one's ground underneath has got to be sturdy
Yet I dream of theater, rhythms and myths.
My muse was not with me when I was a student
When I possessed all the time in the world.
Now I work, I am an adult, so prudent.
Wish my creativity could be sold.
I like extreme comparison, enjoy grotesque.
Use them in emerging poem fables.
It's burlesque: I sit the day thrgouh at my work desk
Struggling to make sense of Excel tables.
I simply adore tight six syllable stanza
Through it's harder to bring the point across.
But it is compact and mere extravaganza!
It's mine therefore I have to bear this cross...
Talking heads
will give you their attached credentials
with solemn aplomb
And it’s plenty hyphen proof long
They’ll make unlearned eyes gasp
at their hyped expertise
Get simpler minds to hyperventilate,
as their lower rack thoughts
common sense overheat
Everyday, mundane pondering
takes a kid table backseat
The babble bobble heads,
with the apron string tongues,
love speaking
upper shelf kitchen cabinet highbrow kitsch
Momma says, the couch potato heads
are always angle offering a self-serving dish
Cooking up pretentious phrases,
their broasted chest stuffings
puffs a lot of jive-turkey bleats
It all sounds ear tasty good ...
got a delicious soul flavor in theory
A tone semi-sweet savor
worth artichoke heart half hearing
Daddy says, the air bubble heads
always got a shrink-wrap blurb tidbit wish
But you gotta stay tuned-in
to the next programmed “must-see” video lip-clip
Don’t let the hyphen-attachments
first guest hook you
Let not your legitimate doubts
be second guess fooled
Talking heads will always
try to tinted glass blow smooth,
make you go-getter move
Get your temper ta-ta’s
to shimmy-shuffle to the hum-drum groove
of the bad hair forecast blues
Calmly gather your lung precious thoughts,
allow the hyperventilating to cease
Supremely, thinking serenely for yourself
is a television ratings cable disease