Long Knobbly Poems
Long Knobbly Poems. Below are the most popular long Knobbly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Knobbly poems by poem length and keyword.
I need a recipe for instant happiness,
For all that are feeling sad
I'd start with a ray of sunshine
That doesn't sound too bad
Next, a sweet smile
Or a baby's toothless grin,
It stands out a mile
As you start to mix it in
This happiness recipe
For all to feel and see
It needs a pinch of wit
From all the family
A cuddle, Hug and kiss
That would be hard to resist
The tapping of feet
To music loud and clear
Someone shouting "Cheers,"
As he handed around beers.
The sound of a piano
A kitten on the keys
An old gentleman dancing
With bow legs and knobbly knees.
A friendly Hub Hub a buzz of happiness
That would be an excellent start for the recipe.
I guess.
seductive Galway gal would not stay
such savage beauty she went astray
whether Corrib, whether Mask
Connemara man to ask
to Inishbofin she played away
Leitrim lout took drink by the flagon
very short coast, very short wagon
went inland to buy a boat
all-aboard, beer for his goat
so raised a glass, Carrick-on-Shannon
wild west playboy from county Mayo
did for his dad, very own say so
holy mountain, dreaming star
left the pub at Castlebar
shoe hanging out his Ford Mondeo
Roscommon culchie, gangly and rare
hung out near Boyle with spindly long hair
web below her knobbly knee
bank to bank across lough Ree
wrapped up her men, eight legs in the air
our Sligo boy, no good at countin'
he spied some girls down by the fountain
one, two, three, how many more?
his favourite to adore
he chased her up Benbulben mountain
According to a 1975 article published in Winnipeg Press, those 3 stones, found in Eastern Townships of Quebec, serve as evidence that Phoenicians embarked on a treacherous sail across the Atlantic, reaching North America well over 2,500 years ago.
***
He wore a purple dyed robe and bantered softly with the sailors
as they navigated by the light of the stars
with cases of wood and glass tucked away at the base of the boat
including a thousand biblions from the City of Byblos;
The papyrus sheets filled with hurried sketches and mad scribbles
sat on his wood desk. He was on his way to Canada, what could stop him now
Six Mysterious Stone Orbs appeared in the sky overnight
at first appeared that they were just ornaments
But then the sun, fog and rain set in as he touched each stone
The knobbly Orbs were massaged and rolled,
it appeared these stone orbs had magical properties
One was made of sodalite, one of marble,
the other four had strange substance and texture;
It was an eye-opening journey through history and culture
that almost didn't happen, if it weren't for the timely effect
of one Turquenite Blue Howlite Gemstone Orb that blazed
sending Mysterious Gurdian signals to the Galaxy above;
The mast began to shake with its isignia of Orb and Sceptre
as if to say, hang on I will transport you in time,
as a large massive portal appeared he went through.
He made it to Canada, who knew ?
Hairy Mary, really scary
Hairs grow from her nose
Some sprout from her pointy ears
And in between her toes
She's got hair on her fingers
and her one remaining thumb
I can't confirm the rumour
That she's got a hairy bum
A hair grows from the mole
That is sprouting from her chin
Her wicked eyes are purple
And her nose is bent and thin
She said some funny words to me
when I was just a boy
And waved a knobbly stick
Like it was some magician's toy
She said that she was turning me
Into a slimy frog
I told her she was bonkers
And I'd rather be a dog
For witches live in fiction
But my theory has a glitch
I called her lots of names
And then my skin began to itch
I said she was a daft old bat
She didn't get the joke
And now I find it hard to speak
But easier to...
CROAK!!!
enter the wood, end of the day
deep deep reverb, everywhere
eerie sound from between the trees
from bowels of earth, around the sky
then chilling stillness, flee or stay?
thump thump! disturb the very air
flurried dance, the following breeze
as yowls of mirth personify
monsters lurk and skulk, hide away
blink blink, acerbic scary stare
belly scales grow knobbly knees
fat jowls of girth, the fleshy eye
children scamper, fierce games they play
beat beat, why curb their merry dare ?
carefree clamber through ill-at-ease
with howls of worth they yelp and cry
fungi feast while dank leaves decay
sleep sleep superb in fairy lair
life poking head, no guarantees
where scowls give birth, when dreams do die
look up beyond where branches sway
squeak squeak perturb the glary glare
past hazy stars, the " Pleiades "
night ghouls of dearth by radar fly
.
My dear miss Camella, you move with such grace,
And your lips are so sweet, flies swarm round your face
When you first smiled at me, i foolishly grinned.
Then you puffed out both cheeks, and loudly broke wind.
Like a ship of the desert, with a camel hair coat.
Just letting off steam, with a double bass note.
It was love at first sight, despite all of my spots.
For the touch of my leopard skin, gave you the hots.
I love how you swagger, on oversize feet.
While those knobbly knees, makes my heart skip a beat.
Or the way that you squint, with a glint in your eyes.
When you spit from ten paces, and pick off sand flies.
Well now i must tell you, i'm going to propose,
If you will say yes, and wear my ring through your nose.
We could be a couple, and create our own kid.
While it would be unique, to raise a goofy hybrid.
I'm sure that we could, if we tried very hard.
Well, whoever has heard of a camelopard.
Please don't take the hump, i'm not having a laugh.
But maybe our baby, could be a giraffe.
So my dearest Camella, please make me your beau.
I am yours, ever faithful, your handsome Leo.
11/ 5/ 2017.
If it is of interest to anyone, a camelopard is an archaic
word for a giraffe.
There was an old dear
She is no longer here
As one day she fancied a bath
Her son said, she was too old for all that
To shower instead and don’t be so daft
A cantankerous old biddy
And ignoring his pleas
She began to feel giddy
And sunk to her knees
The pain it was awful
She could not get out
Tears welled in her eyes
As she started to shout
But no one was there to hear her pleas
As she tried to kneel on her knobbly knees
And the poor old dear
She is no longer here
She was finally found
In her bath - she had drowned
So after the age of seventy
Try not to act too rebelliously
Do not cause a furore
See the moral of this story
If you don’t want to drown in your bath
Leaving others with the aftermath
To die in your bath is not a pretty sight
As when you are found you will look such a fright
All wrinkled and red, as you will be dead
So listen when told if you want to grow old
No bathing for you, try a shower instead
30th September 2018
EARLY POEM CONTEST
Sponsor Brian Strand
On his little growling tractor, he drove between the wheat;
with a straw hat on his mullet head and the pedals at his feet.
A shiny red John Deer - perfect-sized for such a boy
with a clanking diesel engine - this was more than just a toy.
And slung across his cotton back, his airgun seemed to aim
at the bright blue lowveld sky - and ‘Choppie’ was his name.
He crossed into the tobacco of Van Niekerk’s farm next door.
He passed their old iron windmill, then their barn and tin feedstore.
She was waiting by the naartjies, several peels by her bare feet,
with her doll across her knees and an oil can for a seat;
He cut the engine, smiling. ‘How’s it going, dear Poppie?’
She tossed her corn-silk hair. ‘Voetsak, chip-tooth Choppie!’
Her skin was caramel; she had freckles across her cheeks;
Her nose was small, her eyes were green as the moss where the farm tank leaks.
‘What can I do for you, my sweet, to show my love today?’
‘Either shoot me a dozen muisvoëls or drive yourself away.’
So he took his little rifle, and soon its sound was heard
as he hunted through the orchard for the small grey-crested bird.
But when the job was done, and he delivered the bodies to miss,
she refused to even count them and he didn’t get his kiss.
‘Kill ten rats from the barn, and then we’ll hold hands, Choppie.’
As soon as said, he went to shoot a sack of rats for Poppie.
She said, ‘I’ve changed my mind. Your hunting’s not enough.
Dead birds and rats are rubbish; and a girl wants shiny stuff.’
She then looked past his shoulder at his beautiful machine
with its tall black knobbly tires and its candy-apple gleam.
‘Give me your nice red tractor and you can kiss me on the cheek
and dance with me at the festival near Loskop Dam next week.’
Now setting the price too high and playing too hard to get
will leave you lonely on a can and feeling some regret.
For there are many farms in Groblersdal - and girls who know the way.
A boy who shoots for love will live to woo another day.
So Choppie drove to Meisie’s house to see if he could attract her;
while Poppie learned you cannot take the farmer from his tractor.
SHORT TROUSERS
When I was young in trousers short,
Children laughed at my knobbly knees.
I asked my mother why she bought
Short trousers in the winter’s freeze.
Fresh air was good for me she thought.
But Dad wore full length all year long
Which didn’t seem to me quite fair.
He was quite healthy, fit and strong
Without his knees exposed to air.
I said it was unjust, all wrong
But now, commuting on the train,
Day after day in sultry heat,
I find long trousers are a pain.
Sometimes I wish I could retreat
To childhood and wear shorts again.
20th November 2020
Quintain/Sicilian contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
You are getting on, old fruit
Too obese to wear your new suit
Your face resembles a wrinkled prune
Old age is showing on you too soon,
What has happened to your lustrous hair
Your scalp is shiny and noticeably bare
Your jowls are hanging lower than your chin
My word, I cannot believe what a state you're in
Shoulders that were broad and strong
They are now all hunched and look all wrong.
Your knees are knobbly and a little bent,
The left leg forgot where the right one went.
I can not understand you when you talk,
Your brain, not your legs, has gone for a walk
Your eyes look blank, staring into space
You have lost touch with the human race.
We lost touch over the years,
After sharing much laughter and some tears
I have just seen you interviewed on TV
Old fruit, it was a shock to me,
To see you sitting in a chair,
With all the hoi polloi and fanfare there
Smiling happily from ear to ear
Holding up a glass of cheer
With the TV presenters and your guests
Wishing you the very best
And the audience stood up to say
Many happy returns of your 110th BIRTHDAY!