Long Knobby Poems
Long Knobby Poems. Below are the most popular long Knobby by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Knobby poems by poem length and keyword.
"Lost in a dream with idyllic abstract musing." Quote _by Poet
Absorbing a double scoop of azure,
Bottom of the golden-brown waffle
Cone, green, yellow, orange, red,
Dripping down melting, into the horizon.
Evening's laughter shatters the azure sky;
Frowning disapproval, the sun
Gently wipes away it's tears for
Harmonious promise of future
Idyllic, enormity, day of earth.
Jabbering shadow falling across
Knobby, frayed, wings and contagious
Love: power to renew universe heart.
12/7/2021
Theme-Chosen Azure
ABC Form
''A'' Forms, New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
The first, carefree summer day a somnolent tune doth swagger
An intense heat hovers then releases a permeable dagger
Sapped of inner resolve, at noon retired to shaded bower, a truant
lagger
At eventide, resuscitated from the cool respite, from my shielded
lair did stagger
The next, searing day shorn of shirt and shoes but with my dignity
intact
I alight from my screened porch assured that my taut skin would
the beaming waves refract
A soothing, afternoon breeze ripples; my chest hairs retract
Traipsing along, unencumbered by the elements, I skip through the
manicured tract
My bare feet absorbing the ground's subducted heat
Disheveled hair, a fluttering mane swaying to my hip hop beat
The soft grass blades caressing my knobby ankles like a velvety
sheet
A winged armada skirting the shock waves pulsing from my
reproaching feet
Treading into lush, green garden cloaked with ingratiating beams
of light
Each, leafy tent bowing paying homage to the sun's infernal might
The pleasant aroma of waxy corn leaves and glossy ferns my
nostrils delight
The sweet scent of mellow berries and ripening mellons my taste
buds insight
At dusk, my barefoot odyssey abruptly comes to an end
A grizzled, sizzled wayfarer, to my artificial estate I slowly wend
Blithe journey my spirits exulted, but pain in my tendered parts did
the sublimity ammend
A cherry red shroud covering a weathered rind looking for soothing
balms my misery to tend
Growing my hair down below my knees...
stimulated courtesy follicles,
where Coconut, Olive, Grapeseed,
Jojoba, Amla and Vitamin E oils
allowed, enabled,
and provided head start
germinating peach fuzz into brown strands
after Flaxseeds, Pumpkin seeds and Fenugreek
being sprinkled on my scalp
yielded a bumper crop of hirsute weeds
occasionally tripping me up
analogous to hallucinogen
causing a public health hazard
warranting, necessitating, and goading me
to give shout out for stylist
to tender mine lovely brunette locks,
which might be repurposed into a wig
for patients undergoing chemotherapy,
or afflicted with alopecia,
(the partial or complete absence
of hair from areas of the body
where it normally grows; baldness).
As a knobby kneed, puny,
scrawny, wimpy kid whose,
(back in the nineteen sixties),
his parents decreed their singular
(painfully shy dorky, geeky and nerdy)
old school boy who sported a buzz cut,
which found him reacting and responding
(in short order rebelling)
passive aggressively by
refusing to bathe
until mommy dearest demanded
(well nigh upon
the bewitching hour of midnight)
to witness her son soaked
and essentially marinated
(until my skin shriveled like a prune)
in the (clawfoot) tub
lest he stink to high heavens,
and given a serious dressing down
by the timely principal Mister Clock.
Far back as I can remember,
the significance of hair
assumed an outsize role,
whether enviously eying other lads
their thick straight hank,
or nowadays bristling
with self reproach
cursed with thinning
greasy limp strands
(interspersed with gray)
experiencing shame being seen in public,
a disgrace to our family name of Wagstaff
and an embarrassment
to the human race
ofttimes associating
myself with Samson,
whereat emotional, physical,
and spiritual strength
rooted (pun intended)
within each hair shaft
(the visible part of the hair
that sticks out of the skin),
and rooted in the skin and extends
down to the deeper layers of the skin
surrounded by the hair follicle
(a sheath of skin
and connective tissue),
which is also connected
to a sebaceous gland.
Pitifully, he calls her again and again
Brando yelling, "STELLA" from his knees.
Like he ever meant something to her...
Stop groveling like a fool. She was a tease.
She doesn't come from Kansas or Oz
and Sunnybrook Farm is make believe.
Stop shouting her name. For crying out loud.
Shed your tears somewhere else if you grieve.
She left long ago on a streetcar to get away.
It's your fault she's gone. You and your drama.
You killed her desire. That's what she said.
The conflicts you created left her in trauma.
You were the spider who sat down beside her,
the tiny creature that was much too hairy.
You brazenly acted as if you were a king,
but there's nothing about you that's scary.
After all this time, still blubbering for Stella?
You're a weeping wimp and it's pathetic
how you demean yourself time after time.
No one cares because you're not empathetic.
She waved farewell and made your life hell.
So, get off your knobby knees, Marlon.
Alice doesn't live here anymore. She left
and no longer wants to call you, 'Darlin.'
Each night when darkness falls
I'm plagued by terror and turmoil
vexed in a crazed state of slumber
tossing and turning, my life in crux
chafed and chased in turbulent dreams
It always begins when I close my eyes
and sense a lurking shadowed presence
I see the outline of the grayling's jaw,
square and strong but flawed by pock marks,
like deep craters from the fire pits of hell.
Overbearing is the heat from flames
thrown from his wicked tongue.
They delve deeply to the core of me
with curses that scorch and burn.
They've left me scarred with jagged lines
that he traces with knobby fingers.
"What is this vile place of darkness?"
I scream in agony, born of fear
but there are no ears to hear my pleas.
My cries for help are never heard
but resound rapidly all around my head.
Darkness conceals his face and form
but his beastly shadow hovers over me
as I sit, cringing against the wall.
In a voice now raspy and weak,
I gasp for one more breath.
Clinging frantically to hope of escape,
but I find no manner of breaking free.
My arms and legs are bound in chains,
blood flows like tears from my lips.
I bit through the skin when I gave in.
By morning I wake, dampened in sweat,
stiff and sore with every move I make
as though I had been crudely used...
abused as if I were a cheap whore.
Memories linger and there's no peace
for my day is spent in dread of night
when I'll be locked in chains once more.
I search for the key to unlock my prison
an illusive key that I may never find.
:============:
9/19/2017
In The Dark Contest
Host: Russell Sivey
I want to go to Virginia
With a girl named Virginia.
Feel the sullen breeze cross my face,
Surf over the knobby contour of my nose,
Then whiz past my ear as I hold Virginia close.
Her honeysuckle shampoo
Permeating my brain.
Both sets of our eyes gaze riverward,
Wondering if the dream had started
Or is this the magical reality
We forever wished for.
With my phaser on stun clipped at my side
We kept on along the water’s edge
Hand-in-hand. Our skin dry, warm,
And glowing, with our heads full of
Miracles and our hearts
In serene syncopation.
Pulling legs,
Bring them down to dregs,
Has been your aim for a long,
In which you are growing strong...!
Hinting at small issues first,
Like little crows feeling thirst;
Proceeding to a bit severe, then,
Like an egg-laying hen...
Hatching plans has been your hobby,
In heart and mind terribly knobby;
From the very waking up till going to bed,
You try to see me before your very eyes fall dead...
No friend! God has plans for me,
He knows when and where and how and what should I be;
Look into yourself; Look after yourself;
Life is not myself or yourself but ourselves...!
13 December 2022
Oldest tree,
where Black River old-growth weathers
wetland over millennia.
Your ancient sinker roots
in dank swamp muck.
Primordial conifer,
Are you the sacred tree of Artemis,
or part of Aristotle’s potential actualizing?
What epic epoch do you realize?
What timeworn bones in your woodland knobby knees?
Your primeval bark peels the pages.
Your hoary trunk holds the saga in wooden tissues
of flood and drought, fire and freeze.
Patient and resolute, growing, undergoing,
unrelenting in the passage of episodes.
The endless patterns of wild came and died.
You watched liars lie and cheaters cheat.
You watched men in war and peace like brief mosquitoes.
What human acquaintance impressed you?
Was it Native Americans you first encountered?
Your bare boughs advance aloft in steady penetration,
a secret sapience silently submitted.
We, the fleeting fevered furious might grasp
your stable constant lessons of careful exhibition.
You reach ever and ever for larger continuance,
pending purpose for your conscientious growth.
Life’s intention is your sufficiency.
Flourishing in your adapting seasons.
Yes, we too can reach and rise in rapture.
In the land of Teeny-Brites,
skies are never dark at night
and castles high with moats afloat,
are filled with itty-bitty boats.
Skies of pink and turquoise blue,
reflecting upon waters, true
are filled with cotton candy clouds,
that would make any baker proud.
The trees, alive with curly-cues,
look musical in many-colored hues.
Swinging bridges cross the lands,
yes, Teeny-Brites builders, did well plan.
Doom dare not, befall this place,
for Teeny-Brites, are quick of pace;
These tiny faeries are swift to flee,
anything that disturbs their peace.
Being faeries, they cast dark spells,
upon invasive, ne’er-do-wells.
You may find you’ve two or three,
perhaps even ninety, knobby knees.
The Teeny-Brites, are loyal friends,
to kind souls who venture in.
And you may find yourself their size,
when you leave, your height will rise.
If one time, you’re blessed to see,
this wondrous land, oh so carefree;
you’ll be elated, I surmise,
for it is truly, a surprise.
Feet transferring vibrations
of tires crunching gravel
and jarring shakes
of rut filled back roads
Up my legs
out my arms
then back
through the steering wheel
I’m in sync with my
knobby tired steed
gliding through the night
under an open jeweled sky
A black velvet horizon
surrounds your moon
flashing a ballet of light
and shadow across the landscape
Wooden floors rumble
on ancient bridges
over creeks and rivers
flowing into the darkness
Deep green water
catches the moon’s
sparkle as it passes
beneath me
Out in the night
the road lives for me
while all the world
dreams of hope
I pass ancient cemeteries
where frozen souls lie trapped
and longing for the freedom
to ride with me into oblivion
The milky landscape
both young and old
melts away
to meet its own destiny
Brown brick silos
standing godlike
face the attack
of time
Buildings once
youthful, strong, proud
standing in decay
silent and forgotten
Through open windows
natures night air blasts
away the anger, hate, dissolutions
the sunlight offered the day
The coolness entwining with
man-made oven-like heat
blending into a lust filled romance
soothing my emotions
My mind melts
surrenders
to calm relaxing
dash light glow
Merging
mixing
blending
into harmony
Back roads crisscrossing
stretching into infinity
lulling me
to serenity
Am I in control
if I close my eyes
could this be…
the end