Long Landlubber Poems

Long Landlubber Poems. Below are the most popular long Landlubber by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Landlubber poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Yo-Ho-Ho and Shiver Me Timbers

Yo-Ho-Ho And Shiver Me Timbers

Shiver me timbers and loosen me limbers
I sail me sloop until it lin’ers
And drop anchor in t’  nearest lagoon
Bury me treasure chest full o’ doubloons 
Then set off durin  t’ next full moon

~

“Aarrr!” I’m happy go-lucky sea piratin  Cap’n
With a short wooden leg and a limp, earrin’s, and rin’s on every fin’er
Metal silver hook for me left hand
Me cutlass, dagger,  and dirk o’  me belt
Not a landlubber at all

~

Not a thin’ scares me that stand in my way
Especially when I’ve had a few grogs in me belly
Aye, I carry around  me Ahoy! bucko Polly me  parrot on me shoulder
That keeps me on t’ straight and narrow

~

They call me a barbaric and thief I don’t know why
A great insult t’ me,  I just laugh into my handkerchief  in disbelief

~
	
Don’t insult me temper because it  gets carried away
Sarcasm, rudeness, and insults I cannot help
When swashbucklin’ scallywag get in me way

~

Me hearty weigh anchor
Or I’ll give ye a taste o’ walkin  t’  plank  
 T’ Davy Jones’ Locker you will go and feed t’  fishes for mutinous
Dead men tell no tales!

~

Aye, aye, mates, pull anchor and set sail
I be Silver Hook a feared pirate that sails t’ seas

9/5/2015


Contest Name :A Pirate's Life For Me 
Sponsor Name: Kelly Deschler
© Eve Roper  Create an image from this poem.


Gloomy international waters

Let sail this doom and gloom
Drinking gasoline with a blue lighter
In the morning head up the gangplank
The hours till I lay down is a lifetime
I’ve become a child drunk on hydrocarbons
How will I lay my aching head at night?
Isn’t it how I’ll wake up young again?
I’m a sailor heading to international waters
Fuel in my belly on furlough from happiness
It’s nearly noon and all I see is blue
At 3 o’clock noonday demons unfurl my sails
I say to myself I hear Sirens on the horizon
Perhaps it’s just Moby Dick crying alone
Some crossed the ocean to the New World
Now commonplace on planes and hours
With no one at home, on the deck with Ishmael
We’ll go fishing for that elusive white Dick
Doom and gloom will be air and blood by six
We’ll dock in Cuba and dance with Sirens
Tomorrow work will yank me from pages
Today I belong to the empty ocean’s tome
Tomorrow old mistakes will become my child
A kid's mind aching from too much rum
Tomorrow itching to be back on the Pequod
Without my son waiting back home
Without my lad tethering me to shore
A landlubber defrocked is forever exiled
When nine comes watch my ship in embers 
I’ll wake back on shore however far I go
Sirens and Moby Dick leaving voicemails
Ahab making his bed for me like a maid 
Go down with the ship since born this morn
Dog-eared, I’m not a first edition 
Book burnings make a purty sight
Trying to ignite doom and gloom
Queequeg build me a rose coffin
The printing press is pressing me
Keep me from international waters
Oh God, let the water feel nice

Premium Member her's slip'd on she in mate's slops

.

                           Yarrrrr
                    'course I know'd

          my purty wanted tuh sail wit 
                        her corsair
                she be no landlubber

                            Thar
           two lay'n'half mine cutlass
             they laid curse her lay'n 
                        with mine 
                     this campaign

                   to the sharks the 
                           devilz

                     To mine cabin 
                          Wench



*hold on..."wench" wuz an endearing term
                the dayz we now find enamoring ')
Form: Epyllion

Premium Member His Overboard Tale

Ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and
freighted with the memories and the dreams of time.
—H.P. Lovecraft, The Best of H.P. Lovecraft:
Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre

His Overboard Tale

My captain bellows, “heave-ho.”
Off the plank I go, overboard.

I plunged into the night, entangled in
aberrant irises of the deep.

When my abject insanity rewinds,
I wish that I had swallowed the sea.

The kiss of salt and seaweed,
the wretch filled my lungs.

The Shes were more fish than maid
with huge hips and floundering tails.

The strange language of burbles,
their breasts made me gag…

Seahag hair, menacingly like Medusa’s.
I surmised sirens locks would actually bite.

My dreams capsized.
Why am I alive?

I’d rather that the chest be covered.
I shall never recover.

That’s why this landlubber
drinks and drinks, burbles.

At the end I was found on a rock.
I hit the rocks hard.

Swallow the water, lad.
Leave no room for desire.

Mermaids are a misnomer;
breaststroking in Bruichladdich proof.

Have a swim lad in this label
and stay far away from shore.

Premium Member Imagine a Mermaid

Imagine a mermaid,
she throws her buxom body
onto the granite rock.

She is steady, will not slide
unlike the terrified witnesses
that dare not
damp their feet on blackened rock.

The warning clear
but one tongue leers
wanting to touch the magical fish.

Thinking himself Poseidon,
dangerously possessed,
he towers over her,
sliding lower and lower
onto the sea-lapped boulders.

The mermaid with pouty lips
and a bodacious hip ignores him,
as the ignoramus platypuses* himself
toward the sea whip.

The stupefied landlubber
suddenly seized by fear
as mermen with spears, diamond sharp
surround the prize.

his slip seems to linger,
then the ocean lifts him higher and higher —
lets go.

the fool likely to be speared
forgets his lust.

suddenly the spears disappear
and a tail as furious as a sharks
bats him out of the park.

it takes some time
to get the tourist down from the lighthouse spire.

no one will believe what wonders
cannot be erased from the eyes.

10/7/2019

platypuses - made this into a verb
sea


Premium Member No Snake In the Cake

When it comes to baking a cake
Make sure not to put in a snake
   Unless, of course, it's a fake
   By that, I mean, the snake

For if the snake's made out of plastic
You dare not feed it to anyone spastic
   Unless, of course, it's elastic
   By that, I mean, the plastic

While if it's made out of rubber
It's a delicacy for a landlubber
   Unless, of course, it's flubber
   By that, I mean, the rubber

Oh, and if it's made out of tin
It can only be eaten by Gunga Din
   Unless, of course, it reeks of gin
   By that, I mean, the tin

These instructions are not meant to confuse you
I just wrote them in order to amuse you
   Unless, of course, I a-mused you
   In which case, I hereby excuse you...
       G'bye!  So long!  (Gong!)


       December 22, 2018
Entry in "Bunny Jump Honey Lump Funny Chump" contest
       Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Form: Rhyme

Pleasingly Plump Praiseworthy Princesses

women that tip weigh ling needle to spin vicious circle
     akin to puppy chasing her/his tail
     or require digital scale,
at the extreme alt right registering heavy loads   
     whether young or old ought to appreciated

     as waifer thin self starved as a rail,
instead they suffer unfair injustice
     like a trapped quivering quail
thus this fatalistic, generic,

     and holistic landlubber
     wanted to point head lee 
     hammer home one secure
     heterosexual bondage stronger than

     omnipotent Marcy's Playground
     weather beaten pail
     Trent Reznor's sixty 9 inch rust free steel nail
into the coffin of bias

     against bevy of beautiful babes
     within the mind of this male,
who inherited genetic predisposition
     for being average, hearty and hale

yet feel compassion for those engaged
     in an ongoing with battle of the bulge,
     hmm... perhaps hiding ample bosom
     akin to milky sopping wet grail

or accepted unequivocally themselves
     without envy of lithesome women,
     who seem to possess flair with nary a flail
     yet possess much love to avail,

and tis wise to love oneself unconditionally
     despite premium aesthetics considered svelte
which mass media accentuates de facto spelt
definition of femininity aka runway models

     donned in faux animal pelt
whose deliberate self exhibition
     prompts madding crowd of man

     to waggle tongue with slack jaws
     as if ready to melt
or at instantaneous signal telepathically felt
drop drawers upon removing blackbelt.
Form: Elegy

Pleasingly Plump Praiseworthy Princesses

(a quid pro quo plug for zaftig women)

women that tip weigh ling needle to spin vicious circle
     akin to puppy chasing her/his tail
     or require digital scale,
at the extreme alt right registering heavy 
     ba Jill 'en Jack knifed pail loads   
     whether young or old ought to be appreciated

     not waifer thin self starved as a rail,
instead they suffer unfair injustice
     like a trapped quivering quail
thus this fatalistic, generic,
     and holistic landlubber
     wanted to point head lee 
     hammer home one secure
     heterosexual bondage stronger than

     omnipotent Marcy's Playground
     weather beaten pail
     Trent Reznor's sixty 9 inch rust free steel nail
into the coffin of bias
     against bevy of beautiful babes
     within the mind of this male,
who inherited genetic predisposition
     for being average, hearty and hale

yet feel compassion for those engaged
     in an ongoing with battle of the bulge,
     hmm... perhaps hiding ample bosom
     akin to milky sopping wet grail
or accepted unequivocally themselves
     without envy of lithesome women,
     who seem to possess flair with nary a flail
     yet possess much love to avail,

and tis wise to love oneself unconditionally
     despite premium aesthetics considered svelte
which mass media accentuates de facto spelt
definition of femininity aka runway models
     donned in faux animal pelt
whose deliberate self exhibition
     prompts madding crowd of man

     to waggle tongue with slack jaws  
     as if ready to melt
or at instantaneous signal telepathically felt
drop drawers upon removing blackbelt.

Not Fake News This Just In

FROM BIKINI BOTTOM TIMES...

...Spongebob Squarepants...what...atoll...?
plunged into where,...no way...toilet bowl...
supposedly, when the ghostly hand ex-toll
ling praise from his late creator, and master

meow mind of popular Stephen Hillenburg
cast said main character in clean new role,
an unexpected greasy, grimy, grisly, grouchy,
grungy gruff peagreen pissed off potty troll

snatched the unsuspecting 
cheerful happy go lucky
animated fellow, who lives 
in a pineapple under sea

(at 124 Conch Street) quite 
self absorbed with Gary
his pet snail (not answering 
questions at this time), we

understand emotional devastation,...
and possibly got flushed....sniffling
and sobbing heard...discontinuation,
this could wreak something
offal to all those avid landlubber

fans (many grownups) cling
to cautious optimism, but accept
vigilant prayers believing
quirk of fate could turn tide
of events & cannot dismiss linking

Russian collusion with attendant
rogues gallery, nor abandoning
any in house political conspiracy,
where top Navy brass calling
attention to an uncommonly

unusual migrant barnacles casing
with doddering fogey "Watergate
Plumbers" in tow absconding
before they could be apprehended
(hmm... something seems fishy)

haint no logical explanation, why
anyone would seek squeeze zing
the porous life out of such a
lovable...how unsinkable... accosting
...argh das spic and span hubble...

such a congenial, gentle, likable...
made himself come to life, (and
make believe to fans) achieving
he really existed, when birthed
from figment of imagination aching

tub be accepted and loved (by other
than Mister Rogers) acquiring
water world renown purportedly
slated to receive Krusty Krab shape
formica plaque engraved with his

name inlaid with finest enameling,
meanwhile...stay tuned at amazing
undrying resiliency as saturated media
updates how beloved soaking  
hero does wetter adversity!

Gibbering Jabbering Gibberish Haint No Recipe To Sound Glib

Ofttimes yours truly assiduously tries to adlib,
but blubbers like a landlubber
at sea treading water donned with bib
(that doubles as yellow
spongy bobbing life jacket)

furiously doing doggy paddle
riding the next tidal wave
hoop fully washing me ashore to crib
if need be to dig an underwater channel
painstakingly slow drabs and drib.

The English language I simply adore
though offtimes methinks waxing eloquent
affects listeners as yours truly a bore
in record time flapping waxed lips
beholds one gordian
tongue tied knot major chore,
whereby I wanna bolt out figurative door
feeling deplorable and stuck
analogous to Eeyore.

Ache 'n to launch into a monologue
or chime into ongoing dialogue
me noggin off times generates brain fog
mental state mimicking one,
who quaffed an over abundance of grog,
which for this teetotaler would constitute

a mere thimble full of drink,
perhaps rum enhanced eggnog
just one sip and boing I go
topsy turvy as if a felled log
hit me over the head
rendering me unconscious.

Thus wood explain mine altered state
though unsightly gash on pate
battle scar leveled playing field
with the missus, 't other significant primate
supplementing and complementing
one aging long haired

pencil (vane ya) necked geek
being caged, yet free
to roam within human zoo
both, (née all) of us captive
on carousel of time
nsync with every other *****sapien
begot to participate in circle game.

All superfluous joking aside,
I strive to groom conversation,
whereby uninterrupted flow of words
(versus fumfering, hemming, hawing,
stammering, stuttering...), thine

general oral feedback paradigmatic guide
ever diligent to think
before I speak with pride
else I heep discourtesy
upon myself and chide
yours truly with harsh rebukes,

which maybe tantamount
going off the mountainside
plummeting into the abyss
engenders an unpleasant
metaphoric roller coaster ride,

and if crash test dummy doth survive -
upon gibbet he will be tried
punishment broadcast world wide
for flagrant horrendous verbal
egregiousness (waywardness) he belied.

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