Long Leg Poems
Long Leg Poems. Below are the most popular long Leg by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leg poems by poem length and keyword.
Satan wants my leg
The right one
He's been trying
for years
First when as a child
in Gonja Hospital
Butt injection smack
in sciatic nerve
The pain - oh my god
flexed my knee
Dr. Lubia with a board
straightened it
Then an excited preteen
on class excursion
Tomato plant in Pwalugu
leg in drain gutter
The osteo that mom treated
with prayers & tears
Anyamu the medicine man
with boiling herbs
Today the herniated disc
pain - oh my god
The drop foot and more
L4-L5 L3-L4
Satan wants my right leg
he wont get it
Try as hard as he can
I'll still keep it
Minus adverse side effects
courtesy Ropinirole HCL
couple nights I did try,
albeit yours truly wanted to die,
plus also yearned tubby
among grrrrrreat full dead, no lie,
yes absent asthenia, fatigue,
and/or malaise oh my
nausea, vomiting, somnolence, dizziness,
and asthenic condition,
I woefully did decry
unconsciously kicking,
thrashing, twitching, wife kvetching
downing aforementioned medication
found me awry
beseeching psalm body
e'en the Sultan of Brunei
or sovereign from Abu Dhabi
to administer euthanasia,
I would willingly rectify
to bid good riddance and goodbye
experiencing said unpleasant reactions
listed above, hence death wish
of mine to comply
expressed modus operandi doth underlie
trawling the net whereby, to crucify
rigging (leg giddy met) i.e. legitimate
gofundme site could justify
assisted suicide recycling, reimbursing
repurposing... biodegradable cross -
guaranteeing faithful ethics to fortify
upon me rising masses will deify
an imperfectly square profane guy
skeptic at heart, unsure soul will go skyhigh,
or descend into Dante's inferno,
hmm... methinks hot meal my
olfactory organ doth nasally espy
summat good cooking, therefore aye
got hearty appetite unbearable symptoms
amazingly relieved, that scare did mortify,
now get secular humanist off doggone †
lest he gets cross and promises to nullify
future aery missions...
sidelining death, viz abort... fail... retry
else fans ye will need to pacify,
and posthumous rock star status
martyr on your stained hands
leaving widow whose syrup prize
zing tears unceasingly cry
without spouse to henpeck,
she cannot deny
cuz, body (mine), saintly
nicked peep pulled, tattooed
with apostolic marks
sharp nib she did apply.
Dancing on one leg,
On one leg we live with agony.
Agony shapes our wobbly footsteps.
Footsteps made into inaudible power.
Power blossoms through a series of gaffes.
Gaffes in life we must encounter.
Encounter the collapse,
Collapse that let us instill how to soar
Soar through tornadoes.
Tornadoes that hover steadiness
Steadiness leading to respire hesitation.
Hesitation converts into intensity.
Intensity that coals irrepressible souls.
Souls molded by cracks
Cracks that find cadence in the obscure.
Obscure leads to dawn
Dawn still pirouetting on one leg
Poem by N. Mugisho
A note pinned to the thigh reserves it,
the whole cadaver is parceled off.
Legs are a late harvest of the indigent.
Their limbs carry a visual poverty
long after the body is plucked.
In a small room, I separate
muscle groups, filter large blood vessels
from fibrous runnels.
My scalpel seeking out fascial planes.
The leg is devolving to scraps,
yet ingrained in the tissue,
I sense residual shades of a life.
Seaside postcards and old photographs,
war ribbons and yellowed newspaper clippings.
The gray flesh retains its memories.
There’s a wife behind his knee,
bone whittling winds have not erased her features,
her youthful form still entwined
around ashen ligaments.
A child climbs up from an ankle bone,
as a sinewy plasma -
it has no substance of its own,
but borrows and gathers a varicose presence.
Sights and scenes invest
a limbs mangled landscape.
Images that can’t be cut away
by living hands.
Some imagine they dissect a limb,
but I turn bloodless pages,
read images once squirreled away,
that now form these sinews
of a journey’s end.
Willy the one legged centipede
Often would wish that he could be freed
He should be so speedy and whizzing about
But not with his one little leg sticking out
He’d sit in the street with an upturned hat
And people would throw lots of money in that
He wished he was ‘full’ but was so incomplete
For with just one leg he must beg in the street
One freezing day in the middle of winter
A beetle passed by and said, Wow, that’s some splinter
The centipede told him, That splinter’s my leg
I only have one and so I have to beg
I’m sorry, said Beetle, that splinter is wood
I could pull it out and I think that I should
Pulling the splinter made Centipede squirm
But that’s how he found out he’s really a worm
A ticket pinned to the thigh reserves it,
the whole cadaver is parceled off - of course.
Legs are a late harvest, these often-indigent parts
carry a visual poverty long after the body is plucked.
Under watchful eyes the young medics
separate muscle groups, filter large blood vessels
from fibrous runnels, hesitant scalpels
seek out fascial planes.
The leg is devolving to scraps,
yet, ingrained in the tissue
I sense residual shades of a former life,
seaside postcards, old photographs,
perhaps campaign ribbons, odd tokens
amongst yellowed newspaper clippings,
all briefly surface as conjectured images
beneath a probing knife.
The gray flesh retains its personal history,
I imagine that behind the knee
there is a wife, children, and a separation
all spectrally etched between femur and tibia.
Much of the ensuing bone-whittling years
are demonstratively scored
across a formaldehyde and jelled narration.
The students suppose they dissect a limb,
while I notion that I turn over bloodless pages,
of an unwritten story,
and now the last few attached ligaments
remain as threads that speak at last
of a long journey’s end.
"In times past, said Santa, I'll admit, I have failed to live up to my name.
Like you, I shunned poor Rudolph, seeing his nose was not the same.
We bullied, making him sad, refusing to admit him to the game.
That lesson was learned when he saved us,(much to our shame.)
Another chance is presented. You see, Rudolph has come up lame.
So, let us rise to this challenge!", we heard Santa Claus exclaim.
"For too long, we've been unequal, for greater character we must aim.
It's time to give the honored position, in the front, to a dame!"
Donner scoffed, “we’ll get lost now and Rudolph is the one to blame!.
When Clarice flew by them, all the reindeer cheered her name,
And decided unanimously they would be proud if she came...
For she was fast as lightning, and they weaved her traces through the hame.
Purple and black bird
Dropped the cowboys a pigskin turd
Telling a tale with heart
Playing the dramatic part
Preventing extra time
Dallas didn't mind
But the lone stars were declined
When the loop was sealed
Closing the deal
Making the Rippleys highlight real
Pulling off the steal
Disarming gunslingers' shooters
By using Tyler's powerful booter
Seconds it took to set up the stage
Creating festive rage
When odd looking ball took flight
Through the three-point designated upright
What a sight
North westerners went home lesson learned
About how they got burned
You may want to listen to Mister Poe
Bagging the Arlington's deceased head to toe
While enjoying the Rio de Janeiro show
Home it is time to go
Say good night
But lights
Should shine bright
Exorcising any Brazilian frights
First Part: All I see are my toes!
A constant burning and stinging sensation under this weighted plaster cast has got me bedridden. The cast is made out of plaster and is white in color that is stuffed with gauze layered tightly with a bandage. This cast covers the severe damage from a fall a week ago that snapped my ankle bone into two like a bitter cold cucumber. I’m staring at this soft but firm cast that is unmoved and unshaken because I’m lying perfectly still waiting for it to heal. The gauze slowly is unraveling from the inside of the cast. And my toes!
Second Part: Leg Live Life to the Fullest!
Only three living toes peek out
From beneath the plaster my leg screams to be let out!
“Let me go!” wails my injured leg.
Sweat slithers out; whilst my leg struggles to stay afoot.
Waken thee leg and don’t succumb
Don’t be downtrodden, deaf, and dumb
And leg keep dancing to a new tune
And keep blessing yourself underneath the midnight moon!
The Daddy Long Legs crawled into my tea.
Looked up and smiled, coyly at me.
Invited his wife and his offspring, all three.
They were having the best time, I truly could see.
So I decided to make them a big bowl of tea.
I put in sugar and lemons, I cut them delicately.
I had Daddy Long Legs invite relatives to this magnificent tea.
They swam and they floated, with their faces to me.
They turned this big bowl into a Long Leg’s Resort.
They named me the Queen, and we held Daddy Long Legs Court.
Pretty soon I had to move them to a big pool in my back yard.
Being the ruler of Long Leg’s is surprisingly hard!