Long Lickety Poems
Long Lickety Poems. Below are the most popular long Lickety by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lickety poems by poem length and keyword.
Looking for money the easiest way -
Impossibly shameless, he searched for his prey.
Cleverly creeping, he’d spy a poor dolt,
Kill them with kindness and gain sympathy.
Embezzlement was his great specialty -
Trickery too, and the talent to bolt!
Yes, when he fled, he gave them a jolt.
Slimy was he, being slickety-slick,
Prospering from every poor soul he duped.
Lickety split, he was quicker than quick.
In a lurch he would leave them. How low he stooped!
Then off he’d be running, fresh patsies to pick.
April 13, 2018 for Deb Guzzi's Lickety-Split Acrostic Contest
Seven medications and I can spell none of them.
I have thrown sleeping pills and pain reliever into the fray.
For the morphine was not cutting it.
I was in dire pain. Then I took a baking soda bath.
Pure heaven, that bath. Instant relief.
Joe ran out and bought all the baking soda the store had.
He had to rent a truck to bring it in. He is crazy like that
When a loved one like me is as sick as I am.
The truck broke down on the way down the driveway,
But I revved up our magic conveyor belt and we had that baking soda inside
lickety split. It is filling up the kitchen, the hallway, and most of the bathroom.
I have enough room to squeeze into the tub, so all is good.
In eighteen hundred ninety-three,
back in those silver-mining days,
a figure walked into Aspen town,
and it was the devil they say,
come looking for new souls to take.
He didn’t look like you would think,
the first time he appeared.
He was dressed like any old cow-poke,
and spend hours in saloons drinking beer,
a rough figure, but not much to fear.
They say he spoke with some miners,
and stirred up their jealousy.
Got them so mad they burned the house
of their foreman Bud McKenzie.
That night all heard poor Bud scream.
Most folk would’ve written if off
as drunken fools losing their heads.
But in the firelight dozens saw
the devil’s face shift, and grow red,
his sick laugh filling folk with dread.
He vanished that night, and for two days
things seemed to return to form.
But then he appeared as a three-year old
in young Maggie Delgado’s arms,
and she did not seem too alarmed.
She didn’t know her baby lay dead
her body left in the woods for the crows.
The devil took her form and that morning
went everywhere Maggie would go,
‘till ‘she’ jumped down and ran in the road.
Maggie cried out and ran for ‘her,’
when a horse came riding, lickety-split
It slammed into Maggie, trampled her down,
heavy hooves ending her in a lick.
The rider looked down, and was sick.
And then in the street many did see,
Maggie’s daughter grown rather tall.
Transforming into the unknown cowboy
who had lead the foreman to his fall.
He laughed again, having a ball.
Folks started to panic, leaving town,
a few stayed and found the sherriff.
Abner Gidden was his full name
a middle-aged man of quick wits,
would not sit still and put up with this.
He went to a priest of Catholic faith,
who instructed him to God to pray.
He spent a whole day seeking advise,
while many in town fled away,
to be free of the devil’s sick games.
When Abner emerged, he headed up
the slopes of Ajax with his gun.
Spent the day searching abandoned shafts
looking for perdition’s dark son.
Then at nightfall, he found the right one...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Seven medications and I can spell none of them.
I have thrown sleeping pills and pain reliever into the fray.
For the morphine was not cutting it.
I was in dire pain. Then I took a baking soda bath.
Pure heaven, that bath. Instant relief.
Joe ran out and bought all the baking soda the store had.
He had to rent a truck to bring it in. He is crazy like that
When a loved one like me is as sick as I am.
The truck broke down on the way down the driveway,
But I revved up our magic conveyor belt and we had that baking soda inside
lickety split. It is filling up the kitchen, the hallway, and most of the bathroom.
I have enough room to squeeze into the tub, so all is good.
Life is ebbing quickly, …just as the sun must fall.
If we listen close enough, our number will be called.
Can you hear a ticking clock, unwinding in the dark?
Keeping tempo like a train, that speeds upon a track?
Eyes may never look ahead, and heads will turn away.
There's no place to turn around, to visit yesterday.
Youth is gone in just a flash, so we must seize today!
Spend each moment, cherish it, .. as if a piece of gold.
Pretend each day is ours alone,…our very last to hold!
Love can be a legacy that we could leave behind.
Intentions are the stepping stones, that no one else will find.
Treasure life, and make it count, before it speeds away.
____________________________________________________________
4/11/18
Contest: "Lickety Split"
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
You think you're Godzilla
but you're just a Gorilla,
that's what happens when you've got gonorrhea,
my skin colours vanilla
my skills are killa and real
you're run of the mill, a fail
can't you tell you didn't do well,
that Kartel manure smell
of Kountry music don't sell,
a wannabe that wants to be on X Factor
in a field riding a wrecked tractor,
tracks that no mind will capture,
you're no rapper, a can't act actor and no rhyme writer
with poor rhyming from your core
the fact is you naturally bore,
getting done by amateurs
that means s**t for sure and below my stature,
take a step back and see the big picture,
there's no record label coming for your signature,
you should turn around and head for the door
and not turn this battle rap into a war,
snore, pass out snore music,
20 years and there's still no use for it,
your rhymes are insignificant
your average skill's no different
stop thinking you're magnificent
and realise you're just a hunt.
Yet you think you're good,
umm missing a nail or screw
let's face facts your music is poo,
can you not make a beat with flow?
Your music makes me sit in a seat depressed and low
through ignorance your skill's seen no grow,
so excuse my rant but your music is pants,
professional status, you've got no clucking chance.
You're so unlikely to upstage my quickly written
lickety split thermonuclear lit quick wit
with whatever you pick
to pull out your bag of tricks
because I'll make it unstick
quicker than thumbs can click through your music,
making videos in which you go on the phone,
cliche prone, stereotype replica
look at ya forever inferior,
making out you've golden interior,
but Postman Pat out delivers letters
and is better with more under the hat
you've empty space where your brain sat,
writing rubbish, getting fat,
one year in I'm getting published
you skank like a grandad with one wish
you long to be served a contract,
take note of the situation
you've been rhyming for a generation,
and you'll never be a sensation,
just a symbol of humiliation,
........ cus Rosko thinks he's the dogs bollocks,
while the rest of us just think he's bollocks.
That's all bossco, that's all I have to country cartel you.
Over and out, they call me Sue.
A shooting star streaks from on high
like a kamikaze firefly
whose fiery death's mandatory:
upon grazing Earth's atmosphere.
Yet, there's no time to shed a tear:
for its blaze is transitory.
Its trail of sparks can mesmerize,
as it plummets to its demise.
As in a fairy-tale story:
its epithet soon fizzles out.
Yet, its beauty's never in doubt:
darkness amplifies its glory.
A shooting star streaks from on high:
and its descent warrants a sigh.
A blaze of sparks lights up the night,
yet vaporizes in a flash:
ending its suicidal dash.
It's such a spectacular sight
that folks cast a wish upon it.
But it'll vanish lickety-split,
so the timing has to be right.
If you don't cast it straight away,
you'll lose your wish: so don't delay.
It must be cast during its flight.
A shooting star's destined to die,
and yet in death, it achieves flight:
burning its way across the sky.
Twas the night before Christmas in 2054
The only sound being robotic mice on the floor
Our digital wish-lists were hung with ultra-precision
Above the virtual fireplace in pre-supposition
Of the anticipated arrival of a hypothetical being.
The miniature adults were dormant in their pods
As eidolon confiture twinkled their nods
While responsible progenitors with 'Bed Head" applied
Had concluded their thoughts for the long Winter's night.
Then out on the Astroturf there began such a frattle.
Startled from our beds to witness the sprattle
We opened our security cams to survey the scene
Frame by frame we analyzed what we were seeing.
The spotlight that shone on the new fallen snow,
Made fulsome the green of our false mistletoe,
And, at that very moment a freeze-frame laid bare
A cutting edge sleigh pulled by eight robotic deer.
Its jovial driver was dressed all in scarlet;
I knew it must be the Santa of myth,
For he was down our chimney with a bag of toys
And lickety-split back without making a noise.
It was over in a twinkle - he was gone with a whoosh
As you can imagine our confusion was profuse
And although his reindeer were mechanical frames
He recited out loudly and called all their names.
Come Bolter, come Byte-r come Laser and Algorithm,
Come Orbiter, Come Thyristor, Come Thunder and Mixem
As he circled the rooftop in a Gigabyte of starlight
He shouted LOL three times- as his sleigh zoomed skyward.
Maybe it was because he was the runt of the litter
Yet, his joy to your heart, I knew, that none could not compare
Friendly big frame, except when Mr. Bill would screams his name
Right by our bed he would sleep while we sang
Ice pellets tapping on the window pane
Eleven… What’s that? Outside to do your thang?
Next thing I know, is that you had fell sick
Date and time now with the vet, Steve called to come quick
Male Knight that I am, there before lickety split
Inside, something there hadn’t been right for many a night
Cloak the coat…should have protested with stronger clout
Killed him, I did….this look in her eyes, is what was said
Eternal you are my friend
Yet, I still ask forgiveness, for failing you
All Hallows' Eve
Among the graying clouds and autumn moon,
Above treetops, shadows on the moonlit sky
On broomsticks racing by,
Black silhouettes of cackling witches sit.
Lights out and heartbeats drop.
Garlic hangs high over windowpanes.
Outside, wind growls, magic and the supernatural thrives.
Monster spiders trailing strands of silk.
Black birds caw-caw, out stretching claws.
Toad loads muddy pond a dragonfly it croaks for.
Cat prowling hunt on wicked vampire bat.
Werewolf howl resonates the night.
Screeching owl watchful eye.
Sound of mournful music all night in the forest.
Pumpkins in candlelight,
Crows peck away the scarecrow's hay,
Ghost lickety-split, screaming fear.
There is no escaping from the night.
10/24/2022