Long Limply Poems
Long Limply Poems. Below are the most popular long Limply by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Limply poems by poem length and keyword.
Was my life just a wish
I hid between the pages of survival
And even though the Universal source of all
Granted me this gift
This singular precious life
Did I search instead to be the worthiness of heaven
Did I judge all my actions
By the prison bars of hell
And see in your eyes and the eyes of others
The handiwork of demons
Have I written on the chalkboard of my soul
The dark inks of my submissions
I see that in our innocence
We have been duped and confused
Into leading a less than innocent life
And the greatest tragedy of this Earth
Is the ignorance of our denial
We do not see the collage of injustice
Their bodies scattered on our path
And all the bright and shining electronic objects
Are limply hanging from the sign posts of our children’s future
Their bodies dried and bloodless
Skeletal in their silence
Point the way to our decent
Into the depths of the untouchable and the soulless
Where and how have we been brought to this
To feel so very comfortable
While the price we count in money
Is the cost
Of human life
Did we eat too much
Did we want too much
Did we suckle so much in frenzy
Upon the teat of propaganda
Did I believe too readily
Did we swallow all our pride
Has conscience become a mouthful
A swallowed panacea of pharmaceuticals
When did we agree to be
So confused
Did you accept that all this luxury
Must be paid by the suffering of someone else
Or did I just close my heart
Close my mind and close your soul
And even though the nagging is persistent
The denial of truth haunts all of you
Did we bury ourselves in the infatuation
Of all this passing momentary thrill
Bought and sold from the instance of our birth
And it is not our part to carry the guilt or the fault
But each one of us in time
Must wake up
To the complicity that we play
In the slavery inflicted on this world
A part of innocence and ignorance
In the suffering of our brothers and our sisters
A peculiar gift is the insight burgeons a new light within the soul
Far more humane it is than burden of its curse
To live amongst these human chains
But still see all that we are worth
Soundlessly ricochet to and fro
hither and yon
roundly bobbing within squarely donned
talking heads of psycho killers,
one pyromaniac burning
down the crowded house
sparking magnificent conflagration
towering inferno emulating
caterwauling, kickstarting, ululating
(think) stray cats on a hot tin roof
nsync with 10,000 maniacs
intense heat and duraflame
long since eroding
weather beaten soul asylum
strip mining away
vestial trace, hence impossible mission
rectifying purposeless existence
imputed to passive self sacrifice
upon cusp of prepubescence
mystified, mummified, modified,
stilled, lulled, andhushed
obsessively grammatically fanatical
oftimes feeble efforts yielded countless
corrective editing measures
subsequently rendering lame
resultant deplorable effort
despite NON GMO gluten
and monosodiumglutimate free
diet of (hooked) worms
limply tethered symbolic constructs
analogous to dangling participles
scraping, plowing, etching...
imperfect triangulated Hollywood squares
across parched stream of consciousness
former luscious cerebral riverbeds
long since bone dry
millennium since onset climate change
courtesy global warming
blowing in the hot torpid wind
sands of time elapsed
accepted biological demise
forever linkedin with his forebears
birth/death repurposed cycle
activated, demonstrated, gifted...
integration, narration, reincarnation...
biochemical, geological, paleontological...
legacy randomly begetting me
epochal, integral, orbital saga
since time immemorial
fifty plus shades of once ashen gray
well muscled athletic human specimen
oblivious corpse good n plenti
petrified, metamorphosed, coalesced
bleached skull and crossbones
grown brittle when blazing sun's
rays generated aforementioned disparate ideas
jangled, rankled, and zapped
in tandem with bared tiger (no lion)
slapdash pell mell, helter
skelter, higglety pigglety...
germane blitzkrieg rained down above
leaving writer, tortured, mortified, and benumbed
without either sense or sensibility
nor pride and prejudice
perusing discombobulated chaotic
kamikaze lobbed muddlesome nonsense.
John Wulf, with his funny Limerick antics telling funny hilarious stories,
“viagraology
There once was a medical study
of things flapping flaccid like putty
those men given placebo
couldn’t enter gazebo
it drove the poor fellas plumb nutty
Copyright © 2015John Wulf”
but also has his very soft spot for all of us
Then there is my very favorite lady, Jan Allison, with all her humorous poems,
ANOTHER VIAGRA POEM HAS JUST POPPED UP - INSPIRED BY EVE ROPER AND JACK ELLISON
It hung so limply like Niagara
Doc told him to take some Viagra
Just one little blue pill
Gave his wife such a thrill
It sticks up so high it could stab ya
Copyright © 2015JAN ALLISON 18th July 2015
but lover her with all our hearts she is the sweeties of them all
Jack Ellison, teasing back and forth with his witty poems,
so who’s the greatest of them all,
OD'd On Viagra
Hickory, Dickory, Dock
Overdosed on Viagra, whatta shock
My wee fellow looked up
Said, “You ain't no pup!”
I cried, “This guy don't go by no clock”
Copyright © Jack Ellison 2015
But a jolly soul because his Santa Jack this year.
Then there’s our Mystic Rose that joins the group with her sense of humor;
A Little Viagra Goes A Long Way
Incline thy ear o-friend of mine
Me poor husband got it bad
He got a dicky that won't pine
Tis sad Tis sad Tis really sad
I heard yours takes Viagra pills
Malone's will not erect nor stay
and yesterday he got the shills
Just letting dicky out to play!
Would you be so kind to send
The medicine that made him sleep
I'll give my hon a pop to rend
His dicky joy, so he can weep
Few tears of joy alongside mine
Oh how my smile would shine
He got a dicky that won't pine
And that's a real bad sign...
Copyright ©Mystic Rose 7/19/2015
so much fun we have here on Poetry Soup
11/13/2015
Poetry Contest : Who Are those funny Poets
Sponsored by: Judy Konos
(thus, I revel to reveal
more'n juiced poppycock
perhaps casting impression,
I hale from Mars,
thus this wordsmith
willfully exposes emotional scars.)
Fear of challenging myself,
and/or lack of where
with all to confront
psychological
(dis) comfort zones,
that passivity did veer
really inadvertently,
currently indirectly,
galvanically charged
as deaf fence sieve barrier
and hermetically, inherently
sealed (unclear)
to me how to dispatch
i.e. (muster)
courage to tear
down invisible
barricade shuttering
acute (oblique striated
mein kampf existence),
thee dulled eyes
didst blankly stare,
ring just beyond
the impaled psyche
liberation i.e. freedom rare
rung only plaintively relished
by this self condemned,
cuz aye felt
scared (to death) living,
which may seem *****
nearly equivalent
being solitarily confined,
with absolute zero chance
(on broken wing or prayer)
life sentence,
would NEVER be commuted,
asper this outlier,
and/or less
prospect for parole
never came near
well nigh since birth
(as this popping
creaking, and crack
ling body electric
inexorably approaches
LX orbitz
around Earth) mere
lee experienced his existence,
not worth
any king to leer
not even worth
Doppelganger to jeer
only the hollow echo strictly
I can only hear
as an aging toothless
grimacing crookedly
raggedy man doth glare
from cracked mirror,
twill bid fare
well to optimism - endear
himself to forfeit any dare
ring do only
remaining holed up
sitting against
a hard backed chair
reflecting on bleakly obtuse
countless unmet dreams bare
heft desolate freight tinned woes
only thru limply
lame poetry I can air.
It stood on the top of the hill
dominating all of its surrounds.
Its drawbridge these days lay open
spanning with ease the now dry moat.
Like a fairy tale fortress it had turrets
that soared up high brushing the clouds.
Its four towers majestic as blankly,
they stared, covering all points of the compass.
Slit windows peered out of casements
through walls up to six feet thick.
The massive double oak doors
fifteen feet high and twelve wide
stood thrown open allowing glimpses
of the enormous courtyard beyond.
Battlements led to each round tower
that once housed the nobles.
Old battered forgotten furniture
grandly carved four poster beds.
A sword or two lay scattered
amidst the clutter and bird dropping.
Wide stone staircases meandered
curling round and round the walls.
A gallery or two dotted here and there
perfect hiding places above the hall.
Some for musicians to play unseen
Their notes floating through the air
as below the dancers swept and strutted
as the ladies hooped dresses swirled.
Long tables once laden with food
stood a skiff with broken legs.
Wooden pint tankards higgledy piggledy
strewn about midst wooden platters.
Tattered standards limply lay motionless
against walls dotted with scattered torches.
The Lord of these lands killed in distant lands
leaving an infant son removed to the city
by his grieving mother who sought to forget.
Now ninety years later his grandson views
the devastation of years of neglect and vows
to return the castle to the glory of its heydays.
After three long years of often brutal work
removing shrubbery, moss and decay
Life starts to re-emerge Flags flutter
gaily high up on the battlements.
Chandeliers sparkle and the torches flicker
Tables once more groan with a feast of food
Happy shrieks of laughter fill the grand hall
And one would swear the castle wore a smile,
as children played around the buttress's.
Unforgivable
There was nothing I could do
Except swallow the guilty mouthful
Taken from their bowl of rice
And chew upon the gristle
Of my add hot water pot noodle
Couldn’t stop the ice clinking
In the glass of my extra chilled white wine
Couldn’t stop me eating
In my clinging to my life
No I couldn’t stop their hunger
Or wipe away their tears
As they picked and ate the peeling paint
From the sides of oil drums
No way to stop the sun
From drying to brittle leaves
No way to halt the madness
Of other peoples greed
Nothing I could do but quench my thirst
And dine with the ugly flies
Clinging around the brown babies eyes
Nothing I could do
But feel my muscles work
Feel the nourishment of bone
While they live as human skeletons
All I could do was sit there
And apologise for the world
All I could do was sit there
And respectfully eat my meal
Adding too much salt so it mingled with my tears
Adding too much mustard
So the food went burning down my throat
I could do nothing else
Except apologise for myself
Sorry for being born in my wealthy world
Sorry for my country
For not rushing to your need
Sorry for my government
My vote helped to bring them in
Sorry for the United Nations
Who’s squabbling leaves you starving
Sorry they did not stop the war
That turned you into refugees
And all the weeping mothers
Their desperation in their eyes
Their children no more than rag dolls
Limply hanging from their arms
Their little bloated bodies
Going to join the others
On the lime dusted piles
All I could do was sit there
And apologise for the world
All I could do was sit there
And say sorry for myself
Sorry for being born in my wealthy world
Each and every mouthful
Was swallowed with a choke
But all I could do was sit there
And respectfully eat my meal
written for Christie Moses and Sharon Weimer's competition "I'm Sorry"
Behind your earlobe there was a birthmark that had the shape of palestine
But they taught you in there that it was called israel
In the hearth of your chest lied a heart full of vitriol
Out of your choice they altered your pulse, degraded your work
they treated your sixty beats as the clock ticking away sixty seconds
They manifested you as a clockwork
You sought the sabbath like a reaper
sought the harvest
All of your zest was sucked out
To fuel their comedown machine with it
They enforced you to live behind the doors
To love a country that was never yours
Ought to learn the rules of a game you loathe
Ought to learn crescendo and decrescendo , both
On a monday , i peered through my window and found you burning your paintings , your art
The art that made me fall for you like the snow fell on everest , didnt they teach you that too?
Snow fell on the havocked cielings of the kids of indochina too ,yet you never knew
The next week you were hypnotised by your mother's gramaphone's blues
Immobilized in your second prison awaiting divine intervention or cues
On wednesday clamor rose in your cell and into your cells
Both of your parents , ignited coals but luckily cathedral bells
Covered your yelps
I saw you from a nigh distance
As the one between helsinki and tallin you knew from the geography book you were blandly eyeing
You had a globe but your thoughts were never airborne
You had a soul but you deemed it way fainter than the infamous coals you stared at
Thursday morning i resumed my ritual but you changed your entire course , mine aswell
Your books towered beneath your feet
Which hung limply in the air
Your birthmark was covered with the noose you tied around your head
The geography book became your execution platform
The thing was , i had the exact same book
And im about to ensue you but first let me burn my poems.
It must be great to have a solid flag pole
But if the flag does not move what good is the pole?
You might try a few different flags but again they
need to fly and not hang limply on the pole
The flag pole owner need to be able to get the flags
to fly properly or the pole is useless
Of course there are as many types of flags as there are poles
it can be hard to figure out if they will fit properly on the pole
Some are light with no weight, they look pretty and flutter wonderfully for a while
but they rip and wear out
Then there are flags that have been folded securely in their packages
they can be a sight to behold when they are unfurled at the top of the pole
When the right flag is hoisted it usually means no other flag is needed
The pole owner can look at the flag on his pole with pride
what a flag this is flying on his pole and it is really moving well
of course all this means is that it is a sturdy flag pole and
it can't be bent in the wind
Sometimes strong winds do come blowing the flags away
sadly leaving the pole empty
It is a shame to see an empty pole with the flag gone
or a new flag not fully hoisted to the top
half mast does not cut it
People really need to take proper care of their sturdy pole so
that it is not made useless and bent out of shape
it would be a shame not to be able to fly a flag
of course some people do not know how to fly a flag properly
it gets all tangled in the ropes, what a waste of a pole
people do need to take proper care so their pole is always useful
If it is not proud and erect the flag looks tired
we need to be proud of our flags and poles
Our flag needs to be proud of being hoisted on the pole
Poem was written after hearing some bragging. I could not resist
providing my perspective on the subject. He was not amused.
The black wall reflected my white-washed skin
and disheveled jacket, above the chattering din...
Loosly lopsided glasses hang limply on my face,
Cold, dark, black, they somehow seemed to fit this place.
The smooth memorial seemed to stretch on,
Longer than death itself;a banner, a chord, an unsung hero's song.
...
Memories race through my unsettled mind,
The dense rainforest reverberates right behind...
Exploding artillery, I see several comrades fall down.
They lay moaning or silently still on the densely foliaged ground.
Like tin soldiers, “Playing dead,” I force myself to believe
Trying to dam the tide of fear, for death is all I see.
“Will, help!" a young and bloodied soldier calls to me.
Hands gruffly grabbed my shoulder; I meet my commander’s steely eyes,
Torn, bruised, and bloody... I could see he wasn't surprised.
“We won’t survive with extra baggage. Retreat to the copter, now!”
He hollered hollowly, his featured in a ragged, downcast bow.
Pondering quickly: Die a hero? Or forever regret today?
Without a hesitation, I hoisted that young man up right away.
He seemed light, until I picked up another, fallen on the beaten path.
The odds were all against me; flying bullets unfurled their wrath.
Lifting yet another, I wrapped him silently around my tired arm.
The day I died, two comarades were saved and taken away from harm.
...
And for a single breathless moment, I thought that I had seen myself,
In the teary-eyed man reading these lost names all by himself.
Now and forever, my name will be a simple written sprawl.
An etching in a stone, a memoir to this black unyielding wall.
Beth Watkins
3/7/11
~Dedicated to those heroes who have died to defend our freedom.~
I’m sick of hearing from old Bill that I’m a whimpish sort of bloke,
Because I don’t care for rodeo’s and can’t relate to outback folk,
That I prefer to travel in a car, when I go from A to B,
When I should be riding horses like Billy does you see.
I’ve never been upon a horse; in fact I’ve never patted one,
But at times I’ve been a victim from the damage that they’ve done,
When they’ve thundered down a racetrack with double-digit odds,
To leave my pockets empty and the good luck with the Gods.
So it was just a whim and foolishness that struck me at a guess,
That could have left me comatosed and in an awful mess,
When in a flush of inspiration of adrenaline attack,
Without a lesson or experience, I climbed upon a horse’s back.
I threw one foot in the stirrup and threw the other one to straddle
The horse’s back now that I’m on, while sitting in the saddle,
But with the motion of a gallop at a steady rhythmic pace,
I started slipping from the saddle and I quickly lost me place.
In fear I’m grabbing for the mane, but I couldn’t get a grip,
So I threw me hands around its neck, but then began to slip,
And I could see the ground below me was aiming at me head,
So I grabbed its nose to stop it, but it bucked on me instead.
It was futile hanging on now so I made a desperate move to jump,
But instead of reaching safety, me body lurched and I went thump,
For me foot’s caught in the stirrup so I’m bouncing in the fray,
With the horses pounding hooves close to just a foot away.
Now limply hanging upside down from the battering I took,
In me haze of consciousness I saw a crowd had formed to look,
Then me missus ran to save me when she took off like a rocket,
Over there at K-mart where, she ripped the plug out of the socket.