Long Llama Poems
Long Llama Poems. Below are the most popular long Llama by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Llama poems by poem length and keyword.
Do not be self-conscious or anything, but I have got my big ,rotatorof an eye on you.
I know your mama and yourdad, and I’m willing to let them know if you are not being true.
I cannot tell you that it is never odd or even, but I can tell you that it’s midway, and blue.
Eve, Bob, Otto and Anna are ready to jump right in that kayak and stack cats if they have to.
Don’t pop your eyes at me, young lady. I do not care if we are at the civic center; I feel free
To do whatever I have to, to keep Evil Olive in check, and you also, my little bumble bee.
Who is looking for a nut for a jar of tuna? There is no lemon, no melon, and it’s 9:03.
The radar gun is in the van with Hannah, anyway it was at noon, so I thought that it still might be.
Someone is outside the civic center is yelling, “No garden, one dragon!” What does that mean anyway?
I brought this 6th grade level field trip with me to have an interesting, fun-filled, learning challenged day.
I don’t need some nut-bucket ruining it for me, on every level, this is totally wrong, and I don’t play!
The mirror rimis brushing against the tailgate of the bus we brought, but that is for the driver to say.
Now where in the Sam hill crazy town, is that blue nylon solokayak that was attached to the top of our bus?
I thought we could have one blasted solo-inspired field trip to the civic center without a bunch of fuss.
I realize it is noon, and people are hungry and crabby, and the blue kayak is a big fat muss.
But you have to realize that Eve, Bob, Otto, and Anna were the ones assigned to straighten this big tuss.
I always get the blame when things go wrong, as everyone blames the poor old mama.
The dad is just as much to blame, but there he goes, taking off on a fat llama.
I’m ready to pop my cork, and pitch a fit that would shock the Dad, so much.
Aha! Here he is, back to chow down his fabulous, hand-stacked pepperoni lunch.
This poetic attempt an abbreviation
how biological insemination
(minus in vitro fertilization)
seeds latent *****sapiens reproduction
possibly since moment of conception,
whereby inchoate progeny
impossible to sustain
fantastic, holistic, terrific... weatherization
against prejudicial germs
that elude uterine infiltration
entering womb thru fallopian tube,
or courtesy external drive
re: environmental perturbation
microscopically initiating
biological emancipation
thank you prick llama chin
please withhold ovation
setting in cellular division motion
begetting August poetic
jejune chain reaction
triggering anonymous
reader to yawn nonstop - definite indication
that yours truly induces excitation
in short shrift inducing
somniferous maximization,
yet for those readers
still awake lemme thank
your much ado about
nothing voluntary solicitation
to decrypt poetic
explanation, explication, exploration...
not asking concordance or agreement (ha)
without being redundant, nor repetitive
with my matted trademark communication
detailing mine opinion
courtesy quasi succinct elaboration
i.e. during the process
of in utero gestation
the embryo/fetus absorbs influences -
sorry no summation
in sight, not even
at anticipated parturition
cuz effects upon psyche of unborn
(unknown even by the twelfth night)
even after birth manifestation
within mind of next generation
heavily impacted courtesy
infernal contribution
despite most commendable
effort at postnatal
efforts to chaperone
son/daughter insulation
against prejudice virtually
impossible mission
(even spectre Tack Cuéllar,
viz ghost of Peter Graves
unable to succeed at extirpation
unfavorable antisemitism, bigotry, cruelty...
I concur religious,
racial, nationality... integration,
could certainly help deescalation
hmm... boot perhaps...
maybe not total elimination...,
yet such salient measure
could help offset blatant
outright, pervasive, queasy...
lifelong societal and personal ramification,
this targeted token
"scapegoat" closes his wordy attestation.
Retrieved Passage 3:
From The Book of Days, Sonnet 2
For Lo! I must relate this tome to you
who gather here to listen and believe
to tell the story I believe is true
before my sanity (BARK!) takes its leave.
The Spuds in Exile traversed the terrain
wearing long dresses of the fine-spun silk
all travelling by sedan car and train
with their bright ears fresh-bathed in llama milk
and (UUUURRRGGHHH!!) such necklaces as seldom seen
made of gold-plated prunes and aubergines
graced the neck-less heads of brown and green
of these arcane potato libertines.
And (WOOF!) soon you must go and leave me here
for my time of insanity is near.
Retrieved Passage 4:
A Running Transformathon
Mutation comes: hair after little spiny hair
appears on palms and small akimbo knees
and he is wont to don dark leather underwear
and mumble backwards in dour blasphemies
The beer flows, the cape swirls, the spud appears
grinning like a satyr in the dark
with twin horns standing up like stabbing tuber spears
he's poised to lope and gibber in the park
Mutation comes: the cycle goes and comes again
when the moon's bright halo lights the sky
the spud goes skinny-dancing at your window pane
and howls along with every mad dog's cry.
Retrieved Passage 5:
Revenge of The Jelly Men
I dreamed a dream,
screamed a scream,
a vocal vent of pain:
the Jelly Men are coming
to find me here again!
They are coming slow and stealthy,
they are coming with blancmange,
they are coming back to pelt me
with a stale Victoria sponge.
I see the day
fade away
to all-consuming black;
the Jelly Men are coming
in dark, deadly attack!
with their moaning and their howling
and their teeth fiercely displayed,
and their custard dogs slow-prowling
in the sleepless, shifting shade.
A sound of drums,
the tyrant comes,
on legs covered in hair!
The Jelly Men are coming
with their dark, demented stare!
I will lash them with strong cable,
I will fight them fearlessly,
I am here under the table
merely out of strategy.
"A Silent Song"
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Blessed or cursed
Morning shave
Coffee please
Write a verse
Remembers last night’s dream
Grabs a napkin, spills his spleen
Shoves it in his pocket
Walks to work
Sits at his desk
Carries on as usual
Chats on with the new study,
he’s on a roll, softly flirts
Quietly, silently, it always works
Groundhog Day that’s the worst,
Where’s the breaker to dive under it all
Every now and then a Tempest is called for
A heavenly thunderous squall
Just to shake it up
Move through the strung out long day pall
Cover his mirror with her fog and all
All the while
He’s talking it up, little work day dramas
Meetings minute cutlass pen thrust
Business as usual, balls to bust
Still underneath it all he’s thinking the stories frame by frame
She whispers out of nowhere ethereal in his brain,
“The best story is yet to arrive, it’s only the middle of the day…
maybe some gold glitter, a Llama and a Toucan that sashays?”
Empath on his knees by midnight
He’s writing melancholic love songs
The words are tight, verses short
Not long, he’s thinking Turtle Doves and short skirts
That won’t work…
scrawls it out, writing’s gone with the wind,
The best words for the story don’t take too long
He listens to some music, thinks of her and sings a new song.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Dreams flourish dripping words
black on white her familiar screen
pounding faster like raging horses hooves and heart beats
bleed vibrant colors mystic legions of wars and lovers
a foreign sovereignty her mind and wily covers her pageantry
Her eyes the windows of her world
Wings beating flying free
Cages broken, horses hooves hearts racing
She follows him on another shore a dream by sea
Praying prophecies
Empath on her knees
Two very different minds
Free to be
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
Music/ Paolo Conte, "Sparring Partner"
https://youtu.be/tzjdY5rmpCA
Marsh shilling (walled herd)
Whitman man inside
expedited without fanfare
takes yours truly to
hot air wind Copeland
an effort to expunge grievous
llama ants that chide
this NON GMO, nonconformist,
gluten free... brand
heralding supreme storied
ancestry courtesy 23andme guide
me with enlightenment, whereby
family (dollar) tree did expand,
visual perception these myopic
(color blind) brown eyes espied
thank you very mooch beloved
eldest sister Amelie plus band
of relatives, whose voluntary efforts
made significant stride
rightfully abetted digital technology,
vis a vis FIOS or other broadband
telecommunications company
allowing, enabling, and
providing me to bestride,
hitherto yawning gaps formerly
blank slated information
mystifying this pokey cowhand
before he doth give up his ghost,
when succumbing to grim reaper
patiently scythe ying at bedside
(mine) no matter gravely ill,
but ecstatic to learn extensive
eye opening insight spanned
generations back from present time,
once again lion's share opened
shuttered Pandora's box and defied
successful neatly mapped
genealogy regarding direct
(day late dollar short) penniless
descent, nonetheless grand
thieving ish kabibble
boob pa linkedin
with figurative trailer load
of rolling hard rocks seconds
to spare before I died,
thankfully this pissed off
loo nut hick kick bajillion
got earful of anecdotes
analogous to gourmand
checking off sought after eateries,
(especially Indian restaurant in
Newtown, Pennsylvania) on
bucket list before downslide
into infinite abyss i.e.
farce hide scanned
din knave eon aged Swede schlemiel
constituting non "FAKE" mockery,
trumpeting parody travesty,
many golden opportunities I denied
self, now toothless
drooling, groveling, sniveling...,
woof fully poorly manned
existence, thus...in gloom,
I forever reside!
Crystal Blue Faerie had a bit of a secret in her room.
It was a darling baby dragon she had named Zoom.
Her mother would have pushed him out with a broom.
If he was discovered, it might mean doom.
Her mother was not an animal lover at all.
She had been scared of dragons since she was small.
Crystal Blue Faerie had a vision in her crystal ball.
That she was supposed to raise a dragon so tall.
She loved Zoom, he was a loneliness cure.
She knew he had good thoughts; his ideas were pure.
He wanted to meet her mother, Lady Van Burr.
But she knew that her mom did not like dragons for sure!
She sneaked Zoom food – he liked crackers and cheese.
He always said thank you, and I love you and please.
He liked telling jokes, but he did not make fun or tease.
He was the best friend she ever had, he was the “bees”.
One day he got sick, and she had to tell her mother.
Her mom understood, and hushed her little brother.
Because their father faerie did not like dragons at all.
He thought they were wicked, and furiously tall.
Zoom got well with her mom’s help and a silver spoon.
He got much better on day three, and howled at the moon.
Her mother suggested they let Dad in on the secret now.
Her Dad had his own secret; he had been keeping a cow.
Two animals on the same property, raised by their faerie family?
Crystal Blue’s little brother showed them lambs, he had been raising three.
Then their mother showed up with a basket of kittens and a black cat.
Their family loved animals, so what do you think of that?
They decided to run a farm and a circus too.
They ended up with a tiger, a llama and a bird from Timbuktu.
The faeries had never had so much fun in their life!
It was a new beginning and it relieved a bunch of strife!
senators seeing stapled starkers
Loopholes. Lanky long. Llama Klamath llama please do not lean on those bent gables. For gables are gargling and gargling sounds very eerily similar to a gaggle of geese. Mission endeavour is a plane in a prism. A pram. Circling. But not a curdled crisp. Boot not a rebooted tooting train. For trains are teams and team is neither a steam locomotive nor a mystified heron on a penny farthing. Part board part hoard and a collapsing crash of hands. Figure a fakery is an idiomatic meaning of a didactic form of unilaterally placed flowers. And the beak says hi. But not before the fire arrives in a bowl of plankton. At noon. In a square. If travelling in a circular ship travel light and only carry one tray, one mug, a beaker, a wheel, and a supernaturally charged frog. Interesting to note how the enhanced forms of wit is involved in intergalactic war games. Playing on a two ton tea towel. Very very heavy. Heavy rock and heavy metal is in a school eating cereal at the back of a classroom. Haha. And the deafening boom of bell brings balls to halls and hallowed singing in a line. Youth yawn yearly. And a little micro dot of a hedgehog plays the bass guitar with a sparrow, a nine foot semi eroded dustbin, a mentally disturbed earwig, a corrupted cucumber, and a non digestible house brick. Wow. Such enlightenment from a factory of frozen peas. Hahaha the wine is in the winds. Hahaha message board secret speaking to a pen. Hahaha number of stolen goods dancing with the police. How apolitical and jar of gold coasting coats. Xxxxx Palladian ponies. Xxxxx geometrical gnome. Xxxxx synchronous swanky swans. X uncharacteristically z z z z z. At 689% of a slice of pear cider. Personified x
Form:
What Llama Lil Saw in Baghdad
In Llama Lil's Cafe eating crackers and Stilton
surveying the street and reading Milton
Sits a strange and moody itinerant
Icon for a well-known roll-on deoderant
Under cover spy for a US president
Devoid of all human sentiment
On assignment he was hand picked
And his code name was Eggs Benedict
Perusing the pages of Paradise Lost
he re-read the phrase "At no human cost"
For his orders were, to him revealed
between the lines of Milton concealed
and I suspect, though I really can't say
the reason for this strange communique
Was due to the results of a wide-world survey
Showing few are caught dead, reading 'poet-ray'
Deep in thought on his plan of attack
He heard a blonde from the table at his back
Summon the waiter with fingers clicked
to order a double Eggs Benedict
Mysteriously, in dark glasses AND reading Milton
She slipped him a note- her number at the Hilton
He felt a strange rumble in his tummy
He remembered how the cheese tasted funny
The last thing on earth our hero has seen
are the spinning walls of Lil's, Argentine theme
The rest of his life flashed past his eyes
Is this the way a hero dies?
Super -spy and icon for a well known deoderant
Killed -from effects of a straying rodent
Missed his liason at the Hilton
Some one mailed his copy of Milton
pages torn and stained with Stilton
(Yes! It was from the Bagdad Hilton!)
To an address inside the cover
T'was to: George W Bush or someone or other
Osama Bin Laden,
you don't know where your headin.
Osama the Llama,
get on you knees,
and start your beggin"
We'll get you good,were
not just kiddin"
You've crushed our
buildings,and made them
fall.
I'm sure it must have made
you,feel ten feet tall.
We will find you,no
matter what.
We'll hit you hard,and
kick your butt.
When we get you,we'll
get you good.
Our intent will be under
stood.
Or great nation,is so
very strong.
Osama, you should
know,right from wrong.
Together we will stand,
and let the Lord guide us
with his hand.
Because we are the greatest,
in all the land.
We'll fly the flag,of our great
nation.
Because,you tried to kill,
Gods creation.
You send your men,to do
your work.
Everyone knows your a jerk.
You must leave,and go
away.
If you stay,you will surely
pay.
Leave there now,and pay
your dues.
There's too many people
after you.
For the U.S.A.,your life,
you must give.
We have no room,in our
hearts,left to forgive.
When you and your taliban,
are gone and dead.
We'll have nothing,in this
world,left to dread.
But, this war,we will remember,
in our heads.
So, Osama, you skinny little
Llama.
Go home to your big ,Bahama
mama.
You are making this war,such
a big drama.
When you,and your taliban,
are all gone.
your people will break out,
with joy and song.
We truly are,the greatest
nation.
When we win this war,
we'll sit back with great
elaton.
Queens are all over, and there are festivals, parades, banners and stuff.
I wanted to be Corn Queen once, but they chose a girl from Council Bluff.
Our phenomenal state fairs have a bunch of pageants galore.
We watch these winners parade in with titles, banners, and more.
Miss Atom was fine, looked great in her huge science lab.
Everyone was glad she got it, for she had the gift of gab.
Ms. Plastic Surgery had lips that kept falling off,
So her title was given to Miss Whopping Cough.
The men have their own competitions, of course.
Some bring their own cow, their llama or horse.
Mr. Cowboy for the West part of the state,
Was given a chilly reception, being six minutes late.
Stripped of his title, it pleased his first runner up.
Who had also won Mr. Lassie and Mr. Buttercup.
Mr. Elf on the Shelf was irritated ‘because he thought he had it.
Mr. Emergency laughed, for he was named Mr. Bad It.
Mrs. Hostess Snowball wore snowballs strategically placed,
And Mrs. Not—Ever-Ready wore a corny veil ribboned with lace.
Queens and Kings, running around, winning titles fast and furiously.
To put on their resume’s or job applications? I am guessing curiously.
Not being in a pageant, myself, I truly do not understand.
But there are contests for queens and kings all over our land.
Showing off titles, and banners and stuff.
Here is Mrs. Wart Hog cemetery. Her hide is tough!