Long Lobbing Poems
Long Lobbing Poems. Below are the most popular long Lobbing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lobbing poems by poem length and keyword.
According to the dictates of Suzy Berlinsky,
a Hello Poetry sibilant chargé d'affaires
female equivalent, sans Grand Poobah
aye surmise she deems my preference
favoring lower case, especially taking
a figurative page from thee poetic play
book of e.e. cummings, (not to be con-
fused with Elijah E. Cummings, thee
American, and United States Democrat
representing Maryland's majority dark
skinned precinct of Baltimore County
seventh congressional district), whose
shadow of fame diminished, but flagrant
flapping flaunting Puritanical principles
tantamount to in traducing taboos up-
ending ala revolutionary lampooning
his trademark imprimatur guilt frisson
faculty of his to delve into controversial
material blatantly candidly devotedly ex
pressing thoughts, sentiments, and re-
flexes skewed asper an irreverent teas-
zing exuberance flouting orthodox re-
finery by playfully making mince meat
of long cherished, fixed, and insulated
mores as shock treatment technique to
exhibit parsimonious, opprobrious, and
noxious malice lobbing fondness for
writing without heeding thy fondness
NOT CAPITALIZING the first person
singular pronoun, i, an upside down
exclamation point, whose dot eye see
clearly despite the fierce maelstrom!
the toads do not dive
they plop into the scummy pond
pale green bellies floating beneath them
like airbags
they paddle and back-stroke
through the weedy water
as slow as inflatable boats
when i visit them
i turn into a kid
lobbing pebbles into the spawny drink
to watch them scatter
they remind me of fat men
hastily departing a swimming pool
it is a joke i prank them with
i keep doing this
until they turn to glare at me
heads half-submerged
eyes bulging with indignation
once it began to rain heavily
raindrops crashed into the pond
like exploding peanut shells
.
the toads commenced to croak in unison
the noise almost drowning-out
the sound of the pelting rain
no doubt they were bidding me
to go drown somewhere
Awe & shock bowlers in the dock our warlock & glock “the Judge”
Rapscallion & stallion with a gold medallion on a sinking galleon
Our burly oracle with each follicle so curly a rock wouldn’t budge
In the 90’s dungeon our classy curmudgeon brassy bludgeon
Can’t begrudge won’t nudge or fudge never a drudge trudge
Truncheon dining on hurly burly Courtenay & Curtly luncheon
Call to arms more like baobabs than palms it is “the Judge”
Robin big breast disarms with charms Test bowlers flogging
Logging in to his noggin not one for jogging just silky slogging
Speedsters scary & lairy others wary time for our hairy chest fairy
Strike hogging quest while the others just dobbins doing bobbins
Pacemen lobbing but no fobbing iron will still run robbing Robin
Smith no hobnobbing or gobbing but not a whiff of a riff of what if
Believers in his jobbing levers will go biff in any tiff the pith of Smith
Made from sterner stuff but always a learner on a bunsen burner
Did bewitch but off the pitch a hitch.. life after cricket not as rich
Strife was rife and as things got rough couldn’t scratch that itch
Baobabbed wizard mocked Windies blizzard grabbed it by the gizzard
Calling card hit the ball so hard seems that BATman was really Robin
Not just some county squire but maybe the ultimate Hampshire Sire
Hall of fame name can’t smudge hats doff to a one off “the Judge”
R.I.P., George- I'm sorry for what happened to you.
Nobody deserves to die as you died...
Your face mashed against the black asphalt
White knee grinding into the neck.
Handcuffed to your death.
The "thing" that did this will be punished.
If not in this lifetime, then in the next.
This is the universal law.
I'm sorry that the meaning of your life is being eclipsed.
by vandals, looters, thugs- anarchists and the like.
They've no respect for you or anybody else.
The thug snatching a 50"inch television isn't there to honor your memory.
Nor are the thugs turning over a car-or lobbing a brick
or burning a church-
For nine long minutes that "thing" leaned into your neck.
You pleaded with him that you couldn't breathe.
But "it" didn't listen.
Karma will soon lean into "it" ...for eternity+ nine minutes.
I'm thinking about marching peacefully in your memory.
But I'm an old white guy-not so brave or strong anymore.
To be honest, I'm afraid my intentions will be mistaken.
The throng will turn on me-lean into my neck.
I don't want to go out like that, so I'll probably stay home.
Praying for peace-behind colorless blinds.
Unrelenting blitzkrieg deadly
assault upon psyche
pounded defenseless
vulnerable mindscape accustomed
to shelter within aproned crease
mama proffered manna, especially
when untethered meek docile lad
subjected to blistering hellfire
infamous hoodlums wantonly unleashed
verbal bombardments lobbing poison
spear tipped invisible blackened barbs
manifold times more agonizing
piercing, targeting, xraying...
guaranteed fatal skull and crossbones
unseen insignia wrought utmost damage
one hundred percent accuracy
ferociously besieging, jackknifing, pummeling...
successfully character assassinating,
a diminutive boy cursed with ideal traits
strongly tempted, delectably savored,
violently bullied (short of physical
stature violated, though seditious)
emotional violation wrought lifelong
oppressive worthlessness complimented
amply by absolute zero self confidence
distilled thru conception in utero
until parturition on a bitterly cold
January thirteenth (apparently small,
medium forces at large, sans right
buffalo wing conspiracy) instigating
ear splitting wailing testing threshold
of tolerance, no crying game, but
palpable anatomical and physiological
dislocations afflicting yours truly
with breathing difficulty courtesy
submucous cleft palate pronouncing
strong nasality, when acquiring speaking
ability more cause to ridicule upon
commencing attendance within Lower
Providence School District, where kids
said nastiest, meanest, foulest, cruelest...
unsolicited comments pointedly jabbing air
mocking severe twang plus pigeon toed gait
the latter rectified with custom made
contrivance crafted by papa that forced
little feet turned outward during sleep,
which less significant aberration became
corrected as I got older, but self shaming
and blaming assimilated thru incessant
intimidation, inundation, invitation...
passive personality tacitly allowed,
provided, and enabled entire classroom
to assail helpless looking human creature
'pon entering home burst into tears!
Acquiescence begets hegemony...
Think Putin whose forename
Vladimir translates as great power,
whose singular minded aim
after lobbing bombs into
second-largest country
by area in Europe after Russia
incurring voodoo spells
foisted upon president of Ukraine
forced neophyte politician
Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelenskyy
to buckle and cower.
Meanwhile many another leader
cherishing their slice of freedom
quakes in their boots
dumbfounded, horrified, tight lipped
as Russian bird of prey
swoops down analogous as buzzfeeder
to seize global totalitarian power.
Not far fetched dystopian nightmare
to envision every country
spanning webbed wide web
subservient to his majesty
where pay obeisance
to his honorable premier
who issues commands
at his Kremlin headquarters.
Aforementioned worse case scenario,
whereby every waking
and sleeping second
under watchful eye
all social media platforms
under henchmen of Putin regime
monitored, governed, controlled...
by self anointed unnameable nemesis
their doomed fate constituting
penalty of death wasting away
amidst Gulag Archipelago
(happy haunting ground
of many a dissident)
if anyone among bajillions of serfs
heard to badmouth, denounce, find fault...
with despotic, cruel, bristling, autocrat...
Meanwhile, these remaining cherished
hours, minutes, and seconds
before United States of America
forcibly plundered, usurped, yanked...
(at threat of nuclear bombardment
courtesy you know who)
might choose to swallow
either cyanide, hemlock,
overdose on anti anxiety medication...
versus forced to become submissive
toward our "benevolent" leader.
Truth be told even Trump
yours truly would prefer
yet fat/slim chance
such a golden opportunity will occur,
though rumor abounds were
pee you tee eye en able to clamor
access and excel at supremacy
(as seen in a powerpoint presentation)
there would prevail nary a murmur,
nor peep among the human league
only dogs and cats would be privileged
to express themselves,
viz courtesy to bark and purr
and actually be treated as royalty.
The potatoes are cooling in a pretty blue dish.
Looking like hillside stones or sleeping piglets.
While waiting for the litter to cool off.
I thought about the many wars being fought...
On our beautiful blue planet of the newly forsaken.
Millions of innocent lives selfishly taken.
How much money and time have been wasted.
Lobbing bombs into robin's-egg skies, no wells of life being dug.
No mustard seeds planted, while white crosses are sown.
From which nothing but heartache ever grows.
The potatoes in the pretty blue dish have cooled enough to eat.
Wars tend to harden over time and will never cease to be.
Circa April 17th, 2120, or 1820 military time,
yours truly attempted crafting id est feeble rhyme
far from madding crowd, nevertheless yet lovely
bones and flesh quite spry, still considered prime
(moost procreative, prodigious, and progressive)
stage, since (case ye didn't know) approximately
eight score orbitz round Earth's sun still noontime
chronologically analogous to protracted lunchtime
whereat the average offspring jetson or (daughter)
Born twenty years into twenty second century alive
and well (still hashtagged as precocious) with drive
to safely, sidestep, and surmount establishmentarian
archaic, formulaic, and mosaic Judaic/Christian give
wry master of words (me) take poetic license to jive
reasonably rhyming nope heart tickle early misthrive
moost definitely dirty deeds done dirt cheap (trick)
super tramping space cowboy lobbing power-drive
re: frequently innocent prelapsarian double entendre
(Jean Jacques Rousseau) Noble Savage he doth strive
even though hanky panky tinged entire his/her story,
Homo sapiens animal husbandry hastily did wive.
the toads do not dive
they plop into the scummy pond
pale green bellies floating beneath them
like airbags
they paddle and back-stroke
through the weedy water
as slow as inflatable boats
when i visit them
i turn into a kid
lobbing pebbles into the spawny drink
to watch them scatter
they remind me of fat men
hastily departing a swimming pool
it is a joke i prank them with
i keep doing this
until they turn to glare at me
heads half-submerged
eyes bulging with indignation
once it began to rain heavily
raindrops crashed into the pond
like exploding peanut shells
.
the toads commenced to croak in unison
the noise almost drowning-out
the sound of the pelting rain
no doubt they were bidding me
to go drown somewhere
A garden sun chases our ginger cat.
Dad watches World War Two
up close on the TV
he grinds his teeth,
a general forced to take a back seat.
Mother in the kitchen,
not her natural territory.
She opens cupboards exploring contents.
It is a blue and white kitchen
made of trees that died in 1964.
She shakes a martini like a
blind cardsharp. Her wrists
heron bones
that click a gold-toothed chain.
Flashes of recollection
follow me up beige carpeted stairs.
Small bathroom-toilet to the right,
where once I saw mum naked.
Oedipus lives down the hall
as a young teenager.
From my window
I see the long narrow garden
with its back gate.
Passion-flower crosses
entwining pine boards.
When the Nazi Storm Troopers come
I will fire down at them
lobbing hissing grenades
that land like angry cats
onto their fleeing backs.
Charley company lives in Vietnam
they shoot from the hip.
I am not sure which side
of this on-going war they are on.
In my British school atlas
America is colored, blue or yellow,
not Empire red like us.
A patriotic gas stirs vague imaginings.
A knock on my bedroom door.
I can hear myself breathing heavily,
as I jerk off. Keep out!
Mum pauses to catch her breath.
She is out of uniform,
and speaking in Slo Mo
to a camera in my head.