Long Loco Poems
Long Loco Poems. Below are the most popular long Loco by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loco poems by poem length and keyword.
Run turkey, run!
The farmer's on his way;
Thanksgiving's 'round the corner,
And he ain't here to play!
You can crouch behind the sofa,
Or somewhere in the den;
The faintest little gobble,
Will surely do you in!
There's safety in the outhouse,
But that won't do no good;
The stench will kill you swiftly,
Quicker than a hatchet would!
Go slide beneath a tractor,
Or wiggle below some hay;
You're on the farmer's menu,
And he ain't got all day!
Dive into that mud pit,
Grunt like a dirty hog;
There ain't no sanctuary,
Inside a hollow log!
Try this on for size,
I'll tell you what to do;
Stand and face the farmer,
Then start to holler, "MOO!!"
He might say you're loco,
Your meat could make him sick;
It's the best that I can do,
I'd suggest you do it quick!
If this act fails you,
The dinner bell will ring;
I'll be at the table,
My favorite part's the wing!
See yourself the finished deal no time for self reflections.
Every word you speak is taken as the absolute decree.
Look the part project the image give it overkill.
For self belief is what you need don't give your self grief
Above all know your time will come and all about the karma
Charm the leaves of the trees. just project majestic.
That's the spirit , don't let fear win, be vigilant
Under achieving not in my game, I'm the success guru
Ambition not a dirty word it's my driving force, my Buddha.
Limits are for roads by schools, my career path says they are optional.
Inner fear is not for me I eat it up as if it was the hottest chilli.
Zealously I guard my reputation like the precious jewel topaz.
Aim for the moon and you will reach the stars but not outshine my aura.
Total confidence is how I rock you'll not set me adrift.
Infused with self belief I'm your morning bowl of Fusilli.
Outlandish claims you see above, all made up as I'm loco.
Note my name is Donald Trump, and I tell more fairy tales than Hans Christian Andersen.
comp entry 04/11/2016
Storms coming,
saw the angry red sky.
Went out back on the decking
a hummingbird was
dodging around but there was no feeder,
threw it away when she left.
Winds up, storms comin,
farm gates creaking and swinging
and that old oak cross-bar is real heavy
I made it that way.
Dogs rattled
the cat won't leave the damn kitchen
it gets under my feet
while I try to fix eggs in a skillet.
Yep, now I hear the loco coming,
seems like a tornado heading my way
but it's just the Chattanooga to Nashville line
winding its way around the property.
Storms coming though,
she wrote saying she ain't comin back.
Tonight I guess the storms gonna hit hard,
yep, from the barrel mouth of my own shotgun.
I sure see it coming.
The Bull and the Matador
Stalwartly, the bull gaits around
the confines of the arena ring,
snorting and displaying
piercing horns and muscle-bulk build.
For this he was bred and raised;
to be a champion of beasts,
and no matter where placed,
will claim as his domain and ferociously
defend until death, if necessary.
Then into the ring swaggeringly treads the matador
(flamboyantly dressed, touting a cape),
saluting the crowd, though calmly noticing
the bull, whose eyes appear red
from the blood gorging in its head.
“Estás loco!” scream the patrons packing the place
(thoroughly enjoying every minute of this barbaric sport).
“¡Ole! ¡Ole!” They sing in unison in a horrific overture,
encouraging the matador to kill the bull or vice versa.
***
Calmness wasn't expected today by my overwhelmed spirit marveling,
I spot linden's branches with their yellow flowers brightly floating
as ships lost at sea; from which river did they come from?
Did someone break them off or was it a summer' storm?
Curiousity makes me look further down...discovering shiny limpets,
in conical form, stuck to tidal rocks and visited by water lilies;
a lizard watches my facial movements...I hear a male voice,
"Sub rosa...in loco citato!" shouting to his gal so voluptuous...
Latin spoken these days? I stumble upon a familiar phrase
that some of my classmates used to whisper to girls wearing sunbonnets,
making believe they were practicing the liturgical language of priests;
and if they learned quickly, they would surely get a blind date...
The lotus' fragrance induces a sudden rejuvination of the imaginative, uncontrollable senses;
a laison for those unsavoring women and femmes fatales...
laying down on sandy beaches with gazes upon moonlight, with mellow faces
being stroken by manly hands, and hearts being fascinated by capricious words...
The flaunting moon infuses the dreamer's innermost thoughts;
passionate verses adhering to the walls of the poetic heart as the shiny
limpets stick to the tidal rocks, making their ivocation to the invidious sea,
which glistens with its green and blue gemstones that reflect my sweetheart's eyes...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
P.S. Translation: Sub rosa...in loco citato/ In secret...in the mentioned place
Femmes Fatales/charming or seductive women
12/29/20
"Snow Globe"
Respect the virtuoso
You don't or you know so
Life can be peligroso
People going loco
Humans addicted to chocolate aka cocoa
And the other kind of coco (cocaine)
On a high horse, acting like your the major-domo
Here I am, shaking a snow globe
I failed, I passed and I was so close
I excelled, backtracked and showed no growth
By being a bozo
It was or wasn't recorded on a Go-Pro
Life going up and down like a Pogo
Sometimes wearing Polo
Got my saber like Solo
Staying on the low low
No matter what, I don't need to 'E.T. phone home'
All these women so-so
Always posing for photos
Judging a book by the cover is proto
Days and nights yo-yo
Kept in the dark or receiving promo
She was doing the go-go
Others remained sad or were saying " Ho-Ho"
Unarmed or strapped with a fo-fo
Getting crumbs, a slice or the whole loaf
Obtaining zilch, some or it by the boatload
Close and far from po-po
You are so far from my sole hope
She told me her and I was a no-no
Because I was just a joe blow
Never once phased me, too worried about logos
Not ever going to spend time with me and Toto
Catch you on the flipside girl, since you treated me like a hobo
Will or won't happen near Point Lobos
Having nothing or something to do with Cronos
By the way, shout out to Quasimodo
Preface, there have been a lot of shots heard in my area around 10:00 or so at night in recent times/years. What and where, not sure. One night a year ago November, 2:22 in the morning, I was awakened by gun fire. I called the police and they said just stay inside, we have police in the area. Some young man had gone loco. They brought in the swat team and we sheltered in place for six hours. I no longer feel safe in my own home. I hope this helps to bring some more clarity to this poem.
A shot rings out in peaceful night.
And get's your heart to pumping fright.
A coldness fills the safe and warm.
As fear is now a daily norm.
This world has become more unkind.
With sanity harder to find.
It leaves us to just sit and stare.
And perversely pray our sinful prayer.
We ask that God removes this fear.
We just want it out of here.
And somewhere inside we want revenge.
And pray for hero's to avenge.
We wonder if it's wrong to pray.
For God to just take them away.
Somewhere inside we cease to care.
If they're the one's who sit and stare.
Justice for the meek and mild.
To restore peace that they defiled.
We feel no need to see their face.
Just vanish them without a trace.
So now you know that we aren't saints.
It's an ugly picture our soul paints.
When faced with fear we know not where.
As we cower in our sinful prayer.
Beatnik Snaps
Onomatopoeia-topia
(poet sits on a stool in the café and begins)
I could onomatopoeia all day daddio
With cool sounds in the iambic pandemics sphere out there.
“Far out man…far out… Onomatopoeia all the way” (The crowd shouts and snaps fingers in approval.)
On the down winds jive below slow jazz notes I go
Goatee Joe eats the avocado on the down and low
Basements bottomless souls measured tuna outlet cries out
The bongo boys drag on the joint while munching on the tacos loco
Cigarette smoke lays down a cloud…talks to the humming bird
Laying down some heavy tones to the bones with the smooth sax
Cats calling in the alley way cruising on the cat nip trip
Waiting on a little miss kitty called Pussy Meow
She’s a no show Joe. Man, that’s no way to go.
In the wild thick woods of words working on his behalf
The half past 1952 Johnny, goes marching home
Alone down Bluesville Avenue in a zoot suit out back Jack
Slick black jacket looking for some chicks on the beatnik clicks
Snap!
Notes raining down on the sax as some jive time chumps
Get busted by some jive time cop
Flat foot flopping down the street with some flat foot beef to pound
Drowned on pounding grounds outside
Down in the drip drop flop of day….Grazing on the rain.
“Shows over Jack and Jill.”
“It’s been a thrill.” (More finger snaps from the beatnik crowd)
Debaucheries Departure
Sooner or later we gotta blow this café gig…..Dig?
Slurred speech measured beats by bongo boys bid a retreat
In matters like this …..tipping matters….and meter matters…My meters dry man.
We tapped out our tab long ago so….One last drink!
What’s your poison my onomatopoeia friend?…He retorts; “You’re right.”
“ I don’t want to pay it either”…. but we gotta get out of this joint.
What kind of iambic pandemics beatnik friend do you think I am?
In deed briated with liquid libations I guess….. (Snaps)
Feeling low best way to alter is kneeling at the altar of the Taco my romeo
Halter stealing TexMex slaughter dealing burrito or nacho cos ends with “O”
Clever clogs in boho vlogs falter say hey “Cilantro” but it is a herb so no
Yanks know tanks finest order for lothario or marauder's below the border
Crow say tally ho a true aficionado go gung-ho for mojo halo of Mexico
Mole is not a relic a culinary medic as holy as a cleric just like Pozole
Wholly done slowly not being hasty most things tasty ends in an “E”
Alright in the larder not from the Armada friends Guacamole or Tamale
“A” senorita might say forgot Enchilada and Quesadilla or Conchinita
Sages simmer sauces for ages so many stages as the flavour rages
The most pure for many I’m sure would quip the tip “al Pastor” Taco
Their cocoa gusto & avocado bravado so come on everyone go loco
Forget the crime.. sublime..prime chime once upon a time in Mexico
Call me Gillespie
At the thought of choosing sides
This all makes me Dizzy
Where ones befuddled and the other lies
White toothed grinning alligator
Beady-eyed crocodile
Which will we regret later
We'll find out for sure after awhile
One to build a wall to keep us all
Safe from those who want a home
The other swinging doors wide open
Sweeping out deplorable's
Reading from the dictionary
They would make a lot more sense
Starting out with the B's
Blah, Blah, Blah, He said, She said
I wonder when we the sheeple
Will stand up and call their bluff
Give this all back to the people
Finally say enough's enough
Is this the best they have to offer
Who's to win this losing game
Will it be the constant cougher
Or the billionaire that's clearly insane
Sadly, this crazy train needs a conductor
To carry this fragile freight
Watch out for the Loco-motion though
As we jump track on this runaway