Long Lumping Poems
Long Lumping Poems. Below are the most popular long Lumping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lumping poems by poem length and keyword.
Lumping the bad ones, and ouch, some of these are pretty bad.
Dear Postman,
Dear postman, this is just to say,
"I wish you a happy birthday",
and also, your pardon I must beg
for when my dog bit through your leg.
I Carry a Shell
"I carry a shell upon my back,
but, slug, I see a shell you lack."
"True, snail", said the affronted slug,
"A shell, I don't care to lug,
until the day it will surely crack."
Born Under a Bad Sign
Robert Johnson, what was his sign?
At 27, he went down the line,
I'm 72, and going down that track,
like Robert, I ain't comin' back.
In 45 years, what more have I seen?
Nothing. Just that the world is mean.
My Wichita Home
I miss my ma. I miss my pa.
I left my home in Wichita.
My ma and pa don't miss me,
"Get out - you can't stay rent free".
Twenty -seven Teeth
I have twenty-seven teeth - that ain't bad.
How many did you think I had?
I had more, but they went South,
last time I opened my big mouth.
Fun and Failure
In life, it seems I've failed at everything I'd planned.
Now, it's time to have fun. How wonderful! How grand!
The Ghoul of Gettysburg
When the ghoul of Gettysburg's awful schemes
penetrate your sordid dreams,
wake up and collect
your nerves and reflect.
Then, resume your unhinged, anguished screams.
Alligator alley always answers
Bringing bulbous batches of bubbles
Creatively and curiously cavorting
Deliberately denying and distorting
Elusive energy and enthusiasm
From freakish forwarding fanatics who foresee
Glorious globs of grotesque gossip
Hereon, hereto and herewith heralded
In illustrious illumination indicating ideas
Joyfully and joyously justifying
Kibitzing kindnesses of kith and kin
Labelling luxurious languages, lumping them as lovely.
Manifesting monstrous maniacal mystical miracles
Needing Nirvana and Never-never-land nuisances
Opposed to outrageous ornateness and ordinariness.
Persecuting prideful pompousness and prissiness.
Respectfully receiving responsible rectifiable residents
Such serious succulent sensuous senatorial secrets!
Truth touching tremendous thunderous tentacles
Understating understandably undeniable underlying unity
Verifying villainous vexing vindicators
Willfully wishing willy-nilly wispy ways will work wonders
‘Xpecting ‘xceptionally ‘xperimental ‘xperts
Yoking the young and youthful,
Zippy zealots showing zany zesty zealous ways.
Wild and eccentric
Delicious sin
A naughty pick
A bull with no pen
Only a disk
No real relation
A fantasy twist
Of imagination
Goosebumps formed
Fine hairs erect
Becoming warm
A sensual wreck
Body of brick
Persuasive and stern
Delightfully sick
Passions burn
Smooth brown hair
Camouflage his horns
Convinced it's fair
She bears the thorns
Position of authority
Gives any girl a rush
But without priority
It remains a crush
On the edge of my seat
Heart thumping
A good girl's treat
Throat lumping
The screen went black
Fingers crossed
Mild heart attack
The ending was lost
How could it end
Right in the middle
Wrapped up in the wind
Satisfaction brittle
Slightly livid
Feeling deserted
My heart still amid
The author flirted
Leaving me to decide
What comes next
As though he lied
I'm feeling perplexed
Hungry for more
I try distraction
But I'm still on the floor
Solving this fraction
Perhaps this explains
The best seller label
Audience left in chains
For the few who are able
How clever was he
Giving a thousand endings
Some would agree
The sequel is pending
Magical muggle, one of my dreams, delight me with your fanciness.
Magical muggle, come closer, and give me a taste of your pranciness.
“What are you doing in there?” My father roars at me.
Nothing, I lie.
“It better be nothing!” my mother says.
They have nothing to do with Muggles, lumping them together as worthless
beings, who generalize witches and wizards, and pick on us,
tormenting us because we are magical and have precognition.
But my gift of foresight has shown that the love of my life
is going to be an enthusiastic, un-biased, faithful magical muggle, and I am
much more powerful than my parents anyway. Grandma taught me that.
Hiding it well, biding my time. My true wizard love should be here in six
years and three days. That is how exact my gift of precognition is.
I smile, roll over and go to sleep, imagining our three
gorgeous half-breed children who will call me Mommy.
There is a tippy man on the roof of my neighbor’s house,
Black, flashy dress suit and brown, worn-out dress shoes,
He was wobbling like a drunk man two stairs off the ground.
How he got there,
I honestly don’t know, but he’s now running like a mouse.
He’s running like a mouse on my neighbor’s roof.
*CLING CLACKADI CLACK
Every time his shoes knocked on the bricks,
There’s a rhythm to his kicks.
Then, as if he saw me with my stare,
He performed a little tippy dance and then tipped off his hat,
But the wind blew right, and it flew off like an orange cat.
I gave him a smirk and saw his stupefied look.
He was standing so still without any fitting words.
You can say that blew right over his head.
I continued to stare while he continued to run,
Now adding jumps and humps like a tippy dance.
I can’t say what it is about, nor do I know what it really is,
But it looked like a bird wobbling and flapping its wings up in the air.
If only I could hear emotions or ideas in his mind,
It would most certainly have a musically magical ring!
His dance was out of this world,
And so was my mind that followed his dance.
In the end, he was still on my neighbor’s roof,
Except now he is dancing,
running, jumping, humping, lumping, bumping, rumbling
Something I can’t touch or avert, and certainly enjoyed.
Though my neighbor must have been very concerned,
As I saw him quite busy inspecting.
He checked every corner of his house and every possible spot.
“WHERE IN THE WORLD IS THIS DAMN SOUND COMING FROM!”
He would yell at the top of his lungs,
With a face red as a tomato,
His round head dangled like an overly inflated balloon.
He sure looked happy.
Old-fashioned parloring. Dreaming
of friendship with tea and cakes.
Feathered fascinators, blooming hats,
all dressed like a bountiful bouquet.
Chatterbox of lovely talk, liveliness
in eyes and lips. Excitement of togetherness.
A cozy of ladies is the best. Dress us up,
kiss us with tasty treats and sips of chai.
Such is the picture of yesteryear, placed
in the Southerner's space. Children pass by
with hardly a howdy-do. Little girls pleased
by a lit up screen, chattering at a box,
unable to size up the others by their character,
wearing ripped up jeans and too small shirts.
These girls don’t know the beauty of baking,
the blossoming of a glass teapot, the lumping
of sugar, an afternoon of nestling in proverbial
glow with sun streaming its shadows on the wall.
One girl glances up, her eyes fly off, like butterflies,
into the space behind the frame, the fragile glass
removed for this moment of time. Her great-grandma
smiles and weeps, holds hope for this progeny.
Suddenly, the girl of twelve, is whisked away in time.
She’s seated at a fresh set table, not questioning why.
Tripping, skipping, lipping Lee. I’ve got a wart hog, you’re on my knee!
Spiking, liking, biking me, I’m going to travel, far as you can see.
Hopping, bopping, cropping, key. Fits in a door knob, bigger than me.
Smacking, tracking, fracking, we. You are a he, I am a she.
Jumping, dumping, lumping, fee. Were you talking bad about me?
Laughing, cracking, graphing, gee. Did you understand how to flee?
Skinning, skipping, hopping, see. Where is that beautiful oak tree?
Leering, learning, licking, he. What kind of woman would I be?
Hunting, bunting, breathing, she. Bear hike cumberdash, knows Mr. Dee.
Shoving, loving, doving, bee. From unknown places, now here with thee.
Wondering, thundering, gee. Leave me now, go get some tea.
Jimmy, Whimmy, Limmy Lee. How much more fun can a rhyming poem be?
Revised: Jan 18, 2019 Contest: Rhyme Battle Xii
Sponsor: Juli-Michelle
Johannes was a gentleman; she had heard this.
Greta knew him not, but when he entered the room
she sensed it was the lord of the manor.
He was casual; spoke in a low voice.
Seemed to sense that a regular voice might frighten her.
She had never been this close to aristocracy.
Her father had warned her to stay away from the rich.
He had called them rapscallions, and knaves.
His experiences tainting them all, lumping them together.
Greta was more open minded than her father;
she gave him a bit of a chance. The light flickered
in his eyes; his sense of humor was obvious.
They became secret friends, more than
enough to teach her that her intuition was good.
A shadow of a family
Sits, lumping on our couch
Watching TV with mindless eyes
Occasionally letting a few words out
The lines that bind together
Lie about on the ground like jump ropes
They’re always in the way
Tripping up dreams and shorting out hopes
Every emotion results in a trip
The kitchen holds our sleeping pills
We are cannibals who ravage our own souls
Unaware of what we’ve just killed
When shadow touches skin
An unholy shiver acknowledges the split
Broken bits lie behind beauty
Our reality is a switchboard with connectors that never fit.
Written by Trudy Schrader on July 4th 2007
Note: This was a poem I wrote 3 days before I left my husband of 14 years (16 at divorce).
We have watched Autumn slowly arriving in mountains across the wide terrain
but we decided on a unique way to experience it….
from an open air car…on one old-fashioned train.
Sitting in our car waiting…my faith in humanity was, once again, restored
watching a beautiful variety of people…as they all climbed aboard.
People of all colors, shapes and sizes… ebullient and wide-eyed
smiling, laughing and sharing with one another…standing side by side
Most of my attention however was spent on the children…and their faces of surprise
I saw it in their smiles…it was reflected in their eyes…
We headed through the mountains…over rivers, roads and streams….
on a train of 20 cars or more…pulled by an engine driven my steam…
The colors did not disappoint…on our ride through nature…
unsullied and untainted…
It felt like we were in the middle…
of a masterpiece being painted.
As the adults watched the children’s reaction…we all smiled
for they reminded everyone on the train…what it’s like to be a child.
To be filled with so much enthusiasm…pointing at everything you see…
lumping up and down…crying out…”Look at the color of that tree!”
Somewhere on the ride I noticed everyone…even the older people like me
Jumping up and down…pointing and crying out…”Look at the color of that tree.”
And looking around the train car…I shook my head…and smiled
when I realized everyone on that train that day…for a little while..was a child.
I wonder if the huge problems facing the world…are really not so huge at all
and could be solved if we all go together…and took a train ride in the fall.