Long Moran Poems
Long Moran Poems. Below are the most popular long Moran by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Moran poems by poem length and keyword.
(This is a fictional poem)
Last week I felt great fear.
I met Erin Moran and Stephanie Weir.
Erin starred in Happy Days and Stephanie starred in Mad TV.
They joined forces and beat the hell out of me.
They whooped me because I accidentally called them Stephanie Weird and Erin
Moron.
When they got through beating me, most of my teeth were gone.
That ticked me off so I slapped them and told them that they are witches who
should be flying on brooms.
They attacked me again and sent me to the emergency room.
I'll never again be able to watch Happy Days or Mad TV.
If you ever meet Moran or Weir, watch what you say to them or you'll go to the
hospital like me.
Form:
I feel for gentle hearts in this loud world,
Ever suspect, dismissed and derided,
For long has been the shy a songless bird,
That Darwin dismissed as ‘odd state of head’,
Jane Austin gave shyness a broader scope,
Calling it a ‘moral, mental disease’,
And Freud, his fame fending for men no rope,
With sub-conscious cladding, a twist of his
That smelt of ‘displaced love of self-scored goals’,
A simple disposition framed as law,
Oh poking fun and scoring birdie holes,
In matters straight, cobwebs of gauze he saw,
And sensitive violets were on blame,
Poor things, shrunk with self-deprecating shame.
Violets shrunk with disparaging shame,
And shyness drawn from society’s unease,
Scarce unto standard mould can ever squeeze,
O get condemned— a jade that could be gem.
Though sensitive nigh to a gawking gaze,
Here am I basking still in benign bliss—
A shy soul, they say, more inventive is,
And tolerant the more to worldly ways
That mistake plane shyness as being cold,
Aloof, and worse still, somewhat arrogant,
And value those that be loud, neddless bold,
I’m happy now that they were ignorant.
Let critics bask under ill-informed bliss,
I marvel, how creative this bird is.
Creative, this touch-me-not kind of bird,
Or call it a flower called violet,
An introvert of an easy mind-set,
One blessed with fecund skills, a bit absurd—
Skills lacked by too talkatively inclined,
While some greats confess to ‘fainting with fears’
Ere giving speech to some so-called speakers,
Some loners lack the skills called social kind.
I know, shyness has no one ever hurt,
But self that feels cosy under own skin.
Let shyness stay forever verdant green,
Let it never make me an extrovert,
That I live in my own solitude proud,
Innovative, gentle in world so loud.
_________________________________
Two recent books set my thinking bird brooding over bashfulness: The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks; and Shrinking Violets: The Secret Life of Shyness, by Joe Moran. These books advocate that the shy should get a better deal, for they tend to be more creative. Here is the why: musing over, these three sonnets (crown of…) materialized that made me feel a bit elated.
Crown of Sonnets | 01.03.2017 |
Erin Moran has died at the age of fifty-six.
She was special and a credit to all chicks.
She was adorable when she starred as Joanie Cunningham.
When a person dies that young, it's always hard to understand.
I learned about her death on Facebook and it made me feel bad.
When we learned of her passing, it was tragic and so very sad.
She had a wonderful figure and good looks.
When we watched her on Happy Days, we were hooked.
She died too young and her death has devastated her fans.
Sadly, we have to say goodbye to the talented Erin Moran.
[Dedicated to Erin Moran (1960-2017) who died on April 22, 2017.]
Captain Moran never gave up hope.
We were being tossed like washrags.
Many pirates of our crew were brutally ill.
The waters of the Caribbean were dangerously dark.
Some of the rest of us wanted him to turn back to the cape.
Captain Moran kept the clipper steady as he could.
Holding the wheel in the most adverse of circumstances.
It was so dark in the evening, we thought devils were afoot.
Many discussed a mutiny.
I was not one, but I was close.
On the eighth day the sky opened up right in the middle.
The sun showed herself, grinning and kicking with glee.
Right above where the Captain was holding the wheel.
Captain Moran acted like it was usual.
We all knew it was anything but.
He is blessed, our captain, by special angels.
Animal kingdom was invited to join the forest meadow
Band orchestrated by the deniable dictator, diabolical gorilla king
Causing loads of premature bragging from delighted grand-animals.
Deliriously enthusiastic orangutans began to show off their voice prowess.
Excited flocks, herds, and murders flooded to the pre-set sign up spot.
Furiously signing up offspring, and occasionally a non-mothered village orphan.
Giraffe’s heads appeared beside the treetops, sticking out willy-nilly.
Haphazardly, eagles, owls, and songbirds sat among the leafy, sparkly greening branches.
I was smoothly hidden high in the Sycamore tree with a few cardinals.
Jealous zebras began stomping and spitting, thinking they were not going to get their “due”.
Kind mother opossum tried in vain to do a little conflict mediation, wanting unity and peace.
Lackadaisical sloth took a seat in the branch ten feet above my head, making my branch shake.
Maestro Moran, the appointed organizer, a giant Mammoth gave out assigned places.
Newly arriving animals began choosing partners; not realizing band is solitary.
Old Timer Orangutans began donating band equipment they no longer used, mikes too.
Puma is not invited Brother Bear yelled, stating that Puma always caused trouble in night class
Quintessential beaver suggested we give baby Puma a chance and a few agreed.
Raccoons who disagreed began slapping each other upside the head, like the three stooges.
Sh! A few animal mothers began to hiss. Few of us heard them, as they were not loud enough.
Too many were speaking to hear, and animal chaos seemed to be the order of the day.
Unification nowhere in sight, I stayed put, hoping I was fully hidden. The Zebras were still grumbling.
Very intelligent leaders assess things quickly, and Maestro Mammoth was no dummy.
“Walrus, wolf, toad, and beaver will pick out instruments for students first through 6th,” he announced.
“Xylophones for all of the kindergarten students.” Cheers went all around the forest meadow.
Yippee for the music teacher! Someone yelled. I am not sure if it was a wolf or an orangutan.
“Zebra’s choice!” Maestro announced. Band practice had begun!
Gussie Moran, a tennis star,
Created quite a stir
When she wore lace-trimmed underwear,
Created just for her.
In 1949 this was,
On Wimbledon’s staid courts;
The British folk were scandalized,
According to reports.
Designed by Teddy Tingling,
A tennis pro and Brit,
The all-white skirt (above the knees!)
Had newsmen in a snit.
They said she brought “vulgarity”
And even, more so, “sin”
Into a sport that prior
Only let the proper in.
Along with her obit, there was
A photo of her wearing
These very clothes; to us, today,
They’re anything but daring.
But bravo to this fearless gal!
Her charms she did assert
When she gave fans at Wimbledon
A shock beneath her skirt.
There was a lady that I once knew
She met her love she felt was true
He carved their initials into a tree
As she leaned closely on his knee
Trouble in paradise soon they learned
When her initials he wanted to burn
Her middle name he did not know
Until on the tree he wanted to show
Her initials spelled a body part you see
For her name was Linda Elaine Greene
When he burned it into the tree
He was concerned exactly what would be
When also carved his name into the tree
His name spelled a body also you see
For his name was Armond Raymond Moran
Now what was seen Leg Loves Arm so he ran
Form: