Long Pesky Poems
Long Pesky Poems. Below are the most popular long Pesky by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pesky poems by poem length and keyword.
“It is what it is”
I heard the President say
His facts only matter
we should see it his way
“We’re rounding the corner”
People aren’t really sick
Repeat alternate truths
until they firmly stick
If the Stock Market is high
then surely everyone’s Rich
If you don’t believe him
just ask his buddy Mitch
“The Election was rigged”
no way that Biden could win
To not agree with Donald
is an unpardonable sin
So off to the courts
His parade of lawyers in tow
pesky judges want real facts
but they’ve got none to show
So “It is what it is”
In January he must go
At least that’s what I’ve heard
From people in the know
The end of the story
or just the beginning
Donald is not really losing
America is finally winning!
November 29th
For John Lawless’s It is what it is.........or is it Contest
It was a dark and stormy night, or so the story goes
Another of those wondrous tales to keep us on our toes
Like looking glass and wonderland, grim witches and their spells
Peter Pan and his lost boys, the lovely Tinkerbell
The days I’ve spent lost to the world, so snug inside a book
The villains who are best of all, Long John and Captain Hook
I’ve sailed away to desert isles and walked the frozen wastes
Swum deep beneath the ocean waves; the Kraken I have faced
Sherlock Holmes to Frankenstein have held me in their thrall
But can I name just one that I have loved the best of all?
On different days I need to find a different place to be
Sitting on my daily train: oh, commuter misery
Today it’s off to Lilliput in the company of Swift
Tomorrow could be opium dens, by Sherlock left adrift
Or possibly to Mordor, to fight those pesky orcs
Or up north to Skallagrigg, to fly among the hawks
If I had a pound or two for every place I’d been
I’d be a millionaire by now, but I really must come clean
The written word to me is worth much more than any cash
A nice new book is just the thing, I’ll add it to my stash
The gadgets that are used today are all right in their place
It’s print and ink in solid form that put a smile upon my face
Trees still shade the road
where Gramps and I once rode
in his old green car -- I drove --
on dusky early evenings
in my fifteenth year.
We stopped, as he insisted, at spots
where an armadillo scratched
among the tender greenery
in ditches.
I was dispatched,
with Gramps' strong wood cane,
to kill a pesky armored creature
by striking hard, once, upon its snout.
Gramps waited in the car,
called encouragement or condemnation:
"That's it! Hit him hard!" or
"Can't you do a damn thing right?"
He knew I didn't like to kill
but was determined to toughen up
my softness.
That hard old man was not accustomed
to being crossed or contradicted.
But part of him was tender,
and he had a sense of what was right
in the bayou country of his day.
How could I tell him that I hated
killing just to please him?
Often, I killed, then killed again,
although, at times, I'd miss the snout
or be slow to follow up,
and permit an armadillo to escape.
Sometimes, I'd temper force with moderation --
I'd stun the creature, grab the tail,
fling it far into dense bushes
to revive and live another day.
My grandfather eyed me darkly then,
but often kept his peace.
He gave me the treatment
I gave those stunned armadillos.
Could he have felt the same
toward me as I toward them?
“Heady heights..bright neon lights..giddy delights
Arsonists torching the Indian empire
Reputations scorching..awash with brilliant whites
Gilded generation ire… spoils soiled in an oily quagmire
Sailing the conquest crest..Kiwi veneration..scaling Test Everest
Perturbed…wondrous walloping to disturbed lolloping..absurdly dire
Otherworldly umami of the Barmy Army tsunami
Marauding sneers trumpet.. foolish career nadirs..retire
Ghoulish gravity..devoured by a glutinous abyss
Bazball belter depravity..sensationally soured bucolic bliss
Hoodwinking..hasten Black caps helter skelter sinking
Downed & drowned in a bottomless basin..stinking
Hilariously or nefariously bombastic
Bellicose blows vicariously fantastic
Lambasted & larruped..willow wizards’ blizzards
Scary..leery…Kiwis dreary..wary..weary
Boisterously babbling record book pleasing Brook..
Febrile lairy timber & turnstile teasing fairy
Frazzled dreams bedazzled by pyrotechnic memes
Peacocking cavorting with shocking ripsnorter slaughter
Lampooned buffoons marooned…as Jaffas deliriously spill.. festooned just like Seville
Bazball booming batting baritones..delicious blooming blossom
Vicious..nailed..pernicious.. flailed like an impaled pesky possum
Stranded in a leaking latrine…Baz branded..reeking of what could have been
Outrageously courageous…ridiculously sublime at the same time
Flat track thuggery fortuitously free from spin skulduggery?
Cosy club snubs…mandarins’ selectorial sins?
It’s coming home..it’s coming..in Welly on the telly..what we have seen
Prodigal Bazball from South D has already well & truly been"
When I was young I read a book
my hero was in there.
The book I'm sure, you've read yourself
about… 'Rupert the Bear'.
But my hero was not Rupert,
nor his Mother, nor his Dad.
Not even all the wizards or
the creatures Rupert had.
My hero was the poet
who turned all the words to rhyme.
Beneath the comic pictures
that ran with the storyline.
This was also wrote in paragraphs,
as all good books should be.
But the rhyming explanations
were the things that captured me.
I'm sure my admiration
for the muse behind the lines.
Was my earliest perception
of the power of simple rhymes.
So now I'm a rhyming poet
and my head will always fit.
My feelings and emotions
into words that rhyme a bit.
So forgive me if I bore you,
when my rhyming's always there.
It's not my fault.....
I'm brainwashed…. by that pesky little bear!
Ivor G Davies
Creeping creepy creepers, the crawling trellis
jutting out of everywhere
snaking through country and metropolis
twisting turning in floral bliss
but more like snakes that hiss
But in quietude feign death for self-defense!
Weeping willows with an unreal surreal sorrow
weeping tears of dew onto the silted furrow.
Perhaps weeping for bretheren felled
in deforestations and land clearings in
my imaginations of the call to preservation.
Against ethnic cleansing of greenery for selfish building
As per man's construction for mere recreation
Velvety-green tear- stained faces or rather foliage
When dew is stuck on them as nature's trinkets of pearls.
And over there touch-me-nots swaying coyly
like prim and proper maidens
in the fantastic floral gardens.
And what in the world is this case?
Imitation flowery in place of imitation jewellery?
Yeah, thats poinsettia in a vase
Leaves in the disguise of flowers
Its actual flowers relegated to backstage.
And ethereal fairy-slippers await their never coming wearers
and Indian pipes to be admired by Red Indian sightseers.
Oh and here's another spectacle- but sniper tactics this time
Yikes! Let the naive insect world beware!
Whilst the bloodthirsty killers lie in ambush
Those camouflaged jungle guerrillas
or should we say the venus fly-traps!
Or a more harmless one yet mimicking the scary
A snap-dragon flora, its mouth opening and snapping shut.
Then watch that mega-sized jumbo giant flora
The world's largest flower
No stems, no leaves, plant-eater plant, rafflesia.
Is it too much for the faint-hearted ha ha.
And wow now watch that incredible costume, oh my!
A flower masked as some pesky fly!
None other than the remarkable fly orchid.
And yet another, the silent music of the fiddlenecks
Fiddles as if for the light-weight fairies.
And lastly not forgetting ofcourse
the sky-blue unforgettable forget-me-nots
A memorable bouquet but themselves devoid of memory.
Ah nature lover poets if you wish to view
more of flora in a fancy dress masquerade
Go ahead and flip through the pages of
a botanical, floral
horticultural
pictorial journal.
And see for yourself the fantastic flora's charade
or else imagine them dressed as a floral renegade!
I remember, back before puberty,
and all concomitant complexities,
visiting the pond behind our barn,
to watch water spiders.
I wondered what we would like living on thin transparent skin
between two equally visible universes,
one below, and one above.
Below,
life would be somewhat darker
but unlike soil.
I would look down into flowing water space,
watching other little pond insects and amoebas, and lichen,
and occasional predator fish or water snake,
or frog.
Above,
I could look up to see flying insects,
and grass forests,
rocks above, as below,
but dry, lighter, easier to maneuver,
to stick to,
to remember.
Again, the occasional predator,
like birds and again those pesky frogs
who also tend to live near life's bicameral surface.
Yet, in a way, this surface,
Boundary skin between two universes,
Prime Relationship limned barrier
between air and water universes
has its own specific unitarian traits,
responding to both air and water flow,
sometimes confluently,
sometimes dissonantly.
My own spidery journey along that surface,
looking in and looking up,
is quite different than looking out,
forward,
with confusion as I lose capacity to integrate down and up
while staring toward my independent
rooted past and crowning future.
So, my water spider grows three eyes.
Only supereco eye looks directly toward my future,
interpreting Prime Relationship between my right eye,
sensing water within below,
and inside
While my left eye,
looking up and out,
seeks to understand
what this huge mammal,
a red headed kid,
is doing with our fresh-aired day.
Chocolates, hearts and flowers are ubiquitous in the markets or stores
It is like a frenzy storm, like heavy raindrops rushing through the gutters
I am told at the big mall, it’s like Christmas Eve, where procrastinators
Are buying boxes of chocolate, flowers, candies of all kinds and colors
Candles, jewelries, intimate pajamas, and sexy accessories for loved ones
Wow! Love must really be in the air or something different is quaffing
The oxygen, which is necessary and essential for our survivals. Something
Is in the fresh air, where the moon is full and craziness makes no sense
In this fascinating world, where babies are slaughtered and innocent victims
Are cursed, beaten, jailed and killed: I ponder and wonder. They don’t care
It’s is a show of tradition, not a show of unconditional love. I cannot bare
Not to say anything about what I’m witnessing and living. Bad dreams
Endure; they don’t last. Nightmares see the devil in the dark in your bedroom
I guess, hope and pray that Saint Valentine can improve the current events
Yet, I am afraid of the hypocrisy, which behaves like evil rats and pesky ants
Yes, I am confused, shocked and bewildered by so much extravagance for only one day
I write and pray that true love rains and reigns, and tolerance shines on Valentine’s day.
Copyright © February 13, 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Sweltering summer temperatures
and warm sultry summer nights
left me scratching my legs red raw
I hate receiving nasty insect bites
I’d slather bare limbs with cream
that the chemist had given me
Bites are an issue that I live with
itchy red legs are quite unsightly
Every beach dress skims the earth
and I ensure I spray all my skin
But these heartless hungry critters
find a gap and they get stuck in!
I’ve spent all my hard earned cash
yet have been unable find a cure
Why can’t these creepy crawlies
abstain, their bites I can’t endure
A friend suggested that I purchase
a new-fangled electric bug racquet
It zaps the pesky bugs with each swat
and E-Bay didn’t charge me a packet!
The package arrived back in May
with my electric zapper I’m smitten
I’ll carry it with me all summer
I am certain I’ll never get bitten!
Lipogram Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Letter O has been omitted
Rhyme checked with rhymezone
06/17/21
At our house we had what was called an ‘odd sock drawer,
A place which the whole family could keep odd socks to store.
Quite often the matching sock was to be seen no more.
When the drawer became quite full Mum declared war.
She bought a sizable pack of large safety pins.
And threw the contents of odd socks out, to fill a few bins.
Each of us was given quite a few pins. No more sox would be odd.
Pinned together as we take them off when the last step was trod.
Into the wash they go still tightly pinned together.
Now through thick and thin and any type of weather,
Those pesky socks can’t come apart even if they try.
The dryer doesn’t like their pins so it’s out on the line to dry.
Cheers for Mum she fought the battle with a wink and a nod,
She won the war. Now we have no more socks that are odd.
Now we can fill that draw with anything else that we please.
It seems to be getting filled with miscellaneous keys.
Keys that have been lying around and don’t seem to fit any door.
A place where the whole family could keep odd keys to store.
I wonder how long it will take her to find a solution for odd keys.
Any suggestions accepted. Use the comment section please.