Long Phobia Poems
Long Phobia Poems. Below are the most popular long Phobia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Phobia poems by poem length and keyword.
cold wars
and silvery spoons
make me solemn
in the self-closing eyes
always priggish
as a desolate diver
I blindly follow
the northbound shoals
hoarse in the black iris
I'm a tipsy toad
howling in heaven
with frigid manners
resurrected again
in a parquet parlour
of colliding sighs
the highland highwaymen
set up bonfires
in instinctive phobia
of the uninvited mirage
rural gravestones
salute the lightning
with tremendous pride
still frivolous
over the glum expressions
during prohibition
I smile with a frown
when my chapped lips
touch salty chips
into exile
to shock, to astound
Beyond the boisterous bustle I go,
I find the way, I want to know,
You think twice, you don't deny,
You fill me up, you help me die.
Wishes with wisps wobble about,
I love with passion that dubious doubt,
You break in, you sing too loud,
You send the rain back to the clouds.
I traverse inverse in a psychosomatic realm,
I begin to grow dicey, till virtues overwhelm,
You say a soft prayer, you invoke the crowd,
You unwrap the dull and mysterious shroud.
I take an identity, I throw the idea,
I imbibe new courage from an emerging phobia,
You tread across the air, you begin tantalising,
You become transparent, you turn enterprising.
I don't recognise the Prince of Denmark,
I bump into Prufrock in a children's park,
You happen to be on the wings of poesy,
You strike out the light for Darkness to see.
I see the skylark vanishing into the forest of the night,
I do not stand alone watching the angels fight,
You pick up a ravishing red red rose somehow,
You draw the stringent curtain, you forget to bow.
The world's not a stage, neither are we players,
We exist in the void, we supplicate to the layers,
I being nowhere, where's no water to drink,
You come upon as Godot until we don't sink,
I pantomime the hour, that often struts and frets,
You hold the flaming alter, in a packet of cigarettes!
Phobia? Irrational?
When was that the case?
Empire, art thou factional?
Fractioned by the chase?
Satisfaction? Where to find?
Thousand-faced, age-lined?
Freedom lurking in thy mind?
How the dark sun shined...
Vehicles, flutter about!
Effect what ye can!
Ailing aged, random rout?
O for, fate of man!
Shark in shallow waters?
He escapes from the tide?
Be-tentacled slaughters?
Deep wounds in his heart wide?
Transformation! Metamorph!
Poems writ in blood!
Causality, how you dwarf!
Ocean, cause a flood!
Chambers in the rutted deep?
Shadows, soar to seep.
Boneyard robber, do ye creep?
No more time for sleep!
Dun as yellow metal?
O gold, will e'er we meet?
Flower, hast thou petal?
Is silver just as sweet?
Almost. Related? And how!
Captain on the prow!
Audience to cow or wow?
Performer, take bow!
True, but after this, abyss?
Blowing death a kiss?
Serpent coiling, now to hiss?
Family to miss...
Thus, the storm to weather?
Well, if we can, we will.
Tougher than old leather?
Forever may fit bill.
Turmoil in the tamarisk tree?
Blossom by the sea...
White-capped waves as stern taut tea?
Tee off, O my plea!
Fee of ancient demon?
Exactly what to pay?
Kings and queens a-dreaming?
Waylay, O disarray...
Beauty contest (edited)
Trolls often get bad press
I met a troll sitting under a bridge
looking sad
he was kicked out of the mountain
because it had two eyes
normal trolls have only one eye
planted on the forehead
Worst of all, the unfortunate troll didn't
had a tree stuck in his long nose, ducks under
water inhale mightily and
catch trout
Goats grazing at the bank
of the stream,
but the sad troll had a phobia against
against horns
besides, he didn't like the way they stunk
Our troll wore soft straw shoes
I suggested he make indoor shoes
for farmers's wives, sell them and
be famous
He did so well that a rose bush grew on his long nose
the drawback was he could no longer
catch trout
When other trolls heard of this, he was
invited inside the mountain because
trolls to like soft shoes and roses
Master Poet - This has been how I have been addressing,
Harry Horsman - who has been, to the verse world, a blessing;
Depth, decorum, delightfulness, and dovish dynamism,
Shines and reflects on his personality like a prism...!
‘A Voice In The Wilderness’, ‘Phobia’, ‘The Old Oak Tree’,
‘Rainbow Ride’, ‘Eyes’, ‘Scars Left Behind’, and ‘You May Not Agree’...
Horsman's works have, images and imageries in plenty,
Figures of speech of all kinds, in him, are cognoscenti...!
In 'An Agendaless Age', or 'In So Many Ways’,
His genuineness, like the summer sun, does always blaze;
In 'Jesus Christ' he sings delightfully of the savior,
In his love for the poor, 'The Gravedigger' finds favor...!
'Death Is Not The End’ - he said, I do not think death has won,
In snatching him off from this world, no great work he has done;
Horsman dwells in the blissful presence of angels and saints,
Physically and psychically, he’s free of constraints...!!!
27 May 2023
Tributes to Harry Horsman: An Uncontest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Growing up, I never believed in monsters,
at least, not in the kind that lived under my bed
and in my closet.
No, the monsters I was terrified of
were the same ones my parents acknowledged:
the bus-stop child predators,
"bad people" on the news;
the most chilling collection of
scary stories made available.
Horrific fantasies were entertained during
bed-time;
I was gripped by the prospect of a lunatic
creeping in through my bedroom window &
slaying my family.
On a few instances, our town was plagued by
Grendels, of sorts.
Murderers, on the lam, who had chosen
our quiet, suburban streets to retire to.
Terrorized, my parents forbade me to even
go see my friends who lived next door,
unless I was accompanied by an adult.
No, I never believed in monsters,
in the classical sense.
The monsters I believed in
were absolutely real.
And I'm still afraid of them...
Form:
My friend Jerisha asked me to recommend a therapist.
I do not know any except me; weird? Sure, but true.
So, I told her to call her doctor, Doctor Snozz and get a recommendation.
Dr. Snozz gave her a glowing review about Ms. Litzberger.
She made an appointment.
“She sounded great on the phone!” she told me.
Jerisha was excited about going.
After the appointment I had to ask her about it,
Because she said nothing which was strange for her.
Let’s put it this way, she said. Ms. Litzberger came in carrying a dog.
I was speechless.
Jerisha’s main phobia is dogs.
Did you ask her to please put the dog somewhere else?
Jerisha nodded.
And she did?
No. She said “This is my office, and my dog. He stays.”
And you got up and left? I guessed.
There was no answer.
Later I discovered that Dr. Snozz and Mrs. Litzberger are an item.
They apparently have a dog-training school next door to where she does therapy.
Maybe this was a therapy dog? Jerisha asked me.
I had no words.
But I know one thing.
This was a pretty pathetic therapy session.
I was horrified that Jerisha was going back for a second try.
“With the same woman?”
“She’s the only one I know about,” Jerisha replied.
I suggested she let her fingers do the walking, but I knew she would not.
Afterall, she did not let her feet do the walking, did she?
I seek deep truth at half past-twelve,
But find it hiding in the skokiaan again. (1)
IDA sighs again,'' know thy ale''. (3)
Phuza Face orders a second pail (2)
By dawn I've solved life's mystery grim
Its mostly froth with little brim.
So drink Majwalis,and think no more. (4)
The mind's a map,the heart
Explanation of a Pub Crawler's Philosophical terms and names
Skokiaan-an illicit home-brewed alcoholic drink made from yeast,sugar and water.Usually its consumption leads to loss of wallet,teeth,wife and kids.Devotees are especially not fond of water and general cleanliness.A nice smell
IDA- means I Drink All.This is said by someone who never buys you drink/alcohol.
Phuza Face- is a colloquial term for the physical effects of heavy or long term drinking resulting in which leads to swelling,puffiness,redness of the face,dark circles under the eyes.
Majwalis-He who is devotee of alcohol and alcoholism who drink himself to death and beyond.Usually a cheque collector. Has a phobia of not reporting for duty on Monday and Friday.
Apoleia-Phobia
Insects walk on six legs but some can fly unless
Insecticides take over
No bees no honey
Spiders spin their net for prey with four plus four
You suffer from arachnophobia?
Eat mosquitos yourself
We see eight on octopuses until they squirt ink
Or end up in the freezer
Tentacles and food for thought
Jellyfish are armed with up to hundred ‘digits'
They look like plastic bags
Let us blame sea turtles for ingestion
Humans have to make do with just two walkers
Home erectus but also sapiens?
Prosthetic amputated minds?
Apoleia the fear of loss seems so mega irrational
What has gone wrong in childhood?
Angst gone array from what abuse?
But ‘luckily’ reason prevails one legged
If one survives in Syria and Iraq
‘I hobble therefore I carry on’
Landmines prevent a rightful path and passage
Evolution works quite slowly
But ‘naturally’ artificial intelligence
Will come to the rescue when the rats take over the fall out
05th August 2018
it was not so much that his liver had succumbed to cirrhosis
the jaundice had resulted from hard core assault on his brain
no rose-tinted spectacles would ever restore his faulty vision
myopia in itself was not a problem but refusing its correction is
in his mind however darkness was reserved for the plague
hallucination was if one questioned superiority of White folks
then his worst nightmare became true at a gay bashing party
just when they started to burn an effigy of sexual aberration
ready to slaughter a ****** on the altar of self-righteous pride
already mocking and chanting for God’s straight creation
someone spiked his drink with LSD and his vision went wild
a prism of spectral rainbows danced and he dropped his guard
and his pants as a matter of fact and he fondled his mate’s groin
delirious with such panoply of diverse hues of flamboyance
gaudy radiance sent shivers of animation down to his phallus
which would not stand up to the pressure of diverse vibrance
he stuffed little blue pills down his throat but all he accomplished
was a giant headache and a pain in the backside when vibrations
on batteries stretched his soul’s sphincters in uninhibited pleasure
hetero phobia and racial oppression vanished once and for all as
he embodied the vicious hypocritical flatulence he had always been
disgraced and confined to an orange jump suit the iris of fantasy
came to confirm that he had never been the brightest crayon in the
box but exposed in unwilling iridescence he whined like a sheep
at the slaughter to the unforgiving applause of jaundiced demise
29th June 2021