Long Piddling Poems
Long Piddling Poems. Below are the most popular long Piddling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piddling poems by poem length and keyword.
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The weed interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
"And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…"
"If only..."
How often I've whispered those two piddling words.
Quietly, like the fluttering wings of hummingbirds,
wishing I could rewind the clock to the time when
we were together, more then just your best friend.
Do you remember us, or did you choose to forget?
Do you think of us with only remorse and regret?
If I could rekindle our love like dew revives the flower,
I'd be the loveliest bloom in the porticoed bower.
If only I didn't feel the stinging misery of sorrow,
I think we might find ourselves together tomorrow.
Thrilled, I would be, being loved by you once more,
with your ring on my finger, like I once proudly wore.
If I could, I'd keep sullen nights from descending.
Without you, they're overwhelming; never-ending.
I refuse to look to the sky or the glowing moon.
I'm not sure I ever will, but now it's much too soon.
Could be it's better if we both try to forget, yet...
"if only..."
I’ve been looking at a map of the world...
upside down.
The Mercator version just doesn’t sit right with me.
Old Chinese maps once were oriented
East to North.
Many ancients envisioned
North to be South.
When I look at the map upside down
it all makes sense.
The East now looks a lot like
an obese dragon throwing up
clumps of green fur-balls.
A Godzilla-like Britain,
now dangles into the Antarctic
Its nether regions emasculated
by the slow nibble
of immigrant crustaceans.
Europe and Russia as always, seem to be
carpet bombing the sky.
Africa, well Africa is still Africa,
only now it looks like a turd
in the process of being purged.
Australia on the other hand
looks like the United States,
a place where kangaroos
bounce in a slomo Texan rodeo.
Florida’s limp dick situation
is now flagrantly erect.
Any piddling little country
can now be orientated
at the middlemost point of the globe.
However, the Great State of Ohio
looms large
and still remains deeply significant.
The rest of the world
radiates away from California
as Walt Disney always intended.
It’s a secret only known to NASA
but astronauts who circle the globe,
on return,
have to be reeducated,
or forever struggle
to keep walking upon the ceiling.
A buzz-saw wind
peppers a far horizon.
We hear the nails falling
from an impossible distance.
Damage will be done elsewhere;
instinct squeezes a grey glue
out of blind brains.
A razor-teethed storm
is coming.
We share this piddling dread
with puddle dancing sparrows,
they suspect,
we suspect,
a suspicion clouds all eyes.
Many are all thinking too much
making the sky edgy with thought.
Bundles of nerves
have brought us here
to listen to the engendered,
the endangered,
the ponderous tread of the
shuddersome.
It is then we know
that we are all Acts of God
in a ravening, infidel world.
(Sing along to tune, "Simply the Best!")
Dan, i'm saying, my laugh's afire,
Dan, I voted for you, on the wires,
Dan, golfers are piddling in the rain!
They'll get Corona on their dicks again,
Dan, that's indecent exposure, the best,
Is our Premier the dippiest?
Now there's nowhere to wash their hands,
Dan, that's health and safety, my man,
What about number twos?
Is there enough Sorbent for you?
There's raw sewage on the golf course,
That's a Worksafe issue for the workforce,
Dan, you are the best,
This plan is your dippiest,
Dan, I voted for you, in your Parliament House,
Next time, I am voting for Micky Mouse!
They're going to migrate to Victoria, my man,
Bet NSW are Glad they haven't got our Dan,
Yes, Dan, you are the best,
You are deffo the dippiest,
Simply the best!
Standing reverent in a dull cast mist
glazing my cheeks while prayers were said
so silent stood at Rand's memorial
My mind dashed to the self-drawn sketch
he staged as "The Youthful Raconteur";
profile, pipe, wavy cinema legend hair -
his final role, being lowered by rope
into a eternal, earthen wall home
Flowers fell like words fall, droplets in air
completing his circle, our circle too
His "Janie" bowed, seated solitary
almost estranged by her own dreams dashed
her beauty gone long ago, buried too
As the "Wedding Cake Couple" sixty years past
right up to the very day of their marriage
which proved a confection in itself
Rand was the one who always got the girl
perky, popular, blonde, "Homecoming Queen"
They spent lifetimes contriving their image
striving for the unattainable ideal
then crashing, having to pick up the pieces,
not content, tortured by delusions
This is how my older brother's life ends
a cacophony of misadventures
He wanted to be called only Rand
not Randall and never Randy, just Rand
So then, I always called him Randy
it's what a younger brother must do
to bring one down to earth, he was up there
Chasing fate, dashing towards his destiny
daring too often, reality hits head on
His good looks, handsome physique were no match
for surging corporate expectations
while sinking, his wake tipped lots of boats
his marriage, his family in a free fall
my piddling attempts to help were futile
Truth was, I never knew his inner mind
I guess I loved him but I don't know -
was he simply the superior image
or the vulnerable suffering reality?
So he flailed through his eighty eight years
disconsolate, in debt and detached,
his affections only came in a knot
Where were Randy's spiritual benefactors?
Are we heirs of our actions, not wishes?
Can we dream but not make dreams our masters?
So what about my own selfish frailties?
I take no pride in this awful life's play
my failures were many and to think now
I lost a life so close, that I watched
for so long devolve and did so little -
will be with me forever, this my fate;
not dashing towards the ones I love most
Before light’s encroaching
Beams, across wavelengths
Of glints, in between yawning
Protocols of waking,
The cocks strike a redundant
Note.
Choked by their own sensitive
Yodelling spree, muted by
Spittle of outstretched, moaning
Clouds, frayed and piqued by
The lusts of flying machines,
Hours stretch on rubber’s speed.
The rain is a common spiv, holding
On the crests of soaking waves
Upon night’s purloined
Sleep.
On the roof, the rain pelts
With energy, hunting the
Fire-caked degree of heat,
Insufferable to the dictates
Of yelling protests.
Faint mirrors of earliness hang
Loose on frescoes of heaven, peeking
Through serrated drapes above
Window panes. And these, like neighing,
Spavined horses, wake
Memories of puking slumber...
And the hours of dimmed contours
Stretched. And the lilt from the
Pluvial melody humbles the
Insomnia monody, drummed
Into the silence of fastened hedonism.
No sunrise within the grey
Patterns of veiled clouds...
Cocks’ crows, subsumed within
This muffled protocols, become
Distant trumpets of varieties,
Preening themselves of the usage
Of establishing culture.
Allah, Allah, Allah! ! !
The presence became fixed!
At the very hour of the cocks’ choir,
When piddling gathers the froth of
First waking with the grogginess
Of drunken dreams, the muezzin
Reads out the laws....
From the jungle chambers, elated
Spirits from pricked ears and
Rising furs soothe the voice,
Arched, raised and powered
Even to the birth of essences and
Dehiscing of inscrutable
Energies of efflorescences.
Allah, Allah, Allah!