Long Plumps Poems
Long Plumps Poems. Below are the most popular long Plumps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plumps poems by poem length and keyword.
Dope boundary rope tropes…fans hopes..Ollie copes..thick skin…will find the strength within…ignores the din…as Pope unleashes that boyish grin..
Can hear Freddie and David…ddddd..Under Pressure…well..hard to measure the pleasure of the Pope’s treasure…papacy legacy pride..stops the slide..trumps the prodigy..got a ton to shun outgun..dumps the Bethell puns..rested and bested..still in at stumps.. after Stokes plumps for tried and tested..
Nasty ploys from the seedier media boys…that gambit or slight..of weedier..needier skittish rabbit in the floodlight habit..but such poise..delights despite the noise.. fights the red hot slingshot Jasprit highlights...that iconic.. chronic.. metronomic…never laconic..halcyon harbinger..joy bringer..humdinger swinger gunslinger....
Who’s got a clue what to do…where it will land…understand what the Bumrah brand’s got planned…should be banned…can’t watch it from the hand..love watching it from the stand..tames games…fanned flames…big names castles manned..but the sparkle of another debacle shames and blames…panned and canned..
Doff your hat…scoff..from the off…Test cricket doesn’t get harder than that…time we beckoned..back when Goochie opined…Essex accent whined..reckoned like facing the World’s test best one end.. and tother Ilford second eleven..
It was a story of small standing tall demanding another dance at the Bumrah ball as the diddy men zen of Ollie and Ben gave us a chance and dodged.. not bodged by the Jasprit lance
Even the boom boom cherry riff couldn’t biff the Pontiff of who we are so fond…no what if..made merry with his tintin strawberry blonde quiff in this tiff did respond..
Golly gosh the another level devil..tabloid tosh of him getting Bethell bish bash boshed…losing the race.. will never forget Ollie’s jolly face…gleaming…day dreaming yet screaming to those scheming and memeing…fury at the jury…beaming…the adored Pope ruled..his grace.. Dueled with the ultimate pace ace…an up yours…century scores…our faith restores ..Ollie.. rightly put out…brightly glowed..showed us what he’s all about..loud..proud shout to the crowd who know nowt…want him out…made it clear..peers cheers he holds dear..my best at your behest ..so sincere.. I deserve my Test place and rest my case..! Hear Hear..
She's only seventeen
Eyes of warm blue ice…
a sky with clouds of pearl
Kindness peeks out,
empathy for the whole world
Ebony lashes, concealing,
revealing, in a graceful fan
Flickering glimpses of
this strong woman within
Youth plumps and smooths
dandelion dusted skin,
That only glows a golden bronze
when the sun's shinin’.
Hair, a long and straight
arrow down her back
Sometimes it's a rich brown,
sometimes blue, or black
Not interested in pink satin
or frilly, white lace
But she loves to have shiny jewels
to decorate her face
Inside this stunning shell,
behind all the bling,
Lies a mind full of deep thoughts,
a heart that's known pain
Yet she laughs without boundaries,
she will always dance in the rain
My heart and soul, my beloved,
She's only seventeen.
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
Ancient is he, yet as fresh as tomorrow,
in green ponds he fishes for sunlight.
He plumps grassy pillows,
quilts nests for the slumbering and slippery,
gardens all the dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He sweeps the muddy tracks
of iron caterpillars.
Bears tell him
of how things are going
in the suburbs,
in swimming pools and trash cans,
There must be a treaty.
Kits and coyote love him,
whistle-Pigs trumpet his approach.
Ducks quack his many sermons,
may shotguns always misfire.
He is a preacher,
a teacher to tic and turtle,
a bosky fellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow but verdant,
a green man for me and thee
harken now to his leafy lingo
for tomorrow he may be only a scarecrow
in a long ravaged field.
It doesn’t matter if I ruined myself from intoxication,
even for a moment, as long as I can get drunk from
the wine named arrogance.
Although arrogance is the robe so colorful
that it blinds ordinary man accustomed only to a quiet color
and it’s conspicuous vividness stunning onlookers and plumps down
to become a lame, doesn’t matter its consequence, I would like to wear the robe of arrogance because most people think not only that it’s proper to honor and admire arrogant one but even respect, awe and consider him holy.
Because the audience overly admires arrogant one,
speak highly of his every movement and daily activities,
moreover, audience welcomes the arrogant one with thunderous hand-clapping, jump up and down with cry in excitement and even tear impressed by his lordliness.
The audience praises arrogant one from the heart with great admiration, uttering, he is a broad-minded noble with a high-spirited appearance that only strong one can display, pure like clear dew reflecting early morning sun-ray, and more.
Nevertheless, you shouldn’t have hatred for the arrogant one because
he is a snob just like the emperor* who struts on the daylight way
surrounded by his dignified chamberlains, wearing priceless silken gown
trimmed and woven with gold threads and uniquely tailored for him.
I wonder why I have a keen desire for glorified moments
like an arrogant one, and behave in a lordly manner
intoxicated by wine of arrogance though I know
the cost of pomposity very well indeed.
*ref: Hans Christian Andersen’s the Emperor’s New Clothes
all gym op Ill chumps free caw’s paces.
ball brim bop dill thumps see jaw’s maces.
call crim cop grill pumps knee saw’s cases.
nonsensical word play is the aces!
doll dim drop shrill humps plea yaw’s places.
fall flim flop frill rumps tree slaw’s glaces.
hall him hop jill lumps dee flaw’s races.
sing song rhythm leaves graces.
enthrall limb lop bill dumps knee straw's laces
mall mim mop cill grumps lee vaw's faces
paul prim pop hill stumps wee heehaw's praces
melody keeps me jumping glaces
saul stem stop zill mumps jee gnaw’s braces
tall grim plop thrill plumps zee draw’s vasesp
wall whim whop pill frumps kee shaw’s daces
loving this poem and her traces.
Don't give a jot or
A sod this lot
On your tod..just nod
Seedier greedier leaders
Stun..Shun the Needier
Not just down trodden
Sodden...run roughshod
Beseech each of those clowns..down
In the dumps chumps who chose
Plumps for stealthy
Leeches who teaches
Fools at our schools
Only the wealthy can stay healthy
No education for the nation
Uses...abuses..eschews..media issues..then sues
Argy bargy - sarky malarkey ensues
Bemuses readers…forsake news as fake
It's a Maga Saga ruse for f**ks sake
No immigration...deplore integration
To restore order…close the border
Hardcore race riot diet of denigration
Likes 60's generation segregation
Damnation not salvation..just devastation
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
Ancient is he, yet as fresh as tomorrow,
in green ponds he fishes for sunlight.
He plumps grassy pillows,
quilts nests for the slumbering and slippery,
gardens all dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of the truculent muckrakers,
the yellow iron caterpillars.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
Slips between the stringy and tall,
if there are no forested ways
he ambles where the wind ruffles.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the bosky bedfellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow man – he is variegated and verdant,
a green man for me and thee
at least for now.
For Timothy Lee, the best of me
Meeting you was my ultimate life lift.
Loving you is my cherished, precious gift.
Your unique ways still dizzy me love high.
Just as yesteryear, passion plumps my sigh.
My first sight of you bounced feel in my chest.
Each year grows my passion atop loves crest.
Home moments of couple-ness stay my bliss.
No ache endures past the cure of your kiss.
We always could and do discuss all things.
Our talks grow and bond us in word-warm springs.
Laughter often aches both our ribs at night.
Even now, our love enhances its light.
From the start, you called me pretty and hot.
Time has not changed your praise a single jot.
With you, my all is relaxed in our share.
To show you love remains my joyous care.
How rare the wonder of day’s end with you!
Night time snuggling eases life's hits anew.
Our same heat reaches feverish embrace.
May our bond always fail as common place.
... CayCay
September 9, 2018
the unzipped match —
a flame that heats the tips of fingers,
those sensitive appendages
that linger,
upon the cheek,
the whiskers.
erogenous zones touched by the flame,
like candles arouse
compatible birthday suits.
the cherry red matchstick
plumps up her lips
making them magnetic.
his lips and ruby tongue
pulled into
the black hole of her being.
their own haven of forest
in flames —
no longer tame.
the full force of desire
moves over her neck
her shoulders,
lower and lower,
leaping higher and higher.
flesh singed —
in the end both become smokers
in bed.
9/25/2019
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the tap releases its thin silver ribbon
into the waiting basin.
No ceremony,
only the patient gathering
in curved porcelain.
Rain arrives differently~
a thousand small surrenders
against the thirsty earth.
It darkens stone, plumps the soil,
disappears without demanding notice.
Then there is the river’s deeper song,
carrying forgotten leaves
and the sky’s reflection
as it moves toward some unseen horizon,
never pausing, never rushing.
The lake holds stillness best of all—
a polished mirror where clouds drift like thoughts
and dragonflies trace the surface
without breaking its quiet skin.
Even in tumult, water finds its level;
it is calm. it asks nothing but
to flow, to fall, to hold.
to be.