Long Pocus Poems
Long Pocus Poems. Below are the most popular long Pocus by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pocus poems by poem length and keyword.
Lickety-split, I sit up and look at the clickety clock,
oh my gosh, why am I lollygagging in this cozy bed;
I am going to be so late for dance class, I better skedaddle,
so I canoodle my cats (hugs and kiss that is);
and like a flash I am out of bed!
Oh dear, what a rigmarole of unnecessary complexity,
I run to the kitchen and open a tin of, oh so stinky fish;
for the fur balls, (no accounting for taste,) my tummy rumbles,
I dress in my pink dance pants, brush my teeth;
I look in the mirror, holy macaroni!
I was going to wash the mop last night but didn't,
oh well, the flat iron turns me into a Cleopatra star;
then, I look outside, snow, lots of snow, blast I need boots,
oh yes under the bed where I flung them;
what a stupid kerfuffle!
Walking to dance, a bus sprays with me with slush,
darn nincompoop, I am thinking to myself and then;
a loud honk, and a car roars pass me, I almost have a stroke,
I finally make it and the receptionist says- cancelled,
cancelled, oh la-di-la, that's great!
I am walking back home when I step into a deep puddle,
and my feet are now soaking wet, I am just exhausted;
I will crawl back into my bed for a snoozle I say to me self,
but I am waylaid by my old fuddy-duddy neighbor;
dearie,(she whips out a grocery list)!
You know, I cannot walk in the snow, meantime her cat,
a fat Persian rubs my legs and I have fur from knees down;
but what can a girlie do, I turn around and hocus-pocus its done,
finally, I am standing in my bedroom all tatterdemalion,
like a child in rags, I feel like weeping!
And then I notice the collywobbles in my tummy,
like butterflies swirling, and then a great rumbling;
oh, damnation, I need something to eat, so I gongoozle,
stare that is, into the refrigerator, close the door, slam;
and grab a handful of cockamamie cookies!
_________________________
January 26, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Lickety-Split
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8691-18-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest , Any Poem Written in January 2017
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
When I enrolled in magical school
Ma said good luck
Dad called me a fool
He always thought with my IQ
I’d fix people up,
Not saw them in two.
But I had a vision
And my self esteem
Hung on the balance
Of this simple dream
So I packed my bag
Gave Ma a hug
Reached out to pop
Who said with a shrug
Watch each one of your steps
Cause each one of them matters
When you walk without looking
You’re sure to splatter
So take my advice
It may save your life
You can’t step twice
On thin ice.
I’ll show that man who I can be
With a B.A.
In alchemy
I have no doubt that he’ll be glad
Because my plan
Was ironclad
I bought all my books
Most second hand
I was so ready
To beat the band
But where was my room
Did it disappear?
I’m such a buffoon
Then dad’s words appeared.
If you can’t find your way
Don’t lose your nerve
It’s all a small part
Of the learning curve
So take my advice
It may save your life
Rolling the dice
Is a vice
I tried running down the empty halls
But all the doors
Turned into walls
I shouted a chant, before weeping
‘Allah-Kazow-ee’
To get me sleeping
I dreamed about A’s
The prodigal son
The star of my class
Magic 101
But soon my visions
Became nightmares
I woke and screamed
And if pop was there
He’d say, when in a jam
Take an afternoon nap
Cause a grumpy head
Ain’t worth a crap
So take my advice
It may save your life
To make nice
Sleep twice
At last, I made it to classes
But that first day
I lost my glasses
Teacher assumed I was a jerk
Rewarding me
A week of homework
Then my trick cards turned red
The hare’s sick in bed
The bouquet looked dead
So I called home, and said,
“I’m failing Hocus Pocus
Gotta D in smoke in mirrors
It’s so hard to focus
When all I make is errors
Then dad said with much calm
First give yourself a hand
Before counting on others
And soon you’ll understand
So take my advice
It may save your life
Give yourself a high-five
To survive
So I practiced day and night
‘Till each ‘Abra’
Came out right
And my Presto-Digi-ture
Was more than
Amateur
Then all those D’s
Turned into A’s
Without tricks
I was amazed
Hard work after all
Was a giant step for me
But with dad’s advice
I learned the mystery
Each day is irreplaceable
And comes with a caveat
If you waste its offerings
You deserve just what you get
So take my advice
It may save your life
Being wise
Is the prize
Tis quite a beast of burden to bear atlas (shrug off not allowed)
Atlas shrugged an impossibility
tantamount to skinny dipping in the lock nest lagoon
Tantamount to shrugging Atlas off mine bony,
ill suited, widower wizened shoulders,
would take naked fat chance in Fountain Head of virgin waters,
eddy fied with huge boulders
which preliminary sketches to maintain pristine
(pure as Snow White's booty) kept in folders
when collaborative effort called, the fore mid able,
trio, sans state of the artists
(within their respective trades as writer
fictional hero, and architect)
Ayn Rand, John Galt, and Howard Roark,
who undertook resplendent measures
affected resilient as omnipotent cable
tub ring plenti kickstarting linkedin gatecrashers
to a snapchatting halt
instagramming, crowdsourcing, crowdfunding,
held at equivalent asper Bay of Pigs
viz Pay of Bigs
(in this context identified as
(vudu trained stalwarts, petsmart outlook,
incorporating literary, metaphorical,
nautical staff comprising fable
sea Crete cure metamorphoses abilities, as failsafe method –
i.e., physically, instantaneously, architecturally rendering
modus operandi capacity asper quick as blazing saddles
(ponied up by young Frankenstein)
kept in fireproof stable,
where at dextrous fingers ala hocus-pocus prestidigitation
which chiefly buoyantly ardently, and hardily drafted imp pier re: hull
rock hull impediment for shore also cast evil spells should
any foolish soul, who dared
to maneuver past the near blinding pier sing redoubt
to access blue lagoon like watery oasis
shielded via reeking poor Island
(where an atomic rooster gargoyle shrouded parapet)
buffeted the crashing waves against
the lock smooth as a glass table
whose wooden sea legs solidly affixed
to hip, hip hooray three chairs
inviting two story book heroes plus the author,
unfurling parchment scriptural roles invited ad lib flairs
since threat of category five hurricane
manifested took writer by surprise,
thus requiring her to utilize cognitive gears
which necessitated modification of original plot,
now bumped credos with religion
vis a vis engendering prayers.
Nearly ten o'clock, Capitol Hill, inside the SCIF (specially designed for classified purpose): House Intelligence Committee chairman Adam Schiff was hosting an esoteric hearing featuring a deposition with Defense Department official Laura Cooper as part of Impeachment Inquiry into Dotard Trumpery. Suddenly a fit of ruckus flared up from the outside, increasingly nearer and clearer, then followed a string of desultory sounds of pounding upstairs. What's up? What happened outside? Over the puzzlement of those present, Schiff roughly learned about this supervention from a subordinate's brief report. He signed nothing perturbable and said: "It's the Gofers of Payolas that are crapping and monkeying around there. But do not panick! 'cause they're exactly aiming at the witness and me. Of course, the witness shall be put under rigorous protection, yet the rest may just stay here and sit tight." Then he turned face to Cooper: "Ms cooper, let me call over several robust escorts to ensure your personal safety." Cooper, remaining unruffled all the time, delivered to Schiff not just an assuaging declination but her deontic assertiveness: "Never overestimate those cowards. For most of them, the best way to varnish their guilty conscience is to howl loud, the best way to compensate their courage privation is to bluff big. What brings me here are the respect of law and truth, the loyalty to oath and duty, the faith in nonpartisan justice. But what brings them here? The blind deference to bosses, the obsessive wariness of watchdogs, or the browbeating practice against opponents? Just go your usual way, and go free of their distraction." "Oh, great! your frankness and bravery!" Exclaimed Schiff, getting up to seek to contact Dem House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. Right on cue, a few barged in, clamoring that the hearing lacks transparency and picking out electronic devices for its livestream with later nearly a dozen more joining them straggly. Although the hearing had to come to a halt due to the gofers' brazen violation of security rules, the present ambience scarcely turned tense, just plunged into weird vibes of twisting steadfast normalcy toward a kind of peculiar hocus-pocus that had continually sprung up from a handful of hopped-up harlequins who were hell-bent on hamming it up.
Form:
uniting farcical flocks all over the world,
gregarious garments, talismans &
little good luck charms required by religions
to ward off “evil spirits,” to separate man
from “god,” or to just protect the fuzzy sheep
from the rest of us heathens,
are donned by believers everywhere
(but kept oh so secret).
the infamous magical mormon underwear
whose mere mention offends the mormons
strike the nonbeliever as an extra special case
as one may envision horny hocus-pocus
surrounding the ceremonies held within the guise of a
uniquely ludicrous worship of fiction---
the lds correct one quickly, saying that these “temple garments”
are sacred & that is why they are secret,
once bearing stitched “L’s & V’s,” thought at best to be
squares & compasses,
evidence of founder joseph smith’s own signing up with the
big boys, the freemasons, whilst trying to get some buddies
who had power.
while christians, buddhists, sikhs, muslims, jews, jains,
taoists, zoroastrians & for that matter, numerous other local
& tribal religions, all seem to put some stock in “peace malas”
---little 16 beaded bracelets representing a rainbow to
take on our “spiritual paths,” jews specifically have worn
the “roite bindele”---a red wool string that is worn around the
wrist of the left hand, thought by kabbalahbabblers to ward off evil, especially
that ever so evil “evil eye,” that so many in the 21st century
are still afraid of.
scientologists, always out to out-ridiculous the competition,
whose elite army known as the “sea organization,” marches
round Gold Base in cali, parading now on land in the poor rip-off
attire based on US navy uniforms, as they did when they were
peddling their own brand of bosh mumbo jumbo in La Boheme,
prior to its shut down in 2008 for asbestos (awe boo hoo, guess
we’ll have to nurture our “thetans” & try to get in better touch with
the “supreme being” elsewhere).
what asinine apparel exemplifies in the superstitious
is not only the need to escape the tribulations of everyday life
which weighs upon us all, but more so, to advertise a chosen
dogmatic & downright daffy way to live, which strengthens
those within the flock, but which is meant to reel new fish in,
so as to perpetuate this idiocy in an age when the species needs
LESS, not more of it.
I guess I was left alone after sixth grade, wandering my way.
You believed in me, offered up openings and let me say
what I would and delve into the sun and world and stay
and even you ended up with the lecture that betrays.
I wrote I hate because I was writing a friend's words and heart.
You asked me who I would be and even then I wanted all, a dart
where you wanted a girl to trudge through all scientific dirt
while you rode the airplanes and dumped the bombs and let off farts.
The alien chart given to us by the friend with death in his eyes
turned into a get after her and steal her gift away, mini-size
combat world I have entered, perhaps I don't want to see
that my skin and bones won't take the abuse and slip free.
You told me it was trash, imagination, you whose directions I embraced,
tall as my father, kind in punishment with paddle, food for an ace,
do what I can, make the baskets and short end instead of lace
but even then I crocheted for quiet and the ending of days.
How can I choose one star when there are minds that blink into focus
you were the exhaust shoot that let me fly without hocus pocus
I thought I had a community who could let me be without fuss
instead I became the joke who you could goad into a cuss.
Stars are supposed to offer a route into the future
I only have my mind and the heart break of needed sutures
I have Gandhi and Buddha and they hold my hands as lures
to study silence, and Pink Floyd to cuddle but not reassure.
So why is the man with a paddle and heart my only star?
Outside I am compliant and you're happy with her
but inside I am defiant that you have not seen me soar
because I am the murk you want to avoid for a lark.
Betrayals hurt the heart by ignoring the soul's worth.
Betrayals hurt the mind by ignoring the leaps of birth,
Betrayals hurt the soul by closing doors into endless hurt.
My stars always hurt me so I always restart.
I am still alone following the paths who clarity offer hope
and alone because my web of life is so immense I'm a dope
and alone because the daily bread tastes too much like soap,
when the quiet of peace and dark blue earns my truest troth.
Sheri Fresonke Harper
poem for Brightest Star Contest
Form:
Still at times I can be an adolescent, a bit of a brat
I'm always questioning things, though I'm suspicious
I admit there's time's I've been ignorant to even chat
Yeah quit a lot of the time I've been quite obnoxious
A mr know it all! but at the time it seemed ludicrous
Like the magician, trying to pull a trick out of the hat
And getting everyone to say the words hocus pocus
But me thinking wise to it all one can smell a dirty rat
Then things I suppose at times are so blatantly obvious
Some could say your either death or just blind as a bat
But back then I was a little immature, as to it all oblivious
Still inquisitive though I'm now older, a lot less of a prat
And still I'm no real master mind, I'm not any genius
Why this is this, I ask and that always has to be that??
Why something’s are not always, leaves one curious
Though I was told it was curiosity that killed the cat
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NOTE TO READERS AGAIN LIKE INTERWISON AND FATE JUST
tweaked a few lines which I felt made better sense was originally going to add two extra verses
but decided to take some words lines from extra two and rewrite first two verses
in better context I don’t know
again some inspiration fro all the cool soup poets thank you..............***
ADDIN A LITTLE ON END
NOT SURE IF NEEDED TO OUR OF INSPERATION RIGHT NOW
SOUNDS STUPID I KNOW MAKES NO SENSE JSUT GOING THROUGH MY HEAD
DEEP IN THOUGHT WHILE REWORKING OTHERS ID WROTE
THIS POPED UP IN THE SAME VANE AS FATE SAME SOR OF PATTERN AND IDEA
WITH THIS iM OBVISLY MORE KNOWLGABLE NOW THAN WHEN YOUNGER
BUTSTILL I QUESTION A LOT OF THINGS WITH THIS TRYING TO ADD A LITTLE HUMOUR ALSO
INSPIERD BY all the so cool poet members of the soup if I had never come on this site
i would never have updated a lot of my old stuff or even wrote any of the thirty new writes
ive wrote over the past year of being on here THANKYOU FOR YOUR INSPERATION AND COMMNETS
MAKES ME FEEL APART OF SOMETHING XXXXXXXXXXXXXX THOUGHTS FEELINGS WORDS WITH MEANINGS
Ding. Ding. Goes the sound of the bell.
Soupers see a poetic king emerge from his cell...
You called me a "Whorelock" - define that word punk?!
You're in for a shock - I don't entertain poetic junk!
I see you're using "caps" to capitalize certain words.
Tell your "girl" to give back my jockstrap before I tell the soupers what I heard!
That's right dakarai cobb. she said she can't stand your "small size."
Your girlfriend gives one helluva head job, but that's no surprise!
Only the Poetic Warlock can say, "hocus, pocus."
I'll slap "you" so hard, your "grandma's" eyesight will go out of focus!
I laughed silly boy, after I read, "Jimmy's first reality check."
In this prison, you'll be someone's toy, walking around with hickies on your neck!
Come on now you poetic thug, you've never been in a fight in your life!
In this prison you'll be smashed like a bug, or become "big bubba's" wife!
I'm a real life "head-buster," I've just learned to control my anger.
lil' boy, my life could be a blockbuster, for I'm an ex-gangbanger!
You don't believe me silly, just call Maury Correctional Facility!
In case you didn't know, it's public info, so check my credibility!
I wish I could have you all alone in this here cell.
I'd rip your weak heart from your breastbone and send you to hell!
I'm sending you a message telepathically, trying to make your brain explode.
I want to destroy you mentally, and then tie you to a railroad!
I want to inject you with HIV, and watch you choke on your own tongue.
I want to blow you apart with some TNT, and then lay your "pieces" in animal dung!
dakarai be serious, what other poetic forms do you write?
I'm just curious; for "soupers" have said you're just a poetic parasite!
Yes, I stay in the "soups winner circle" religiously.
Don't be upset with me because poets appreciate my poetry!
Yes, the "top 50 best poets" list, when will I see "you" on there?
"Soupers" say you don't exist, but that is true "after" this poetic warfare!
*Now I see why P.D. chose to totally ignore you.
For I've left you an amputee, and now I've injected you with swine flu!
I gotta be honest I didn't think we'd go good together
From disliking each other to standing in sub-zero weather
Little did I know I was forever in the prescence of my future wifey
I messed up multiple times, I bet you wanted to fight
I cheated on you because of your past and that wasn't right
Sublimenal corrections are in order
You promised to have my daughter
Or yet my son
Thousands of hours passed since our love begun
Now karma has the audacity to step to my front door
I felt what you felt and I beg you boo no more
I'm not gonna pretend that I'm irreplacable
The love that we have for each other is impeccable
The house I built for you in my heart is unwreckable
You and I bouncing back from this BREAK is inevitable
The BREAK...
A Bad Relationship Enters A Koma
Encased in doubt we are, I can't smell the aroma
Of your lip gloss when we lock lips
Of your breath when I pull your panties below your hips
But back to the BREAK, I feel like it is my blunder
If you hear my heart cry for you, it'll sound like a roar of thunder
The only thing I am trying to prove is I can't let you move
That is...on without me
Don't ever doubt me
Face your fears
I'm here to wipe your tears
I've always been in your shadow
Getting you back will be like winning the lotto
I don't have a car or a job, to take you on dates
But I bet a bus and a SS check will get us our dates
This ain't materialistic
Let's be realistic
I'm the only man alive you should be with
If not then take your pick
Me or Him
Other girls? Forget them
Deprived of attention is how I left you
Ignoring what we had was in fact special
Scared I was of being did bogus
I cheated on you what a hocus pocus
Love her I did, in love WITH her I wasn't
Laying in my bed thinking about it was not pleasant
Then it came out and I felt like a baby with a bottle
Then you forgave me so I pushed it to full throttle
Things went smooth for a while...
I don't know what you're really thinking off me.
If this is real thinking I'm not thinking properly.
Everything inside me fights and tries to stop these warnings in mind, was fine and now they got me locked up in my divided mind of conflict.
In my declining life I'm rock bottom and forgetting my problems.
They want me better, I hear it commonly suggested though I'm exhausted of my efforts I've waisted on attempts.
Spent far too much energy on it and never getting ahead, watching thunder.
Reluctantly under thumbs of this system where parliamentary wickedness judges every movement.
Abusing their power, final hour they're losing vital signs, leave them clueless so there's room for improvement.
Some remain loyal and accept their horse ****, yet I predict our government will get a quick kick to the ribs for their fibs.
Lies and cheap disguises so why am I obliged to fight beside this nation.
When the devastation came rampaging like a hurricane over their stage coach show, I'll crack the cases open then stroll like a Roman soldier no tolgien and when I expose these vocals unspoken, no joke it'll explode then we'll watch the commotion.
Then to them we're out focus when we brew up mad potions stewed like hocus pocus and I'm in total involvement like when I'm holding a microphone flowing a rhyme with words that may upset and turn ya perpetrator.
My brain splits like a glacier when my pen hits the paper and scripts murder and hurtful things in rhyme violence to beat riots, I'm defining mad science.
Temperatures off the gauge it raised up to the max, the glass cracked open, I'm breaking the stats.
Crazy devil dance out weighs your heavy stance, the landscape shakes when my mental state slams.
Nastiest override of your entire mind. I'm the supplier of rhymes the sets ya head on fire and ignites you on the inside.
Time to end denial and since I was a child I swore never to break a vow and saw mama pass down thoughts like the day after my father died she cry laughter....