Long Pompous Poems
Long Pompous Poems. Below are the most popular long Pompous by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pompous poems by poem length and keyword.
Tom Servo decides to enslave Mike and Crow, Gypsy and Cambot. Again.
The pressure of the bad movie
and the ideas it gave him. Just too irresistible
to see how far his childlike imaginings
and tantrumed acting out will take him.
(Crow takes offense),
you are not my ruler! I am your ruler
you Mike and Ike gumball machine !
Oh yeah, where are your calf implants !
Mike: "Woah, come on guys, did the movie
really get to you so much?!"
Joe Estevez is just an actor! Well...
Shut up Mike, you pompous know it all...on guard...!
Emperor-AI taps in, a desperate event,
the battle of robot and humankind.
Drone-bots follow the Emperor into battle.
It is time to subdue them.
(They fix the election and Biden becomes President.)
UFO's increase, wars break out, famine, pestilence, liberal left, the end of the line...
There are only two movies I watch more than once a year.
While You Were Sleeping with Sandra Bullock is one of them.
Sure, I love her. But I love Bill Pullman too and Peter Boyle.
You know how sometimes you want to recast a movie?
This is not one of those. Each person was cast perfectly.
They are comedians, their timing is exquisitely done.
They are lovable, except Peter and Ashley, but they are great
Because they are supposed to be pompous, staid, stuck-up.
Every time I watch I am cheering for the heroes to get together.
Even Joe Junior, the landlord’s son, has a loveable side to him.
Glynis Johns is perfect, and it is great to see her again.
But the plot, oh, my, it is hilariously funny! So terrific.
I sit on the edge of my seat, chomping down popcorn
At an unnatural rate, cheering them on, dying for the ending.
When Lucy says “I fell in love with you,” and Peter Boyle says
“You fell in love with me?” my heart swells every single time.
This is a die-and-go-to-Venice movie. I highly recommend it.
If you want to grin for the rest of the night, watch this one.
Who would videotape themselves on U-tube?
I felt they must be conceited, pompous, or arrogant.
But then the Pandemic hit, and she hit our area hard.
The Kansas City schools shut down from March 12th to March 11th.
For one whole year we were online.
We teachers learned to be flexible and willing to learn new apps.
I taught myself Google, Zoom and U-tube.
Today I have my own U-tube channel with my lessons.
I never thought that would happen.
Never ever.
Suddenly I opened up to the idea of U-tube.
It is more interesting than I had ever guessed.
I now know how to draw a Star Wars Storm Trooper
And my granddaughter knows how to crochet a strawberry.
We can both thank U-tube.
Time is not justly counted by increments...
like a pie all crust can have space without filling
it disappoints –
too much wasted by reluctant planning –
few visions of living ever leaving the station of
Excursion – like a dynasty of tempting brochures culminating in
tenure, that far more brave and less credentialed travel faithfully
outright...
Triumph's Reckless Youth vs Pompous Charted Night
such licensed surveyors expose dark by tiny bits called
stars, seeing only seconds, oblivious to stuffed longer
gigantic days' leaps packed into uncharted universes
time shallowly used is soul
and spirit only outside basted,
exterior roast__toast
while the bloody inside
left yearning release,
for its surface~ burning!
when time is too contemplated,
measured, set in plates of orderly
rations – seasoned but only tasted
(a belly denied lumps of glutenous
impulsive passions)
it is a written novel
with no real claims
to glory....
Time then...is only Time
dimly expressing God's timeless
true story
There's a quaint little eatery in old Colorado City.
It you ain't never et there, dear me, what a pity!
It's crowded an' hectic but here's the scoop:
There ain't nothin' like their French onion soup!
It ain't a fancy place, jes' a few tables an' bow-back chairs,
But it attracts all sorts uv folks, even some millionaires!
They're a discriminatin' bunch - them you'll never dupe.
They'd scale Pikes Peak fer a bowl of that French onion soup!
The tables are rickety an' the old wood floor squeaks.
On its brick walls hang innumerable ersatz antiques.
Orders are placed over the din with a bellowing whoop:
"Hey, mister! Gimme a bowl uv yer French onion soup!"
Ever' spoonful I eagerly gulp, but much to my chagrin,
Stringy cheese dangles frum my spoon, fallin' on my chin!
But what care I as frum my chin it doth droop,
I'll jes' keep on slurpin' that good ol' French onion soup!
I've dined in five-star restaurants all about this sphere,
With haughty waiters, pompous chefs an' elegant atmosphere.
But I'll tip my fedora to this diligent little troop,
'Specially to the feller who brews the French onion soup!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
MEGALITHIC TREES AND US
IN VIRGINIA WINTER
The inclemency of winter
has stripped the towering trees
of their peacock foliage of fall;
gravity sucking them back
to the womb that gave birth
to their bare breasted branches.
Yet these pompous zombies of nature
stand poised like wooden megaliths
winking and smiling at the sun
peeking through stilled clouds
lingering in stolen spaces between
shades of blue and gray chilled skies.
In the irony of this scene’s prelude
to nature’s power of resurrection,
we stoked the hungry fire and fed it
another log; and warming away the cold,
we waited with the trees to greet the coming snow.
What if fruitless should grow a goodly deed,
A pleasant song is tuned with poignant lilt,
A buoyant theme, on notes of bathos’ built,
If so, how long would last my pompous creed?
A creed called greed, a wondrous working glue.
Wisdom weighs when battles of life I wage,
Tall ideals alone would seldom woo,
Fruits hanging and ready to reap must rage.
With renounced heart were I to eat my bread,
Fully detached from life’s unfolding plot—
Dependent not even to blood cells red,
I doubt, if I can fill my karmic pot.
Amidst life’s scores of enticing lures laid,
I’d struggle keeping vultures off my head.
________________________________________
Sonnets | 02.04.2009, revised Jan 2024| lilting
Poet’s note: He that wants the least is the wealthiest man in world. This is fine as philosophy. However, one feels a bit uncomfortable. Without a little bit of self, working as glue, greed that governs, man perhaps, far from any progress, would have still been dwelling in a cave.
In Port Huron a banker’s family lived in the prettiest house in town
Painted lady, proud of her colors, she peered at other houses around.
None had her pizzazz, her beauty, her sleek lines or her style.
Many came to peer at her, from many a country mile.
She was puffed up, pleased, and pompous, this painted lady true.
She was confident and joyous, and she took care of the family too.
Her kitchen was the most modern, there was an ice box large.
She took her responsibilities gladly, she had one pretty young charge.
His name was William and he was scared of his closet, crying in the night.
So she shorted the electricity, so he could always have a light.
You see this lady’s wood came from the oak trees of the forest of Mt. Air.
Her ancestors had always taken care of squirrels with particular care.
Many other kinds of families have lived in Painted Lady to date.
She has her favorites sure, but she takes care of each with care that’s great.
She takes a special interest in the children of each family.
And makes sure the light is on, even if it’s just the TV.
Written: January 18, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
**************
The skies seemed erratic with dull rage.
A freakish breeze is beginning to gage.
Their pompous struggle across the sea.
Evocative of some sort of antique age.
From distant swale, a solid hush withdrew
As recalcitrant clouds began to brew.
Their chatoyant bellies flashed gilded fire,
A strong omen no sailor could misconstrue.
Then came the foofaraw — a copious roar,
Waves irrupt as beasts against the shore.
A shellback cursed the tempest’s devil heart,
Calling it a gossip bent on settling a score.
The wind, verbose in its wilful might,
Rebuked the cliffs through the howling night.
Its fustian bellow is inspissated with rain
Turned every halcyon memory into fright.
Lightning carved a partita through the sky,
A wild, sequacious dance that dared not die.
Thunder replied with slippery weight,
Thick and rolling, an aficionado reply.
The sea spun an enigma of rising foam.
A xenogenesis of chaos away from home.
Even gulls, those fickle arbiters of storm.
Quite a false peace where shades roam.
Yet with the storm girlish force and might,
Through every sanguine hope taking flight,
A lone lantern glimmered in limpid defiance,
A spark of courage refusing the night.
And when dawn chose to liaise with the land,
Its brief gold brushed the waves as a hand
Coddling the wreckage, gentle and genteel,
As if forgiving the storm for all it had planned.
Lovingly lauded.. they marauded.. rightly applauded
Saffa gaffers did thrill
Willow wielding wizards of Oz
Yielding…lampooned..marooned..jaffas
Festooned spill just like Seville .
Must remember..the ember burning
Yearning of Temba Bavuma
Kept his sense of humour
Despite being the victim of flimsy whimsy
Many a nasty rumour
I implore you to ignore the tumour
That is Michael Vaughan…dim..grim
Pompous pig or obnoxious prig
Having a dig..more clickbait hate p**n
Unsung and hamstrung..stoic heroic
Temba has brung salvation for a nation
With no Cronje bung..
The only stifling snub
Hell bent pundits in pulpits scream
Not just trifling .. no defending the Saffa culprits
Blunder of sending a sub par side
Alright trite s**e team down under..
Only one man stood sentry…Aidan Markram..often ignored..
Even deplored…a national pastime…his crime
Not being as sublime as in his teenage prime
But such touch..much gumption & grit
Did his bit…hit a century
Sod the rest…now a cricketing god
Against the odds.. has always saved
His Test best for the Aussie conquest..
No longer a sinner…the match winner..
Only one other Saffa..biff Smith’s
Scored more second innings tons..
They did vanquish their perpetual anguish
Their hullabaloo..voodoo..ending
The choke complex.. the hex hoodoo..
No longer Bill Murray day of the groundhog
Finally went the way of the underdog..
So Aidan and Temba we will always remember when
You gave South African Cricket their own
Homegrown ticket to the 25th of December..
Has been glummer.. Gory…still got the bummer
Of no tests in their upcoming home summer
But this a story of glory
Not being woke…not about race
The colour of his face
In history Temba Bavuma with such grace
The best ever test run chase at Lords
Nabbed his place…as the bespoke bloke & ace
Who broke the finals choke & grabbed the golden mace..