Long Pop off Poems
Long Pop off Poems. Below are the most popular long Pop off by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pop off poems by poem length and keyword.
Marriage to alarmingly ballooning...
dramatically expanding spouse,
when adorning buttons
pop off undersized blouse
which spurs yours truly to grouse,
and ruffle mine tail feathers
while listening to Scheherazade.
Eats her weigh out of home and house
unsolicited feedback courtesy
quite doubtful, she could pose
for playboy and/or penthouse
returning explicit volley
of trailing appellations lobbed
expletive laced epithets
directed at her husband the louse
in lame retaliation deftly
sparring as he doth rouse
himself out of his vittle catatonic state
thus muenster ring cheeses crust
squeaks (me) meek Mickey Mouse.
When I did pledge troth
after courtship she would not abate
aboot two plus dozen years ago
(spoiler alert) wheezing
heterosexually straight
half heartedly accepting her
asthma wife sne...
snee...sneezing mate
even then, she exhibited
appetite for consumption
defying four foot eleven
petite size then, a score
plus quarter years ago lightweight
possessed cute figure.
Now, she eats
non stop while rocking round the clock
stationing, lumbering, burgeoning
girth casting dock
shadows analogous to
edge of night
donning humongous frock
to allow growing room
for extra buttock
vacuuming any/all
comestibles in sight
downing, emptying, gulping
refrigerator contents chock a block
nearly suctioning him,
who doth tongue in cheek mock
think apple pie, yet for
grace of dog ad hoc
anchoring spindleshanks laughingstock
skinny chicken legs (mine)
with knees that knock
worse than concentration camp victim,
(this gentile Jewish atheist gently pock
king fun without intent to rock
the casbah, nor ethnically clash
mainly innocent poetic schlock),
nonetheless chicken legs
repurposed to anchor lock
stock and barrel Matthew Scott
madly flapping wings imitating flock
of seagulls to no avail
this shabby not so chic flabby baby boomer
body, mum mama
(deceased eighteen plus years)
followed dietary strictures touted by
the late Doctor Benjamin McLane Spock,
no matter, I got hoovered
into maw of tee misses,
who instantaneously
spit out awful poppycock.
Between conjecture and classification there is
observation, experiment, data (collection and analysis),
statistics, calculus, and a good guess
about God's intentions - probabilities, fractals, chaos and complexity.
This is the thunderous city.
The form of the poem, the rhyme.
Form cannot be first if you want to reach high artistic levels, since
you are then bound by form, and that form is very often a
betrayal of reality.
Yet I find I am attracted all the time
to philosophies in short skirts, jewels and eyes lined with kohl.
I love where her legs lead, to her very soul.
Three women hike by under an umbrella in a winter rain. Two men side
by side run in rhythm.
An oil truck takes the hill in low steady gear.
My old Marine, 89, died last night without anxiety or fear.
May I overcome my pain enough to reach the place where the deer lay
down their bones
and, like them, die alone.
When making an axe handle, the pattern is not far off.
The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world's innumerable
wonders.
The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn and Jim.
But soft,
what light through yonder window breaks?
It is a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second without which
nothing can be done or faked.
The temple bell stops, but the sound still comes out of the flowers.
Forests and the composite species will be nameless. Genetic prowess,
receiving the sacrament, performing Lohengrin from the Great American
Songbook,
the look of love in all the wrong places, facebook,
fakebooks, folios of old family photos on or in pianos.
When we took Pop-Pop off the ventilator,
we put him in a refrigerator.
He stopped eating, he stopped breathing. Circle with a dot.
He had his dream, he'd rowed his boat.
Organic computers using polymerase and qubits came later.
Cicada Dreaming was told to Roland Robinson in 1965 by Julia Charles of the Yoocum Yoocum clans from the area around Wollumbin in the headwaters of the Tweed River, Northern NSW and is used with permission.
Tiny Dreamtime children, imprisoned in the earth,
pierce the little tree roots to sip sap beneath the dirt.
For seven years, cicada grubs, as they scratch and dig,
keep getting so much bigger that they pop off their skins.
The final time they’re off and up: up a fence, up a trunk, up a shed.
Kids collect the shells they leave, stuck with claws on curling feet.
Buzz, buzz, buzz: cicada wings brush past my nose.
Their raucous chorus is a non-stop drone.
A thousand bodies cling on sticks and twigs and leaves.
Above my ringing ears their yellow wee rains down me.
Every year they deafen us. The noise is really bad -
crying for their mothers, screaming for their dads.
But, this year there are - none.
I’m surprised that I feel sad.
Where have the mad things gone?
Yellow Mondays, Green Grocers,
Black Princes, Cherry Noses -
Much as they annoy me,
I hope that they’ll be back.
Give This Guy a Chance
Throw in
Rowen
The Hypochondriac
Dyin’
Eyan
So Generous is He
Giver
River
The Sneaky One
Wily
Riley
The Parachutist
Glider
Ryder
Legal in Half the States
Ruby’s
Doobies
Cute as a Lass
Bonny
Ronny
So Sweet
Randy’s
candies
Always at the Beach
Randall’s
Sandals
Swam to Florida
Cuban
Rueben
Too Stocky for His Race Horse
Jockey
Rocky
Give him a Hanky, Please
Clammy
Sammy
Prefers Prosecution
Lawyer
Sawyer
Guy with Allergies
Itchy
Richie
Time to Land
Fly low,
Shiloh
Always on Dialysis
Sydney’s
Kidneys
A Simple Rapping Pieman
Rhymin’
Simon
Ballerino
Twirling
Sterling
Why He Was Put in Time Out
Sinbad
be bad
The Guy Whose Buttons Pop off
Glutton
Sutton
Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be
Oh Dear, what can the matter be
the mirrors all lie – they never flatter me
all they see is a much larger – fatter me
they should be charged with reflective battery
I think the wash shrunk my favorite top
for when I inhale – the buttons pop off
Oh Dear, the jeans in the glass
cannot be mine – just look at that ass
it cannot be true – there must be a flaw
there’s double the chin beneath a slack jaw
Oh Dear, look at that matted coif
I started teasing and just couldn’t stop
Dear, dear, it just isn’t fair
that reflection - it’s perfectly clear
full of looking glass malice
a “Rabbit Hole” palace
that tortured poor Alice
Oh Dear, what can the matter be
why must I seek flat glass flattery
2/1/2018
submitted to – Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Barry Stebbings
Winter forecast 2018
My life seasonally dull
Windy, clouded little sun
But I can see beyond the horizon
I'm lookin for
Whether forecast a better life being...
Forecast in 2018
Mood swings precipitation teary hues
Skies condition will be blue
NO! I see my future sunny and clear
No rain in the atmosphere
Still present feeling sad, partly cloudy
Thunder claps, loudly
Tornadic winds blow
My future clear I know
Let still blown winds I feel a little temperate
Hot, upper nineties
Self-destructive canyons
Valleys rivers full rain fallen in them
Mad at myself windy, forty miles per hour
Pop off emotionally hundred percent occasional tears
As I'm in medium range
My future seems bright
Unwanted pressure precipitation
Blizzard, tsunami, hurricanes none of this gonna be
In my weather forecast of 2018
1/12/18
For Contest: WEATHER FORECAST
Sponsored by: VIV WIGLEY
There are many names for the common ‘Fart’
To name them all is quite an art
Let’s start off with good old ‘Smell’
Who it’s from we cannot tell
From the mouths of babes a ‘Pop Off’ comes
Always a giggle to all their chums
A ‘Blast Off’ is popular with the wee ones too
Often accompanied with “who’s done a poo”?
The ‘Clanger’ is popular with many a folk
Teenage boys and your average bloke
Grandma says can you please refrain
From letting ‘Fluffy off the Chain’
Here are some more just to name a few
There’s ‘Flatulence’, ‘Wind’ and ‘Air-Poo’
Honourable mentions go to these below
‘Gas’, ‘Toot’ and ‘Fluff’
Other names for ‘letting go’
Although impressive these names above
The trophy goes
To ‘Puff of Love’
Shift the blame that way you can shift the pain, push it all onto me, put my heart in first gear and gnash down with your teeth
Put me in the lowest gear the one that hurts the most, the one where the pain ebbs and flows just trying to survive the beating and the blows
Move me up into second, this is the gear you like me in the best, isn’t this where I stand in your life just trying to pass your quests?
And all the rest of what you’ll give to me after you’re running on fumes, I’m not the high premium gas that you usually prefer to use
No, I’m the cheap gas, the one that you use only when you’re in a bind, don’t deny this is the truth, this is the way you see me in your mind
Let’s pop off into third gear the one that you use to gain a higher ground, go ahead and spin your wheels on my heart and listen to the crushing sound
Please don’t stop on my account lets take this even higher into fourth, come on don’t placate me now am I more than you bargained for?
Push me into fifth and please baby make me soar through the night, don’t you want to show me your ways and infiltrate your highs?
Oh, the ride is over so soon. I thought there was so much more to see? What you’re shifting into reverse? Hoping it will help erase the memory of me?
It’s alright leave me here desolate and discarded on the side of this lonely road and go on into the night racing back towards the one who makes you feel whole.
There once was a man nicknamed " Nutty "
It was down to the way he played Footie,
Each match he'd score ten
Again and again
Then he'd pop off for a pint and a butty.
Each family tree has its nuts.
Such ones are quirky, have guts!
But to them, no surprise!
Their mum rolls her eyes.
She lets out a sigh and tuts.
He went to a sanitarium.
He thought it was an aquarium.
" So, I'm nutty says you?
You haven't a clue!
I'm really a veterinarian. "
" You are nutty! " Says you to me.
Is this a complement? Am I funny?
But then you pretend
That it wouldn't offend
You ask, " What's the matter honey? "
Written 19th September 2021
For the " N " Contest - Sponsor : Constance La France