Long Porcupine Poems
Long Porcupine Poems. Below are the most popular long Porcupine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Porcupine poems by poem length and keyword.
Dear Future Generations,
The candle did not know whether to snuff herself out
Or begin dancing around the cemetery and give a shout
She knew she was not going to join her cousin, on walk-about
But other than that, she had a vague sense of doubt
Who do you think you are? Asked the snippy porcupine.
He was still pouting when she said he could not make her “mine”.
Candle walked off, did not give him a backward glance or time.
She was late for a date with a count who fed her lime.
The paintbrush in the corner who was conjuring graffiti
Rolled his eyes at these two, their conversations were needy
He pretended he did not care, but he had his eye on little candle too
She walked off swinging her fancy ways in the fog of the blue.
The candle had no idea how attractive she was; that is for sure.
Or how innocent, for she was white, young, kind and bridal pure.
If she had known how the handsome young paintbrush felt about her
She might have given him attention, for he was a gentleman for sure.
Stratocaster
She spoke of diversity and inclusion
and made it overly obvious
that she wasn't interested in
a relationship with me
I loved her company
she was almost mystical
it served her well as she
could bring a smile to
a porcupine she was that
naturally attractive.
She was so beautiful that
she could stand in a room
surrounded by people
and no one ounce of
insecurity would show
due to her knowing how beautiful
she is.
Timeless beauty one would
refuse to talk in tenses that
she in her eldest stage of life
was as beautiful as any
woman in the world.
I often imagined being at the center of
her desires
to have her love me as much as I loved
her
non obsessive
and non dangerous
but a serious honest
loving relationship
were our togetherness is
our major concern
a relationship were
Oh how they marveled at
us as we are a templet for
one wha successful relationship
then I woke up
to the reality of
me positioning
myself to something
that never was and
that could never be
WAITING – for contest
They marched.
Full pack, heads
fighting the urge
for one more glance
last sight of those
they left behind.
We watched
hands held
hearts touching
as the buses rolled
out of sight.
We cried
as we walked
through the empty space
left in their absence,
the presence of
a lack of presence.
We raged beneath
the obvious anger
the dread of nightfall’s
sleeplessness
the heaviness of daybreak.
We prayed
each as they could
buoying the fragile
bubble of hope
voicing thoughts
denied expression.
We waited
in porcupine pose
wearied by
waiting’s onslaught
aching for the touch
of presence
exhaling the pain
of absence.
John G. Lawless
9/4/2015
Pointless Quills
What of humor’s quick and barbed defense
so thrilled me in its parry-thrust dismay
hid me beneath its thicket dense
a demon come to curse – not pray
used me as the sword of anger’s wrath
poison spittle foaming on my tongue
slashing at the shadows of my past
a warrior commissioned much too young.
Loneliness – cold comforts fearful ruse
recoiling from the touch of vacant years
coiled, snake-like, its venom set to loose
stinging pain of long forgotten tears.
Cornered in the depths of memory’s crypt
peering over soul-less, dusty sills
amorphous sliding into nondescript
sad porcupine denuded of its quills.
John G. Lawless
8/13/2017
Do you have a poetic licence
to park your pitiful purple prose
(alliteratively he wrote)
it even puts my poor feet to sleep
and gives me painful coma toes
(literally did he quote)
And have you paid your syn tax
to persist in paltry poetry
(a non sequitur perhaps)
as dabbling in sad scribbling
is how your paean 'ppears to me
(no storied scripts mere scraps)
Before paper and pen you pick up
or possibly parchment and quill
(pheasant not porcupine)
please procrastinate perchance to ponder
prior to putting out pig in a poke swill
(pearls of wisdom before swine)
a couple of glasses of beer-
you'll imagine you're as romantic as Shakespeare.
but if you have one too many glasses of beer-
away from common sense you will steer.
a couple of glasses of whiskey-
and you`ll dance and sing Elvis Presley.
but if you have one too many glasses of whiskey-
the next day will be full of misery.
a couple of glasses of rum-
your whole body tingles and goes numb.
but if you have one too many glasses of rum-
in the morning your head will beat like a drum.
a couple of glasses of wine-
you'll think your floating on cloud-nine.
but when you have one too many glasses of wine-
You will wake thinking you ate a porcupine.
a couple of glasses of brandy-
You`ll think everything is all dandy.
but when you have one too many glasses of brandy-
in the morning your head will feel like cotton candy.
a couple of glasses of vodka-
and you'll think you reached nirvana.
but when you have one too many glasses of vodka-
in the morning you will want to cry for your mamma.
a couple of glasses of gin-
from ear to ear you will grin.
but when you have one too many glasses of gin-
you will feel like a battered bowling pin.
a couple of glasses of tequila-
and you'll feel like you live in a tropical villa.
but when you have one too many glasses of tequila-
You will wake as grumpy as a sore tooth Godzilla.
a couple of glasses of port-
and you `ll think you're on an island resort.
but when you have one too many glasses of port-
your fuse becomes very short.
a couple of glasses of bourbon-
and you sound sweeter than a church organ.
but when you have one too many glasses of bourbon-
in the morning you feel like a beast of burden.
A porcupine, when threatened, will
Let loose upon his foe a quill
Or actually, I have a hunch
That he’d release a giant bunch.
I always knew about that use
But never knew that a papoose
Could find what every baby needs
Where quills are used instead of beads.
Yes, cradleboards and moccasins
And shirts or cloaks made out of skins
Were gussied up with filed-down quills
By Indians with awesome skills.
A new exhibit at the Met*
Has beadwork that I won’t forget
By Natives living on the Plains
Where porcupines shared their domains.
Or that is what I must assume
For every ornament and plume
They used to sew with (all by hand)
Was found nearby on native land.
That’s how it was in times gone by;
The local life could satisfy.
Those Indians, now mostly gone,
Today’d rely on Amazon!
*Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC
I prefer to gaze at my Eden
through this veil of screens.
There, the miracle of sun and bloom
explodes with delight over my stoned edges.
But...ponder me first before venturing
once more unto that breach, for there,
in the bowels of hosta and fern
lurk the humping beetle larvae,
phantom chompers, and
coal ink gorging rot,
all in roiling orgy,
within my manicured lines.
And, were I not a steward of the natural order,
I would Rambo myself into the fray
with bandoleers of bug cannons
and porcupine piss grenades.
Poised like a Spartan at the hot gates.
my doomed, flowing locks fluttering
in the blaze until the carnivorous
Paraná fleas hollow me out from within
and I fall like straw man turned delicately to bed.
cloistered again behind screen and wicker,
very non-Spartan like, relentlessly
resigned to trowel and tribulation
(This is a fictional poem)
When I was a child, I ordered action figures through the mail.
They sent them in cellophane bags and I always caught hell.
I removed the action figures and threw away the bags.
Instead of being trusted, I was constantly nagged.
Mom found some of the cellophane bags when she looked in the trash.
Dad went through my things because he thought I had drugs stashed.
They checked my body for needle marks, they even looked between my toes.
I told them that I didn't take drugs but they wouldn't let it go.
Dad said that I had to be spanked.
He said it would hurt now but one day he'd be thanked.
He put me over his knee and slapped my rear.
I had a porcupine in my pants and it drove Dad to tears.
My parents constantly hounded me during my youth.
They never believed me even though I was telling the truth.
During my prom, I was grounded instead of spanked.
Dad couldn't go to work for days because of the sugar I poured in his gas tank.
When my parents found my flea powder, they thought it was cocaine.
They handcuffed me to the bed and poured it down the drain.
They still think I'm a drug user even though I work for the DEA.
They won't believe me no matter what I say.
Form:
I ain’t a porcupine
I ain’t your sister
Come on boy
I’m running out of time mister
I been wanting you
For quite some time
Thinking of you now makes me blue
Please come and make your self mine
Cause I’m running out of time
The days are getting longer
Daylight getting shorter
Fewer words now that I can rhyme
Cause all I wanna do
Is make you mine.
Make you mine
Now I could go out
With the boy next door
Take on his advances
Like I never would before
Never would I be satisfied
Though he might be wanting more
So
When you gonna make me misbehave
Do I gotta take this longing to my grave?
Thinking I can’t take this much longer
These feelings just keep getting stronger
Please let me show ya
Please let me know you
Please let me in
Cause all I wanna do
Is take us for a spin
Maybe we can go out dancing
Never mind we got no music
Never mind we got no rhythm or rhyme
Cause all I been wanting to do
Is make you mine
Why you can even have me too
You can have me too
Please say yes
smile at me with your eyes
Give me a wink or two
The prize
is inside here waiting
Don’t make me wonder
What you want to do
Why does luv sometimes feel so blue?