Long Puffed Poems
Long Puffed Poems. Below are the most popular long Puffed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puffed poems by poem length and keyword.
The art was most masterful on the dark canvas.
It seemed as though done by a gigantic genius
Colours clashed, popped, hopped, splashed, and slashed like soap bubbles.
Shades, strips, and spots with secret sacred stateliness
Hidden puddles-puffed puzzles, troubles, and struggles...
Like shade-stung sunlight, there's sweet sadness behind smiles.
Rays of fate between the skin and the skull are seen.
Though feet are not seen, legs seem to walk many miles.
Where have the eyelashes gone? Have sleepless eyes been?
Mysteries of history are seen like smoke fog.
Why a black-white amalgamation on sky peaks?
Is there an unseen spring-summer transition clog?
Lo, each paint-pattern on the canvas of time speaks
Art, in its heart, bleeds with love for each little soul.
Each little soul, in turn, conflates with the cosmic whole.
They don’t get it, bunch of fools
Don’t they see how the media drools
Over each and every tweet
Crafted not to be discreet.
Are they blind to my great skill
Of bending media to my will,
Time and again I pull that trick,
And they fall over like a brick.
My strategy’s sublime there’s no denial
Prepped as a lawyer does for trial,
I make a case and sell it strong,
Daring them to call me wrong.
And once they do they’re in my trap
For all their energy I sap,
Each falling over like ten pins
To call out loud my litany of sins.
Oh dear God isn’t that great
How so easily they bait,
Puffed like Adders full of bluster
Regaling me with countless hours of laughter.
But with their faces ever redder
I’m invariably the header,
For my words to sing out loud,
To my all adoring crowd.
So on I go merrily tweeting
On a veritable shoestring,
The investment now all theirs
Fully answering my prayers.
“One can get through any hurt, if the one who causes hurt shows sincere remorse and expresses love again” - By Poet
Like heavy boots on vacant streets, his harsh words
Rang in my ears. Never has he been so very rash.
Why did he my heart deeply pierce?
The whole night I lay crying, soaking my pillow.
In severe pain, my face was swollen and red
Next morning seeing my wan, puffed- up face
He quietly asked, so much concerned,
‘Did you have your usual migraine?
You look terribly tired and worried’
He seems to have forgotten all that he said
Gently applying balm on my forehead
In a tone of assurance, he said, “Don’t worry
In no time all your pain will be fled”
My mind, tangled and messy became suddenly calm.
When I felt his lips upon my cheeks, tears began to flow.
His silent kiss, stamped like love’s gentle whisper
Warmly and tenderly, at an unexpected moment,
After a slight brawl, when my heart was torn,
Had the sweetness of honey and I melded into him
Democrat/Republican? USA can't you see?
God is saying "Look up! and pay attention to me!"
They are only humans and both full of flaws!
Puffed up with ego's while creating man's laws.
I am Creator! All will answer to Me!
I am Maker of them, earth and the sea!
I gave mankind freewill to make their own choice.
But if you want wisdom, listen then to my voice.
Mankind is selfish, always seeking their own way.
All who follow them blindly will regret it someday!
Both sides pointing fingers, claiming each one is right.
Causing the whole nation to hate, argue and fight.
We are proving God right with the things that we do.
Romans 3:4 say's we're liars and God only is true!
Republican's, Democrats, Independents. Just 3 blind mice!
Without God's direction, they'll ruin our whole life.
I offer something much better you can do.
Set your clock for 3 am. and say "God speak to you"
Have pen and paper ready to write out your thoughts.
Say " God, I am ready, please speak as you ought?"
You are not Author of confusion, that's what your word say.
There's enough of that right now. Please guide me today!
Be prepared to write down the thoughts that flow from your mind.
Pay attention to words focusing on being loving and kind.
Ask Him for peace to help you feel complete.
For the next 7 mornings, this you should repeat.
"When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations." John F. Kennedy
Arrogance is such an egotistical trait; one I cannot abide
Ignorance, I can excuse, but not those puffed up with pride
Pompous people sing their own praises in snooty songs
Their sharp tongues exposing them as pathetic ding dongs
Cocky ones enjoy clawing at people, hoping for surrender
Hiding behind the facade of a mask is a worthless pretender
They try to steal the dignity of others, as though out for blood
Tearing at their emotions like peeling petals from a rose bud
Until someone comes along to drag them off their high horse
and reveals their tyrannical ways with little exertion or force
With puckered lips they chomp at people like a big mouth bass
and for thinking I'm naive, they deserve a boot up the a s s
Always acting smug, their spouting and spewing is notorious
Conceited megalomaniacs who think they are vainglorious
Pretentious in manner and speaking, but absolutely boring
Picking fights just to be rebellious, belligerent and warring.
Does such behavior make them feel important and influential?
I see them as venomous snakes, whose lives are inconsequential
One day ego will prostrate them, landing them flat on their butts
Each haughty one I prefer to label an insolent moron and a putz.
December 31, 2021
King-Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charlie Messina
"Christmas is in our grasp so long as we have hands to clasp" from the song "Welcome Christmas" from "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas"
What is (or was) Christmas all about?
For one thing, for two weeks...school is out!
First, the countdown was to the last day of school,
next, the number of days to the actual Yule.
In the family car to see Christmas lights,
candy cane lamp posts among the sites,
then across town to see Grandpa and Grandma Hicks.
Grandma crafted many holiday knack-knicks.
But it wouldn't be Christmas without...
Candy canes, popcorn balls, everything dandy,
Grandma's toffee, SoCal's chocolate See's candy,
Cookies in the oven, I can count up to ten.
Pretty soon out will jump gingerbread men.
and how exciting it would be
when Dad brought home the Christmas tree!
which we would soon industriously adorn
with a string of cranberries and puffed popcorn.
At night when the house was cozy and dark,
we'd play Christmas songs, cut the lights for a lark,
and shadows created by the blinking lights
on the walls, would make kaleidoscopic delights.
We'd turn on the tube when prime time was near,
and watch the boy dentist and Rudolf the Reindeer,
and then Snoopy and good 'ol Charlie Brown,
and Mr. Magoo playing Scrooge with a frown.
My Grandma and Grandpa would come, Christmas Eve.
We got to stay up late, but we'd sleep 'fore they'd leave.
On Christmas morning, my parents would never wake.
We'd wait to open presents; how long would it take?
When they did, we would jump and shout -
we'd have all kinds of new games and toys,
baseballs, basketballs, footballs for four boys -
and possibly records, old seventy-eights
with cartoon pictures on their vinyl plates.
One day it would be over, and I'd be in school.
Was there a Santa? Was I played for a fool?
Was there a Christmas? Was it really real?
Yes - proved by Aunt's fruit cake in the frig, hard as steel!
There’s a global inflation problem
everywhere lungs are puffed up
heads are swollen.
Balloons increase in volume overnight.
The cost of rubber bands
has been stretched to its limits.
We recall sadly the heady days of deflation,
when shrinkage gave us more space
to spread, to drink our fill
of a less bloated air.
Politicians and pronouns
are loudly popping
empty suits and Stetson hats
billow and blow more than we can
know.
We see the mushrooming clouds
of bluster and bluff from afar.
The world pumps on way too hard
continents expand beyond their land.
The sky busts out of its high wide window.
Soon we shall see
how it will be before the big bang
as we escalate into fat flatulent globs
and awfully slow, bulky, bouncing blimps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beneath the oak’s gnarly boughs,
a squirrel puffs his furry brows.
He stands upon his hindmost toes
and clears his throat—then strikes a pose.
‘tis February 2d, and he’s perched so proud,
On fence post high, he squints at clouds.
No winter's end! he chirps with glee~
A squirrel convinced that he's Phil.
Listen! he decrees,I’m more than a treetop thief
I am the Seer! The Weather Chief!
Behold my shadow—short or tall—
I prophesize for one and all!
The groundhogs just scoffed, You’re a joke!
A squirrel can't predict—what a bloke!
Your tail's far too puffed,
Your logic is stuffed—
The other squirrels ignored his act,
too busy burying things intact.
Yet Phil persisted, year by year,
a furry fraud who had no fear.
Ah! There is nothing, nothing that adds to a gentleman's persona,
Like that of fashionably sporting and puffing a five-dollar Corona!
With a cigar in his jowls, he can socialize with disdainful pretense!
Clad in his ten-dollar Goodwill suit, he exudes tawdry opulence!
What better way at the end of a sumptuous repast,
And after the snifters of brandy have been passed,
Than to light up an aromatic Presidente' with the fellows,
All puffing to keep the fire lit as a farrier does with his bellows!
The king on his throne and the bum in his shack enjoy equal pleasure,
Each puffing his favorite stogie, blissful beyond all measure!
I'm told that even some ladies enjoy a puff now and then.
I tip my fedora to them for they are braver than some men!
The aroma of my Panetella clings to everything in the house,
And that doesn't foster good relations with my loving spouse!
She admonishes me about that constantly as she stifles a choke,
And it aggravates her to see good money going up in smoke!
For decades I have enjoyed the pleasure of a fine cigar.
Never mind that doc says my lungs are filled with tar!
He's written an apt epitaph when my existence becomes moot:
"Here smolders this old galoot! He's puffed his final Cheroot!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I don't like the whispering,
the covered up sounds
that barely reach the ear,
those soft voices
with their secrets
creeping down
the corridor.
I don't like
the muted conversations
that cower in corners,
the russling gossip,
innuendo lipped on the end
of a breath,
hidden by a hand.
Or the sighs quietly
puffed out of a tightened
mouth, the stiffled grunts
deep in a throat,
all those sounds
too cowardly for words.
I don't like the silence
that falls when near,
the deathly lull
tunneling through
the muffled talk
as I walk past.
Sometimes it's hard
to like some people.