Long Rabbit Poems
Long Rabbit Poems. Below are the most popular long Rabbit by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rabbit poems by poem length and keyword.
Often I have been plagued
by highs and lows--
pill pushers
would love to get their hands
on me;
put their label on me
and tell my wife:
"Shake well before using:
may cause stomach cramps
insomnia
and occasionally
a great work of art."
But now with computers
it's easy to print our own
(labels, that is)--
or license to practice medicine
or death certificate
save on the same disc
with a thousand
of our best and worst photos
curses
blessings;
somehow ram is important--
why do I picture
this sardonic creature with horns?
Remember the old TV's?
We called the antenna "Rabbit Ears";
We give anthropomorphic qualities
to our favorites,
and send the rest to institutions....
Looking around all I see
Broken dreams of things not meant to be
Memories of days left far behind on
Only things left here that remind
Pieces of time frozen in place
A sad smile across a face
Broken promise's left to die
Wings that we're never meant to fly
Days of yesterday still fill your night
Nothing to do to make it right
Lost in memories of what used to be
These are all left for you to see
Dark stains are all you find
When you are always left behind
Falling down that rabbit hole I found
I was tightly bound
Doomed to be it's slave I cried
Only wanting to be free
From under it's spell
Wonder if any one could tell
Saw that white rabbit sell some of it's goods for a priceo
I was lost but felt so nice.
Lost all my day.for that score
Knocking on its door
Pushing monkeys off my back
But still they want to attack
Lost in some dark corridor
Looking for more
Waiting for another's door
One day at a time I know
Trying to wait for more
Lost down the dark hole all my days and night
Wasn't sure how long I should fight
Time I should lay down to rest
Failed my test
Lay my weary body down
Trying to find my way home
But was doomed to roam
Know one there to lead me
Lost under the black sea
Lay down my heavy head
Now I should already be dead
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
Sometimes we like to do something for the story
we’ll tell afterwards. Buy a ’58 Pontiac, climb
a mountain in the dark. Lamar tells dirty jokes
with class, knows how to wait awhile, bend
a syllable and savor the laughter.
Absurd work, building a fence miles long
waste of steel and strong straight lodgepole pine
but even I don’t pine over it anymore. We’re
the government's children, fence is play and
livelihood also, but something cheerful as sunshine
for all the death it costs. There is so much life
a little death doesn’t matter. We stretch our muscles
the men feel like men, the women feel good too.
We stand around, watch a young rabbit one morning.
Just tell me (one more time)
Where is that paradise road
Tell me is it my lovely haven or my sweet, sweet abode
I'm sick of your plastic love
Sick of your heartless smiles...
Sick of sucking up your biles...
Somehow I know you still don't care about me...
You were heedless of my despondency
There will be a time when I'll run away...from reality's demise
The truth will set you free...and, honey, there's no where to hide
There's no hole to hop into... don't be afraid, little rabbit...
The light will shun out the darkness and reveal our true color...who will win the future prize?
Embrace the silence...
Don't fence me in with your morbid luck
Embrace the silence...
Don't fence me in with your careless doubting
I'm sick of your crying...
Sick of your lying
I won't listen to your lies
Sick of your voice...sick of your disease
Sick of your dreams and fantasies
Sick of your love...it wears off on me
Sick of your existence... i wish I could live in pure ecstasy
Tell me where is that paradise road
Tell me is it my heavenly haven or my sweet, sweet abode
I'm sick of your plastic love
It's not enough x2...I seek love from up above
There will be a time when I'll escape from the corrupted world...and live another day without a single trace of fear
The truth will set you free...and, honey, there's no where to hide...
There's no hole to hop into...you snooze, you lose, little rabbit dear...
Don't let the night steer you away from the light
Embrace the silence,watch the sunrise with me, and we'll gaze at the small chicks as they take their first flight
~My song is dedicated to a song I love from Evanescence entitled Sick : - ). For the people who don't know Evanescence, look up her songs: Sick, My Heart is Broken, My Immortal, Hello, Lost in Paradise, Haunted, What You Want, Sweet Sacrifice, etc. xDD
Life is a life
Driving home I nearly hit a rabbit
braked hard and the can of lager fell out of my hand.
We country folk drinks a lot; the police never stop you
unless you drive off the road and plough into a flock of sheep
then you are fined, and the police take the carcass home
dinner, for a big family.
So who am I sentimental over a rabbit when
there are chemical attacks on children in Syria,
and the war of attrition never ends
by courtesy of those who do not want peace there.
How am I sentimental when children are killed?
In Gaza children wounded by teargas have damages lungs
who am I to talk when witnessing the murder of a people?
That demands to be free of Israeli tyranny.
But deep in my heart if I were hungry enough, I would
have killed that rabbit taken it home and cooked it.
So what this makes me? A sentimental fool crying
over spilt life? Deaths for a higher political cause
like stealing land from the losers.
Is the Mad Hatter the only one who can be mad then?
I glared at Alice; is she so obtuse, she does not recognize her truth?
What is it? She asks me, concerned.
I am the Queen of Hearts and likely to lop her head off if I take a notion.
Frankly I doubt now there would be anything worthwhile in her head.
Tweedledee Dee and Tweedledee Dumb have stopped eating.
Empaths, they feel my wrath, so they gather up the cookies and go.
What about the sandwiches? Don’t you want them? Asks Cheshire.
Cheshire is a trouble maker; this is why I like him.
I watch his smirking grin disappear and reappear.
I could use you as a night light I think. Crumb! There is the stupid rabbit.
The one that brought that human down here in the first place.
I send my henchmen to bring back his head.
The Red of Diamonds is as dumb as the Ten of Spades.
They bring back Cinderella’s crystal slipper.
Wrong story you idiots!
Ecology, Humanity, Me, & Tea
A fox at the altar.
Bee nests to seek before light.
A rabbit where the fox’d trot.
(Foxes have only ever trot. Perhaps fast, or nimbly, or slow - they do not walk.
They do not run.)
Morning flies...
And the sun is slow to rise.
The clouds are only a smidge more awake than I.
Sleep-rolling by.
A duck flies, no tumbles, no whazzles past.
No more gainly than when waddling on sod.
Morning hawks take to the barest of first updrafts;
rising like mists on the lake where dragonflys slowly
flex their diaphanous gemstone wings. The ones who
keep as captor the rainbows from the last day’s thunderstorm.
A frog {Maybe toad. [Probably frog.]} somewhere in the pottery.
Awaiting the repottery of potted plants, themselves awaiting the
heat of day and breeze’s gift of sway. Hiding in the repository of pottery;
perhaps in rainwater held in temporary reservoir - a feast for frog, a womb
for gnats...this believing squeak-croaking, near-whistling frog calls out in love -
or something very much like it. From the dark. Not near at all to kindred souls.
At even the odd hours I hear it call. Her call? His call? The call we all...make.
Know.
Offer.
Await.
The barn cat, asleep, misses it all.
And misses none of it.
Soon he sidles up.
In need of scritches and time with.
The tea cools, the leaves unfurl.
The tannins dye.
The world wakes.
The lupine at the altar try their hand at purple.
No goose today.
The sibling blue pines put one in minds...
of poetry. And work awaiting.
Let’s leave the cats
Thinking like cats,
Stretch and sleep,
Let’s leave the turtles,
Thinking like turtles,
Love the green salad,
Let’s leave the oranges,
Thinking like oranges,
With sweet orange juice,
Let the girls
Think like girls
With black rimmel on the eyes,
Let us listen
Soften thoughts
By Jean Sebastian Bach,
Let’s leave the flowers
In the wild
Thinking like flowers,
Let’s leave the French
Think like French people,
Take care of everything,
Let’s leave the sky,
All pink in Oregon,
All blue in Marseille,
Let’s leave the dogs
Bark like a dog.
Thinking that people are bad,
Let’s leave the table,
Think like a table,
At the lunch hour.
Let’s leave the rabbit,
Think like a rabbit,
Being afraid of everything,
Stew with brown sauce,
Let’s leave the words
Think like words,
Write our poems,
Let’s give time
Slip through the fingers,
Thinking about tomorrow,
Let’s leave the sea
Go down to the sea,
Think like water,
Let the life,
Think like us,
That all ends one day,
Even love,
Let’s leave the cats,
Thinking like cats,
Stretch and sleep,
Let the life
Under the umbrellas,
Let’s all enjoy her.
Because I have a possum for a pet, people think I'm weird.
They're trying to ship me off to the funny farm like my family has feared.
People say that I should have a cat, a dog or maybe a rabbit.
Making pets out of wild animals is my thing, it's a bad habit.
I walk around my town with my possum on my shoulder.
A woman made a big mistake when she asked to hold her.
As she held my possum, she bit off a chunk of that woman's nose.
The woman became angry and violent and she and I came to blows.
I tried to win the fight but she was an expert at judo.
Everybody in my town says that my possum has to go.
It was embarrassing when she beat me up on the street.
I fought like a six year old and I wound up being dead meat.
When that woman put me to the street, it sure wasn't awesome.
Maybe people are right, maybe it's time to get rid of my possum.