Long Randy Poems
Long Randy Poems. Below are the most popular long Randy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Randy poems by poem length and keyword.
“come fluttering words, come drifting words to me…”
A Rambling Poet
A mere housemaid awakens before morning light.
Eyes wide, she bolts upright to the bed’s edge, as if late for work, though she
never is.
Another beautiful day to labor away.
Polishing silver all day has its advantages.
Each piece polishes to a looking glass, each a porthole to her dreams.
As she stares into the final polished vase, her weary face transforms into the face of
a lovely, fair skinned maiden.
Soft red lips highlight her perfect cheek bones and straight nose.
A simple pink ribbon holds her long, auburn hair in place.
Sparkling green eyes and a happy smile portray her excitement as she admires her
floor length pastel summer dress.
“Oh my, It’s time for my evening stroll,” she reminds herself.
Twirling once, she heads out the door leading to the apple orchard.
Barely noticing the orchard’s beauty, she strolls toward the stone steps leading to her favorite place, the stone rose garden.
Making her way down the steps, she immediately notices someone has placed two arrangements onto the platform from the stone cabinet.
As she bends to smell the flowers, she accidentally brushes some petals off, sending them floating to the platform and moss covered stone walk.
Closing her eyes, she lets the essence take her back a dozen years to a young girl
planting pink roses with her mother.
“There’s not a lot of room to plant,” her mother would say. “Two inches of soil between all this stone is what we have to work with.”
She opens her eyes to find herself staring into the polished silver vase.
Her tired, smudged face reminds her it’s time to go home.
Something different catches her eye in the polished looking glass.
Her long auburn hair is no longer neatly bundled under her cleaning bonnet, but held in place by a simple pink ribbon.
Randy Steele
July 25, 2011
"What Is She Thinking?" contest
I found MESHELL lying on the sand
With a ROSIE glow on her skin
She wanted it to turn OLIVE brown
But she looked like a roasted chicken!
We wandered into the JADE WALTER
EnJOYed a swim and a long paddle
Then went to find her beach towel
Where an eNORMAs man was straddled
You’re taking the MICKEY I told him
Give MESHELL back her beach towel
He said don’t be so picky … he was quite CURT
I’ll HARRY on back to my fowl
He lived locally with his maiden ANT
And he scarpered back home to his GLEN
If he’d touched MESHELL I would DEC him
I can’t abide RANDY predatory old men!
I’d seen him on his TODD at the Karaoke club
He was very ANDY behind the MIKE
Wearing ripped GENES and RAY bans
He’d BOB around then go home on his bike
Contest What’s in a Name
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
11~11~16
Names used...Meshell*, Rosie, Olive, Jade, Walter*, Joy*, Norma*, Mickey, Harry*, Curt, Ant, Glen, Dec, Randy, Todd, Andy, Mike, Gene*, Ray, Bob.
* poetic licence used with these names
“I open the door and cross the threshold of imagination”
A Rambling Poet
One path finds the door
Traveled only from the heart
Through the eyes to life
Hovering about
Dragonflies of all colors
Dancing with sunshine
A mystery world
Sparkling glass dimpled with life
Guarded by cattails
Nervous chatters above behold
A strange sense of company
I watch a miracle unfold
From behind a red oak tree
I hold my breath, don’t make a sound
Slowly peeking bit by bit
Tugging, jumping and playing around
Four unaware fox kits
The wind became my enemy
My scent from it they stole
No hesitation, instantly
They scampered down their hole
Astonished, I ponder what a rare sight I had just witnessed.
The tranquility of being surrounded by huge trees envelops me as I walk around the pond’s edge.
Led by a bullfrog’s ballad, I hone in on its stage location.
Startled, the frog leaps into its safe haven and disappears into thick vegetation.
The setting sun glimmers in the wake of the bullfrog, as does my reflection.
I watch until the water’s surface is smooth again.
A rustling in the brush directs my attention to a doe and her fawn wandering in search of a tender morsel.
The long shadows of dusk begin a tale of nocturnal beauty, a revelry to the nightlife to dance with a miracle world.
Content, I find myself back at the threshold of my heart.
Leaving the world that will some day surround me, a horn blaring taxi barely misses me.
Haiku, Rhyme, Narrative
Randy Steele
Three Gems contest
August 7, 2011
Silk & Diamond, Kanye West,
Marcellus Wiley, Isiah Thomas,
Jason Whitlock, R C Maxwell,
Angela Staton King, Umar Johnson,
Paris Dennard, Darrell Scott,
Ben Carson, F Lee Francis,
Tammy Bruce, Mark Levin,
Jeremy Hunt, Charrise Lane,
Carol Swain, Felecia Killings,
Ben Shapiro, Tyrus,
Adam Carolla,
Kat Timpf, Winsome Sears,
Jennifer Ruth Green, David Webb,
Rob Smith, C J Jordan,
Bob Johnson, Vernon Jones,
Herschel Walker, Robert Maxwell,
Byron Donalds, Melik Abdul,
Paula White, Thomas Rodgers,
Raymond Jackson, Lawrence Jones,
Janelle King, Jessica Millan Patterson,
Jesse Lee Peterson, Karen Lake,
Randy Quaid and Jeff Sessions.
Walk with me in the dank moonlight
through the chill, rising, storm
so we can grasp the majesty
of Dullahan still born.
Without heads his horse and he ride
across the countryside
His head in hand they roam the land
none live where he abides.
A rush of blood, a gory spree
will take the sight of man,
then off they gallop wild and free
Dullahan, head in hand.
Here’s hoping he don’t call your name
for that would be worse by far
your soul would flee and fly with he
a soul as black as tar.
Carry your gold for I am told
this alone does he fear
and we can watch as he rides by
come give us a kiss now, me dear.
The winsome lass took his strong hand
and down the lane they walked
as in the distance hedgerows fired
and hooves clapped as they talked.
The sound drew near, a gate flew wide
the lassie shrieked and ran
so only her randy lad was
taken by Dullahan.
So, don’t think to woo by moonlight
near the shore in Galway
Dullahan hunts with cruel sight
each wayward soul a stray.
*While no-one knows for certain how the Dullahan originated, it is thought that he is the embodiment of the Celtic fertility god, Crom Dubh, who was worshiped by an ancient king of Ireland, Tighermas. Each year, Tighermas sacrificed humans to Crom Dubh, and the usual method was decapitation. The worship of Crom Dubh ended in the sixth century, when Christianity came to Ireland.
* music in About the Poem
Poet: D. Guzzi
Adrian Monk
was in a funk,
Till he got
assistants.
But this particular case
held him in a space,
With which he felt
resistance.
That I can't blame
I feel the same--
Phobia of everything
dental--
Can you, too, admit
while you had to sit,
To a dentist ever being
un-gentle?
Well, anywho,
before this is through,
You'll want to know: here's
what happened--
Anesthesia's effects
blurred the suspects
But despite tooth torture,
Monk tracked 'em!
They took a big model tooth--
Slammed it in front of a sleuth--
But the patient was all in a daze!
(Till big toothmarks seen on the body
Revealed something shoddy,
They thought he was just in a craze!)
But Monk proved Randy saw
dentists breaking the law.
--A murder mystery
planned--
This means, of course,
Lt. Disher's back on the force,
Giving up his rock band.
[Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Deadline: Wednesday, August 31, 2022
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg]
I have relatives all over the USA, in one state or another.
Thanks to my randy great-grandparents who could not keep their hands off each other.
They had eighteen children, sometimes in two’s, and most of their children had ten.
Eight was considered a failure to the family, it truly had to be at least ten, back then.
Their tiny Iowa farmhouse was so ridiculously small, it was crazy.
But they raised nine fine sons, and nine ambitious daughters, and none of them was lazy.
We had our family reunions on an extensively long flatbed truck.
We went on hayrides, and we played with twenty-something cousins in the muck.
I have relatives all over the USA, in one state or another.
Thanks to my randy great-grandparents who could not keep their hands off each other.
Look at this throne
Riddled with cracks
And covered in bone
It's time to drop the facts
I'm the best at verse
When writing spoken word
It erupts in a burst
And you know I'll be heard
So just chill out
Listen to the smooth transition
And obliterate all doubt
This rhyming game is my mission
I don't even think twice
I just follow the nice flow
Like a roll of the dice
And let it go where it may go
My poetry is dandy
My stanzas have flair
Don't you dare call me Randy
Or you'll get an RKO out of nowhere
I sat right here
For so many years
But I had a deeply rooted fear
And shed manly tears
This decrepit old thing
It was the seat of my very soul
Once decked out with bling
Now suffering time's great toll
My life could go down the drain
But I could mask the pain in rhythm and rhyme
And even though it left a stain
Ironically it was a joyous time
I get contemplative over the past
As I reclaim this throne that was always mine
Those glory days were a blast
But my verse is like wine, always fine
I may lack social graces and common sense
But in poetry I found courage to be me
Let me just eat a few peppermints
Because my rhymes are still fresh and free
I found my throne
And I've thrown my game
This is what you've been shown
It'll never be the same
Witch Ladra stuplified some but she petrified me.
Luring me in with green molasses candy.
Locked me in a cupboard, threw away the key.
My only friend, her pet monkey named Three.
Three told me stories of Ladra’s family tree.
I shared my candy and he gave me brandy.
They’d apparently came from the China Sea.
Bringing along a dead man’s bandaged knee.
Within months another prisoner be.
Names didn’t matter. She said call me Cee Cee.
Next the witch shoved in a huge maple tree.
With gorgeous bark that ended in a Vee.
Became a jolly bunch, sing-along and randy.
Causing the witch some melancholy.
She ran off finally but left me the key.
We now party hardy with a dead man’s bandaged knee.
A big-blue-eyed Ralphie Parker, coveting a Red Ryder Air Rifle,
So that he can defend himself against Scut Farkus, that would be a feat.
Beautiful Betty Boop lamp in the window with the fringe skirt, you know
That is probably going to cause car wrecks up and down the street.
The yelling and screaming of the wild next door neighbor children
and their tongue-lolling hound dogs, for no apparent good reason.
Christmas spirit, coming through loud and clear, in spite of the
hilarity of this show that I cannot wait to see each season.
It all adds humor and fun to 1983’s big hit, A Christmas Story.
Randy Parker stuffed into his red snow suit by a disheveled mommy,
and then saying he had to go, leaves me in hilarity glory!
“I’ve shot my eye out!” which should terrorize me as a parent,
keeps me laughing in my recliner in case that is not apparent.
Out of all the Christmas shows, Jean Shepherd’s is my favorite one.
Maybe because when it came out my children were this much fun.