Long Rolly Poems
Long Rolly Poems. Below are the most popular long Rolly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rolly poems by poem length and keyword.
I lay in my bed the clock struck twelve
No sign of reindeer or presents or elves
He promised this year to not let me down
Old rolly poley Santa dressed in velvet and down
My cookies were placed on the table in view
A full glass of milk to be dipped into
And I in my silk negligee and red lipstick
Patiently awaiting my dear Saint Nick
The wind was howling the snow was heavy
But in a sleigh no excuse not like a Chevy
Another glass of vino and I heard a loud bang
From the rooftop above reindeer bells did rang
I ran to the tree by the chimney with glee
Santa had kept his promise to me
He came down the chimney all dressed in red
Boots of black so shiny bells on his head
I hugged him so hard and gave him a kiss
I love you so much Mr Saint Nick
And for you my dear soul I have brought you a gift
Tears streamed down my cheeks for he was my wish
Nothing else Santa could give me
My heart was filled with such love and glee
He gobbled the cookies and chugged the milk
Than up the chimney he went covered in silt
And off his reindeers flew pulling the sleigh
God bless you my child I cannot delay
Ring a ling, jingling
On a magical fairy tale
Sleigh bells are ringing
Brrr... freezing cold North Pole
“Ho Ho Ho”
Joyous, rolly polly, white beard Santa,
is already singing and swaying
in his white fur trim red velvet suit
ready to put smiles on all his children
big and small out in the world
“Ho Ho Ho”
On Christmas Day
elf’s he’s employed
enjoying their busy work
singing, swinging, and tinkering
to tunes of Christmas music
making lots of noise on a
nimbly, assembly line
creating, never frustrating
new toys to stuff in Santa’s bag
for the joy in delivering
to all the girls and boys
“Ho Ho Ho” Merry Christmas!
Santa’s sleigh just went zooming by.
11/26/2016
Children Story
Smelling
Woody, sweet, aroma
Christmas pine tree,
Weaved with Bright blinking lights,
Topped with a starlit top.
Feeling
The Brrr ... chill of the night air
Brrr ... freezing cold of the North Pole.
Listening
To the sounds of the wind
For the Ring a ling, jingling,
Ringing of the sleigh bells.
Watching
Moonlight shadows dancing
On the walls as they take
Different fantasy shapes
Waiting
Jolly, rolly, “Ho, Ho, Ho”
White beard Santa
In a white fur trim, red velvet suit.
Seeing
Santa’s sleigh just went zooming by
Fading off to nighttime dreams
Making every minute count.
12/16/2024
Elie Saab creates haute couture
For women who are silm, demure
It’s not for rolly polly me
With little bulges you can see
Elie Saab is my hero bright
He lights up the red carpet night
He dresses are simply divine
But oh…not a one can be mine
I’ve got no cash for such finesse
Plus..I won’t fit the lovely dress
So here is how I live the dream
I spray his perfume in a stream
Once I tried his amazing scent
It clung to me where’re I went
Oh, but it carried a high price
To have it would be more than nice
Valentine’s Day… what did I see?
A present waiting there for me
Hubby and daughter shared a look
As I unwrapped, my fingers shook
“Oh, God please, help me not cry
If Elie Saab won’t meet my eye”
There it was in its glory fine
Elie Saab perfume, it was mine!
Now Elie Saab is what I wear
The scent makes me able to dare
For it makes me feel quiet sublime
So sexy in “couture” so fine!
Eileen Manassian Ghal
the rolly chair chance,
the pole-y bear prance
the zanily, happily, dappily, underwear dance.
my muse laugh as she comes up with these lines.
Loving the colorfulness of the things that she finds.
The holy care rance.
The mole-y dare lance…..
She is lying on her back flat out, kicking her legs in the air.
Trixie, do you think you have gone a bit too far to the left?
the sole-y air mance.
The grow-ly mare ants.
She is laughing too hard to continue.
I wait for her to crash and burn.
The jole=y share pants.
The kole-y jare cants.
She is in hysterics now.
Done?
Doubtful.
It is 3:42 a.m.
She refuses to let me go back to sleep
Until I type this out.
Trixie out of all the muses in all the world…
the rolly chair chance,
the pole-y bear prance
the zanily, happily, dappily, underwear dance.
EACH morning comes and we are dying
ONE year passes and more are born
i walk in fields of flowers and gossamer
and fell into a hole with stars and nebula passing
and caterpillars singing before they have wings
and a red panda kisses my cheek and explains this is
where things go when one dreams while walking.
-- so hooka man in your small corner closing in upon
your jelly brain gets up and dances again
oh little rolly-polly you are a cute ball
and my brain lost logic and proportion and words
and numbers dissolve at the dawn of common sense.
We are told to believe some things
We are punished for doing many things
We are clean as a Spirit and Soul
but then as always -- life takes its toll
Be safe around busy eyes and hold upon a wind
the secret words you believe in
allow no parrot to squawk within the room of
your private thoughts
Oh! Live! Be different and be your own friend!
Be your own friend!
:: 05.09.2021 ::
Been mistaken for Santa Claus
More than one time over the years
Could be my big fat rolly belly
Or my beard from ear to ear
It's kind of cool when a little kiddie
Comes up to me and tells me this
"Once I saw you last Christmas Day
And you gave my mommie a kiss!"
Kids always say such funny things
Some of them can make you blush
A little guy told me I was really fat
Must eat a big bunch of mush
Wouldn't think of shaving my beard
Or losing a big bunch of pounds
Cause then I'd miss these little kiddies
And their amazing ability to astound
Before I end this long dissertation
There's one thing I really must extol
Don't ever lose the tiny person
That's living within your soul
©Jack Ellison 2012
The rooster led his harem forth
into the garden for a party
There they would dine from mother earth
Aphids on roses, worms they ate harty
Queen Ann's lace was laced with caterpillars
And rolly pollies ate Day Lilies' leaves
Biddies fed 'pon tiny grasshoppers
for summer was there to please
The Bee Balm and Fever Few had not been
touched by summer's butterfles; Rebecca
had yet to open her blooms; Daisies soon to begin.
Spring blossoms now nearly gone, summer the garden wrecker
The rooster, his hens and biddies loved the party
As among the flowers they pranced and ate smartly
Inspired by Cyndi MacMillan's contest not an entry...
My "FAKE" Genealogical Knighthood
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands
hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,
nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,
indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing
fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as
courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,
an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,
lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,
and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
The best things that Christmas guarantees
Are the festive, digestive joys of cheese
No holiday platter is nearly complete
Without the familiar fumes ... of feet
Softening chunks of wafting wonder
Offered up aged for you to plunder
Those holey and rolly blocks to devour
So properly plump, and soddenly sour
There's no better bits for a yuletide slacker
Than great gobs of funk on a crispy cracker
And stuffing a sock or a Christmas Buddha
Is perfect diversion for a gram of Gouda
Or perhaps just a nip of Neufchâtel bliss
Bouncing its stink for a mistletoe kiss
What better addition to the bells of a sleigh
Than vino with bread, and a cheese in decay?
Or, the ideal pal for a proud poinsettia?
Why, a warmingly wonderful wee wedge of feta!
No matter what floats on the holiday breeze
It's ALWAYS out-funked by a good ... Christmas cheese!
Written and submitted on November 18, 2018
For the "Write A Poem About Cheese" Poetry Contest
Barry Stebbings, Judge & Sponsor