Long Rotund Poems
Long Rotund Poems. Below are the most popular long Rotund by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rotund poems by poem length and keyword.
Must maintain my upbeatness
Through all the hassles of moving
Must grin and giggle with each annoyance
Till things finally start improving
Haven't eaten for more a week
Can't find our horde of Chef Boyardee
The best is their new Over Stuffed Ravioli
Consumed in a minute twenty-three
Considering my sexy rotund chassis
My options are becoming so much less
There's a conspiracy by all the food makers
They want to see me in a bigger dress
They don't know who they're dealing with
They call me Big Jacko the Fit
Kids run for cover when they see me coming
But don't tell them I also like to knit
© Jack Ellison 2015
Possiblity rolls rotund in your fingers
Hectic brain traffic makes way for intrigue
Direction indeterminate, insect lands unscathed
Careful spice simmers observations we can heed
Suspends apprehension, apprehends herd bellow
Stength encounters our sturdily built immunity
Intimacy emits permission to dismiss ridiculous
Slowly extending tip drops bits of significance
Currency exchanges notes of village productivity
Spice enters conciousness via macrowaves
Components of people create the places they live
Places mould the requirements of inhabitants
Unlike links of a chain, a structured semblance
Our recognition is dissected, stretched by us
Warnings examined in rotation's commitment
Alighted butterfly exposes pattern atop wings
Closure signifies opening, an opening poised
Assurance gives symmetry to lilypad hospitality
Dollop of tomorrow glimpsed in frog elastic instant
Proactive performers pirouette to new heights
Mother butterfly has limited tenure
Crouched firm against obstacles, she clusters
aspirations she has no time to share in
Your exploring hands unravel bound mystery
My decision, delicate as butterfly legs, is future led
Barriers break as caution's clutch is relinquished
Swollen perception unfriends refrain
Vulnerability becomes comfort in your closeness
Swaddled in hope, chrysalis flight transpires
Remnants of your pleasure mount missions
Illfitting questions increase chances for answers
Cynisism columns truth in civil rights twilight 2020
Untamed senses send a profusion of vines crawling
Words of neighbourhood nature joist global corners
Babel provides shared province when blood combines
Written : April 2020
Submitted on 4th October 2020
To Poetry Contest: Deep (001)
Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer
SPIRITS OF THE PARROTS
Two parrots, one red, one blue,
share one large, rotund zoo cage,
just the two of them.
There are plenty of perches,
yet they sit on the same one,
close together,
looking over a feast
of fruit and seeds to share.
They make no noise,
as if in silent prayer
before their meal.
Where are those parrots today?
Where is the cage?
Can we see their spirits
flying past the zoo, over the city,
up and down the state, across the country?
When they fly through clouds
and rest on phone wires,
can they see rallies on street corners,
counter-rallies opposite,
each group waiting for the other
to offend them, just so they can lash out
with swear words and name-calling,
refusing to even look for common ground?
No, most likely, they stay in heaven,
flying close together,
exploring the new Jerusalem,
eating fruit from the tree of life,
the red one and the blue one.
-Jennifer Fenn
Connoisseur Of Ethnic Cuisine
Theme seems apropos during Holiday FancyFeasts despite the plethora of – in my opinion witching hunting - reputable male personalities suddenly accused of sexual harassment after substantial time. Yes granted so the unexpected name dropping felt like a bomb shell towards chaps, this baby boomer mwm would never suspect, point the finger, or accuse, especially one former Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Though anonymous and hardly
a substantially sized mwm baby boomer
(which dual disadvantages partly explains
lack of ubiquity among claque of cooks, yet hoop full
to get attention from some well fed dame
many popular rotund gourmands l'chaim tame
their hungry beast – wa hood put me to shame
vis a vis consuming in their one meal,
what yours truly eats in a lifetime,
none of those celery buddies,
whom this non television watcher can name
seen on any selective cable channel,
I still revel in writing while
on the hunt
(during Red October) for a meme
poetry and prose, and decided
to introduce myself quite lame
with NON GMO marginal uptick
in any sudden fortune or fame,
yet t'would be pleasantly syrup prized
if interest
from potential mistress didst exclaim
desire to enjoy a repast, though
said hypothetical gal need
not be a high society dame,
and if perchance such just desserts
came via the kitchen maiden kitty,
versus kit chin middens
no boastful claim
would be uttered by me,
her intellectual company satisfactory aim.
An odd
feathery down-
turn of newfound
dreaded funds was fortu-
nately worth more than what the hated Fur-
ry Rotund Honey Dew knew to be water fronting wooden draft-
y thunder dogs so worn and dandy that the Candy Man alone
could run like Daddy throwing deft redun-
dant forts around as if
the 14th Door
had come
unglued
revealing nothing but a fairy hut with 20 clown head toadies trending up-
ward where
the Theory Runes are read by nude defrauding dry
Mad Dorks who author notes defying the very turf
we've surfed so far today
and further on into the night that not
a single sole can say will end up swell in terms of Old Brown Shoe
repair.
Number forty six - White House occupant re:
guarding President elect Joe Biden
Within mein hermitage
now dwells one euphoric troglodyte who wept
upon hearing unbelievable news,
(albeit at snail's pace schlepped
finally proclamation emancipation
gave reasonable rhyme yours truly to ejaculate
(not prematurely), subsequently I leapt
into the air, and kept
myself aloft completing
one after another sumersault and except
for minor nuisance of gravity
nevertheless landed feet first and crept
back into mine mancave adept
to survive alone in the wilderness.
Seventy four million popular votes
tallied across country,
gives ample reason to grind hips and bump,
(cuz the most votes
cast for any presidential candidate in history),
which Republican contender finally plopped
hook line and anchored
courtesy Taj Mahal replica sinker
into dustbin of history
good riddance electorate voted out
loutish oaf, which voters chose to dump
best mandated to cavort with zoot suited frump
on any given Wednesday available to hump
rotund barenaked lady merging
into humongous protoplasmic lump.
Caught red handed concerning
more'n where's the beef
stole 2016 election
under nose of Hillary Clinton
abused role, when tasked
as commander in chief
good ole Charlie Brown nemesis
caused nothing but grief,
hence yours truly quite elated
upon occasion when figurative new leaf
turned over and booted out
as more onerous than Baghdad thief.
Hit the ground running
with nary a second to waste
Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and company
proving their steely eyed mettle
after victory lap Democrats did taste
usher in COVID-19 game plan
bolstering pandemic defences
where prior administration sorely misplaced
priorities United States Lady Liberty
wantonly, undeservedly, subsequently
her reputation disgraced.
Hope springs eternal - ah tis amazing grace
yours truly suddenly brimming with optimism
able bodied diverse cabinet to erase
formerly inept sycophants with intentions base
running amok within White House
at long last competent candidate won the race
adieu Donald Trump, who
did disappearing act at Mar-A-Lago without a trace
sore loser teed off absent American
delivering his humiliating defeat coup de grâce.
President Olusegun Obasanjo- Atiku Abubakar
Promises of pardoned traitors
Reek like ancient regrets.
Exhibitions,
Steeped in rapacity.
Inured to light, they
Dominate blindly
Evoking the same air of oppression
Noteworthy of the days of yore.
Traitors in transit, trampling as they go.
Over us, they bellow.
Lording it, they rule
Under the guise of foreign dogmas,
Silence all demanding.
Egocentric beasts with rotund bellies
Gloats with our reserves.
Unaffected by the groaning of a people
Nestled in penury.
Our Overseers,
Behemoths, disguised,
Assiduously make us the
Shame of the whole world while
At perfect ease with themselves.
Neglecting the many sufferers about, they
Jostle for private vaults in Zurich as
Our poverty became their riches.
And the bespectacled gargoyle
Trenched in the prison called Rock.
Impervious to all wisdom,
Kept an unholy vigil as
Undertakers beckoned suddenly.
Archetypical simpletons, they
Bask in gaudy wealth
Untouched by the miseries surrounding them
Building high walls to keep prying eyes away.
Atop Hills, perched like Vultures,
Kleptocrat searching for new honour.
Aglow in oily garbs, they
Regale themselves, as the world looks on in amazement!
When the poetry is gone,
the world is melancholy, the wind
sans voice silences...
The night closes and late
again to be day...
The poet is a pendulum between
worlds, poetry marks-
step of life...
If there was no poetry,
the earth would always be dry,
and the sea would only be
an emptiness... the world it
would even fall asleep in
rotund silence and neither
world would be...
even another world
wouldn't be anything fresh,
it would only be limbo
of the agonies...!
Oh thee! Of feathered frock
Bird of paradise – you are not
For you wobble when you walk
And gobble – gobble - while you talk
Oh thee! Of stubby legs
Neck hanging in a bag
Of skin that sags and sags
How can you face another day?
Oh thee! With girth rotund
With wings of nearly none
Your flight is but a funny run
Some chase you just for fun
Oh thee! Of feathered frock
Bird of paradise - you are not
As you lie on chopping block
Ending up in cooking pot.
But come Thanksgiving Day-
Everyone will gladly say
You are by far - the finest bird
That God has ever made.
Inspired by: Donna Golden’s contest: Tribute to the turkey
2nd Place
Erotic Errata
by Michael R. Burch
I didn’t mean to love you; if I did,
it came unbid-
en, and should’ve remained hid-
den!
***
Less Heroic Couplets: Marketing 101
by Michael R. Burch
Building her brand, she disrobes,
naked, except for her earlobes.
***
Negligibles
by Michael R. Burch
Show me your most intimate items of apparel;
begin with the hem of your quicksilver slip ...
***
Warming Her Pearls
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Warming her pearls,
her breasts gleam like constellations.
Her belly is a bit rotund ...
she might have stepped out of a Rubens.
***
Cover Girl
by Michael R. Burch
Cunning
at sunning
and dunning,
the stunning
young woman’s in the running
to be found nude on the cover
of some patronizing lover.
In this case the cover is a bed cover, where the enterprising young mistress is about to be covered herself.
***
First Base Freeze
by Michael R. Burch
I find your love unappealing
(no, make that appalling)
because you prefer kissing
then stalling.
***
Nun Fun Undone
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
Abbesses’
recesses
are not for excesses!
***
Less Heroic Couplets: Sex Hex
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
Love’s full of cute paradoxes
(and highly acute poxes).
Published by *Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online* and *Poem Today*
***
Retro
by Michael R. Burch
Now, once again,
love’s a redundant pleasure,
as we laugh
at my childish fumblings
through the acres of your dress,
past your wily-wired brassiere,
through your panties’ pink billows
of thrill-piqued frills ...
Till I lay once again—panting redfaced
at your gayest lack of resistance,
and, later, at your milktongued
mewlings in the dark ...
When you were virginal,
sweet as eucalyptus,
we did not understand
the miracle of repentance,
and I took for granted
your obsessive distance ...
But now I am happily unbuttoning
that chaste dress,
unhitching that firm-latched bra,
tugging at those parachute-like panties—
the ones you would have gladly forgotten
had I not bought them in this year’s size.
Originally published by Erosha