Long Rubbery Poems
Long Rubbery Poems. Below are the most popular long Rubbery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rubbery poems by poem length and keyword.
Suspended Animation De Rigueur Among "Joe King" Six Pack
Yepper, once body functions cease
asper this ole codger,
mere seconds after expiration,
sans existential lease
immortality avails rubbery piece
of flesh christened
Matthew Scott Harris,
the legal mouthpiece
decreed by living will
after organ activity doth cease
immediate measures taken
courtesy Doctor Demento to decrease
any further senescence
till heartening no brainer
preserves jellied rolled masterpiece
wordsmith, meanwhile, I can sublease
these bag of bloodless love bones
done deal, all yours for trifle bro
pittance costing no more
than one Pinocchio
plying attached strings,
yea kinda like ma's yoyo
mine limp fingers needed to pull
performing fetes resembling
dead spindleshanks longfellow
all the while appearing as cheap trick
courtesy super tramping marionette...lo
taking me across world wide web,
where yours truly housed in Tokyo
hotel, never tiring globe trotting
performing one man deadened show
after earning so much dough...
necessity will arise to call tow
truck (mebbe more'n one),
when after bajillion years
would utter whoa
abundant flush with moolah,
a sought after Joe Schmoe
earning hand over rigor mortis fist
pile of money that doth grow
by leaps and bounds - hiho
exceeding penury, when struggling as poet
Cain and Abel to silence
those opposed to Roe
versus Wade, incumbent upon minor woe
awaiting future technology so
rejuvenating lifeless chap easily
mistaken for scarecrow
can carry on camping y'know
whaddya mean...
not to leave ye in suspense
but gotta join grateful dead, and gotta go
Adieu!
“Ah! Ah!” cried Mr. Shaw, a museum man of science in 1799,
as he carefully unwrapped a specimen from New South Wales.
It was Labeled: "It's a weird one; Caught in a creek; Dug from a burrow with egg nest!"
Mr. Shaw’s heart thumped with suspicion of a prank or fraud, as he noted what he saw:
It had the webbed feet, a rubbery bill, and the eggs of a duck.
It had a wide flat beaver's tail and coarse thick brown fur.
It had two snake-like fangs, on its hind legs, and small piggy eyes.
It suckled its young with milk, but no nipples were found.
Mr. Shaw looked hard, but found no traces of stitches, glue or bindings.
How can this be? How can this be real? How utterly bizarre?
"Ah! Ah! I know!" God, the creator, has a wicked sense of humor!
Behold! The duck-billed, flat-footed - Platypus!
worse than a chipped teacup,
yolk hardens upon heated pavement.
who do you trust when it’s time to sup?
hit with a silver spoon, cracked and peeled.
embryonic tears leak from a chicken’s nest.
what happens when street poultry doesn’t yield?
Humpty Dumpty high
upon the gates of hell
hard-boiled, will he fry?
he leans back with his knighted white chest.
the choice city arrayed in rainbow promises.
lacking calcium and vitamin d, ascends to rest.
Humpty’s sweating the sun. streaks of regret
stain rounded armpits. Slick sill of wall - dire.
his craven and rubbery insides not well set.
wondering and worrying, if he falls, will
all the king's horses and men rescue him…
at his age he could succumb to a nasty spill.
“over-easy” didn’t sound so bad. He hears
whispers of the town, trying to understand.
he longs to meet Benedict and other peers.
feeling a bit cocky, eager to do the eggroll.
figures his tough shell will protect him from harm.
rather charming, and with a whitewashed soul,
forgetting to say the blessing, he slips and slides.
history remembers his silly sounding name.
did the horses and king’s men save his hide?
shellacked shell and runny guts
had to be swept and trashed —
king ordered - no ifs ands or “butts”
6/25/2018
Humpty Dumpty Contest
Peeling Back the Bubble Wrap
Peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when Nixon was still presiding,
He, leading with paranoid deliberations,
Sold his yeses to the Goldbricks, and the Mustard Men;
And while he was dipping into the rubbery tides of the latex surfers,
I found your shadowy pointing breasts, shivering outside my backdoor.
You were standing in the dark, waiting for me to turn the key…
1973 was the year you taught me how to love a woman;
You, at 21 years, and me, ensconced in the stereo-lit darkness,
Of my dimly-lit bedroom on Hoover street;
You, wearing a wool skirt and that ruffled low-curving blouse,
With those tan buttons, like a half dozen corks, ready to be popped,
And you, sitting at my black upright piano,
The 1907 Schumann, made of stubborn black mahogany, and
You, with your long curved nails, femininely tapping the ivories,
Soliciting an intimate song I have since forgotten, but can still hear,
Your cylindrical tan legs pressing the piano pedals,
Like a fragile dancer made of fine glass, and
You, exploring human desire with determined pressings.
And then, into your garlanded home we strolled,
Hand in hand; And with our lips, we cleared the stoney path
Leading into the sun garden, amongst the cats and the posies,
And found astonished silhouettes behind the peephole.
Still peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when my door was locked, and a green candle burned therein;
I saw you in the naked flickering, riding the tree of silver ascensions,
And with five pulsing fingers, I eagerly picked your finest flowers, over there,
Inside the throbbing, sun-lit bed of this poised sun garden; then,
You told me you loved me. Told me what I never wanted to hear,
“Even now, with me on top of you, in this silent grinding darkness,
I cannot bring myself to lie and say, ‘I love you.’
There is something about you I don’t want to know.
Yours is a long and complicated book I do not wish to read.
Your mind I cannot calibrate, or truly understand, so…I am sorry.
I deserve to be called an ass, deserve to be brushed off like a gnat, but
With you, my shoes never seemed to fit. My ears never seemed to hear.”
...when the copter went down, witnesses heard you scream…
“I am truly sorry.”
Old Rumple Stein sat in the
rocking chair, his eyes
gleaming like hot coals. The
children huddled beneath
their blankets as his raspy
voice filled the dark bedroom.
"Listen close, little ones,"
Rumple Stein whispered,
leaning forward with a
crooked smile. "Do you hear
that strange, hollow scraping
sound downstairs?
It is the Rug-Crawler, a flat,
bony thing with long, spindly
fingers.
It slides silently across the
floor, looking for children who
refuse to eat their vegetables.
Its skin is cold like winter
mud, and it breathes with a
sickening, wet wheeze.
Right now, it is creeping up
the creaking wooden stairs,
inch by terrible inch.
It stretches its rubbery neck,
sniffing the air for the scent of
wide- awake children who
hadn't ate their veggies for
dinner.
If it finds you staring into the
dark, it will slide under your
bed.
Then, a chilly, numbing wind
will blow through the cracks
in your floorboards.
You will feel a sudden, icy tug
at the edge of your heavy
blankets.
Its yellow teeth will flash in
the moonlight as it opens its
wide, mouth of vegetables.
It does not want your toys,
and it does not want your
tasty snacks.
The Rug- Crawler only wants
to steal the bright, warm
sunlight right out of you
for refusing to eat your
vegetables.
Once it takes your cheer, you
will stay trapped in a slimy
cloy gloomy vegetable stick
for all twilight forever.
Your eyes will turn to green
stone, and you will never see
the morning sun again.
So pull the covers tightly over
your chin and block out the
terrible noise.
Do not look at the door, and
do not dare to peek through
your fingers.
Close your eyes tightly this
very second, or the Rug-Crawler
will know you hadn't eat your
vegetables for dinner."
I dreamt of being transported to a strange alien land
The sky was splattered with lumps, of red gooey sand
Spacemen appeared through it, with rubbery hands
This wasn’t on my bucket list, I could not understand
Another blip sent shockwaves, from above my head
These spooky apparitions, where filling me with dread
Holy smoke billowed up, and was starting to spread
Tears filled my eyes, forming a most peculiar watershed
Consciousness was with me, but sanity was in doubt
Behind the holy smoke, a blurry spaceman called out
“Bring a crossover line, we’ve got to clear the mouth
It’s not looking too good, we better take another route”
Metallic objects clanging, triggered anxiety all around
The holy smoke dissipated, making a hissing sound
Alone and frightened, I was now sliding underground
Buried in a noisy tunnel, claustrophobically profound
Lights flashed over and over, in a flicker show display
I could see a picture emerging, maybe groundhog day
Perhaps a Dali painting, morphing surrealistically away
Which blended eerie intrigue, into perplexing dismay
I cried for holy smoke, as breathing was no easy task
Instead it was replaced, by some tightly fitted mask
A voice said “no more smoking for you, don’t even ask
Do you enjoy life in oxygen tents, and nebulising flasks”………..oh!
By
David Kavanagh
Snot Man Blue
There was no skin and hair
on his lower and upper big round torso.
Instead, there was thick and blue snot. Some would go, ‘Oh what a distracting gross sideshow!’
‘Well, at least he has my ears,
and your big puffy nose,
and my eyes and your mouth and toes,’ his mother had remarked to his father who was holding a hose.
‘Positive you are always dear
but, like the doctors had explained in the hall,
“If you both hadn’t had too much snot in you both
your son wouldn’t have been born a snot boy at all”!’
Cried Snot Boy Blue’s parents did
for years and years indeed.
‘I’d rather have had a thoroughbred for a son.
At least he’d be of use. Indeed!
What use is a Snot Boy Blue
to the world!’ his father snapped with speed.
‘Don’t worry you two.
Even though I’m terribly blue and blue
I’ll never be the same – 100% human – like you two.
I promise one day I’ll do something you two,
something great to end our blue.’
When he was 22,
over legally a man’s age,
he got a job at Elmwood University
earning a minimum wage.
Was he a cleaner there?
No.
Was he as chef there?
No.
He worked in scientific research
for The Entomology Department there.
At night he stood in the gardens
and insects common and rare,
as they flew through, got stuck on his rubbery snot body that was sort of a snare.
The researchers had no doubt
they’d so many fascinating insects to learn about.
TO BE CONTINUED ... in Part 2
Loving life hid beneath rim of cool ceramic bowl
Tree frog claimed proud place, toilet's homely hole
Enamoured by his simple palace making stance
I bend to peer at his green grip toe stick, entranced
My ordinary admonished by gaze from onxyx eyes
Quick reflex and instinct, skills by which Frog relies
Shine of black marble smartness lures me nearer
Knowing even with my bulk, I'm somehow inferior
Rubber eyelid winks, peels open again enlarged
Eye wrinkles droop to hammock, I'm encouraged
To nestle within humid folds, shrunk human glued
Oscillated in his lid lures languishing duly procured
Spun suddenly, rubbery cocoon cosy lurches erratic
Some worry occurs I'll drown outside skin hammock
Prior to paranoia taking over, thrown from dizzying ride
Launched into stark big bowl with steep slippery sides
Swim in cistern spew strangely renders me cleansed
Lap in lurid blue sends me to inevitably to S bends
Whooshed and flushed with refreshed perspective
Dark harassed by diffused hues tug seductive
Dolphin derived, my smooth unphased by spiralling
Saturated zones, ease honed, enamour never tiring
Snorkel hole snorts water, puffs readily on its purification
Imbibing combines giddy with clarity, senses' temptation
My forehead flicked flirtatiously by wide flamingo flippers
Splayed feathers fan surface, showcase dance floor shimmer
Cabaret her costume, shakes crystal bead rainbow release
Ravishing precise pirouettes prim pink princess completes
Her curved beak caresses my porthole brain, rubs insistantly
Into warm walnut shell weapon I'm swallowed quite quickly
I spy through pomegranate seed eye, mirror lake unswayed
Stilled kindly by wind's nonexistance, decision to travel made
Climbed to bird's tiny tiara topped crest, covered in feathers
Graceful lace tu- tu floats my aquatic future endeavour
Bouyed weightless and grateful, flip draws no resistance
Swim in S bend treasure, trip of sight resumed brilliance
*** Spring has sprung!!
- in Australia
My branch beyond
The tired pond
of Earth, awakes
Imminent Heaven
(perhaps)
*** A collapse of facts
Flight of flamingo regalia
Revel in place of waste
- Mystery flush takes
on its S bend
1st September 2020
Warmth, surrounded me…always
My lips, my eyes, closed…
Mesmerized by the darkness that brought me consolation
I remember there were colors under those lids,
Green, spurts of purple…and sporadic yellows and reds
They danced and flashed
Whenever your voice rumbled and vibrated my abode
I remember the earthquakes of laughter
That pushed me against the soft, supported side…
I merely bounced back to the middle again
My legs, bending, and then kicking off against it
My body twirling in the lavish liquid
Natural twists and turns that were later underappreciated
Twists and turns that were who I was
I didn’t realize they would always shape who I am
Deep voice—music—surrounded me always
My ears opened to the muffled marvel
Curious of the outside world that birthed the mysteries of who I am
I recall frustration, kicking against your soft insides….
Colors of black, gray tints, and calming browns…
That left me gurgling for more of those outside sounds
Because that first day I heard the lightning yells
The hot swells of your insides boiled
My body twirled and twirled as I heard you wail
Crying…sobbing…
My heart beat faster—wanting more to leave this vessel
Wanting to be a separate thing
Wanting all to hear me scream
To feel the cold, rubbery hands of a stranger
Lift me—and to your breast—gift me
It was always the warmth of the liquid
And the comfort of our bond
That always remained
Bonds and beliefs never dry
Blood is blood
Color is color
It is living to be separate that makes us gods
Now see a fine display in market hall
Where fishmonger's stalls sell the freshest catch.
A world of wet white tiles and melting ice.
Seafood displayed, arranged in rank and file.
One Scottish salmon commands centre stage
Stretched out upon its own tray of crushed ice
And next to a few Icelandic haddock
Along with cod trawled from the Dogger Bank.
To one side are some plaice all flopped and flat.
Seems they are staring up with fixed focus.
A side display of small fry, placed parallel
And herrings heaped up in sad slump of grey.
Some calamari, tasteless rubbery squid
Are off stage with other seldom sold bits.
In the corner there's offal bin with heads,
Guts, skeletons and several layers of skin.
Take for your cat. Put pence in charity box.
A fine display we see in market hall.