Long Scowling Poems
Long Scowling Poems. Below are the most popular long Scowling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scowling poems by poem length and keyword.
I am in a bad and horrible mood
My scowl is deep and dark
I am sitting in my pajamas plotting someone's death
a variety of ways
I see myself running them down with a wheelbarrow,
and sticking a pitchfork in their arm. Maybe twisting it too
I am glorying in the craziness of this madness which is
something my placated self would never think
I certainly would not do it but for some strange reason
it gives me enormous satisfaction and I laugh
Betrayal is something I do not abide and lies
are the quickest way to get off my party list.
I am scowling and swearing, deep in the throes of it
When my friend Marge comes over to see what she can do
She can do nothing; I refuse to let her in
But she has a key which I had forgotten
She comes in, gives me my favorite dessert, gets out
my best lemonade glasses, and pours me a drink I love.
I am trying my best to hate her for it; trying unsuccessfully to glower.
Not quite ready to be nice
C. Cure T. Clarence
Been making, (sans
daily) regular appearance
in the news oval
hate gambling arrogance
vis a vis spewing,
shouting, and scathing rabidly
foaming explosive clap
trap in ascendance,
asserting how incredibly
tremendous collusion between
CIA, FBI and media
(must warrants revocation,
hence heroic intervention,
and emergency dis
Pence sing balance
of security fabled
clearances Aesop - Asap)
hounds engaged "brilliance"
in (community) chance
of making an very
usual fool of himself,
viz the "FAKE"
trumpeting dapper Don
expostulating the latest ploy,
raging against the machine
i.e. entire popular culture
will get their comeuppance
being so freely outspoken,
a disgraceful unconstitutional defiance
which oh press
sieve act of deviance
spluttered, thus an extreme
measure to clamp down
on all news outlets,
and immediate disappearance
all the while poor
Melania stoically, objectionably
and lamentably stands
right alongside him,
(nonetheless nonverbally
metaphorically exhibiting
vitriolic livid rage)
as he rancorously spouts
(ala VERY) convincing impression
of la va reenactment qua,
Krakatoa volcanic disturbance
lambasting utter disgraceful disservice
(foxy Dis Putin
commercial stations construe, conspire,
conjure egregious collusion
outlets asper dominance
a pugilistic ringside fan loathsomely
(re: scowling non verbally),
wherein pejorative spectators whether
(moral less minority, and/or
majority whips lashing) weather being
Torah: Black Fire on White Fire
Every Place, Every Space,
In Ink, 'Tween Signs, ‘Tween Lines,
Everywhere He, Where are we?
Ask, "Mi Hashem Aylai?"
Not, "What's in for me?"
Descent from Kedushah is "I"
Ego's swig, a "Drink Me" potion of Shrinkingness,
Causing "I" to be Mired in Pride,
My Hand; Plural World vs. Oneness
We are 'Taken In', pleasing "I",
Or Harvard or other Men,
What's the difference? Our Eye's Sty!
Live His Torah, is Zeroing Me Debris,
Our Chance to Be, Alive ‘n Doin’,
Here, Now! Waiting on Him is Freeing.
He gave us Myriad Mitzvot,
To glimpse Him, to Breathe ‘n Do,
To be in His Company True.
Life's not just other Men,
With Them to Hang Out, Them to Please,
Acquiring Clout, our Dodge Cop Out.
Men are Seen, He’s Hidden.
Pleasin’ Men counters Our Goal,
So, He smiles, if We’re Herein.
As He is Here, We don't Fear Scowling Faces.
Men make Noise, when Losin’ Stature,
Men are in Places, not 'Tween Spaces.
Drink In the One, Sip His Strength, to Stand Alone,
Be a Rolling Stone, Not just a Clone,
His Whisper is Choice, so Ignore Men's Noise.
It takes max strength Chutzpah,
Swim Agin' the Torrent, Yet be Current,
Carpe Diem, Be not a Puppet of Them.
Gematria, 301, means Fire equals Call,
Or Fire in Hearing 'Sounds of Silence': A Calling,
Horton Hears a Who, Choosing is Less than to Be Chosen.
Be Strong; You're Created to Be a Man,
Hashem's Eved, In touch with Your Maker,
Answer to Him, not some Faker.
© Chaim Ben Moshe 2018
High winds have come to a land remote and wild.
Oak leaves tremble in the black of night
While critters to the underbrush for the present are exiled.
Like a giant thrashing fiend, wind roars with all its might,
Increasing in intensity as if something got it very riled.
Not many birds will still remain where there is great height.
Gone into thick shrubbery, they’ll hide away tonight.
Wolves huddle together, for they are clever.
Into their dens they go or seek shelter in other spots they find,
Lest things worsen, however,
Dogs of the wild won’t leave any of their pack behind.
Emitting long howls, they communicate.
Rolling thunder proves the whipping wind is more than scowling.
Not too soon will the wailing tempest’s tantrum abate.
Every wolf joins the wind in prolonged persistent howling.
Since the fierce fiend has now begun screeching like a banshee,
Scintillating stars tonight the wilderness won’t likely see.
THIS Italian Sonnet does NOT have a regular meter,
has 10 syllables and a rhyming pattern of
abbaabba, cdecde
SEASONS SONNET
One year old today, pink frosted candle.
Year later, ecstatic, open presents.
At three, twirling dress, snapshot pose frequent.
Five years old, sweet toothless grin a scandal.
Sixteen, the sherbert punch, broad smiles handle.
Twenty-eight, sophic change - adult ascent.
Scowling at forty; fabulous event.
Sixty, blows out big bang roman candle.
Early blades of grass tickle baby feet.
Hopping white bunnies in carrot garden.
Damask leaves nudge the storm of Autumn’s grace.
Mannahlike snowflakes beg a turnover greet.
Seasons divine, but in time, the day’s done.
Shimm’ring eternal light, dawn’s glory-face.
10/9/2020
It is 8pm on a Thursday
I stretch my neck
and back my car out
just to go to the store
and I see my neighbor.
I know her from work.
Her skin is leather
and each freckle across her nose
is a day in the sun
and I see a whole life right there,
just across her face.
She looks up into my tail lights
away from her cigarette. She's scowling.
She's tough.
She spits that ash out of her mouth
and I give a nod of respect.
We both know what blood tastes like.
And in her window,
after I start to pull away,
the red light lingers.
Her son dances around the living room,
full of red light for the jungle
she's growing in there.
Green spills across every single wall
like sweat down her face.
It's sweetness.
I think about my poetry.
How I paid for these words in
blood and pain
how all I can write about is trauma.
I wonder if she feels the same
with a spray bottle in her hand
as I do with a pen.
And then I realize.
That's what it's all about.
It's all parallel lines running toward
the same edge of the paper.
There is a delicacy in all of us
that begged me to pick up my pen.
To take pictures with my tongue
hold them up and say
"Hey, aren't these the
same thing?"
It's 8pm on a Thursday
and when I get back from the store
I see her again through the window
and she's smiling.
the celebrated sailing frog
from Montgomery County
went a court'n, or so the tale iz toad
to a grand ole mansion built around 1910,
and e'en 'pon
being razed ~2012 ah no dummy
sea worthiness still plainly showed,
twas February 28th, 1968,
when my father
bought the house at 324 Level Road
majority deuce score plus nineteen years,
rush back with unfettered exuberant zeal
this aging elf spent psalm tranquil
May days sung sotto voce
atop memorialized, prized,
shingled out, ship-shape valued,
venerated, vip voted faux vulgar demesne
"Glen Elm" named private
100+ acre wooded common weal
many a pitch perfect spring day
found yours truly
frankly basking atop spacious roof
oft times begging the cosmic force
irrationally lyft ting this Earthlinked bing,
this uber dreamer
willingly taken with "poof"
(magic amazing dragons)
presuming my absence,
would not be missed and whereabouts
no cause for alarm,
but usual antics of contemplative goof
ball, and aware
a minor for hair (Sunkist) gold
Helios innocently beckoned,
this then sole Sol tanned
within the solar raised fold
surrendering while atop
the multi acred roof where any cold
melted away, whence became bathed
like a bronze statue of auld.
zip pose zing the weather forecast
donned wafted air
fragrant with flowered flora
visibility for miles
if ether crystal clear,
this high da way countless yards
off the ground presented flare
approximating pristine floral display
with powerfully poignant immunity
against cackling, jeering, scowling,
Zip pose zing the weather forecast
donned wafted air
fragrant with flowered flora
visibility for miles
if ether crystal clear,
this high da way countless yards
off the ground presented flare
approximating pristine floral display
with powerfully poignant immunity
against cackling, jeering, scowling,
parents or other nemesis with glare
ring (smoke emitting nostrils),
an idyll escape for this heir
to the throne of the mountain king,
(lion share of original tract
kept by Donald Neilson empire)
this make believe verdant submerged lair
unwittingly left a gaping hole,
when Gambone Brothers
industrial machinery voraciously
made clean sweep,
without a trace of former imp pier
real resilient stately structured heart
of "Glen Elm" could no longer rear
the well built “grand Etta face dame”
helplessly, holistically humbly
brought to her knees (gory detail aye will spare),
nonetheless more than one pearl jammed shaped tear
trickled down chafed
sad reddened cheeks,
whose head must veer
away asper thine subsequently
blotted out never never never land
eclipsed by transient rubble,
thence vinyl city (dis) graced sacred space,
no doubt a great ache,
when Saint Nick sought
sought in vain for
324 Templed throne everywhere!
It seems that saucy little girls are rather smitten,
By the playful antics of a cuddly, furry kitten!
Whether she teases it with a tantalizing feather,
Or when they take their afternoon tea together!
The long-suffering kitty must find it hard to understand,
Why it must submit to her every mortifying demand,
'Specially when she places a silly bonnet upon its head!
(It would much prefer that she'd scratch its ears instead!)
She dresses it in a frilly frock and parades it in her pram,
Swaddled in fancy blankets. Oh, what a ridiculous sham!
Most humiliating of all is seeing the inscrutable smirks,
And hearing the catty jibes of alley cats - those ordinary jerks!
She insists that it take tea with a bib tucked 'neath its chin.
For table-mates a chatty doll and scowling bear to its chagrin!
It patiently waits for its bowl of milk to be properly served.
It abhors the many social graces that must be observed!
Though it suffers through the little girl's many dreadful schemes,
It loves to snuggle among her golden curls as she dreams.
It softly purrs in her ear as its little friend goes to sleep,
Making sure that she is safe - only then does it fall asleep!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
With shining eyes, the prettiest
advances leading all the rest.
She skips with glee beneath blue skies,
the prettiest with shining eyes.
The second, with a warming smile,
comes dressed in lace, and all the while
she lithely romps beneath the sun
with warming smile, the second one.
And woebegone, the daughter third,
walks, scowling, speaking not a word.
She trudges slowly on and on -
the daughter third and woebegone.
Now comes along a steadfast son
whose sauntering seems never done.
He perseveres though winds be strong.
A steadfast son now comes along.
The second boy along the trail
has charity, which does not fail.
He renders aid and brings sweet joy
along the trail, the second boy.
Another son, now onward pressed,
endures although fatigued and stressed.
He's labored much and cannot run,
now onward pressed, another son.
At course's end, a daughter fair
who rests - lets down her golden hair.
Most cheerful, tender, gracious friend,
the daughter at the course's end.
Inspired by the nursery rhyme "Monday's Child"