Long Screw loose Poems
Long Screw loose Poems. Below are the most popular long Screw loose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Screw loose poems by poem length and keyword.
Hundred million K' away neighbour, Mars
Hovers bolognese smeared brother, ice brick
Fondness for possibles although bizarre
Intoxicate screw loose hair brained psychic
Frog skin glint silk soak, last page of atlas
Frigid rift in regolith terracotta
Ancient alien sustaining chalice
Embalms escargot creatures exotic
Savant submerged in claiming lake, limbs grey
Gnawed on by hordes of sword fish ravenous
Haunting waters, explorer credere
Stores files in his spongy tissue camera
Angora cotton ball goats, horns antennas
Munch dust, dull marbles watch earth untether
Still the twentieth of October
Extra terrestrial Thursday
...What room is there for merit in
a bubble that’s so ruled by fear?
Any who dares have principles
will be out of work in a year,
the industry is designed to
give only the servile cheers,
tell me, is that the type of soul
you really want bending your ear?
And given how often these folks
go into and out of rehab,
and all the health problems they face
chasing the latest new age fad,
and all the infidelity,
the strings of marriages gone bad,
why would we think they know better?
Why imitate decadent cads?
And finally we should look at
the huge elephant in the room,
the behavior of the actors
that will lead to eternal doom,
the casting couch and actresses
who willingly sell the boom-boom
for bit parts in forgotten films,
their reward? Depression and gloom.
Worse than them are all the pedos,
the abuse at work in the town,
these actors all know about it,
they do nothing to tear it down,
when it comes to real cowardice
these behaviors must take the crown;
do they even think of these kids,
the damaged souls that they are now?
The Greeks and Romans saw actors
as little better than prostitutes,
and now, two thousand years later,
that pretty much remains the truth.
To take advice from such people
means you might just have a screw loose,
do not listen to the actors,
nothing they say is good for you.
We got really dumped on yesterday
Was hoping we would miss out on this one
But must remember, this is Canada!
The land of ice and snow and parkas and snow shoes
At least that's the general perception
We have electricity and runny water and even indoor toilets
And not only that, we have radio
However, the powers that be are promising TV before 2020
Okay okay, I'm exaggerating a wee bit
We just recently got indoor plumbing
Hmmm, strangely my tongue seems to be stuck firmly in my cheek
But we are a hearty bunch
On January 1st every year, some of our real hearty dudes
Take a dip in the Ottawa River
They're called the “Polar Bear Club”
I have a different name for them!!!!!
I call them the “Those That Have A Screw Loose Club”
They urgently need to seek psychiatric help
As backward as we are, we DO have medicare... yee haw!
So we can take all kinds of risks we wouldn't normally take
Like clomping down the middle of our major thoroughfares
Making sure we watch out for the occasional snowmobile
And wearing our stylish snowshoes and parkas
A hearty bunch we are!!!
© Jack Ellison 2014
She’s not right.
She has something wrong with her.
She has a screw loose.
She’s got problems.
What is wrong with him?
How do we fix that?
I am no doctor but….
Having several issues myself, I am
Hypersensitive to these kinds of
Statements.
Yet I hear them all the time.
Yesterday a substitute teacher called
Me, and I figured she was saying this
In front of the entire class, “I am calling
About Henrydexter. What is wrong with him?”
I was instantly ready to run down there
With my sword. When you have been the victim,
You recognize the bullies faster than others.
Written 11-30-2018 Contest: I of the Storm
Sponsor: Maureen McGreavy
*** Directions to Our House ***
To find our house, you first go
Carefully down the towering show
Of those puffed cloud stairs
Touched by golden sun-glows.
Proceed to pass the nearby hilltop’s forested grove,
Where you might glimpse the hidden homes
Of some remaining urban fox and deer.
Then, turn left and leaning your body slightly back,
Go halfway slowly down the steep hill —
Trying not to slide out of your shoes —
To the point when your balance starts to screw loose
And take another left to halt your fall. Then
Tip-toe cautiously ahead, dodging at least
Four kids running back to home base,
Chased by three dogs barking,
Watched by two toddlers in red wagons crying,
And a mailman in his white van parking
By our blooming pear tree, and trying
To stay out of the way…So, keeping all that
In your far sight,
Take fifty short steps more to arrive and be by
Our brown, wooden house
— Set between a row of others just like it —
Where a pair
Of mourning doves has chosen
Our roof fly over and perch on, devoutly cooing
To each other from every dawn til the groaning.
———————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 12/10/2022
Thanks be to God,,,
Anxious in Ancona (2)
The Doge has apportioned a fleet for his use,
but is proving an Indian giver.
A pope with a navy (and with a screw loose)
is no-one’s idea of chopped liver,
so Venice, delaying and playing obtuse,
is selling the pope down the river.
A Christian army, devoted to God,
is what Pius imagines he’s shaping,
but this one is riding distinctly rough-shod:
Ancona’s awash with the scrapings
of Europe: and here, where the Caesars once trod,
they are busily looting and raping.
There ain’t going to be any ardent crusade,
and Pius is dying, for certain.
They’ve all came to nothing, those plans that he laid,
and his project has gone for a burton.
To stop him from seeing his “army”, his aide
has fastened the litter’s gauze curtain.
He thought to have fought at the head of a host:
but reality isn’t like that.
We babble and squabble, we brag and we boast,
but our fantasies always fall flat.
Poor Pius was no Alexander. At most,
he was sort of an Anwar Sadat.
We curse our ill fortune and, wringing our hands,
we wail at our undeserved lot.
But is it so rare, as we formulate plans,
to end up with diddly squat?
If that’s how it goes with the Number One man,
what chance have the rest of us got?
You sat and looked at me as if,
I had lost my mind.
You told me I was crazy,
That I was unrefined.
The kind of life I offered
That you could not accept.
I think there’s just a few lines
That I may have overstepped.
You said I had a screw loose
That I was fruity as a bat.
You called me crazy as a loon
Delirious and erratic.
Deranged, demented, dingy daft.
Bonkers, crazed and cracked
Unbalanced, unglued, unhinged unzipped
Kooky, mad and whacked.
You said I was a lunatic
Psycho and berserk
Out of my freakin mind
A screwy, batty, jerk
You called me a screwball
A flaky no good fink
And I said babe tell me
What you really think.