Long Slobbered Poems
Long Slobbered Poems. Below are the most popular long Slobbered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slobbered poems by poem length and keyword.
I feel cooped up with silly string in my hair.
I think introverts are an astral projection.
Winter is a balled up stocking.
Even with silly string strung up in me.
I take a crack at the astral plane under my bed.
I feel slobbered on when I order pizza for myself.
I feel cooped up with a few of these friends.
Attached like a bottle cap.
Popped it off and poured that old “how are you?” out onto the floor.
Being an introvert and my mind is unsound.
It’s like the mattress tag says something crazy but no one would read it anyway.
I talk with my left tooth splayed out.
I think introverts are an astral projection of extroverts.
We are only real because we are each other’s carpet fibers in the same crime scene.
Or maybe I’m just some awkward friend who dropped the last chicken wing and you hated me forever.
Great opportunities knock in that door
But I’m terrified to see masks on the floor
Everyone pick the pieces of their stains,
Dominantly horrible to see evil as it reigns.
I had a strange premonition when I saw things,
Greed and betrayal is the game that well clings.
To walk in a river where the current is too strong,
Wounds can be obvious as pain does prolong.
Drops of blood all over those years
This enormous saga take me to fears.
Innocence starts to reveal the untold.
An eye opener that will bring to unfold.
I have my sword but who shall I kill?
I’m in a battle without bunch of boor skill.
Don’t trust because it might be a trap.
Never see myself slobbered and slammed.
Paisley at my bosom, soft head tadpoles
Wrapped dependent, rest in trust cherubic
Teeth buds plump palms grip my knee, betrothal
Chatter germinates language sporadic
Gurgled contentment, vowel upswings strangle
Trance silence slumps little limbs from frantic
Pure rapture adoration fresh angle
Rock A Baby slobbered face romantic
Blossomed brood, clan, cluster, fan club gaggle
Toddle boldly confident beyond skill
Awe for mundane magnifies appraisal
Frustration annulled, infantile stun still
Sibling envy love wound rigid, rough rope
Petals inseperable open with hope
27th January
Childish desires
My only thought on love resembles this:
From such a distance I was nearly there,
I watched a couple strip each other bare.
They did a shot and shared a slobbered kiss,
and it was smooth and it went down like bliss.
He was the younger of the stumbling pair,
(she had a thing for youth, that saucy mare),
and twenty-seven drunk in thirty-six
conceives in thought a Marci’s likely fixed.
Besides of which, she didn’t seem to care,
and even arched her back to get him there -
to where the chromosomes of rum are mixed.
And so this couple, then, got shotgun hitched,
where he would drown like me, in a bone-dry ditch.
They watched as the tentacles of the atomic industry spread.
A mycelium growth along the coastline.
Ever nearing the land beloved of Nicholson, a uniqueness being devoured.
False hope and promise.
and like the swans on the flooded mine, buried their heads, feeding on the scraps.
As Bank Head and Kirksanton suffered they slobbered, selective blindness to the cruelty.
The weak of the clutch removed from the nest.
It was their job to protect, to highlight the injustice.
But ever on they went dredging the depths, ignoring those whose plates were being stripped clean to feed them.
Profitting on the misery of others.
Those who took their words as true, left helpless.
The community that the poet exalted, different, deceived, and forever divided.
Pioneers betrayed.
Windscale, Calder Hall built by them yet kept at distance to preserve our place.
The poets castle restored on the “Unnecessary suffering”
Norman turns.
The shame.
I once volunteered to babysit a dog; really, how hard could that be?
She looked at me with pitiful eyes, “Would you please watch my little puppy?”
“Sure”, I said, “I’d love to do it. Just bring him over tonight.”
“A little puppy”, is what she said, but that description didn’t fit him just right.
Only eight months old a puppy might be, that concept isn’t too hard,
But “little” isn’t an accurate word when describing a St. Bernard.
I didn’t slobber-proof myself or my things, didn’t know I had to do it,
My rain coat on and plastic coverings, was the only way I could get through it.
What he didn’t chew or eat right through he slobbered from bottom to top;
I chased him around with a leap and a bound; tracing every step with my new mop.
When she returned at the end of the week my apartment was quite the mess;
“Thank you so much, how can I repay you?” “Please, next time just loose my address!”
“What is it?” said Raisin. Rum said, “I don’t know,
Let’s find us a hill and watch that thing go.”
Walnut said, “Hold up; I’ve seen one of these,
It looks like a wheel, but it is, in fact, cheese.”
“It’s normally cut into portions to sell
Whoever mislaid it will be mad as hell.”
Rum said, “Are you saying this thing is food,
It don’t smell like something that I ever chewed.”
Raisin was tentative, sniffing it quick,
“Crikey, it’s putrid… I wanna be sick.”
Walnut said, “Mum and dad love it… I’m in.”
He bit off a chunk and bits stuck to his chin.
His eyes soon glazed over, and poor Walnut cringed
“That stuff really packs quite a punch,” Walnut whinged
He tried to suck cheese from his gums and he slobbered.
“Boy that stuff’s sticky, my taste buds are clobbered"”
A man in a chef’s hat and curled up moustache
Came up and bellowed, “C’est Mon fromage!”
Walnut said, “I think he’s after our cheese.”
And Rum said, “For heaven’s sake, give him it…PLEASE!”
The chef headed off with the cheese he’d mislaid
While Walnut was praying the bad taste would fade
Both Rum and Raisin had covered their noses
Rum said, “You sure ain’t a bouquet of roses.”
And so they walked home and at Raisin’s insistence
Walnut was made to walk at quite a distance
Rum said, “If anyone stands in our way,
Your foul, rotten-egg breath will keep them at bay.”
And so as they walked, ally cats let them be
A woodpecker squawked and fell out of a tree
A tree surgeon gagged and he might well have fled
But the branch he’d been sawing fell down on his head
A man on a bike steered it into a brook
Pedestrians went to help out or just look
They all jumped as one for the impulse was strong
The brook seemed a good place to hide from the pong
Once home, Walnut, Raisin and Rum had a doze
Then woke to the sound of their mum’s sniffy nose
She was knelt with her head in the washing machine…
“There’s rancid socks somewhere… the stench is obscene!”
His teeth were crooked, broken, mostly missing
When he spoke he slobbered while he was lisping
So the town gave him this nickname
Sad epitaph to his fateful fame
They say shame is our deepest sorrow
Those who have it, dread every tomorrow
He was homeless yet some let him in
A lonely, troubled fella with no known kin
Nothing ever worked as hard as he'd try
His head always down as he'd pass you by
Although he'd found Chrissy's lost kitten
Some in our town became quite smitten
He rushed in on the hardware store fire
In reward, he became the unofficial town crier
They found him one cold morning, so sad a farewell
All curled up in his street side stairwell
They said there was nothing anyone could do
Tragically, Bob's real story, nobody knew
This happens sometimes with people we see
But that doesn't mean it's the way it must be
Low battery mode.
Made of triangles bobbing around.
Like things in unusual water droplets.
The worst of knowing that everything is moving in a shuttering way.
Not a pretty “whoosh.”
Just a whoosh at the base of my jaw getting slobbered on.
I lost my keys.
I think I’m entombed.
Cascades.
Low battery mode.
Made of triangles flat, and unshaped.
Like things in boring water puddles making a mess etc.
Made of lost keys in my head.
Tragic.
Things made of kaleidoscopes made of scraps.
Made of my jaw, shutting down.
Low battery mode.
Pencils of all things.
I never found them.
So the camera panned over to someone else.
Unusual stuff.
She is the master
The commander
The monarch
She rules this room
She is the Queen
Her territory expanding
Out into the kitchen
Away to the closet
Conquering through
She shows no mercy
Jumping upon her foe
Striking quickly
Silencing opposition
Preparing for the fight
The beast shows itself
Glaring at her enemy
She bares her fangs
Draws her claws
Ready to strike
A sudden cry of dinner
She skirts past the beast
Her body slobbered on
She makes it to her bowl
The others are there
She ascends to her throne
Demanding her divine right
She lets out a battle cry
She bowls into them
A scream and a hiss
A clash of claw and tooth
A battle she will win
Attrition she won’t suffer
Beating her adversaries
She sits down to eat
After all, she is the Queen
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