Long Smacker Poems
Long Smacker Poems. Below are the most popular long Smacker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smacker poems by poem length and keyword.
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
Came my announcement one day.
I won't need the strength of a linebacker
to make my chosen profession pay.
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
Grasping them tight like in a vise.
Even the big ones, I'd call a 'wacker.'
I might have to squeeze those twice.
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
Those that are ripe enough for picking.
With every blow, I'd be the attacker,
getting all the sweet meat by pricking.
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
It's a job at which I'd excel.
I'd earn the title, 'Best Nut Smacker,'
when they shout, "That hurt like hell!!"
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
I'd be picky ‘bout the ones I'd choose.
No one would ever call me a 'hacker,'
for when I'm done, there'd never be a bruise.
*Thank you, Caren Krutsinger, for graciously agreeing to allow me the use of your title. We took different forks at the crossroad. ;-)
Charley my wheel horse says that Jim is a yack, always jawing now.
They are both scrunchers, they nearly swallow their teeth on chow.
Jim is unsalted, but not lazy or slow, although he has trail dust grime.
He always responds well to “all hands and the cook” and in good time.
When the Mexican vaquero joins us, there is back slapping sure.
That’s when the biscuit roller trades in biscuits for tortillas, pure.
A ballyhoo? I do not think so, Bar dog. Can I get a John barley corn?
I would like to drink the cattle drive off my spurs, until it be morn.
How much does it cost to stay in the dice house tonight?
Don’t want to be honey-fuggled, so no Kansas sheep dip, all right?
a fresh mail order cowboy just entered the saloon, of course.
Don’t want to be a nosy parker, but did he just dismount the iron horse?
Did you see where I put my gelding smacker? I sleep with it naturally.
I am no lapper, but I could go for another John Barley Corn from thee.
Texas cakewalk tomorrow? Hmmm I wish I could stay but I am dragg’n.
Say hello to my cousin Sam, he drives the county’s meat wagon.
I kind of like a good hang’n when there’s a well-deserved California collar.
Was they horse thieves or murderers or what? Hey give my horse a holler.
I thought I saw a Cottonwood blossom when I rode into this place.
But there was no hellaballoo, so I wondered if it was the case.
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream out bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without any mercy
You attempt to defend against her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
© Jack Ellison 2015
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without mercy
You attempt to defend against her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
Tarry leather stuck a hat in an Eagle's feather and called it a smacker while it looked for the wise cracker. And the tarry leather came alive personified. But, it wiggled away while it was inside. And, though it died, oh, the experience to metamorphasize was so faded wise. This poem may come across as word salad but it's suppose to be more like the jabberwacky or more like my poem the jabbertalky. Thousands have read my poems but I still get beaded sweat across my brow. Yes, it must be so faded wise. And these words on a page are all it implies. I'm an artist of drama. Know man or woman I can see in sight. And to me that's faded wise.
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream out bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without any mercy
You attempt to defend 'gainst her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
© Jack Ellison 2015
A lady once called herself “Numbnuts”
Now that was totally uncalled for
The sweetest filly I've ever did know
Must chastise her, give her what for
Next time I see her, if I see her again
Gonna plant a big smacker on her lips
That'll teach her, this long lost filly
Also gonna grab her round the hips
Gonna squeeze her hard, not too hard
Till she yells, “I surrender, Jack”
Might let go but there's no guarantees
Still haven't lost my knack
So my sweet darling Lady Numbnuts
I'm eagerly awaiting the time
I'll once again plant a wonking big kiss
And feel that feeling sublime
© Jack Ellison 2014
In our maniacal world madness cosplay nativity.
When sanctuary is cynical take cyanide outside in
a synchronized social suicide.
Life at your disposal realize life is disposable.
Lacking eye warble, below-zero countertop marble.
Stumble over the five o'clock Hobble.
Humble, Crumpled up macro-cookie crumble.
Spade shovel buried down transient mumble.
Blood musk parfume; false whale entrails.
Innards inward into inferior interior design.
Set fire to the nativity scene, in our maniacal world
It'll still continue in laughing, surround sound loud.
It'll still narcissistically orbit around me.
Outstanding flavour; some forever ever-lasting long.
Ever-after ended up ending fantastic. God dammit.
Gob-smacker, toe tapper, boot-smacker.
Folded laundry lay on the nighttime pavement.
It'll still go.
In the Age of Spin.
It just happen.
No way, It just happen?
It just happen.
It go like it just happen.
It go how it just happen.
What happen?
It just happen.