Long Snore Poems
Long Snore Poems. Below are the most popular long Snore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snore poems by poem length and keyword.
Nutty grandpa president
is talking crazy uncle Donald again
His little Chucky thumbs
is tapping epithet tweet nonsense
Batty grandpa’s been
grumpily sucking
on the hate hot sauce bottle
stashed in his KKK closet
Now he’s sporting a Commander-in-Chief cap,
dressed in a wrinkled birthday suit
Churlish grandpa wanna blow the nuclear candles out
in his Oval padded room
He’s trying to smear his coconut-frosted
pejorative German chocolate cake
on every African looking face
Calling Doctor Strangelove and nurse Annie Wilkes Misery,
bad Grandpa is verbally pooping all over the place
His anti-social, mood swing meds
is scattered everywhere on the bed
Nutty grandpa prez
is a stable genius he says
But his schizophrenia behavior
is open and shut caged rage ... Jekyll and Hyde
Hannibal Lecter ... American Gothic suicide
Old Grandpa says
young women love him like Frankenstein’s bride
His paranoid soul
got a misogynist itch
in it’s nether parts
Curmudgeon grandpa claims he’s really rich,
and has an Ebenezer Scrooge heart
Nutty grandpa prez don’t like no immigrants
who came from where he ain’t
Straight jacket truth wraps him wrong,
he loves to swear that he’s no saint
Crazy grandpa just wanna roam the West Wing halls at night,
cursing at everybody left and right
His angry autocrat ticker just wanna be dictator loved
with family suck-up sniveling loyalty
Cuckoo grandpa flew his nest egg eyes over someone in the staff,
whose nurse Ratched mirror image greedy
Nutty grandpa president just got another person fired
for improper cleansing backside kissing
And the raucous din,
rising from the voter base-ment,
means it’s electoral shock therapy time again
So lock the border doors —
keep it dissent quiet, dum-dum
Czar grandpa prez don’t like all that democratic noise
Silence of the lambs,
that soothing lullaby hum
Is the sweet sound
that calms his Joker tweeting thumbs
Rest your rage, nutty grandpa prez:
Uneasily snore deeply,
wearing your Mad Hatter MAGA brim
(keep having more troubled, neo-Nazi policy dreams
of Making America Great Again)
As the White House hospice staff is issuing
M.A.S.H unpatriotic greetings
to Parallel reality refugees
seeking insane asylum ...
Welcome, to the Oval Sanatorium
You think you're Godzilla
but you're just a Gorilla,
that's what happens when you've got gonorrhea,
my skin colours vanilla
my skills are killa and real
you're run of the mill, a fail
can't you tell you didn't do well,
that Kartel manure smell
of Kountry music don't sell,
a wannabe that wants to be on X Factor
in a field riding a wrecked tractor,
tracks that no mind will capture,
you're no rapper, a can't act actor and no rhyme writer
with poor rhyming from your core
the fact is you naturally bore,
getting done by amateurs
that means s**t for sure and below my stature,
take a step back and see the big picture,
there's no record label coming for your signature,
you should turn around and head for the door
and not turn this battle rap into a war,
snore, pass out snore music,
20 years and there's still no use for it,
your rhymes are insignificant
your average skill's no different
stop thinking you're magnificent
and realise you're just a hunt.
Yet you think you're good,
umm missing a nail or screw
let's face facts your music is poo,
can you not make a beat with flow?
Your music makes me sit in a seat depressed and low
through ignorance your skill's seen no grow,
so excuse my rant but your music is pants,
professional status, you've got no clucking chance.
You're so unlikely to upstage my quickly written
lickety split thermonuclear lit quick wit
with whatever you pick
to pull out your bag of tricks
because I'll make it unstick
quicker than thumbs can click through your music,
making videos in which you go on the phone,
cliche prone, stereotype replica
look at ya forever inferior,
making out you've golden interior,
but Postman Pat out delivers letters
and is better with more under the hat
you've empty space where your brain sat,
writing rubbish, getting fat,
one year in I'm getting published
you skank like a grandad with one wish
you long to be served a contract,
take note of the situation
you've been rhyming for a generation,
and you'll never be a sensation,
just a symbol of humiliation,
........ cus Rosko thinks he's the dogs bollocks,
while the rest of us just think he's bollocks.
That's all bossco, that's all I have to country cartel you.
Over and out, they call me Sue.
The old man had finished raiding the garbage cans outside Tines' store,
A few crusts of bread and a bit of sausage, his belly screamed for more,
Walking away he shivered, as he hid the book from the wind and rain,
For it was the only thing left from his past that in his possession remained!
The church's centers for the homeless and downtrodden were crammed full,
So once more, the old man gave the large cardboard box a big pull,
And down it fell to cover the homeless gent to keep him warm at night,
While all around him people walked in apathy aware of his lonely plight!
They were too busy worrying about their lives, to take the time to care,
Or else the lust for power and money, had left them no time to share,
Governments had raised the tax and condemned the older shops,
And farmers had lost their farms and drought had destroyed the crops!
The old man opened the book and his rough and broken voice was heard,
He didn't need a light to read by, 'cause he had memorized every word,
Someone close beside him said, 'Could you speak that bit once more?'
'Cause the guy lying across from me on the papers, has a mighty loud snore!'
So the old man 'turned' back the page and read again from the start,
And his voice rose in pure joy as he recalled the words to heart,
And the tired and hungry men listened to the stories that he spoke,
They thought that maybe in their miserable lives there was a ray of hope!
The old man regaled them with stories of the cruel, the brave and the strong,
Of a king that ruled in power and greed while a boy soothed him in song,
He told of strange places were people toiled and royalty made them slaves,
Of the butchering of little babies and the Tyrant who laid them in their graves!
The old man stopped then suddenly and the others heard him speak,
'Are you sure it is me that you need?' 'Am I the one you seek?'
The men saw then a light coming from where there should be none,
And lifting the box, they searched, for the old man he was gone!
His threadbare coat was lying and on it was the old man's book,
And one of the men had a few matches, striking it they had a look,
The cover said, 'The Holy Bible', and one of the men began to read,
The others sat down to listen and the Sower planted more seeds!
©Jane Richer
Nov. 15/2007
Page 10
‘T wasn’t long before we nestled
In the belly of the beast
And we might not all have fit
If it wasn’t for some grease
Demetre was disturbed
By the prodding of a sword
So he said to Val discreetly
You’re not the only one who’s bored
There’s no time to horse around
Or for gaiety of sorts
Until we win this town
There’ll be no more water sports
I had to be very firm
For these men sure like to play
And focus on the reason
We were all crammed in this way
Achilles’ please stop shoving
There’s no room to give you more
And , Philo please wake up
For, I loath to hear you snore
The others on the beach
Have set sail, and left in mass
As I could see so very well
From a crack found in the ass
Page 11 You're Just Busting My Walls
Then just as we expected
The large Gates opened wide
And all those crazy Trojans
Came out, who were inside
Some looked upon my ass
With glee and adoration
While others sot to burn it down
Without investigation
Their highest Priest, now stepped forth
To speak the voice of reason
Don’t you see it is a "Horse"
A gift we should find pleasing
Still others shouted out, awful words
Not worth repeating
And our ass seem in some trouble
As their tempers started heating
It wasn’t long, till it began
The eclipse was right on time
It convinced the unbelievers
That my big ass was divine
They all bowed down to kiss it
It was a spectacle to see
And I’m glad I didn’t miss it
For it was, personal to me
Page 12
My men until this day
Claimed a tear, formed by my eye
And I quickly turned away
So they wouldn’t see me cry
But the moment didn’t last
As we found we were in motion
They tied ropes around my ass
And applied a slippery lotion
Now the wheels had proper grease
And the lines where taunt and tight
They started pulling on my ass
And were using all their might
We were really rolling now
As we headed for the gate
The men got so elated
That they hardly couldn’t wait
When we finally reached the gates
We had to stop a bit
Our structure was too tall
And this big ass, wouldn’t fit
But one of their members
A fricken genus, if I may
Said, lets tear down that portion
Of the wall that’s in the way
The Naughty Pen
She loves my naughty pen
Little wonder why her bunk shook
The last night I visited
Between the boards of her heart my verses are vast
Written with unspoken words
Littered with love language
Only her heart can decode
The naughty pen’s code
She loves my naughty pen
Because of its beautiful rhymes
The reverie of having my pen made her snore
As we snore
I swim through her imaginations
Exploring and emancipating her innermost
Conquering her doubts
Surpassing her body
Plowing the unknown
Building fences around her garden
She loves my naughty pen
And my pen love her I swear
But I hope she won’t stone my pen to death
For its naughtiness
Even if she does
My pen shall resurrect on the third day
Because no stone can kill true love
She kissed my naughty pen
Like a mother whose child needs lullaby
Caressing my innocent lips with her wet lips
As a baby pen, I cuddled between her two tender layers
Standing between her chest
The baby pen sucks her milk
Thus making her sobbed, saying; ‘crazy baby’
The sand hill stood straight, pleasure mixed with imagery
Dragging the night into an endless quest of possibilities…
Possibilities encoded with lyrics
I gave her my naughty pen the last night we met
Now, she is accusing the lyrics of my pen of being naughty
And yet, she is smiling all the way, asking for naughtier pen
Is it a crime to express my innermost feeling?
Is it a crime to build true imagery and fantasy?
Is it a crime that the mental state of my pen’s imagination is naughty?
Is it a crime that my pen loves her; and she loves my pen much more?
Much more because the frequencies of her heart beat is stronger than Rhythm FM
To my bosom friend
My naughty pen loves you
Stop acting shyness
Shyness is for the weak at heart
My pen is ready to go hungry for a century to proof this;
Ready to surmount Mount Everest for you;
Ready to blow you kisses when the night is dark and fear arises;
Ready to stand by you when the arrows of life rail at you;
Ready to cover you when the night is cold and cruel
Ready to make you feel like a woman
Ready to forgive and forgive, and forgive…
I love you….the naughty pen
Dedicated to Adeola Adenekan
Written by Awoh Kingsley
October 19th, 2012.
I dream of sleep,
Though when it turns dark,
I try shutting my lids,
But they’re stuck in park.
I seek out the fridge,
Pour milk in a pot.
Then scream out in pain,
Because it’s too hot.
I plop in a funk,
And dream about dreaming,
Which is hard to do
So soon after screaming.
There must be a way
To keep my eyes closed,
For good, through the night,
And not just a doze.
Oh yes, that is it!
I startle myself.
There’s a magical pill
Way back on the shelf.
My feet take their steps,
By two at a time.
An hours flown by,
I don’t have much time.
I yank the door open,
Stand on my toe tips.
Behind the eye-drops,
Under the Q-tips.
Lies a dusty bottle
For those who are tired.
But the date on the label,
Has long since expired.
I turn to the mirror,
My god what a hag.
There’s two bloodshot eyes
Half asleep in their bags.
Speaking of two,
A time so absurd.
My slipper just missed
The prompt cuckoo bird.
Oh sleep my old friend,
I start to pine.
Was that just a yawn,
Now THAT’S a good sign.
With an about-face,
I hurry ahead,
But tripped on my toe
Just short of the bed.
Oh lord why are you
Chastising me?
After righting myself
I saw it was three.
I lay on the mattress,
And there commenced,
To counting sheep,
But they stormed the fence.
There’s no need to panic
Just stay in position.
My muscles relax,
And start their twitching.
Yes finally
I start to snore,
But wake myself up
The clock displays four.
Could this be a dream,
Though I’m still awake?
I’m dreaming of sleep,
But sleep I don’t make.
Maybe I’m sleeping,
It’s a bona fide dream.
Oh what a relief
If you know what I mean.
So tranquil and peaceful,
Good to be alive.
I didn’t once quiver
When the clock struck 5.
My alarm goes to work,
And so does the rooster,
But noticed my feet
Sported only one slipper.
My god, this can’t
Be happening to me.
So I cried and cried
Myself to sleeeeeee…
Entered in Richard's Beginnings Matter contest. I recall being afraid to post this, similar to merging onto a highway for the first time during driver's ed class...but for both, couldn't have been any happier that I took that step.
I lie - what wife mine’d been saying (our solidarity betraying)
Was in fact much more dismaying: “Why have you not come before?
From our lives you’ve been absented – with your coming, I’m contented.”
Would I could have this prevented: wife her mother fawning o’er,
She (my wife) that harpy-banshee-gorgon hybrid fawning o’er,
Who’d maltreated us before.
I, a welcoming tone feigning, asked her, “How long are you deigning
To be with us, oh thou, mother of the woman I adore?”
Pondering on her length of staying, (I for brevity was praying),
She gave hope to me when saying, “For a week or two – no more.”
‘Twas less than I had feared, but still to me ‘twas rather more
Than I had been hoping for.
She in first son’s room decanted (he to younger son’s supplanted –
Neither happy with their roommateship), good night bid we Lenore.
We the fortnight did long-suffer – no cohabiting was rougher,
(Wanted I betimes to snuff her) – then after ten days and four,
Make up her mind to stay with us did Lenore the Yuletide for…
Then for New Year’s Day and more.
“Wife,” said I, “Your mother’s evil! – Chase she could from Hell the devil!
Tested she’s for months our mettle, and through patience mine she wore!
Our world ere she came was placid, love life ours, once firm,’s now flaccid,
Every word she speaks is acid, and walls tremble to her snore!”
Our kids ne’er come home ‘til bedtime. Our friends visit us no more.
I’ve born much – I’ll bear no more!”
Wife with me then started pleading that her mom more time was needing,
Back-and-forth ours nowhere leading. My decision ‘bout Lenore:
“It is high time she departed.” Yelled wife, “Don’t be so cold-hearted!”
Spewed I, “Do not get me started.” Downhill went from there e’en more.
Ultimatum wife me giving: patient be with mother or
Pack your bags and find the door.
Well, Lenore (as is befitting this Poe-poem), she still is sitting
On the sofa from Ikea, choosing torture hers du jour,
Her Hadean eyes e’er seeming to maliciously be scheming.
I my family dearer deeming, did not find my way to door.
And ‘til daisies up she’s pushing or the hills is headed for,
I find peace will nevermore.
Snoring bush pig
Relishing in reverie like a hog
Trudge on day-dreaming
Wandering beyond yonder
Think of no blunder in wonder-trance
Junking the Fourth Estate
Jumping at the Fifth Columnist Estate
The men in trance
Unsuspectingly saddled with the
Family’s mantle of leadership
Their eyelids basking to write
Their smiles determined to rite
Their yawn yawning to be tasked
Their heads rearing to go nodding
Like an Agama lizard
Their pen roaring with passion to
Dot nothing but ink
Their hands jostling to paste articles
As they took over
We dreamt of turn over
But they added nothing over
Except for our left over
Alas !!!!
We were all hoodwinked
They deluded us into something
Their leader gallivanting all over for nothing
In the mad rush for anything out of something
They foolishly lavish nothing
But Indolence of something
Vanishing into lethargy of nothing
Ink they could not dot
Meetings they organise not
Programmes became a thing of rot
September 24th Lecture of Late Layi Balogun
Our late Grand Patron went without a piece for lot
The family had survived
A silver jubilee this year
But with everybody in trance
Sleeping and snoring heavily
Soaring to nothing actually
When queried
They wink hush-hush eem-eem . . .
With a promise of something in vanity
What men are these?
For half a pen year
No child was born or adopted
Into the lovely family
For they slept snoring under
A tree called Fig
What men are these?
But . . .
May be . . .
But . . .
May be we should take solace
And console ourselves with courage
That those who sleep and snore
Can be woken up with water
And fire to figure out the unrepentant fig
We should for the last time
Live in another Paradise of illusion
That those that are in trance
Will wake up and refuse to die
It is only then
That a new family will be born
To restore the fading glory
Of the once glorious 25 years old JC family
The time is now!
The time is now!!
Now is the time!!!.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
Immediate Past President, Journalists’ Club,UI
For and on behalf of Past Presidents,Journalists’ Club,UI
Oct.2nd,2005
9.45am
Form:
In an irrevocable warp speed instant,
my head collided into the likeness of drying tar,
absorbing each horrid layer of concrete.
That pitch-black, tacky substance covered my body,
so that I was trapped, sightless, into immobility.
With pounding pain, like a full force baseball bat swing
to the skull, like a head cold amplified myriad times,
my brain screamed for release
inside walls of perpetual pressure,
with nerve spasms massively extending
beyond the central blow.
The stench of blood-covered latex gloves
and hand sanitizer attempting to halt disease,
had me guessing that I was in a medical facility.
I could taste metal, as if I was becoming part machine,
conforming to constant monitor beeps.
Morphine drips slipped me into hallucinations,
or maybe just distressing dreams.
My opaque mind tingled for air, breath gasping
like an incessant snore, mouth slightly ajar.
I imagined drools somewhere, but felt no dampness.
Numbness soon overcame most pain,
setting me into a panic of possible lost limbs,
lost neck, lost head.
Dread of the unknown
cast me into a guarded sensation of
always falling, anticipating the jarring end.
Unable to scratch intermittent itches
or ask for assistance, I twitched inwardly,
trapped in a corridor of horrors,
with siren flashes passing through the darkness,
running for a door or window to open,
or if locked, to kick vigorously
through this mind prison.
There are no doors. There are no windows.
Only echoed pounding of
familiar voices floating
surrounded me.
I could smell my wife's Tea Rose perfume
upon approach, accompanied by
my three mostly grown daughters
with their authentic scent of home.
Some named friends and acquaintances
came at arbitrary times.
Some offered slurred words in somber tones.
Some were simply saturated in silence.
All were drenched with unspeakable grief.
Each loved one's screaming drop of saline
made me cry inside, but I doubt it seeped outwardly.
I longed to reach out to wipe away their liquid sorrow,
but my muscles were limp, each limb
like a redwood tree branch in stagnant air.
It'd been one of the most bizarre days; downright crazy
so I had a martini, maybe four, so things got kinda hazy
I fumbled in my wallet so I could pay my pricey bar tab
Friends thought I had too many, so they put me in a cab
I stumbled up the steps. It seems walking was a chore
Couldn't find my key, so I tried beating down the door
Her screeches of "Where the bloody hell have ya been?"
Pounded in my head, making me sorry that I'd come in.
She hissed, then off to the kitchen she foolishly prattled
With horrendous noises, pots and pans were being rattled
My head was sorely throbbing so I begged her to be quiet
She screamed, "Don't yell at me! Blame your liquid diet!"
She banged a bowl of something down on the table cloth.
I weaved my way to a chair as my mouth began to froth
Put my head in my hands when the room started spinning
Caught a glimpse of that evil woman. Yeah, she was grinning
A mound of muck she'd plunked down right in front of me
looked like it should still be swimming in the salty sea
It smelled vile and disgusting... nauseatingly atrocious
I gagged and turned away, that's when Liz became ferocious
I couldn't move an inch to find my way back to the couch
I was a brick, held by mortar. My wife was being a grouch
but I couldn't find the strength to flee. I felt far too dizzy
My turn to shout, "Can you just stop your naggin', Lizzie?"
I didn't mean to say it, and my words came out so slurred
My vision was fuzzy. Everything was clouded and blurred
Something was staring up at me while awful music played
That's when I saw green heads and grew appallingly afraid
Whether fantasy or reality, frogs had escaped from a pond
These were fugly creatures. From evil they'd been spawned
I was being serenaded by a quartet of deep croaking voices
So suffers the drunken man while his heartless wife rejoices
I crawled to bed when I couldn't take the harmony any more
Lizzie punched me and said, "Wake up if you're gonna snore."
I tripped down the stairs, woke the dog and made him bark
Left the wife and found a bench to sleep it off in the park