Long Snorting Poems
Long Snorting Poems. Below are the most popular long Snorting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snorting poems by poem length and keyword.
Talking heads are synchronized,
words are replicated like cloned sheep.
Dodging in and out of an unchanging static
I skip the beat.
Hey, something just flashed my drive!
Time to suspend a string of minutes
watching a black and white cowboy show,
there are no straight lines yet
just a suitably jumbled plot.
Snorting horses gallop off
before the radar scanner can blip onto
my disarray.
Great! Now the birds are all pulling together
and swim as one across a cloudless sky.
Every damn silver SUV looks the same.
I'm weaving in and out of lock-stepping soccer moms,
misfiring my way through
yet another replicant day.
I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.
I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.
It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning,
heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?
At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.
After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley
Medieval times
A time of splendour
With gallant Knights
Ladies so slender
Jousting tournaments
The ladies all squeal
Exploding of hoofs
The clash of steel
Enter the Black Knight
To a round of jeers
The White Knight enters
To resounding cheers
First pass no foul
They try it once more
The Knight in White
Slumps to the floor
They carry him off
And tend to his wounds
A Blue Knight appears
The ladies all swoon
The maidens favourite
Known far and wide
Lord Richard of Leeds
His lance by his side
They ready for battle
Shields are in place
Masks of armour
Covering their face
Towards each other
They gallop full speed
Lances held high
The snorting of steeds
The Black Knight falls
The hero wins out
Blue Knight celebrates
Victory in the joust
Approaching the King
Horse and rider bow
The people go wild
Allegiance they vow
Medieval times
Hail to the King
Jousting tournaments
What glory they bring
It’s again that time of the year
When words bandied are ‘Love’ ‘Romance’, and ‘My Dear’
Question popped is,
“Will you be my Valentine’?
No, nothing wrong in it
That’s fine
But to find ‘genuine’ love
And not to be scoffed
Take advice from…
No, no Love Guru
But someone who has gone through
The Valentine charade
That Love parade
Yep, someone like me
I assure you
No consultation fee
Both of you may think
‘We are made for each other’
But just look around brother
See the fun
Everyone’s under the same impression
So, don’t be fooled
By the Valentine feel
You need not paint the town red
On the contrary
Ensure your relationship is on an even keel
In case of incompatibility
Rid yourself quickly
Give her up for good
And don’t say, “If only I could”
If you follow this
You’ll be in ‘permanent’ bliss
Keeping yourself out of harm’s way
For example, let’s say
The snorting father
And the charging mother
If you be both judicious and bold
You are sure to hold
Your own-
Her skin
As well as your bone
Turn to someone else
Let your charm sell
See that your new partner oozes love
Addresses you as
‘My Dove’
Remains with you
Through thick and thin
Above the Valentine din
And before I close
Do you have any questions to pose?
I know what’s passing in your mind
You want to find
Whether it’s my ‘Valentine experience’ which speaks
If it is this
What you seek
Well, only the wearer knows
Where the shoe pinches
So, the matter that clinches
If for someone’s love
You don’t pine
You’d never write
Such silly lines
It's half past giggle time
Around these happy parts
It always begins with a silly grin
That's the way it usually starts
Then just like rolling thunder
Much laughter fills the air
Bunches of silly snortles are heard
With titterings here and there
Each one is quite unique
An individual kind of thing
Some uncontrollable snorting noises
At times embarrassing
There's young Harry from Hoboken
Who giggles like a wee girl
And that Nancy lady from Nantucket
Whose eyeballs swirl and twirl
There ain't no rhyme or reason
Why people chuckle so
So giggle away, my very good friends
That's the stuff! Way to go!
No matter existence (mine) lamely, mostly, and nearly spent...
I barely experienced
getting clothed (think fashion wise
as metaphorically swiftly tailored
harried styled mortal)
approaching naked truth
regarding life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness..,
nonetheless yours truly forever gropes
in the darkness of ignorance analogous
to imagined (envisioned) asymptote
demarcating experiential enlightenment
heading toward verity of righteousness,
yet never subtending arc of enlightenment.
Quite the contrary woebegotten mortal
forthwith struggling to acquire
consciousness raising awareness
approximating essential virtue
offset (er... rather severely deflected)
toward pitfall of vice
(comprising gamut of lurid temptations),
which default status
exerts overwhelming, overpowering, overemphasizing
draw (think powerful magnetic force).
I frankly, grievously, and honestly attest
predilection finds this hoary beastie boy
scarcely able to tread water swiftly rising
above his hairless fabby, & doughy chest,
where left and right man boobs delineate
miniature (albeit sagging) Mount Everest
quite obviously feeble human specimen
(farcical) gentleman quarterly not hottest
male within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
nor anywhere upon oblate spheroid, he jest
I kibitz re: absent good humor lie bull lest
stubbornly refusing to leave debauchery
rather remain holed up within rats nest
steeped in familiarization re: egg guarding
hen pecking (matt er fact) Harris sing pest,
where no spring chicken thwarts impossible
mission (mother clucker sabotages rooster)
offsetting opportunities to experience nirvana
quaffing electric koolaid acid test brew rest
assured (me not snorting while typing) test
ting out (lit Miss, really haint no chore), and
merely sounding out prospects to make vest
head interest for prosperous friendship with
brio, extra mayo, sauteed onions and zest.
It was after chores were done near the end of day.
In the fading light, the cowpoke rode away.
The ranch was far away as his horse rode up the hill.
A gust of strong wind came from what was once still.
With the setting of the sun, the sky became crepuscular.
What he witnessed next seemed quite peculiar.
This was something our friend could see with each eye:
A large herd of longhorns thundered across the sky.
These steers and heifers were those he never saw before.
After the first wave had passed, there were many more.
Their horns were black and shiny while their hooves were made of steel.
They had brands still on fire, and their hot breath he could feel.
A contingent of ghostly riders rode on horses close behind.
These specters he could see were not of the earthly kind.
They had gaunt faces, blurred eyes, and shirts soaked with sweat.
In pursuit of the spectral herd, they have not caught them yet.
The horses were snorting fire as the riders galloped by.
The fear inside of the man was elevating quite high.
The cowboy was close enough to hear the mournful cry
of the riders as they chased the herd across the sky.
As the ghosts were riding by, each one called out his name.
Dire advisory warnings were what each one would exclaim:
“You have been flagrantly dishonest and egregious in your life.
Continue on your course, and you will soon share our strife.
We are chasing the devil’s herd eternally across the sky.
You will be sharing our endless travails right after you die.
Cowboy, to avoid our fate, you must change your ways.
Live your life righteously for the remainder of your days.”
Inspired by the 1949 hit song "Riders in the Sky" by the late Vaughn Monroe
Sixty thousand pounds
One hundred sixty horses
Snorting like leviathan
On uncharted courses
Eleven feet of width
Thirty-two of reach
Tank-like tracks that crush the rock
With a metallic screech
Carving up the hillside
With the greatest ease
Playing toss with boulders
Plucking up huge trees
A tree that falls is heard
Some even make a sigh
A sound that makes me wince
I will not tell a lie
Progress can be brutal
On nature, we intrude
We like to make an entrance
Loud and brash and rude
I tell myself the openings
Make room for trees to grow
Or so I justify;
I’m pretty good, you know
Deftly flicking boulders
Smoothing out the dirt
Yard by yard he moves along
Master craft at work
It’s not for the timid
Or the faint of heart
Carving trails on mountainsides
Truly is an art
We’ve started every morning
Briefly, with a prayer
For Shawn and for his safety
And for God’s presence there
Hard to juxtapose
Stewardship, dominion:
The beauty there down in the vale,
Diesel-powered pinions
In time, the forest will forget
And cover up our scars
For now, I walk His wooded trail
At night, beneath His stars.
The sorting hat knew me well.
I had a pet Basilisk and knew where they all dwell.
I speak parcel tongue, but I do not like Malfoy
I am waiting, barely breathing.
The sorting hat is making all kinds of noise, like a raid
Spitting and snorting, I close my eyes, afraid of the result
You hate Malfoy? He screams, outing me in front of the hall.
Hufflepuff? Are you kidding? That was truly a stupid call.
Come back here! The sorting hat demanded, angry now.
I ran for my life, not eager to go back to that cow.
He chases through the hall while the rest of them cheer.
I go home to mama; maybe I will come back next year.
I adopt dainty etiquette
when quenching thirst or dining
to buzzfeed growling beast
inside me tummy.
The missus requests obedience
raising both my little fingers in the air
upon taking beverage or repast to lips.
Additionally, she also requires I
(well healed husband who toes the line)
perform dance shuffle - think clog
feigning to trip over feet
as if yours truly quaffed to much grog
while balancing atop log.
Miss iz manners re: lee the spouse
sets prime example being lady like,
what with her belching and snorting
of course with mouthful of food
no surprise she nurtured impolite brood
raised on learning language crude
even this Geico caveman exhibits
less coarse attitude,
he likens himself to subdued dude
trying his darnedest (golly gee)
to avoid family feud
general behavior hashtagged as rude
linkedin with antics qualified as lewd
encouraged nsync while
slurping or masticating in the nude,
whereby other body sounds made
unsuitable for strait laced and prude
folks who don't take a fancy hearing
so called uncouth soundclouds exude
out body orifices considered foul,
inapropos and extremely lewd
when unless quarantined in solitude.
One upside of COVID-19
postprandial aural emanations
(all time favorite flatulence)
knows no outward bounds
unless colorectal explosions
register highest magnitude
when measured in concert
with handy dandy
blues clues rattle seismometer
and register courtesy
Richter Scale and the Mercalli Scale
direction and intensity of earthquakes.
Upon experiencing aforementioned prime mate
i.e. the bellowing gal offering herself as ahem
(pardon the double entendre) master bait,
I knew from the get go
Tex-Mex Connection
in North Wales, Pennsylvania
where we shared our first date
(outsize bean burritos)
I tooted my own horn,
she unwittingly got me into checkmate,
just for that her fate got sealed,
when our respective gametes
(ova and sperm cells respectively)
new life we did miraculously create
the first of two female offspring
would become housed in utero
and come to resemble
a spheroid somewhat oblate
even now unnamed counterpart,
(and partner in crime) still swell person
hook hood benefit to lose some weight,
cuz... well adipose freight
quite ample around equator.