Long Specimen Poems
Long Specimen Poems. Below are the most popular long Specimen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Specimen poems by poem length and keyword.
Come here you little Tinca
Come here towards my net
Come here you little Tinca
You're a new PB I bet.
Ive fed you worms and maggots
Caught Roach and Bream its true
But as nice as it is to catch them
I came here to try and catch you.
My rod is near bent double
The line it sings with stretch
You pull towards the Lillies
To snap me off I bet?
So come here you great big Tinca
Don't drag me in the Reeds
My heart it wont stop pounding
Your weight I'm sure exceeds
The target that I set for you
Visions flashing through my mind.
13 pound 7 ounce female specimen
Please pass it oh be so kind.
Come here you Massive Tinca
My rods begun to creak
My arms are oh so tired
They ache and feel so weak
Come here you enormous Tinca
My net is now not far
Oh damn where is my camera
Aarrgh I left it in the Car!
Come here you behemoth Monster!
I cant see you in this dark
The Net it slides beneath you!
Ohhh Damn its a flippin CARP!
Hehh Hehh
Written and composed by Mark Longson (c) 2018
Life has many ups and downs
Personally more ups than downs
A happy long life with many more years
A bunch more smiles than frowns
Surely one of the fortunate ones
The genes were a very huge factor
Ten kids and us at a baseball game
In the bleachers, we had our own sector
Nine were girls and then li'l ole me
The talk of our little old burg
The Ellison's have finally produced a boy
Biggest news our town had heard
Dancing in the streets, parties all night
A celebrity at a tender young age
Predicted to be spoiled with all those girls
To fawn over this sweet wee babe
Turned out sweet, a stunning specimen
Can still bring it at seventy-eight!
It's getting tougher and tougher, though
Can't handle any more on my plate!
Well that's my life in a nutshell, my friends
Unique I guess you could say
In this day and age of smaller families
Our story is rare nowadays
© Jack Ellison 2013
Knock, knock, let me in.
Tell your tale. Please begin.
My name is Barley Methedrine.
Oh no, Barley Methedrine, it's not.
Your name is Sorghum Apricot.
You put too much import in a name.
In the grand scheme, it's all the same.
Tell me what it is you do.
I'm chief superintendent of the zoo.
Oh no, you play drums, and study law,
and your name is Winston Panama.
True, but that was in my other life.
In this one, I play clarinet and fife,
and I must ask you to get into the sack.
A spiny anteater I lack.
That's the first thing you must do.
You'll be a fine specimen for my zoo.
Mother's Day Tribute
To Mother
Things are complicated, and I’m frustrated
And gag to hear you say with parental authority,
“When you’re older, you’ll understand better!”
Well, that’s a long way into the future, and I’m present here and now,
So spare me the lecture and tell me something important,
Like why am I not pretty like Jilly or smart like Brent?
Why are you always so naïve and treat me like a baby?
Like when I ask questions that don’t sound silly to me.
I have feelings, so quit being mean by talking down to me.
Just because I’m dependent on you for everything,
I will grow up and act more adultish, so give me space
Because I still want to play and pretend with children my age.
I know more than you think, and just because I don’t express myself
Or fret over realistics that are trivialities to me of everyday living,
I’m still a part of this household and not just a piece of furniture.
Love me because I love you, but sometimes you overdo
The love bit too much, which makes me blue
And causes me to say hurtful things that I regret later;
I am a work in progress.
***
Ode to Mother
My mother was dear to me.
She is my guardian angel.
When I dreamed, she always believed;
And when I failed, she was sorely anguished.
The life she bore in labour began,
If not for the love of God,
And came together in her womb.
Then, months later, that baby entered the world.
Whole, a physical specimen,
Completely formed with heart and soul.
A miracle from our Saviour,
Dependent on her for everything;
And by grace, she raised the babe to maturity
To become the person, you see, that is me.
***
Note:
“Mother’s Day” is celebrated on the second Sunday in May. It was created by Anna Jarvis (1864–1948) in 1908, and in 1914, President Woodrow Wilson officially proclaimed Mother’s Day a national U.S. holiday. In Canada, Mother’s Day is not a holiday, but a day of observance.
Soundlessly ricochet to and fro
hither and yon
roundly bobbing within squarely donned
talking heads of psycho killers,
one pyromaniac burning
down the crowded house
sparking magnificent conflagration
towering inferno emulating
caterwauling, kickstarting, ululating
(think) stray cats on a hot tin roof
nsync with 10,000 maniacs
intense heat and duraflame
long since eroding
weather beaten soul asylum
strip mining away
vestial trace, hence impossible mission
rectifying purposeless existence
imputed to passive self sacrifice
upon cusp of prepubescence
mystified, mummified, modified,
stilled, lulled, andhushed
obsessively grammatically fanatical
oftimes feeble efforts yielded countless
corrective editing measures
subsequently rendering lame
resultant deplorable effort
despite NON GMO gluten
and monosodiumglutimate free
diet of (hooked) worms
limply tethered symbolic constructs
analogous to dangling participles
scraping, plowing, etching...
imperfect triangulated Hollywood squares
across parched stream of consciousness
former luscious cerebral riverbeds
long since bone dry
millennium since onset climate change
courtesy global warming
blowing in the hot torpid wind
sands of time elapsed
accepted biological demise
forever linkedin with his forebears
birth/death repurposed cycle
activated, demonstrated, gifted...
integration, narration, reincarnation...
biochemical, geological, paleontological...
legacy randomly begetting me
epochal, integral, orbital saga
since time immemorial
fifty plus shades of once ashen gray
well muscled athletic human specimen
oblivious corpse good n plenti
petrified, metamorphosed, coalesced
bleached skull and crossbones
grown brittle when blazing sun's
rays generated aforementioned disparate ideas
jangled, rankled, and zapped
in tandem with bared tiger (no lion)
slapdash pell mell, helter
skelter, higglety pigglety...
germane blitzkrieg rained down above
leaving writer, tortured, mortified, and benumbed
without either sense or sensibility
nor pride and prejudice
perusing discombobulated chaotic
kamikaze lobbed muddlesome nonsense.
On his twenty-fifth birthday, elated
He decided to go hunting.
He let the fresh air of the early morning
On the slope of a wooded hill, fill his lungs.
A small vale stretched beneath him,
Whilst behind the trees rose a small sheer cliff.
That was where he saw the golden oriole.
It was a beautiful specimen, all yellow.
Martin admired its graceful flight.
And the bird seemed to enjoy itself, too.
He observed it intently as it glided, soared, turned,
And flew happily over the old gnarled trees below.
Suddenly, a hellish black kestrel appeared in the sky.
It hovered above, eyes glinting, beak poised.
The oriole sensed it immediately.
Irrationally, it defied the bird of prey,
For it continued its fancy flight
Until the kestrel began its dive.
Then the oriole flew directly towards the cliff
And inexplicably disappeared.
It was the worst birthday of Martin’s life.
Patrolling the jungle, testosterone surging, muscles finely tuned
He stumbles upon Jane swimming naked, in an open lagoon
This handsome stallion stopped dead, beside waters edge
Me Tarzan, she just smiles, stepping out by thin hedge
Standing before her, beads of sweat glisten his well toned chest
Long mane of hair, ripped biceps, a specimen, alpha the best
Spellbound as she kisses, hush my baby just let it happen
Breathing heavily, in submission, Tarzan oozing passion
Dynamic forces at play, in virgin jungle, latency is being woken
Pheromones, endorphins, gushing rivers, packing implosions
Arboreal creatures gaze down, with perplexed trepidation
Positions below change, moans turn into exclamations
Her statuesque body, his athletic frame, create perfect recipes
Both out of control, relentless, inexorable pain, and ecstasy
OH-EE-OH-EE-OH-EE-AW-EE-AW, Tarzan roars exultation
My God you beast! says Jane, an indirect translation
Not finished only getting started, she too is insatiable for more,
Naked in the wilderness, aesthetic bodies, primed to explore
With a Herculean physique, Tarzan’s pulse keeps on giving
Jane meets halfway, this goddess takes every collision
So marathons ensue, flesh upon flesh, tugging pushing delight
Lusting thrusting each other to a standstill, going until night
Tarzan swings her home, a safari campsite nestles nearby
Same time place tomorrow, you got a rematch big boy.
OH-EE-OH-EE-OH-EE-AW-EE-AW, triumphs with joy
By
David kavanagh
MAKE LOVE NOT WAR
Grenpc5 and Slapkov7 had a huge intergalactic argument.
Grenpc5 wanted to take the four-legged animal as a specimen.
Slapkov7 argued that the two-legged were more unique, more intriguing.
On their planet almost all creatures had between six and eight legs.
By the time they figured it out, the potential specimens were gone.
The girl and her dog were safely inside their house, eating supper.
Neither aware how close they had been to being abducted.
They would have been encased in air bubbles.
Xendrendites by the thousands would have stared at them.
They would have been fed tasteless wafers.
The boy next door and his cat Gomor were not as lucky.
They disappeared from the face of the planet that night.
melancholic tidings—
optimism asystolic, now
fool’s paradise.
laconism stentorian
saline fluid agglomerating
“malignant” obfuscates,
formulates black stars.
fluttering, clouting
against ghostly pale tile.
aesculapian screams
circumnavigate weak cerebrum,
foxtrotting endlessly,
cold-blooded mockery.
serene bedrest
sinking linen counterpane.
morphing, suffocating
anaemic stature,
tasting like metal.
thrashing abnormal growth
actuate tunnels unending
i feel it.
i feel everything.
head encumbrance,
vessels strangulated,
blue skin a horror.
needle-punctured, scanned.
inhuman study. a specimen,
neglected medical non-priority.
fragile. no mind.
deteriorating. weaker.
sick. morningly.
please. help. ignored.
stained. vomit. pale.
monitor accelerating.
oxygen. chemotherapy.
please. help. me.
i. am. human.
bottom. medical. food. chain.
neglect. oxygen. oxygen.
oxygen. oxygen.
need. medicine.
nurses.
loud.
sonorous.
ringing.
light.
hunger. thirst. taste. smell. vision. touch. hearing.
taste. smell. vision. touch. hearing.
vision. touch. hearing.
touch. hearing.
dont. go.
hearing.
loud.
asystole.
I’m a unique specimen,
made of mescaline and ketamine.
And the last living resident,
of an intergalactic settlement.
Burnt to the ground,
by time travelling middlemen.
I came with the cannon,
aiming only to try and bury them.
And when I aim for their president,
I will not miss my friend.
Now I’ve done the job,
I will disappear again.
Like the last living remanence,
of a long forgotten culture.
Disappeared too quickly,
picked at by the vultures.
Bones into dust,
Picked up by the wind.
And we never knew the story,
cause we’re never taught a thing.
Meet the psychedelic poet,
trying to live stoic.
He’s earmarked for death,
and he doesn’t even know it.
I’ve met alcoholic authors,
with bongs in their hands.
Staring out of the windows,
cause they’re awfully prang.
I remember nights doing pipes,
but now my mind is sober.
But eternally restless,
seeking some final closure.
The makeshift king,
searching for the evidence.
I am seeking refuge
And my mind needs the medicine.
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