Long Splitter Poems
Long Splitter Poems. Below are the most popular long Splitter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Splitter poems by poem length and keyword.
Lumpers gather, clump, fuse, combine and meld.
Splitters separate, divide and rupture.
The Lumper's huge nuclear fusion bomb
makes bigger bang by fusing hydrogen
than Splitter's uranium fission bomb.
So where do your allegiances lie?
Is it fusion or fission, lump or split?
Do you focus on the differences
or else, put similarities forward
when deciding how to pigeonhole things.
How do you group, class and codify friends?
Overgeneralizing is risky,
it ignores individuality.
But overs-splitting can be dicey too,
with far too much variation to grasp
and hold while you consider your options.
It is more about what's on the labels,
than the size of your hands, nets or boxes.
A polite rain
joined me briefly
before heading uptrail
to leave me standing, alone,
in a suddenly steaming forest.
I wrote this on a hike in the Adriondacks to to Mt Marcy, the highest mountain in New York State. My Adirondack Guide indicated that Tahawus was the a first Nation (Iroquois ??) name for the mountain and it meant “cloud-splitter.” I decried that the mountain is now named "Mt. Marcy"after William L. Marcy, who as Governor of New York (1833-1839), authorized the geological survey that explored the area. I speculated that this is why there is so little poetry in our time.
However, a later Wikipedia search revealed that the name was likely never used by the aboriginal peoples of the area to refer to the mountain, and its meaning, may have no roots in any language.
My bladder behaves through the night
Each morning my flow is just right....
But throughout the day
There is hell to pay
It's bursting; I cross my legs tight
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
Ladies and gentlemen please feel free to join in, send me your limericks by soup mail or in your comment as I will add them to the poem
In order to keep all my friends
I refrain from doing the bends
No trips to the loo
I hold in my poo
And strap on a pair of depends!
WRITTEN BY T S POETRY
10/10/19
Super Girl she had buns of steel
Clark wanted to make them a meal
He played them like a flute
Until she let out a toot
Then he couldn’t seal the deal!
Written by Richard Lamoureux
Half an hour since her last patter-pitter,
and she’s facing the next bladder-splitter.
If she runs or she leaps,
something critical seeps,
and you’d better stand back if she titters.
Written by Nina Parmenter
While driving I often need to pee
When bathrooms are miles away from me
I step harder on the gas
hoping my urge will soon pass
While speeding towards the nearest tree
When out golfing and ready to tee
I sometimes feel a strong urge to pee
with no bathrooms near by
I throw my golf club high
while I run to find the nearest tree
written by Tania Kitchin
From dawn till two I’m on that loo
Black lace ‘n silk won’t see me through
Need porous panties
Huge knicks; no scanties
In need of help ~ what should I do?
Written by Ann Gilmor
When I go out I hate to drink too much
Because I'll have to go potty and such
On a day I don't care,
It's plastic underwear
Lace with thick liner, to catch water rush
Written By Alexis Y
Urban jungle roosters,
born-again scarecrow,
to untutored city eyes,
tawny pipit stonewall nester,
jet black Inca dove bereft,
of dovetail on a croque monsieur,
idle bone grub crawl,
mother hen to sandy brown,
and velvet bill gazer,
from an nearby creak,
recent rural migrant now,
a tree house side kick,
chickadee a late date sitter,
on this air flock beaky natter,
or tweet between the ice float,
edgy grey day species wield,
their sprightly ruffled feathers,
as an orthopaedic surgeon,
and their spatula when scraping,
rancid bark off windmill elm trees,
gastric bugle trenchermen ahoy,
while ogling a fellow common redpoll,
oh these tummy rumble diners,
will zoom in on every gourmet,
tangled wire mesh feeder station.
round and round they’ll fly,
on zesty mission beetroot,
a cock-eyed scavenger‘s delight,
are they siblings of a noble order?
white tale mountain bluebirds swopping,
habitat for granite boundary habit,
off key off discordant choirboys,
six sided snow bird chorus,
ear splitter for tardy wakening,
they cheep religiously as if,
their only valid creed was,
window squinting prayer meets
Pedants fume helpless and seethe with rage,
But linguists surrender to the age,
Media always misuse
Commoners to confuse,
But rage not, time has turned a tired page.
______________________________________________________
It is the age of freedom, free for all. Words are used any which way. Grammar ultimately follows usage. Take epicentre. It may sound a bit grander than just centre, but it is used only in context of earth-quakes. But media prefer epicentre in all contexts— political, social, economic, any. Pedants and classicists and linguists may boil with rage. But dictionaries will ultimately capitulate and compromise. So, make no fuss, or you will be called doctrinaire, worse, obscurantist or obfuscator, or in the worst case a nit-picker hair-splitter. Alas, you thought you were a sophist and a scholar!
______________________________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |05.05.14 |
My current days are trails paved abhorrent
for I wail money twisted and time blistered
within knot plots I cannot get untwistered.
I live as a searcher of dollar measure flexers
and as an oh what should I do now perplexer.
Even toilet paper is a difficult gainer
when basic nutrition is not an obtainer.
Being a face washer, teeth flosser, hair brusher
and body cleaner upper are now strainers.
All intentions proper flare up money impaired
when one’s pennies add up to not even any.
How to be a life liver as a faith believer
when your scenes scream just be a quitter,
a truly properly decent sanity splitter?
When losing my job hard spun me money shun,
my question grinder also lost its answer finder.
Tonight, I’ll be a bread crumb eater and soup sipper
but tomorrow I may be a slipper wearing mess
roamer, a senseless out loud streaming press
and a restaurant trash can nonchalant searcher
who forgot her thoughts once held nothing worser.
... CayCay
August 22, 2019
So Instagram is a sham
Everyone seems smitten
With posts about a kitten
Or hosts who hate Britain
Or boasts so badly written
Toasts flam & are all bitten
Goddam is just like spam
Famalam use as a babysitter
Wham bam for any dimwitter
Won’t scram will be a big hitter
Instagram is just glam glitter
Oh please look at me vanity
Narcissist wheeze is insanity
Tease with another profanity
Disease crippling all humanity
Pedants on pews lives fritter
Algorithm queues like twitter
Bottom feeder ruse you critter
Needier travesty tapestry knitter
Greedier fuse lit & now shi*ter
Seedier impropriety just litter
Social media a society splitter
Notoriety trolls scrolls flitter
Anxiety but folks will still titter
Piety for botox you’ll be fitter
Ham it up cash cow AI lie spitter
Kowtow get no views so just bitter
Kapow a scam not some Ashram
Stop cropped photoshopped slop
They cram in a half baked pitta
Instagram is bust and just a sham
A pile of dead branches lay on the ground,
Once proud, now forgotten and dead.
I drag them, with the tractor, off the side of the hill,
And dump them by the side of the shed.
Then the chainsaw comes out, all sharpened and shined,
Filled with black oil and fuel.
Two hours of chopping into cylindrical blocks,
This chainsaws a perfect wood tool.
And the axe and the splitter come out for a play,
And my back is beginning to tire.
Finally I have a pile of splintered up logs,
All ready to light a warm fire.
Finally I relax, staring into these flames,
Hypnotised by their whimsical charm.
And I'm happy and free, just a little bit sore,
A winter's day on the family farm.
Have not thee raised thy ugly self
A killjoy upon life's shelf
So much that thou art truly known
By both the young and grown
Thy rays a burden to my face
Which bringeth forth no grace
To raise me up from peaceful rest
Thou inevitable night pest
For so long cease not I to wonder
Why thy twelve seem longer than your brother's
A curse art thou upon my head
To bid me farewell from my comfort bed
Thou bringest forth heavy heat and sweat
A burden to my cold peaceful earth
I like to dream and doth dream big
Of riches joy and peaceful hymn
But dou like a troubling pinkish pig
Crawls up the sky
to incomplete my dream
Grown have I to learn that I must lay
With one eye partially opened
Awaiting the curse that men call day
A mocker of my midnight bliss
Though I wrap me up a thousand times Avoiding me thy yellow shine
Yet ye travel still through countless miles
To disturb these sleepy eyes of mine
I hate thy intruding jealous hands
A splitter of lovers apart
I hate thy burning golden eye
A burning flame that melts my heart
Again I hate thy yellow rays
Bringing me boring endless days
If asked was I why hate me thee
I hate thee for killing my dreams ...
Shades of grey cascades on rainy days
Petrichor reigns after each pitter patter
Radiance of earthy fragrance does flatter
Teardrops down panes.. splitter splatter
Fades to whiffs chiding riffs spit scatter
Forever about weather they do natter
Seems the one thing that does matter
Flowers cowers at showers which batter
Tiffs as petal in fine fettle does shatter
Down trodden by a sodden mad hatter
Raised bed fed on shed drops clatter
Spoils for alluvial soils a pluvial platter
Some veg in tatters others seem fatter
Folks chitter chatter.. prefer the latter
Cumulus nimbus nimbly flitter & flutter
Sunrays grasp after a last gasp stutter
Sliding gliding riding wooden shutter
Rasp of uncouth din off a roof of tin
Staccato rinse & repeat beat does utter
Burgling drains & gurgling in the gutter
Huddles of puddles cuddle and splutter
Parched Earth’s skin softens like butter
Mother Nature's own homegrown nutter
Folks groan have to clear up soaked clutter
Mumble prone to moan but not a tut tutter
Mustn't grumble need the tumble they mutter