Long Stubby Poems
Long Stubby Poems. Below are the most popular long Stubby by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stubby poems by poem length and keyword.
Angry voices from the kitchen
Trading bitter accusations,
The sound of a palm hitting face,
Endless hateful exclamations.
I held you tight against my chest,
You felt the pain I tried to hide,
My tears that soaked your small brown head
Have left some stains that now have dried.
When there was none to cling on to,
I held on to your stubby hands,
As I--to drown the guilt and shame--
I drifted off to distant lands.
Somehow though I was young and frail,
Afraid, alone, and not so wise
I found some comfort and some strength
When I looked in your button eyes.
In that dark corner long ago
When sun, moon, stars all lost their shine
It was so cold but you gave warmth,
Your knitted body pressed with mine.
Among 2nd Place More Than A Soft Toy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
.
thick
torso tuh
hip's limb'z walk's
excitable
digits
first
hern eyne
thence
hern digits
fromg
"1
2
3"
'to
hern point
"u
and
I"
hern chasez mine
with hern
up on all 10
stubby
purty
dactylez
yesss
i look'd back
yup
((hack
hack))
ballerina cute
okay
i ran
tap
Backyard dandelions
have parachuted upwards,
on heavenly breezes.
The mower gave them a kick-start,
then they ascended; some to tickle
ears and noses.
Ride along garden cowboy,
your straw fieldhands hat,
is full of sunny sweat.
Old black dog
long past its time,
jiggles its hairy hind -
a hot tamale wagging the sky.
Small town
brown rabbits scoot the air.
Honeybunch arrives with cold beer.
Soon the gas guzzler
will dawdle, decide to die happy,
its clattering engine
between khaki shorts
sputters
upon a stubby green.
Orbiting Sol
dandelion children
return
loaded with raindrops
to wet the whiskers
of a fat tabby cat.
Now where did lumpkins go?
Under the hedgerow
feline gums yawn wide.
…or Hey! Who you callin' fat?
There is no subterfuge
In the hippopotamus,
She's just naturally huge
From top to bottomus*.
She loves the rivers more than lands,
On stubby little legs she stands
And grazes 'cause she has no hands.
For losing pounds she has no plans,
Such as Jenny Craig or rubber bands.
Obesity for her's no plight,
To be big and beautiful is her right,
So about her weight, she's not uptight,
Nor loses any sleep at night.
Some say she's rude and impolite,
But she just takes another bite
And says, "So whattamus!"
*My thanks to the Cowardly Lion from "The Wizard of Oz".
Oh thee! Of feathered frock
Bird of paradise – you are not
For you wobble when you walk
And gobble – gobble - while you talk
Oh thee! Of stubby legs
Neck hanging in a bag
Of skin that sags and sags
How can you face another day?
Oh thee! With girth rotund
With wings of nearly none
Your flight is but a funny run
Some chase you just for fun
Oh thee! Of feathered frock
Bird of paradise - you are not
As you lie on chopping block
Ending up in cooking pot.
But come Thanksgiving Day-
Everyone will gladly say
You are by far - the finest bird
That God has ever made.
Inspired by: Donna Golden’s contest: Tribute to the turkey
2nd Place
He's tiny
barely one inch long,
stubby tail
too short to grab or hold.
Glossy black ebony fur
so thick and full
reflected in the rays of sun
too brief to be seen.
He's fast and quick
slithering between the stones
appearing in the hidden crevices
then gone.
The seeds are set
clustered in a dish
prepped for bird, squirrel or chipmunk
but from the earth below he rises.
Rippled fur to find a place
taking seed hurriedly
just one or two
then disappears.
Beneath the stones somewhere
below the piled branches
in between the scattered leaved
he slips into a burrowed home.
There lies piles of sequestered seed
stored dry, ready and safe
for the cold winter ahead
the stockpile haven
of a tiny shrew.
Why can’t I sting like the rest of them?
Fly high in the air with the best of them?
Why am I so small and chubby?
Hairy all over, and my wings terribly stubby?
I wish I was a different kind of bee,
I tried aiming for the hive one day, and flew right into a tree.
I gave my best effort at buzzing around….
I must’ve annoyed the keeper to the fullest,
Cause he slapped me to the ground.
My friends all used to tease me,
They called me “fuzzy wuzzy.”
They’d all fly around me laughing,
And yell out “buzzy buzzy!!”
I hated that!
When I flew in the air, I’d always stumble….
Couldn’t keep pollen in my grasp, because I would always fumble.
As time grew by, I became more and more fussy.
I felt my life sucked….
I couldn’t fly high….
I didn’t buzz very loud,
And I was always told “shoo! Shoo!” when I flew through a crowd.
So until that day comes, and I can smile with glee,
I guess I will remain what I am right now….
One fussy bumble bee.
Flying from flower to flower….
With a small bit of power.
Still going straight into that big tree…
I’m one fussy bumble bee….
I am hiding in my bedroom, scared to death because my pajamas are not new.
I dare not put down my soup bowl because Bowl Licker will grab it up for stew.
I can feel him hiding under my bed, ready to grab it so I keep it beside me.
Christmas is scary, for I expect to see Christmas Cat under the tree.
Father Christmases, I say, in my most apologetic voice, hoping they all hear.
I can feel your presence, and apologize I could not get new pajamas this year.
I can hear Sausage-Swiper in the rafters, and he is free to eat all of my meat.
But keep Gryla away from us if you could, for I have had naughty little feet.
I can hear Stubby and Spoon Licker in the kitchen, slurping on our food.
They are teasing and laughing, truly in a funny Icelandic hilarious mood.
Gluggagaegir is at the window, peeping at me to open it up; he has a pup.
I dive under grandma’s homemade quilt, and cover my whole body up.
Christmas in other places might be happy, exciting, and a little bit tame.
In Iceland, we have thirteen Yule lads. Each has his own specialty fame.
If we are good, we can get candy from Skyr-Gobbler and his brothers.
But if we are bad, we can get boiled alive by Gryla. Just ask our mothers.
it’s exasperating and makes my stomach churn
there’s a brand new prejudice at every turn
looking at others out of the corner of our eye
all this nitpicking to try and find fault on the fly
this pointless bickering has been going on for years
people with floppy ears or those with itty bitty ears
people with purple hair or those with locks of green
people who dress up or those who wait for halloween
people who are on their guard or those who feel and touch
people who hardly talk or those who chat too much
people who talk with an accent or those who laugh funny
people who like their tea with lemon or those who prefer honey
people who wear profuse makeup or those whose noses glow
people who speed along or those who drive too slow
people who walk on stilts or those sporting stubby legs
people who skip breakfast or those who throw ketchup on their eggs
people who dive foolhardy or those that do a bellyflop
so yes ~ we’re all different, when’s this bickering all going to stop
AP: 3rd place 2021
(Froggy)
His big crooked smile; the bump on his nose;
His extra large feet with short stubby toes.
Eyes sort of popping beneath eyebrows bushy;
A spare tire middle with such a small tushy!
His loud guitar music; his funny guffaw;
His love poems so cheesy that fill her with awe;
His spending too much to save any money
Because he likes always pleasing his honey.
More froggy than prince, and odder than odd,
But that’s what she loves; he’s perfectly flawed.
(The Prince)
His brilliant white teeth; the cleft in his chin;
The beautiful body; the unblemished skin.
His elegant style; his baby blue eyes,
Manicured nails, costly suits and nice ties.
His house and his Benz; his deep golden tan:
All proof he’s a go-getting clever young man.
The many smart things to the right people said;
His time at the office so he’ll get ahead.
So seemingly flawless he just can’t see why
His girlfriend ran off with that flawed froggy guy!
For SKAT!