Long Stuck up Poems
Long Stuck up Poems. Below are the most popular long Stuck up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stuck up poems by poem length and keyword.
a soft humming sound filled the kitchen with pure good
workers were bringing in their loot in the middle of the hood
their offspring were learning to be sharers, not takers
the pot was filling up nicely with honeycomb by ardent makers
the queen sat on her throne, listening to the humming drones
she loved this feeling of superiority, as she wrote her glory poems
why does she get to sit? one small bee complained to his dad.
Shhh! The worker bee said sternly, not wanting her to feel bad.
the queen was oblivious, writing away on her beachfront missive.
A diva of royal breeding, these workers were invisible and dismissive.
Her feelings were all about herself, which means her novel was a bust.
She never gave the workers any credit at all, this stuck-up Queen LaCust.
Of course I drew a stick person
I was a stick person with a mere bush and spots
stick-to-it-ive-ness
ants crawling on sticks for monkeys
eeh-ahh-eeh-eeh-ahh
stick to your guns
this is a stick up
not stuck up
stick your stomach in
stick your butt out
stick to the facts
these are the facts
stick with me
and i will stick with you
stickers of hearts and unicorns
and stick those lighters up
higher stick them up
now, stonewall
and stone to death
stepping stones
stone cold look
stoney point
stoners
stone cold drunk
on pebble stones
heart of stone
wearing stonewashed leather jeans
sticky buns make for
sticky fingers
chakra stones
sweat lodge stones
sticks and stones may break my bones
but these are just my bones
and for the highly sensitive words can
surely hurt more
used to live in the sticks
with all the hicks
standing stonesin parrallel by Lorenna
mckennit
Let he without sin throw the first stone
rolling stones concert in the
90's
Ye-hoo!
women used to be stoned to death for adultry
stone temple pilots-core
stone sour come whatever may
an iowa band
Rosalena means stone
match sticks and birthstones
her thoughts always stick together
I/She is coherent!
Cherry could hardly contain her excitement.
Her busy brick office staff was hiring another apple today!
Plain sweet chocolate drop asked her if she had heard.
A selfish thought came into head, but she ignored it.
What if this apple was as proud and stuck up as the last one?
That might throw a wrench into her coherent plans.
I hear this kind of apple is rather tasteless, chocolate drop said.
What would she know? She barely had a bubble of experience.
Cherry offered to undertake the teaching of Apple upon his arrival.
He had a great ambiance, and seemed willing to listen to her commands.
She felt they could carry on a casual affair in the future,
Include chocolate drop? Why would they?
Charred wood and ash
stink, after fires
in Garigal high-country.
A single crow cries
road-side, on a black tree-post
guarding road kill –
a round brown wallaby
with feet stuck-up.
Ash covers ash:
grey dust lies still...
until rain drizzles sweet liquid,
wets dirt, licks seeds, nudges life.
Seeds swell, unfold,
lift leaves to prick the air :
grass-whiskers spring up.
Fat globes of summer-rain spill
between sandy soil-crumbs
where roots sip silver water.
One tomorrow, black-skinned scarred tree-trunks will sprout leafy chests,
and white cockatoos will screech graffiti over skies patched with clouds.
Once more, warm lips of wallabies will graze over green grasses,
nibbling: blessed again.
(This is a fictional poem)
I came home early one day and saw my wife in bed with another man.
I grabbed my shotgun and you should've saw how fast he ran.
I immediately got a divorce and married somebody new.
But I came home one day and found her in bed with that man too.
I threw him through the window and he got cut by the glass.
A big shard of it got stuck up his ass.
I married a third time and I caught her and that same man in bed.
I made my german shepherds attack him and I let my mule kick him in the head.
I reluctantly decided to marry wife number four.
But I caught her with the same man like the times I did before.
This man is someone I've always hated.
I had all I could take so I grabbed a knife and now he's been castrated.
Form:
If life’s a loan lent in good faith and trust,
Ye pay the debt with frivolous trinkets
Or wait till you are one with graveyard dust.
Destiny’s not one to forget the debts,
Help therefore distressed souls as if ye must,
Love those that lost out on their lifelong bets.
Share with those in wants with hope at your door,
Whenever pass by have-nots’ laid-bare huts,
You may not cross again this needy shore,
Remember, true help’s rendered, ifs nor buts,
To those stuck up at their life’s lower floor,
So, pay in one swell shot, no cautious putts.
Life’s lent gratuitous not, make good God’s trust
Here and now, ere done art thou to grave’s dust.
__________________________
Sonnet | 09.12.2004 | debt, life, loan, philosophy, trust
BEING LATE
Here we go, I’m late again, and I’m going to miss the bus
I won’t get to work on time, and there’ll be the usual fuss
The alarm forgot to ring, or else I pressed the snooze
A semi-conscious, sleepy state, I’m dazed and I’m confused
The water’s flippin’ freezing, I’ve got shampoo in my hair
The bathroom towel has disappeared and I’m dripping everywhere
I’ve cut myself whilst shaving, and it’s stinging really sore
Because I put on loads of aftershave, which brought me to the floor
I’m hopping round with one sock on, because I stubbed my toe
I fell and woke the wife up, and she told me where to go
I’m pulling on my jumper, now can things get any worse
My heads stuck up the armhole, it’s no wonder that I curse
I’ve stood on something sticky, it’s an aul discarded chew
I want to scream my head off, but I’d wake the child up too
My shoes are on the wrong feet, I can’t take it any more
My zip’s stuck on my underpants, as I stumble out the door
As I finally reach the bus stop, I discover I’ve no phone
I’ve also left my wallet, so I have to go back home
I say good morning to the missus, now she’s up and about
She asks me if I’m going to work, with my trousers inside out
So wake up and get out of bed, or you’ll be in a state
And that crazy morning ritual, which happens when you’re late
Nothing ever runs quite right, when you’re running late for work
So set the clock and don’t sleep in, or you’ll drive yourself berserk
"I saw some road kill on my way over," she said.
She had a horse laugh. "Just a dumb raccoon," she added.
I leapt over the sink and slapped her, hard.
Leaving my entire hand print on her cheek in pink.
Her prissy stuck-up lady face looked stunned.
She stood up, and ran off without any more incessant yapping.
My husband walked out of his man-cave just in time to
see her running flat out past the picture window, clutching her purse.
"Playing with the new neighbor?" He guessed.
I glared at him.
"The woman pushed her way in with a 'yoo hoo', She was not invited."
"She doesn't share your love for animals?" he guessed.
Oscar Opossum pushes open the cupboard doors under the sink, wanders out and chomps noisily from the dog bowl.
Sophie, our most spoiled cocker spaniel growls.
Reggie Raccoon runs over and slaps Sophie.
"Look what you are teaching them!"
My husband says to me, horrified.
"Reggie is a raccoon," I inform him. "She TAUGHT slapping to me!"
I doubt this nosy neighbor will be back,
Which is a perk because I truly and deeply
Like my woodland creatures much more than pushy humans.
Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again
Seems I just took down the lights and the tree
Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary
This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me
So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids
The old beat up station wagon I drive
On the hunt for this years perfect tree
We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive
As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm
Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs
With only twelve days left before Christmas
My Ho, Ho, Ho, is already long gone
Picking the best tree out within our budget
My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud
I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that
She'd rather not say with the little elves around
Before an argument even ensues
I've lost the battle before I hit the front line
You wonder how I'm so confident of that
The same thing happened last year at this time
As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy
While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes
I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head
Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose
Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor
I notice it leans bad to one side
Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem
The gas fumes kill my kids parakeet out right
With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays
I was able to purchase the product I need
Working late into the wee morning hours
I did a good job shellacking the parakeet
I'm not sure that my kids even noticed
Or brought up the question what for
But they sure like the shinny new ornament
Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before
Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas
As subconsciously I'm being led
To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie"
And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone?
A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect worldwide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with Braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day!
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today,
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician-style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it were cocaine,
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you
Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one
By: ME
5-25-14