Long Stuffed Poems
Long Stuffed Poems. Below are the most popular long Stuffed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stuffed poems by poem length and keyword.
Drifting aimlessly
I have sipped the ladled blades
in this cold chicken soup
Set upon a table of just deserts
on the far end of the horizon
Spoon fed disappointments
staining a multi-colored tie,
hated for what it’s worth
and only half as much for what it means
Navigating a narrow hallway
of slanted photographs, framed and fading
Dripping down papered walls,
torn designs, baseboard gatherings,
stopping only for locked doors,
weather worn carpets
burning my hands and knees
The spiral staircase teeters on its polished axis
as I weave my way towards the furthest star,
carbon copied desires on an unending page
rolled and stuffed in my shirt pocket, mapping
each pie slice step, counted and forgotten of
crusted blueberry footprints…crumbs
falling through celestial cracks,
drifting aimlessly
Two little girls stand dream by dream
unaware of what their feelings mean.
The instinct to laugh and play
often leads them inside on a Sunday
where two imaginations see spun
what innocence befits be done.
The long years go by so very slow
they're sure it takes forever to grow.
What should Barbie wear today?
Should she talk to Ken?
and
If they saw each other naked
would it be a sin?
Pretend cooking for little Mama
(her breast is just stuffed socks)
while acting Daddy reads and rocks.
Acting out their sure adult dreams,
they imitate life as it seems –
a wonderful grownup scene.
Innocently they play out future goals,
unaware of time's mark on such roles.
Byte size food begets best bedeviled egg head benefits
re: visited today April 12th, 2023
Way before aye knew
the name Fletcherism applied
family and friends even
Smetana's bartered bride
would (tongue in cheek) chide
tummy uncommonly
(recherché) atypical dyed
ded if the letter “y” one did elide
in the wool feeding
and/or slaking thirst guide
did precepts sans hungry
deaf eating beast impossible to hide
(the ferocious growling harassing imp -
armed to the figurative teeth ready to pounce
viz casus belli sans reeling off
a pseudo say id dish us vicious jeremiad
me, this unrepentant conscientious masticator,
who re: lied
on self control unbeknownst
to this pumpkin eater
(me not named Peter)
unwittingly followed
the basic tenet of Fletcherism - custom made
modus operandi vis a vis exercising okayed
mandibular metered (when famished),
eyes kept closed while tongue gently played
adhered to practice of eating small amounts,
which discipline stayed
engorging self, and as a result
(consuming sustenance
only when hungry avoiding
(wolfing like an instantaneous blitzkrieg flash)
found me aware visa vis master car ding
marginal increase in pounds meaning
thy body electric weighed
approximately for long stretches
to enable safe passage for sturdy brigs
when a habitue at one or another dining digs
stuffed nibbling on hors d'oeuvre figs
adequately satiating with with oomf
when contra dance caller Scott Higgs
announced "hands four," which signal
helped get my mojo back
and reel lee deuce home jigs,
which indeed kickstarted and syncopated,
oft times espying Bobby Riggs
who years gone back whiz Vic Tory huss
e'en when donning apparel of Whigs
like colluding trumpetting molecules
that via tiff Fanny doth zags and zigs.
Guy in Guantanamo
Catherine’s wheel spins round the revolution ever since that day her lover died
when both lost the plot and their passion and she cried her grief into Bedlam
Guy jumped to his death to avoid torture hanging in quarters and disembowelment
gonads stuffed into his mouth like hot chestnuts did not appeal much I suppose
He had been a sparkler cracker Jack out of that ordinary box a hero martyr terrorist
criminal but one woman’s arsonist is another one’s flame hot passion crusader of love
Same smoke screens for religion and dogma today with mouldy gunpowder exchanged
for suicide bombings and some misguided faith merely faithful to death and destruction
When lighting a bonne fire today and caught on the ‘right’ side of evil trading life for
collateral damage oiling power in the name of wheel’s fortune and hegemony’s axes
Medals glory decorations await the champion wielding drone’s buttons for the sake of
remote controlled ‘democracy’ but when found reading the Koran Guantanamo beckons
Legality outsourced to Caribbean delights with water music suited for rackets and rockets
of massive destruction and Monopoly played in the board rooms of walled streets where
Playing with fire one does not hear Catherine’s pleas to have mercy without victor’s justice
and as of today I still do not know whether we celebrate Guy’s death or his disorderly guts
Effigies sizzling on feu de joie do not sit well with my statutes and statues of liberty when
hypocrisy measures with double standards and when two wrongs surrender what’s right
15th November
Nothing this woman does surprises me.
The tip of my tongue still alive
with her taste; with salt
from the reservoir gathered
in passion and pondered by three sheepish freckles
left blushing near the small of her back. My wife
is cooking breakfast for dinner this evening:
The quick crack of shell meeting skillet.
The slow after-sizzle of raw egg
having slimed down the ladder through smoky air
to bubbly bacon grease waiting below.
The smell of it all.
Coffee
begins
to
drip.
Soon one fried egg.
Two strips of bacon.
Toasted wheat bread with slightly melted butter
and always sticky strawberry jam
cut corner to corner -
two perfectly compatible right-triangles
in a blonde smattering of crumbs
on the plain white circle before me.
There is a tall glass of orange juice to the right of
my plate.
My wife
is the coffee-drinker in our house.
Our five-year old daughter is off
in another room playing house with stuffed iguanas
and a sticker book.
Outside
on the garden
a hushed evening rain.
Purple petunias long past their fade. Purple to dust.
Her daughter’s red tricycle rusts.
Reading the Sunday funnies, my wife silently sips her coffee.
The house has long been silent
where ghosts rinse their wares.
All those painfull little memories
so neatly stuffed down inside,
Helped to build the wall around my heart
Where my soul chose to reside.
So many scars and battle wounds
Only God alone can see,
But these are things he destined my life to carry,
To build the character of me.
So today i am much stronger
than i ever thought that i would be,
And ive gathered some wisdom and some patience,
On the journey to be free.
I find im not hasty to get angry
And I think before i speak,
I stand my ground when i know im right
To show that im not weak.
People can love or hate me
I cant determine how they choose,
But i will not carry a grudge or hate,
Because my inner peace i just cant lose.
So if i seem withdrawn and choose
not to socialize,
Its because the only thing that matters
Is how God sees me in his eyes.
Sweltering hot stars melt the distant thoughts
With laughter and a twinkling gaze, flickering
Coloring the night in hues of tangerine and rose
Music whispering on the silhouettes of light
Reflected on calm, cool waters who flow clear
On the edge of forests stuffed with oak and pine
Poison ivy climbing the edges of shadows, kissing
Moonbeams with tender affection so warm and kind
Joy this divine reminds me why His love inspires me
To inscribe dreams ~ Poetic leaves, windswept
Free as His gift of grace
Hallelujah, Hallelujah… Joy screams through the silence
Lingering on the miracle of a feeling so real and rare
A feeling flushed with yearning and passionate promises
Nurturing the soul with a harvest of kindness and hope
Love that is His greatest gift, His embrace come down
To hug my soul with tears running like raindrops across
Petals and cheeks, painting a portrait of glorious faith
Through the darkness that intends to haunt the heart
Yet finds itself unable to resist the urgency of a dream
Dividing the senses into breathless sensations of beliefs
Gentling the wild desire of a curious young cub
Changing it to innocence which calms and soothes
Blends truth, wisdom, peace and honest prayer
To assure the heart of the gift
Unconditional love sent to remind us
We are His – Children of God
And He is living inside us
A guiding light
Hallelujah, Hallelujah … His gift of love is powerful
Mightier than the most violent tornado
Potent as the poison on a viper’s tongue
Vigorous and influential like the Creator
Who knows our hearts and souls, all our thoughts
Even down to the last breath or touch
And He knows we will eventually face Him
The One who knows us best and gives us mercy
Through the Holy Spirit who fights for us
Reminding us of the One who died for us
And continues to abide with us ~ Eternally
A part of us we need more than we need to breathe
He is the risen Savior and He is my everything!
I’ve watched him whither. He came to me a decade ago, stooped in pain. The fine-boned features of his face and the clarity of his Irish skin still holding on to a genetic predisposition to beauty. He was a small man, but in height only, the oceans filled his heart. For a decade, I held him upright. With the help of God, his shoulders, upon which Atlas stood, released their burden, pulled back from their curl about his core. Touch was a healing balm from the helter-skelter of his life. As my fingertips and palms, the heel of my hand explored his dis-ease; he thawed, not like a snowflake but a glacier. Decades of stuffed down regret, and remorse cajoled to release with no expected outcome but rest.
the clutter
of his life surrounds –
snow falls
Parts once strong: pride that flew, legs that skied, eyes that could take the measure of a man; now, rest every afternoon. There is no need now to mark the time. Still, he wears a watch, a Christmas gift from his love. The office lays footsteps from his backdoor. He feels they still need him.
his sailboat
sits wrapped in canvass –
winter wind’s blow
Liquid Imagination August 2014
THE POSTERITY OF RUDOLPH
‘Twas the night before Christmas and the reindeers played tricks.
The twinkling eyes of the posterity of Rudolph in a riotous mix.
There was the mooning of Santa Claus, his britches on the North Pole.
The elvish-boots tied together and stuffed with chalky bits of coal.
Children’s toys were strewn about the snow, having been blown
by giant straws and how those cookie crumbles must have flown.
Those uproarious Rudolph’s progenies doubled over with ice cold tears.
Meanwhile Santa’s in a snit, not at all jolly nor filled with holiday cheer.
Red noses, beeping and blaring, poking out, jumping, scaring
on this Winter-white night when the sled should be ready and raring
to leap to each home, slide down chimneys or their substitute holes
and put smiles on cherubic faces but for naughty reindeer out of control!
11/26/2018
The Night Before Poetry Contest/Joseph May
First Part: All I see are my toes!
A constant burning and stinging sensation under this weighted plaster cast has got me bedridden. The cast is made out of plaster and is white in color that is stuffed with gauze layered tightly with a bandage. This cast covers the severe damage from a fall a week ago that snapped my ankle bone into two like a bitter cold cucumber. I’m staring at this soft but firm cast that is unmoved and unshaken because I’m lying perfectly still waiting for it to heal. The gauze slowly is unraveling from the inside of the cast. And my toes!
Second Part: Leg Live Life to the Fullest!
Only three living toes peek out
From beneath the plaster my leg screams to be let out!
“Let me go!” wails my injured leg.
Sweat slithers out; whilst my leg struggles to stay afoot.
Waken thee leg and don’t succumb
Don’t be downtrodden, deaf, and dumb
And leg keep dancing to a new tune
And keep blessing yourself underneath the midnight moon!