Long Stunk Poems
Long Stunk Poems. Below are the most popular long Stunk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stunk poems by poem length and keyword.
THE CRYING WILD CREATURES.
Nzongi Mwero.
Oh, we recall the bygone times,
The days of the golden past,
That chirping with our merry mates,
Flying around the parks,
Gone the joys of the nests,
That freedom restrained,
Coming at our will in parks,
But hindered and chained in the parks.
Oh, we feel painted at our hearts when we recall,
The scene in the parks unsmiling,
No glistering dew drops from the trees,
All big trees were cut down,
We can’t forget that lovely shape of the parks,
That endearing our faces.
Oh, life was real nice in the vernal shade,
Oh, we miss the sweet voices of our brothers in the parks,
Would that we had the strength to break the predators,
What a bad luck have we?
Can we pine for another park?
Brothers let us think of the weapons and tactics,
That we could escape from poachers and predators.
My friend Antelope- You can use your speed in retreating,
You Tortoise- Use your shield or bomb shelter,
My friend Chameleon- You can use the camouflage,
You Porcupine- Please use your swords or bayonets,
My friend Snake- Use your poisoned knife,
You Stunk- Please Use your tear gas or poison gas,
My friend Octopus- Use your smoke screen,
You Electric Eel- Please Use your electric shock,
Then my friend Gecko- You can Use your diversionary tactics,
And finally me Elephant I will Use my tusks.
Everyone has a duty to perform his defensive way,
To deal with poachers and predators,
But still human beings have more brains,
They know how to trap us,
We plead those with good hearted to protect us.
Parks are our shelters,
Rivers are our shelters,
Oceans and lakes are our shelters,
Trees are our shelters,
The land is our shelters.
Oh, we beg you do not harm us,
You live on land- You live on land,
You drink water from the rivers –We live and drink that water,
You get medicine from trees- We live and eat those trees,
You collect foreign money from the parks- We live in the parks,
You use oceans and lakes to travel –We live in those waters.
Oh, we are all world creatures,
Why are you killing us for meat?
Why are you destroying the parks?
Why are you contaminating the waters?
Why are you cutting down trees?
Why are you burning the land we live?
Why are you hunting us for more money?
And already you are getting foreign money due to us,
Please stop hunting us or destroying our shelters.
Yesterday I had a beer
In a place that was near
Soft light and music filled
The sight of you left me thrilled
Your name I did not know
But oh I loved your body so
Thick but lean, muscled and tanned
What a fine specimen of a man
I sat and sipped and watched all night
At lips that promised sheer delight
Of arms that could capture me
Unbridled passion now set free
Your eyes blue grey with such depth
Languid lust that silently crept
Arousal concealed under shadow of lash
Upon Love's shore I yearned to crash
Someone said your name aloud
I heard it float through the crowd
Andrew they said your name to be
Randy Andy I hoped to me
Randy Andy with hair so fair
Magnetism that caused all to stare
A body made for hands to explore
Leaving me yearning and needing more
I decided to try and attract you
So up beside you to give you a view
For such was the ache inside off me
Begging loudly for you to set it free
You turned your head and found my eyes
As if you suddenly heard my cries
Reaching out you touched my hand
Lust's fire burned and did so expand
I was so focused on your sexy lips
As you gently moved your fingertips
Lost I was in your touch
I wanted you so very much
So imagine my shock when you spoke
In that high pitched little girl croak
I shook my head, I didn't believe
Your voice did so absolutely deceive
My beautiful sexy dream of a man
Had a voice as scratchy as a old tin can
Lust took off and went straight to bed
Reality quickly raced through my head
If that wasn't bad enough you see
Your breath stunk and your IQ was three
Within a minute I knew you were a Neanderthal
Clearly visible even through all the alcohol
It shook me from my dreamy reverie
What had I been thinking anyway
To fall for someone from afar
Is like wishing on a blessed star
For wishes rarely turn out to be
What you thought you wanted to see
So now I know the right thing to do
Look past the looks to the inside and true
Ah Randy Andy I thought you were the one
In you I saw the rising sun
But once it shone, I found the glare
Way to harsh to sit and stare
So now my search begins anew
To find love within my view
But I will always look deeper within
For someone to spend my years in sin
God asked Noah to build an ark
he was happy to oblige
but he wasn't so keen
when he found out
what had to go inside
Two of every animal
then you must set sail
the animals were fearful
the whale began to wail
Even the Gnu knew
this idea would surely falter
but every beast preferred this idea
than being led by nose to slaughter
Noah followed the order
from gnat to lion to horse
this was a recipe for Pandamonium
but Noah knew this of course
Seating plans were issued
but an almighty row took place
The lion the king of the jungle
argued that he was a special case
The Queen Bee wanted second billing
while the Emperor penguin demanded a throne
while the homing pigeon panicked
at not being able to find his way home
Nightime was the worst
sleep was beyond them all
with the woodpecker continually pecking
and the gloworm lighting up the hall
The doves tried to keep the peace
as all hell broke loose
while bets were taken on who had the longest face
the horse, anteater or moose
The pandas tried to be romantic
sleep deprivation made their eyes go black
the magpies kept stealing the others duvets
and the squirrels were nuts to turn back
The elephants said they'd never forget
and they wished they packed more in their trunk
while the terrible smell that stunk out the place
was eventually blamed on the skunk
The bears awoke with sore heads
they had drunk all their supplies in one night
while the hyenas found it hilarious
at their next door neighbours plight
The crows shouted blue murder
but the bats were blind to it all
the ravens were ignored by the masses
as all they said was 'never more'
The maggots agreed it was just rotten luck
to be stuck in this mobile zoo
and every time the peacock showed his feathers
it made the pigeones coo
The badgers were set in their ways
the sheep said their wool was a curse
while the spiders got a verbal warning
for using a sows ear to weave up a purse
Finally they found dry land
the hare raced out in the lead
while the tortoise said there was more to life
than doing everything at top speed
Noah was happy that the journey had ended
and this was the end of the road
but at least one species had enjoyed the trip
the rabbit population had increased ten fold!
In the saloon Tom, Jenna and Tania were talking about Christmas week
They wanted to spread some cheer for the good folks of Soup Creek
Tom thought Milton would make a good Santa and hoped he'd agree
Their meeting was rudely interrupted with sounds of a noisy melee.
They went outside and Ranger David was looking very bemused
In handcuffs was a scruffy individual who was looking very confused
And had mean beady eyes with long hair and a long unkempt beard
He was shouting obscenities waving his arms and acting very weird.
Just then Sherrif Koplin appeared and asked David what was wrong
David replied "I think he's on drugs or he's been in the sun too long
I was over by Calypso Canyon on patrol, when I came across him
He pulled a gun on me but it jammed, and said his name was Jim"
Sheriff Koplin said "he's scaring the kids we'd best get him inside
Then I'll telegraph Doctor Keller to come and get him certified
I'll put him in the jailhouse for his own safety and for ours too
Maybe he needs a spell in an asylum that's probably long overdue.
The overland stage arrived next morning, Doctor Keller had arrived
It had been a long sleepless night for the Sheriff but he'd survived
Because the unruly prisoner had shouted obscenities all night long
And for a man to behave in that way something was seriously wrong.
Dr Keller had brought an assistant along, who looked like an assassin
The doctor spoke briefly with the Sheriff then to the jail they went in
The docs assistant had a straightjacket and rope; tools of the trade
A crowd had gathered to listen to the racket that was being made.
They came out half an hour later with the patient who was now secure
But in the scuffle had badly soiled himself and stunk of fresh manure
Doctor Keller approached the towns people and he had this to say
"This poor wretched man is quite sick and we'll be taking him away"
The overland stage then arrived in town and all three climbed inside
A journey to Sacramento Asylum was about a five and a half hour ride
The driver shouted and cracked his whip and they were soon on their way
"Good riddance to you " said Sheriff Koplin "don't come back any day.
written on 22nd November 2022
The odor I get The more pungent I get, in a sense incensed but not fowl Not like a fishy can of sardonic or the stink emanating from the open sarcasm, more like, when in aroma Do as the Romans do Dude pulling rank, so do not be, so fusty Flatulent you know, just blowing wind You say, that discharge was a flagrant offense I say, facetious I did it for giggles I think it funny, while you thought it was absurd an obnoxious art You thought it stunk, while I thought it fragrant and pungent
>For twenty-one years I was an Inspector in the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, although it is more easy to say the RSPCA. A love of animals has never left me and of course who am I to deny them a few poems. This one I did forward to my old headquarters. Someone read it and thought it was, 'very good.' Praise indeed.
This is a poem story, about a cat named Thomas.
Thomas was a black cat, a full tom still yet.
As his flipping owner, took him not to a vet.
Thomas was a full tom, he had fights like that.
But his flipping owner, took him not to the vet.
In time he stunk the house out, as his scent he did spray.
As his flipping owner, took him not to the vet.
Always he did wander, fighting other cats galore.
Looking for a female, with whom he hoped to score.
As his flipping owner, took him not to the vet.
Then one day he returned home, tired and battle scarred.
But his flipping owner, took him not to the vet
He was so sick one day, a man in dark did call.
Thomas tried to run away, but was caught in the hall.
As his flipping owner, took him not to the vet.
Thomas was taken away, by someone from the RSPCA.
And that was when, I can say Thomas saw the vet that day.
Thomas was examined, his wounds were dressed you know.
And he lost his manhood, they really had to go.
Thomas got a new home, now he is full of fun.
Does not need to wander, fight, then have to run.
Thomas well that's his name, don't know what it was before.
Now I must go I hear a scratch, it's Thomas at my door.
I have now adopted him, from the RSPCA.
And as he now looks at me, I've one thing left to say.
As I am now his new owner and if he does not look well.
I'll take him to the flipping vets, even if he does meow.
I realize on BBC News there was some confusion about calling a British veterinary surgeon a vet, there being confusion with a veteran from the forces. This is not the case as almost 50 years ago we were calling our veterinary surgeon's vets for short. Incidentally I was actually a veteran myself then, so young. My how time passes. (TmA)<
Been raining all week. This morning started off with a bit of sun and it got me reminiscing. About my youth. About you. Next month marks one year since your passing. We spent the last seven months of your life visiting, chatting after a thirty plus year estrangement. As time passes rough edges begin to soften. Hard feelings fade like a summer storm that has run its course. Rainbows begin to emerge, memories of a happy childhood spent with you.
Sports- a vehicle for the bond we shared. I was all about basketball and your support always mattered. You had quite a hook shot back then, hard to block. I was the one with the quick break to the basket from either side of the hoop and the dead-on jump shot from inside the key. But baseball was always your first love. Put you at short stop and no grounder was likely to pass beyond your infield. I was the power hitter, like my fave Frank Robinson. You were more of a singles guy, waiting on base for the hit that would send you home. I recall some of your heroes; Carl (the Yaz) Yastrzemski, Johnny Bench, Pete Rose and of course, the indomitable home run king Henry (Hank) Aaron. Ahh, the baseball games we watched together. The Cleveland Indians at Lakefront stadium. They always stunk back then, but we didn't care (much). And you yelling at Richie Scheinblum to just hit the stinking ball was a party in itself. I never liked hot dogs but when in Rome... Oh, and I used to enjoy poring over your Who's Who in Baseball books and was always in awe of your memory of the stats for many of the players. I wonder if they still make those?
Playing football in the snow, basketball in the rain, baseball under full sun, the weather never mattered. We loved sports and through the playing, the sharing, the competition (boy, did we battle it out on the ping pong table, often for hours at a time), the fun, we forged a bond that was partially severed for a time, but never fully broken. Those are the memories I will choose to focus us as the date of your passing nears. Rest in peace, old man.
game on the telly
ol' Hank hit another one
dad gives me a wink
I
Dave looks at his email. There he sees
An invitation from Clark.
It looks like today, we’ll all have a game,
And, hopefully, this week won’t be the same,
And to victory he’ll embark.
What a wonderful day it will be
As Dave’s the winner for all to see,
And Jerry will play a little faster,
And Gilbert’s plans end in disaster.
Saturday at six, it starts
As we begin our bold crusades.
All of us long for the Jack of Hearts,
But we get the Queen of Spades.
II
Clark wakes up and he’s ready to go,
And the Chiefs have won their game.
He’s graded all the incompetent work
Turned in by every knucklehead jerk.
The championship, he hopes to claim.
He’ll pass Gilbert a bunch of junk
To fix his hand, ‘cuz at first it stunk.
He’ll decide whether to shoot the moon
And reveal his plans with a trial balloon.
Saturday at six, it starts
As we begin our bold crusades.
All of us long for the Jack of Hearts,
But we get the Queen of Spades.
III
Jerry’s set to go, and he’s had his joe,
So, he’ll have to stop and pee,
And also to make more coffee grinds,
And, when it gets dark, close his blinds,
As the path to glory, he can see.
He takes the time to carefully think,
But a Downey man’s fortune can change in a blink,
As each and every one of us duck,
And Jerry roars, “[this distribution’s bad luck]”.
Saturday at six, it starts
As we begin our bold crusades.
All of us long for the Jack of Hearts,
But we get the Queen of Spades.
IV
Gilbert’s mic works and he’s alert.
Kim Jong Un hasn’t dropped a bomb.
He’s the champ. Does not everyone dread
The man the guru rates eight hunDRED?
He will have this game in his palm.
He still recalls cards that were played.
He’s still young and his brain hasn’t yet decayed.
Good as he his, one thing he does lack
And that is a heart who calls himself Jack.
Saturday at six, it starts
As we begin our bold crusades.
All of us long for the Jack of Hearts,
But we get the Queen of Spades.
Old Winston’s in the pub again - you can smell him above stale beer.
That bloody old blue singlet ain’t been changed for a year.
His hands ingrained with grease ‘n grime; a week’s stubble on his face.
Hair on his arms and shoulders say he may be closer to the ‘apes’.
Yet Winston is a proud bloke who never left the good old school;
he doesn’t have a job that’s permanent but the dole’s against his rule.
So he spends his time with rubbish; so at the tip the biggest rat.
There’s plenty who have run him down who can thank him for that.
He’s got everything you’ll need to help you when you’re in a spot.
You won’t find a thing you’re after if it’s something Winston hasn’t got.
So when my old EK packs it in, it’s off to Winston I will go.
The part’s encased in rusty shells that were once like mine you know.
Today my coil is playing up, so it’s on old Winston’s door I knock.
I told him what I’m after. He said ‘There’ll be one down the block.
Before you go - you’ve got all day. Come inside and yarn with me.
But first I’ll put the kettle on and make us both a cup of tea”.
When inside - what hit my nose! The house stunk of firewood smoke.
Winston pushed aside his dirty dishes before he finally spoke.
“There’s yer seat; do you take milk?” I said no when I usually do.
Wondering if I’d get this ‘cuppa’ down and keep me lunch down too.
“Here, take my cup” Winston said. “This cup I’ve had for twenty years.
It’s served me well for all that time, filled with whiskey, tea or beers.
I shared it with my old dog ‘Jack’ when he was crook before he died”.
I hoped he’s joking when he grinned - “It’s been a chamber pot at night!”
Thick black stains around the lip plus two whiskers made me think,
perhaps there hasn’t been a day; this cup had ever seen the sink.
So I turned the handle ‘round and from the clean side drank me tea.
“Well ain’t that something” Winston grinned - “You’re left handed same as
me!”
There was once a popular TV show with an episode that comes to mind. On the episode, a con artist sold a piece of property to a trusting friend. The property consisted of a front and back yard with a beautiful frontage wall. The front door led, not into a beautiful living room, but right into the back yard.
There once was a freeway overpass of a street that led to nowhere. My inquiries never led to straight answers, but like so much of life, it stunk with the smell of politics. In that same city a freeway was proposed and aborted, leaving an exit to nowhere. I think about that doorway, that overpass, and that exit to nowhere today. The thought of them engenders what could have been a great bypass around so much traffic today which always seems to be going 'nowhere fast'. Correction: 'Nowhere slow'.
Such 'nowhere places' look similar to much of our lives whose design and purpose portray a different reality than the one we either conclude with or the one that never got of the drawing boards because someone changed their minds or decided to abort the mission. Jesus once asked the question, "Shall I not drink the cup my father has given me?"* So often, the cup of life or the plate of adversity that we have been given is so filled with hurt and pain that we desire nothing better than to stop our runaway train and get off. May we take courage and stay on board to finish the course we have been given.
We as well as our assignment may look and feel very different at the finish, but our God is counting on us 'to finish'. Make no mistake about it my friend, we are going places. May we always realize that God never gives "Nowhere Missions".
090420PSCtest, The Fourth Floor Of Nowhere, Craig Cornish
*John 18:11