Long Sudsy Poems
Long Sudsy Poems. Below are the most popular long Sudsy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sudsy poems by poem length and keyword.
Sunshine undulates across verdant plain
casting dark shadows ushering twilight zone
ringing athwart tree trunks
invigorating, joyously kickstarting,
and plenti revitalizing
bountiful nature buzzfeeding
vim, vinegar and *****
caressing, massaging, and palpating with
soundlessness inducing bub bully giddy,
and sudsy spongy schmaltzy
harmonic livingsocial kerplunk
also intoxicating this perk o' late
ting teetotaler, no longer ginger
who doth oft times ale
with melancholic funk,
whereat imbibing nectar
of the Gods with fulfillment
temporarily quicken ends euphoric,
albeit 'pon firm meant soberly drunk.
Ah...nothing more uplifting
than (Anita Bryant raisin eyebrows)
plugging sunkist orange treat,
this sensate being privy,
sans front row seat
agog at orchestral, festival, viz
choral paean courtesy sweet
flora and fauna feat
bequeathed to Mother Earth,
a requiem pulsating with heartbeat
pitch perfect exultation
glorifying spring days soon obsolete
ethereal, ideal, and
sensational tonic to gin
prestidigitation, qua
natural psychological helpmeet
pleasant distraction with intent to read
temporarily placating, needling craving
for Pete sakes daily
fix this news junkie,
trembling when complete
awareness he doth accrete,
where quite glum, how
civilization didst mistreat
planet, hence feeling downbeat,
especially haunting ghosts of
Native Americans drumbeat
signal harbinger debacle
i.e. environmental doomsday
soon fated extinction
sealed and complete
inexorably inching closer to reality
necessitating superman to defeat
global warming rendering vast swaths
uninhabitable as Gaia global
temperature packs tremendous heat!
I push the tall-legged hard thing next to the water thing, and pick up the blue thing.
It’s sticky, and sudsy, and fun. I pour it all on the dishrag on the counter, over the carefully washed bottles, over shiny hard things, and some soft squishy yellow things. Bubbles are coming off the counters now, and they are pretty.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Uh-oh. I jump down and the chase is on. Nona is old. She probably can’t catch me. I lead her up stairs, and dive into a pile of laundry, where she does not find me until I laugh.
Being twenty-two months, means I am muscular, strong-willed, fast, and determined to make at least five more messes before Nona forces me into the room full of pillows, and we both pretend I’m going to close my eyes.
In the time it takes Nona to put these pieces of cloth back into the clothesbasket, I have wormed my way out from under her legs, and I’m poking Mommy’s make up out of their little metal tins.
Nona glares at me when she discovers this, wraps all the make up in a plastic sack, and tosses it into the garbage. I know Mommy would be angry about this, if she knew, but I don’t have words yet. And I doubt Nona is going to tell how she’s failing as a volunteer.
By the time Nona catches up with me, I have slid down the stairs on my bottom, dumped the Monopoly game on my way through the living room, and smacked my three-year-old brother with an orange plastic bat. Together in temporary solidarity, we are both now smashing marshmallows and Lucky Charms into a big plate of sticky gooey brown stuff we found on the counter. It is cold, and squishy, and the Lucky Charms look funny in it.
Uh-oh. Here comes Nona. She’s on the phone now, saying something about her meatloaf.
In a red minute my brother and I are behind the couch, crouched low, hiding.
This drives her crazy when she lets it.
That stupid giggle gives us away, and we get dragged out.
We can’t go to bed yet!
Who will teach Nona how to open every child-proof lid and lock she’s put around this messy house?
Heart stalked the street
Attitude not too sweet
Told tales too tall
Audience very small
Nobody heard
His word
“I did not lie”
Claimed Heart’s alibi
That no one purchased a buy
From those
Wearing, a professional investigative nose
Believing, tempting stories with flask
Embellished by the drunken class
Featuring, evil characters wearing masks
Loitering near the harbor one night
Heart caught in his sight
A man leaving the bar
“It’s the credible newspaper star!”
He harked
Before following the gumshoe through the dark
Heart closed in on the gothic journalist mark
Wondering if the storyteller had information to report
That could deliver someone to criminal court
Picking up the pace
Heart raced
Catching the prima donna figure
Whose popularity getting bigger
Question wanted asked
Getting answers was Heart’s task
Suddenly the man fell
Soul was pulled towards heaven or hell
“What happened
I didn’t even tap him”
Heart exclaimed
About the man’s destiny filled with fame
Quickly detectives arrived
Heart told them how the man died
“He did not lie”
Heart repeated
Underneath the interrogation lamp heated
“Spinning tall tales?”
Judged the legal scale
Knowing this was the final nail
Each coffin would use to close
Trapping both Heart and Poe
“Glad they are gone,”
Many chatted when alone
Until Poe’s ghost appeared
Holding a reporter's notebook spear
Scribing, confirming, this world was too weird
When murder can happen after a sudsy beer
Legend states heaven Poe went
While prison Heart ended up sent
Opening a haunting book
Entertaining readers to this day with its mysterious hook
Rings, what are they ?
Those gaudy gem encrusted things displayed by those in places high and low.
Or on the other hand the kind that pricks the ear when one is half asleep.
Incessant earworm.
Authentic ring,
eternal ring, engagement ring.
I wore this lustrous band or should I say it wore me out,
ill-fitting token of affection that no longer fits.
Finger swelling pawn shop cast off,
fools gold object d’art swept up in sudsy tides only to be swallowed by a viral vortex guzzle.
Geometric arc light, stricken by its own silver rays,
silently preserving magic memories of yore,
stoically the keeper of past dalliance,
fractal shadow creep among the pigeons,
dancing fairground cul-de-sacs.
Closed loop seal a tamper proof exemplar,
clinging desperately to bonds once watertight,
impregnable,
as impregnable as any fortress.
I don’t remember the shower
unless the glass shatters
into smithereens
I slip on the soap
of sudsy shards
Life is hard
the walls press in
white and smooth
as if a crowd’s haranguing me
Life is hard
with choices of a cloth
or bar to rub over the rough spots
I cry
when the water’s too hot
Life is hard
when the faucet’s turned off
and the dirt is baked on
and my feet stick to one spot
over the drain
Life is hard
Life is easy too
when cool water runs
over my shoulders
cascading
calming
Life is uplifting too
when the tears abate
instead lather my hair
with suds of laughter
Life is a clear day
I can see eternity
I can see my way out
The misty doors open
Feet are daisy fresh
Life is hard
Life is easy too
Full title:
LIFELONG, MEANINGLESS MUSINGS MEAN EVERYTHING OF NO VALUE
aka
OFF THE WALL RAMBLINGS
After upscale meals, I know no relief
until I somehow pick my un-fancy teeth.
Serve me good food in my own home
and these same teeth leave me alone.
At work, when I am approached by someone
who wishes to run some questions by me,
I silently laugh at an image most fun –
question marks toting briefcases as they run.
When my hands are dish-washing sudsy
or toting a large box for some distance,
an air fairy enjoys itching my nose nutsy
until I concede and scratch it roughly.
Any new clothes I hang up that are white,
closet creatures beat with yellow chains
and their marks will not wash out of sight.
The more I love it, the more yellow remains.
Things do grow legs and then walk away.
I tend to nest surrounded by my stuff.
I will not move, but my stuff will parade,
decay, migrate, and evade me, sure enough.
There exist an invisible, rude agitator
who throws dirt inside my refrigerator.
Every week or so, this frig mini-meanie does put
grime, spots, ice-hard raised trails and odd soot.
My air fairy, closet creatures and frig mini-meanie were all to me, assigned.
I know this because I often move and still, it is where I go that they find.
... CayCay Jennings
November 24, 2016
the red glow so far away
so close, embraced
the burst of innervated dawn
restraining its awe
the uplift of a lemony-spring
sponge-squeezed from the sudsy sun
the faucet of quiet waters turned off
the aura of a red and white sail on the run
and my day’s just begun
just wait
until the unspooling of the supermoon
the sand dunes of midnight
dreaminess in the lightly rocking socket
infused with Panamanian water lilies
whereas my ears leap at the splash
of oar-rowed canoes
my eyes behold but a shadow of heaven
and i almost die right there and then
in my dugout
i awake to a blue ceiling with stars
hazardly close
unable to breach the barrier reef
i sink into my pillow
in stillness
asleep
6/25/2019
There was a naughty girl, and the naughty girl was she
She worked a crossword puzzle, while she had her morning tea
A second cup, ......she should get up...
for chores and roll her sleeves!
Much work to do, but something new for fun was in the breeze !
Ambition flew, intentions few, were not a thing to please!
Instead of sponges, mops and brooms, she danced about the room
Sudsy dish pans heaping full...the laundry yet to do.........
Instead she called a friend or two, and took in a movie too!
Her bed unmade, her bills unpaid, some folks might call her lazy
She sat in shade, had lemonade, and then she picked a daisy
Beneath a sunny sky
......she heard the lullaby
of the birds that sing on high
She had a meal to cook
but would rather look
at the snowtop hills nearby
So much work undone, and the dinner?......NONE!
But she fed her soul instead!
__________________________________________________________
For Contest: Triple Threat sponsored by Casarah Nance
You look at me and see a northeast highway after winter
Cracked, worn, roughened by conditions not meant to be endured.
I was once the most beautiful cobblestone pathway through a garden of ripe, unpicked fruit.
I was the apple whose sweet center no man could resist tasting
But you see affliction where held addiction.
You think my mind feeble, that thoughts slip through my brain
Like water through a child's fingers in a sudsy, post-playtime bath.
But I was once the network that ran every station in the steel-girded high rise
And ran the split level in the suburbs. I never needed to reboot.
A victim of time, still in her prime.
I look in the mirror and don't understand who that old woman is who gapes back.
I have long blonde tresses and eyes that rival Liz Taylor on her best day.
This, this is a shadow -- a black and white picture version of a colorful scene.
Inside I am 25, still as vibrant as the peacock whose feathers once graced my favorite hat.
I'm a tomb . . . of an ancient bloom.
February 14,2016.
Dirty,
greasy,
I smell like fried chicken.
Sweat is trickling,
Stinking.
It got me thinking!!!!
I need to wash
my birthday suit,
Body wash by Hollister*
Newport Beach,
Smells of a musky fruit.
awesome scent, kinda sweet,
I start at my feet.
Scrub away the repulsive smell
relax away the painful swell..
Scrub thy legs, all of them
cleanliness is key.
the soap suds wash away,
there is a bruise on my knee!
I continue on to my abdomen
rippled, tough,
strong, rough.
the scrubbing reddens my ivory skin.
To my hairy chest,
the matted mess,
upward, I scrub my neck.
Wash my hair,
conditioning with care,
time to shave my face.
Pick up my razor blade,
my daily strokes of grace.
I rinse the sudsy residue,
watch it spiral down the drain.
I look in the mirror at my birthday suit,
confidence in vein.....
Jared Pickett
9/11/09
Asavvy1