Long The skinny Poems
Long The skinny Poems. Below are the most popular long The skinny by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long The skinny poems by poem length and keyword.
Thank you God for giving me 6 legs
That’s more than ample and plenty I guess
To get around and praise You for Your glory
Thank you for the 6 very sticky feet
I get to walk on walls and ceilings
But don’t really understand what for
(Most food is on the floor.)
And thank You for giving me a place to live
Even though it is only a small hole on Earth
And sometimes like my mind it gets a little dirty
Protect me from the giants with ugly feet
Who want to step on me because I’m tiny
And because they like high fashion shoes
I understand some styles are very expensive
And really hurt when they stomp on you
Squish you or is it squash? I can’t remember
When the skinny heel comes down on my forever
Please lead me to the picnic promised land of plenty
Flowing with milk and honey without the milk
Because we are not cows and are allergic to it
Keep my sensors clean and pure for Your greater good
For Thee and Thy and Thou and Thine
However you pronounce them, it all sounds fine
Protect me from Xfinity.com and evil signal senders
Don’t allow me to become a TV antennae either
Because my feelers don't feel like it
That would be offensive and less divine
Protect me from my enemies one and all
Mostly tall
Don’t let the 2 footed giants step on me
Especially those in Prada
Amen
Pedro was a mouse
A mouse who didn't eat cheese
He would like to have a choice
Of anything he pleased
He was a Spanish mouse
You can tell that by his name
He liked all kinds of things
Not everything the same
He liked eating crumbs of bread
Found upon the floor
Sometimes he found a crumb of cake
And always looked for more
He was quite a greedy mouse
He lived in a mousey hole
He was also very lazy
In his chair, he loved to loll
In the house there also
Lived a cat
He was very skinny
And wearing a big hat
One day while out walking
And much to his surprise
The hat that was too large for him
Fell over this cat's eyes
The mouse was feeling hungry
And spied the skinny cat
The mousey licked his lips and said
I'd like a meal of that
The cat was now so blind
His hat covering his face
The mouse pounced on the cat
And ate him, every trace
The moral of this story
That cats usually eat mice
This mouse is very different
And ate this cat in a trice
It's not always the weakest
That succumb to the strong
This way of thinking
Can sometimes be proven wrong
This is a poem that was on Poetry Soup previously
The bald skinny guru is preaching serenity.
I alone
(because of my constantly revved-up synapses
and mugs of Columbian coffee),
can hear the angry kamikaze bee raging in his skull.
Only I see that gory grub work of his grinding teeth
others mistake for a smile.
The studio audience is rapt.
A young women to my right tries to sit in the lotus position
only managing to topple into my lap.
Parts of me are beginning to relax,
but not the warm sensation left over my crotch.
My face reveals nothing but the intent meditative pose
of a holy man.
I am beginning to understand;
this is not a case of fake it until you make it,
it’s a fake forever life we are all leading,
and the skinny guru knows this -
this I believe is his greatest teaching.
"The Velvet Touched Feathered Quills of Mysterious Books"
Escape arrives easily
when everything’s ugly
deep diving into the swelling
pursed lips of smooth purring magi
seen naked in the skinny dipped
honeyed pools of pausing poetry
kissing the tongues
of mysterious books
tracing fingers
over their soft
flimsy pages
their velvet touched
feathered quills hooked
removing covers slowly
imprinting new movements
like scoring symphonies
Escape arrives easily
deep diving into the swelling
pursed lips of the smooth purring magi
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"The Price of Pearls"
a strange time
just as a dream
to a place of strangeness
strangers
walking contretemps' fine lines
composing invisible footprints
away from life
into the loud silence within
The Chronicles of The Forgotten
lost in the mists
oars plunging grave tomes in
The Tombs of Sad Poetry
some gently fierce
soft grey broken bad blue sky
reflected in a lake of tears
a sense of haunting
romance to allay
impending fears
acknowledging minds
for a short while
dipping deep within
the short measured
confronting uncomfortable
pools of sincere welcomes some sin
playing the forgotten
heart strings
light sensitive fingers pluck violins
reeling in the pleasure
swoon swimming the skinny time
with cool investiture
the Siren sings
dropping chords
divesting smiles, a serious business
arresting life, love and lust
sensual eyes read his
for good measure
where diaphanous
pages drop like
silken Selkie skin
naked she swims
to shore clutching
a fistful of pearls
wisdom comes
at the price of
freedom
lost in the depths
of drowning
all the ghosts
dead
reborn
in his eyes, they are
Her glistening
new Ocean
now her feet planted on the sure
Now the Lark Ascending
She opens the
locked door
symphonic pleasure
maestro is
leading
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Rachmaninov: "The Isle of the Dead"
Symphonic Poem Op. 29 - Andrew Davis
https://youtu.be/dbbtmskCRUY
Vaughan Williams: "The Lark Ascending"
https://youtu.be/ZR2JlDnT2l8
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selkie
They made a decorative well
in the campus
where books and laptops
were set aside
by the skinny staked
newly planted ancient oaks.
Students could sit there
to be good company
if they could find it.
The well is small, a bricked hole,
a shallow ocular sink
holding a green stillness,
yet direct sun made it live.
In the dazzle of the day
undergrads agree not to notice
a diminutive tide going in and out,
the hump-backed splashes of
surfacing Plesiosauri
magnified from lava and spawn,
until a passing cloud
clarifies these malformed gestations.
Girls in shorts check their bare legs
for teeth marks
as the noon day bell rings.
The wells inner-life
subsides as light dwindles,
damsel fly
and water striders
skim the small round waters,
while some feed upon
the drowned bones
of prehistoric ghosts.
A memo is eventually sent
to the groundskeeper
demanding he stop feeding
the reptiles.
Pedro was a mouse
A mouse who didn't eat cheese
He would like to have a choice
Of anything he pleased
He was a Spanish mouse
You can tell that by his name
He liked all kinds of things
Not everything the same
He liked eating crumbs of bread
Found upon the floor
Sometimes he found a crumb of cake
And always looked for more
He was quite a greedy mouse
He lived in a mousey hole
He was also very lazy
In his chair, he loved to loll
In the house there also
Lived a cat
He was very skinny
And wearing a big hat
One day while out walking
And much to his surprise
The hat that was too large for him
Fell over this cat's eyes
The mouse was feeling hungry
And spied the skinny cat
The mousey licked his lips and said
I'd like a meal of that
The cat was now so blind
His hat covering his face
The mouse pounced on the cat
And ate him, every trace
The moral of this story
That cats usually eat mice
This mouse is very different
And ate this cat in a trice
It's not always the weakest
That succumb to the strong
This way of thinking
Can sometimes be proven wrong
While following the Oscar show,
A movie-goer’s duty,
I focused on the actresses,
To see who “walked in beauty.”
I hated many hair-dos,
Thought the gowns were mediocre;
But several had great earrings
Or a dazzling diamond choker.
Some women’s faces seemed to have
Been altered by the knife,
While others’ make-up hid the creases
Added on by life.
What most surprised me, though,
Were the celebrities so gaunt
They strutted to the stage with bodies
That they chose to flaunt.
With toothpick arms and jutting bones
They didn’t look appealing;
And what about the hidden parts
Their dresses were concealing?
I’ve often heard it said
“No one can be too rich or thin;”
But what I saw were women
Who could use some extra skin.
There weren’t many, just a few,
Among the multitude;
But at the after-parties, man!
I hope they ate some food!
Jungles scream at night.
The air is liquid lead dipped
in green fur.
The village has a lamp on a pole,
when the dark rushes in
that one light
makes a yellow circle of light
that we would run to
if danger pounced out of nowhere.
Insects are thickest
around 2 in the morning
they blanket ears and minds
deaden the soul.
Our savior arrives early,
dawn struggles up
from the reek and mire
to clear our heads.
Now it is the howling time,
a monkey chorus
proclaiming victory
over the snakes and panthers.
The village stirs,
they go for water,
feed the skinny chickens
and the hairy pigs.
The make-shift clinic opens
its straw eyes,
they come.
To Atbin.
Another flick, a spark,
Once more awakened the past
Illustrating memories
Are alive and always last.
I recall your visage with
Its veins, its charm, and grace
Some invisible griefs,
Behind of that bony face.
Your tender artistic look,
At a silly Rubik’s parts,
Made your endless affection,
dwell in our empty hearts.
You were our J. Keating of
Weir’s ingenious mind
And that "Remembrance Fest"
That you held: one of a kind.
To our liveliest friend,
We had toasted, and cheered
But I saw a bloody band
On your thin wrist appeared.
You smoked and you spoke,
With your own personal tone:
"A dead soul would never need,
All of these; to be well known,
Look at the living, hey kiddo!
And cherish their real worth.”
I stared at the white band:
Accessible, open source…
I thought it should be a band,
You could have tied it with care
Upon a pretty girl’s
Glowing and blonde hair.
Not as a merciless rope,
Tight around the skinny neck
But just like the sign of love,
Danced by the wind in a lake.
Hey, my friend! don’t frown,
Let me exactly define,
Not a regret for the dead,
But as an amity sign.