Long Topped Poems
Long Topped Poems. Below are the most popular long Topped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Topped poems by poem length and keyword.
There's A Pedophile In The House...
(ah...ah...ah...ham eye white...???)
OMG,... and he looks...
SAY WHAT??? just like me???,...
absolutely NO WAY!!!,
would this sensitive,
respectful, "FAKE" veejay
quiet-natured, mindful,
loving, kind, underplay
justice invoking, hew today
mainly, gentle, friendly, "I say"
enlightened, democratic chap redisplay
any besotted abominable,
blamable, culpable, quay
esse chin hubble
despicable, execrable prey
dot door formidable,
inhospitable...overplay
ying faux indulgent,
NOR be mistaken
to assay, betray, convey,
display, expressway more fay
writ his'm to
gainsay hearsay, inveigh
jaw dropping "FAKE"
yuge weak accusations
(by a long shot), sans
basket of conspiring deplorables
attempting to assassinate
bigly believe me tubby "stupid"
winning loser to berate,
who doth unequivocally create
mine substantial vocabulary rumor,
versus 4th grade reading level
trumpeting librettist - thee great
test Don Quixote
(as falsely sung with hate
full sotto voce), and ramped up
as ill suited mate
a minus [sic] zero moron,
which doth hapt
tubby incredibly tremendous
disservice to bona fide classy idiots
with a lot of money
(like the millions and billions
of my golfing confrères)
given bent iron golf clubs
used by crooked Hillary,
when former Secretary of State
ideal for Putin on the Ritz
by far less exciting, with
Bill Clinton's flirtatious flits
trained pudenda purse
sin null property
of intern (NO FALLACY)
topped as southern delicacy dish
consume mated with buttered grits
pricked prurient peccadilloes licks
suddenly recalling seminal kicks
starting, how with Little Rock kits
he received assistance,
sans starts and fits,
eventually then nubile
ingenue Monica Lewinsky
called time out, cuz at her wits
end once assisting helping
express his "naughty bits,"
when done completing
cum mincecd secrete mission
blue dress draped
expensively furred
(i.e. tricked out) in her
"FAKE" minx hiding
sable animal spirits,
when animal rights
activists vehemently protested
out-coming result
slapping former president
with a PETA file.
The train, halted under the shade of sacred hill
They flowed out, and, wandered here and there
holding big, small, colorful, old and new packs of belongings
To, find comfortable chests and knees
some carelessly slept on un-desiring places,
but many there stood still
to face the misty, white clouded sky beyond the ridge,
Perceived their feet had reached
the starting point of adventurous tramp
Men, women, young and old with little ones
crept forward Just like a bunchy row of ants
filled with amazement; some stood, and watched
the vivid green forest canopy and flowering ferns
swinging in the frosty breeze!!
The minds filled with compassion, harmony
and respect each other
By murmurous chanting, that oozed into their veins
in the morning twilight
Tenderness of beams brighten the white dresses
of devotees
Time passed slowly
And the far valley down, a string of people moving upwards
on the zigzagged narrow path
Surrounded by thick green vegetation which
being the habitat of bees, birds, butterflies and
variety of big and small animals
Oozy willows dropping pearl like cold water drops
But few of moving people put a glance
at the phenomenon!
What a peregrination, having a cool gust thrill
which each body and its soul begird
The strenuous walk will bring to a halt at the noble foot print
Some managed to reach the desired end
but some could not attain the will
they stopped hopelessly, stepped down
with forsaken aspiration
those who topped the hill, huddle together
engaged customary rituals,
The eco of the ringing bell spread over the chilled atmosphere
through hill tops, forest, and the moving folks
Excitement broke out
Devotees squeezed catch a glimpse of sunshine!
The sun appeared slowly with a trembling smile
through the glistening horizon
Sunshine! Miraculously radiated across the mountain range,
forest canopy and everything
open to tender beams of light
What a huge strength,
Noble hopes and wishes
fulfilled the pilgrimage!
J.Weerakkody
(This poem is about pilgrims who climb the summit of breezy sacred mountain of Sripada, the holy mountain of Sri Lanka, where suppose to be emblematized the footprint of Lord Buddha. After worshiping the sacred footprints the devotees anxiously watch the panoramic maiden sun rise over the sacred mountain. The poem is vividly realized descriptions of nature.)
Dragon sat in the bushes all night long, for he wanted to catch himself a Leprechaun.
See Leprechauns have gold by the buckets full, and Dragon wanted himself… some.
So our sly little Dragon had put a lit up rainbow, on our garage door, to be cast on…
St. Patrick’s Day was in the morning, and he wanted some of those golden charms.
He’d read: You gotta get up, so very early, to be able, to even a little, trick those guys.
For those wily Leprechauns are the cleverest critters, which were ever seen… to arise.
So Dragon had dressed up in the Irish green, topped with a cute little Leprechaun hat.
You see, Dragon believed he was, the slyest thing, put on this earth, here… ever… yet.
Sure enough, at the break of dawn… a Leprechaun came snooping, stealthily around.
Strangely, he looked about 3 years old, the same age of our Dragon, or there, around.
They hit it off immediately, with so much in common, at that tender age and time.
Finally together, they dug up the pot of gold, which the Leprechaun’s magic did rise.
They had decided to share the wealth, of any gold, they did hope to some how find
But darn, the Leprechaun was unhappy, at the small amount of gold before his eyes.
He swore our Dragon had dug it up early, and already taken his own share… after all…
Dragons were known to be the greediest things ever put on this earth, he did recall.
Yes, he’d seen thru Dragons disguise, and had seen the wily-ness of it all… so true…
So the Leprechaun threw a crying hissy fit, the likes of which Dragon had never knew.
He raged on and on, how his new best friend could ever think to cheat him, Boo Hoo!
Now, Dragon began to feel very guilty for what he had originally, truly, wanted to do.
So in the end he gave it all away, to his newest best friend, who left without an adieu.
At that our dear little Dragon, felt proud for what he had finally achieved and done.
That is until he looked at his own little bitty horde of gold… that was suddenly gone!
Yep the little Leprechaun, had stolen it fast away! With his magic he had transferred…
Dragons gold to the Leprechauns beloved pot! Now Dragon became enflamed at it all!
At what the Leprechaun had done… Until Grandpa Troll reminded him with the moral:
Don’t be surprised… if you get burned… when you play with fire, my little friend!
The End!
Written 3-17-2017
The Master Artist Pt 1 --Pt 2--the ending, is the next posting
The artist’s tray was loaded with colors, each pastel waiting for its turn:
Hues of indigo blues lie impatiently, sparks of carmine seemed to burn.
While English chrome colors lay in anticipation for the Master’s touch.
The yellow ochre pansies readied to fill the void on the painter’s scene.
Each hue was waiting for its turn but chosen first was the yellow green.
Winds blew lightly against the canvas and upon each color that he lay
Each sound had a melodic lilt as the grass seemed to grow and sway
Under a fountain of colors, each strike radiant upon the colored field.
Cerulean blue skies lightly painted waited for a stray, pearl-grey cloud
To float above the lively meadow, yet no spring rain would be allowed.
The artist was tired, yet couldn’t wait to return quickly the next day.
Morning came and his fervent fingers reached for the pastels that lay
Undiscovered upon the palette—more hues waiting for their chance.
He painted a sapphire blue creek moving snake-like up then down.
The artist smiled wisely, painting groves of trees of Van Dyke brown.
Afternoon came and pastel shades were glazed upon the flowing water
As the creek rippled over the violet stones painted on by the Master.
He seemed to lose all sense of night and day as each hue told a story.
Colors flew from left to right and the meadow seemed to come alive
Ruby hues were topped upon the phlox as fragrant flowers did thrive.
His hand would not cease until he had painted the bluebird at its song.
The misty meadow was melodious as he painted crickets to sing along.
The artist looked upon his growing scene and knew what it still needed
But his hand was weary and the pastel scene would wait another day
For colors that still lay brightly unused upon the Master Artist’s tray.
The next day he painted against the sky purple hills gently sun-kissed.
His hands worked with great passion as twisting trees seemed to tryst.
Pastel colors floated upon the land as pink butterflies flew here and there.
Sounds of songbirds were singing as his meadow seemed to nearly burst
With every color and every hue that the great artist had fervently dispersed.
Part Two has the Master Artist poem ending that I posted after this one--
(PoetrySoup doesn't allow enough space)
We had saved our precious stock of grandpa’s grape
prepared the ground and amended the soil.
After laying out the orchard, we planted cuttings with our own hands.
Fed the young vines with love and creek water
and waited for the work of the rain and sun
before giving birth to the wine.
To insure that his family would produce the best wine.
Grandpa, tho’ as straggly as his grape
cleared trees and topped them to admit the sun.
He would not purchase plants for his soil
and dug the trenches wider and accessed our water.
He was self sufficient and he propagated vines by his hand
We prevented winds from whipping vines out of hand
to best grow and mature the soul of our wine.
The vines followed the contour of steep site which brought the water.
The rows ran north and south to suit the grape - -
this presented light while drying and controlling the soil
allowing the plants to follow the eastern and western sun.
We placed much faith on the drying done by the sun.
We had one to backfill. We wished we had more willing hands.
We had two to dig holes, and one to hold the vine and tamp the soil,
as the fruit began to ripen to marry our precious wine.
A crew of four was used for setting the grape.
The Vines should not be sprinkled with too much water.
We made plans to prevent soil erosion and loss of water
to the harden the wood and expose it to rays of the sun.
The Niagra White and Riesling grape.
Both needed pruning and the waste hay cut our hands.
We made sure our methods were best for the wine.
They would mature late, even in warm soil.
We found that more humus was wanted by the soil.
Some magic was performed to deliver more water.
alas, for the reward of a not so remarkable wine.
Again the wait, the prayers, the morning dew and sun.
More work, more time, sweat and callused hands.
The next year we tried a grafted grape.
We had saved our precious stock of grandpa’s grape
prepared the ground and amended the soil.
After laying out the orchard, we planted cuttings with our own hands.
Fed the young vines with love and creek water
and waited for the work of the rain and sun
before giving birth to the wine.
Our final wine was surrendered by the sun.
We captured the prize from our water and our soil.
My hands, today, still stained with the color of the grape.
Loving life hid beneath rim of cool ceramic bowl
Tree frog claimed proud place, toilet's homely hole
Enamoured by his simple palace making stance
I bend to peer at his green grip toe stick, entranced
My ordinary admonished by gaze from onxyx eyes
Quick reflex and instinct, skills by which Frog relies
Shine of black marble smartness lures me nearer
Knowing even with my bulk, I'm somehow inferior
Rubber eyelid winks, peels open again enlarged
Eye wrinkles droop to hammock, I'm encouraged
To nestle within humid folds, shrunk human glued
Oscillated in his lid lures languishing duly procured
Spun suddenly, rubbery cocoon cosy lurches erratic
Some worry occurs I'll drown outside skin hammock
Prior to paranoia taking over, thrown from dizzying ride
Launched into stark big bowl with steep slippery sides
Swim in cistern spew strangely renders me cleansed
Lap in lurid blue sends me to inevitably to S bends
Whooshed and flushed with refreshed perspective
Dark harassed by diffused hues tug seductive
Dolphin derived, my smooth unphased by spiralling
Saturated zones, ease honed, enamour never tiring
Snorkel hole snorts water, puffs readily on its purification
Imbibing combines giddy with clarity, senses' temptation
My forehead flicked flirtatiously by wide flamingo flippers
Splayed feathers fan surface, showcase dance floor shimmer
Cabaret her costume, shakes crystal bead rainbow release
Ravishing precise pirouettes prim pink princess completes
Her curved beak caresses my porthole brain, rubs insistantly
Into warm walnut shell weapon I'm swallowed quite quickly
I spy through pomegranate seed eye, mirror lake unswayed
Stilled kindly by wind's nonexistance, decision to travel made
Climbed to bird's tiny tiara topped crest, covered in feathers
Graceful lace tu- tu floats my aquatic future endeavour
Bouyed weightless and grateful, flip draws no resistance
Swim in S bend treasure, trip of sight resumed brilliance
*** Spring has sprung!!
- in Australia
My branch beyond
The tired pond
of Earth, awakes
Imminent Heaven
(perhaps)
*** A collapse of facts
Flight of flamingo regalia
Revel in place of waste
- Mystery flush takes
on its S bend
1st September 2020
Misshapen limbs of the Palo Verde trees add an artistic touch to the landscape. While
Honeysuckle twine about the old rail fence and the spiny Ocotillo flash scarlet plumes.
Mesquite trees, older than the homestead, reach out and cast much appreciated shade.
Saguaro's flank the hard packed drive. Desert poppies lead the way to the home.
Built of stone. Hand laid by calloused hands. Topped with thick rough hewned timbers
and clay tiles. The home welcomes all.
Windows sparkle in the late afternoon sun. Reflecting brilliance that hurts the eye.
Once inside, a coolness calms and refreshes. The native stone keeping the desert heat
at bay.
Beams hewn from the Mesquite adorn the ceiling. Stucco interior walls add a softness
and Spanish flavor.
Arched doorways lead to halls and bedrooms. Each with it's own distinctive fashion.
Soft beds with hand woven blankets. Each depicting a different Indian Spirit. Deep set
windows to let in the cool breeze of spring and fall. Thick draperies to block out the
summer heat and winter cold.
The kitchen, sparse and utilitarian. A soap stone sink, slate counters and open faced
cabinets. dried herbs, onions and peppers hang from hand forged hooks. As do the
pots and pans used to cook simple fare that fills the belly and warms the soul.
A blue speckled coffee pot with a chipped spout is always on the newfangled gas stove.
The old woodburner sit as before. Used in winter to warm the kitchen and bake the
daily bread.
A place of gathering, is the plank top table. With it's brightly colored cover and always
full cookie jar.
back in the main room is a beehive fireplace in the corner. It's bulbous form giving
character to the otherwise plain room. More exposed beams extol the strength and
longevity of the home. While wood and leather furniture offer comfort and rest.
Beautiful hand crafted wood cabinets and shelves hold antiques found on travels.
Shadow boxes hold arrowheads found on desert hikes. Pottery from the local tribes
finish out the decor.
Homes like this are becoming extinct. To find souls who appreciate it's honest design
and accept the happiness that simplicity can bring, is becoming rare. I am one of those
souls. My search is on going to find my place in The Valley Of The Sun.
Form:
A man like you considered I a myth...
They just do not exist in nature.
There must along side something odd herewith.
Dark and poignant. I meet you, stranger.
You read, you write, you're just great with people,
You are decent, honest and content.
While you are caressing my bare nipple
You like my jokes, laugh and pay the rent.
You are genuine, creative, daring,
You try new things out and you like kids.
I met you weeks ago and now I'm scared
How in the world would I get a grip
On all these feelings, such strong affection?
You have simply set the bar too high...
But you gave me purpose and direction.
I grew a tumor, thank God, benign.
You play guitar and you compose music.
Yet you are successful in a biz
Of suits, agreements, you like my pubic
Hair. You can pleasure me, you're a whiz!
You're into arts and theater, ballet.
Balzac and Rodin - those you admire.
You are set to win while I fell astray.
You will sing and sculpt when you retire.
You are tender, fit, cute and you do sports.
How do these get along together?
You are attentive, kind, you rule in court,
Want to dress me in suit of leather.
You sing, you're politically correct,
Feelings take in consideration.
Oh how losing you one cannot regret?
You brought me hope and liberation.
Oh yes and you negotiate too well.
This art you've mastered long ago.
You are insightful, you are bright, you're swell!
You are simple and you drink Bordeaux.
You prefer treating women like a queen.
That still exists? I thought it doesn't.
You feel real deep but you are made of steel.
I slumped in love all of a sudden.
I surely saw a lot of men before...
I played with them, I tried to tame one
With no success, was left completely sore,
Longed to dissipate. My song was sung.
I closed my eyes, ran from all this hassle.
Negotiating with scum. Little use.
Was occupied with survival, wrestle.
It's when I met you I was set loose.
None of the men I have ever been with
Could touch the bar set by my dad.
Among the boyfriend myriad you're fifth
You topped my dearest dad. I'm glad.
My heart is rocking. Can't believe it! Wow!
Your daughters have a hard time choosing...
I have to learn again to live the now.
They? They'd better get used to losing...
(while trapped in Pottstown
Memorial Hospital parking lot).
My humble apology to those,
who posted uber up lyft ting messages
to this Macbook Pro Facebook keeper,
without said scrivener swiftly
tailoring timely acknowledgement
from one harried styled leaper,
thus feel free to take
leguminous litigious licorice flavor
flav can deed extra-legal
imprisonment against my liberty,
(though catty, I am pusillanimous,
sans feline nine lives cheaper
by the dozen), plus verbally ejaculating
out gee golly jeeper,
or more pointedly
calling me a mother f****** bleeper,
for seeming to appear unresponsive
as a stale petrified marshmallow peeper,
and yes quite understandable
bitcoin torrents of rage runs deeper
than a blockchain though close call,
yet just lemme explain,
how during my most recent sleeper
state, a clear as bell curve
living dream nearly
saddened Matthew Scott Harris as,
cuz he got subject to grim news, viz
inducing him (yours truly) to become
deceased within a split second,
upon dropping to sleep
while all around, an
inconsolable weeper
wept sorrowful seas,
more so those family,
and facebook friends
many fine companions
linkedin thru Internet
invaluable cherished persons as keeper,
but believe this secular humanist,
he, who (honest to dog)
unexpectedly subsequently got engrossed
with the grim reaper,
discussing local, current (national), global,
and cosmic events, superficial,
and/or somewhat deeper
(topics oh...and as a non sequitur
d'ya know the name of original
Glen Elm occupants are named Leiper),
anyway Xmas universally
renowned throughout space
yes, jolly saint nick with his farout trappings
topped off with electronic digital beeper,
yepper siree he gets touted,
lauded, and celebrated be
leave ving with whatever
dogmatic faith hen knee
dear rabbit reddit reader doth embrace,
or perhaps being atheist like me,
(albeit I most likely appear
as somewhat highlee
beatle browed from across the universe),
nonetheless, whether er rather,
when still alive this chap aimed to - dee
light, enlighten, and playfully
frighten alien nations
(even those pizza peace loving
inhabitants resembling free
ranging gregarious teenage
ninja mutant turtles)
coming out their shells with glee.
Homeward Bound
Land of mango and avocado
Sweet , mild and refreshing
Cassava bread with tea, coffee and hot cocoa
Fresh meaty young coconut
It’s water crisp and refreshing
Glazed peanut, cashew and coconut for a quick snack or dessert
Spaghetti with herring or hot dog for breakfast
Large tart grapefruit topped with sugar crystals and eaten with a metal spoon
Killed a butterfly
Folded it in half
Pressed against its wings
It fell apart
Grandma chased me with a bowl of medicine
A liquified leafy concussion
To clean my insides out
Stepped on a ball of thorn
My foot slowed me down
And the neighborhood kids caught me for grandma
Was stung by a bee in the belly button
Crossed rivers barefoot
Watched black crab crawl across a small body of water
And tiny fish swam in a little pond
Skinny and gray were they
My cousins and I rolled handkerchiefs into figures
We got in trouble together, too
A long walk on foot
Left us late for school
Once late , on our knees we were preyed Hot and sticky was our whip
Lashed were our backs
At bath time , mama saw my back
red and black with strikes
Left furious ,
Angry and out of breath ,she advised my teacher and school masters
That I am but a child
And not an animal in the wild
Another time, I was struck by a bull on my way to school
A big, black bull tied to a tree , loosened itself free and charged at me
With its horns it grabbed my frail little frame in between mama and great uncle
I was tossed
I opened my eyes and was at the hospital
My great uncle rode a motorcycle and dined with me and grandma
He gave me a large slice of avocado to eat with my plantain and sauce
The blacked out city
Was lost in the dark
On the countryside moon is streetlight
On roof tops made of aluminum
Boys flew kites
Plastic bags and spare tree branches
they combined
Spun tops are made with lime and pick
A bucket of rain to bathe
A black hole in the ground
For feces
Clothes washed in the river
Line dried outside the house
Some bathe
Some bring donkey to graze
Its dung fall in between the waves
Some to wash their tresses
Like my godmother did to mine
Marckincia Jean
Narrative
07/13/19