Long Waspish Poems
Long Waspish Poems. Below are the most popular long Waspish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Waspish poems by poem length and keyword.
The milky morning’s Saturn haze
Haloed the sun’s neonate phase
Seize the warmth, Hail to The Light!
No waspish thoughts to sting nor bite
this soft and cheerful face.
Shades to shadows stir and shift
saddened loss is set adrift
Kissed by the morn, cajoled, embraced
To block the sun is vacuumed waste
over sad umbrella-ed minds.
Must feel the breeze, cherish the day
Won’t do to crawl an endless maze
Confined or caged by bars of love
clips wings from angels and doves
Freed, they find their way back Home to God.
Make no routine of daily blight
Self inflicted sores or tearing bites
We must assist the ones who’ve gone
and love by prayer is never wrong
A sacred sharing with The Lord.
"Nine Inch Nails, Ten Pins and the Purl Stitch"
She takes the cake
they offer, chewing too rapidly,
she Shrews when she speaks
I’ll beat warpath drums, she says,
no mistake
I’m a groper ... goody two shoes
she says
mouth wide open
songs problematic
she's done and she's gone
a stitch loose in the weave
drop one pearl one
dropped
gone
for kissing small bait in the shallows
she circles her quarry
bites their backs
she sits astride
the legs of a hot gripping story
sits like a monkey
begging for peanuts
she spits in comments
I'm thoroughly congruent
in moments of questionable torrent
I am all here
dear boy
dear girl
knit one
drop one pearl hooray
I am all here, here hearing
all seeing, all knowing
I throw it back
and I’ll give you
the crux of the crutch
all knowing
make no mistake.
my good god
I don’t care
I don’t care
do we care?
I don’t care.
truly I eat their sour pears,
place more wax in my ears
she throws pearls
decorously adorning
the minds of sows’ rears
left wing molting
a mouth full of feathers
right wing feeding them
she’s all knowing
bling bling bling bling
bling bling
bowling ball glowing
Ten pins
preparing minds
sharp needles
and yarns
Purl Stitch
knit one,
drop one
knit one
drop one
win
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Ram” – Paul, Linda Mcartney
https://youtu.be/dQwdanGKILI
We're so sorry, uncle Albert
But we haven't done a bloody thing all day
We're so sorry, uncle Albert
But the kettle's on the boil
And we're so easily called away
Hands across the water, water
Heads across the sky
Hands across the water, water
Heads across the sky
"Sit by my side, and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger."
"There's small choice in wrotten apples".
"If I be waspish, best beware my sting.”
Idlers, paved paths with active energies, purloining, feigning amity.
Dodgy & concealing past immoral dregs by comradely, waspish mien.
Obdurately empowered by this stranger plucked from their nocturnal fantasies
Wanton mistresses of countless broken walls in desperation for time.
Unbridled intrusion cloaked in religiosity vexed by undefined arrogance.
Oft, in pretext, manipulating, with energies stronger than the POPE.
Habits of a thuggish intervention foist on bewitched “soul tie”
Ill-beseeming nuances summoning this Stygian to their unsealed brothels
Obvious cliquish vindictive venom of a barrage of past bed felon.
Zestfully compelling, violently intrusive and surreptitiously preying.
Ending the farce, Rapscallion oozing countless entries on the rotten hole.
Since gales do by Nature’s arm blow
In dizzying storms far from the shore,
So even choiceless boats must move,
As unyielding gusts so restless prove.
Not every motioning vessel afloat
High waters as ship or small boat
Chose to tease furious ocean tide,
Or test mild sharks' waspish pride.
Some swift sea-faring boats would
Anon stop if winds in unison stood,
And relish a sober long-wanted rest
From hard sails by another pressed.
The wavy sail isn’t necessarily sweet
Just because that fast-voyaging fleet
Seems to glide over bubbly bounds
In unwillingly smooth gleeful rounds.
Remember gusts by Nature’s arm roll;
And mortals' temporal boats must fall,
Or rise along sternly unyielding trails
Left by glum oceans' unresting gales.
Like a vulture eating an animal before completely dead
Is the person who picks a person's emotions, psychic til bled
A person filled with inner rage that comes out as passive/agrresive
Corrosion from the inside eating through to surface__ like a crab
Slowly eating its noonday meal
Tormented inwardly tormentor of those close and personal
A harassor of those helpless, sensitive, powerless, dependent
This vulture like person grows fat at other's expense
Using their nettling ways
The vulture goads__teases__just like a cat who plays with its prey
Their vexation is internal they have to have control
They cannot just let life flow
Control gone they become irritable, peevish, queralous, waspish don't come near
For you could be next in line so you better stand in fear
You may think it's cushy sat here on my throne
But life at the top bears a price of its own.
For though I get fed with delectable jelly
Just look what it's done to my poor royal belly!
My once waspish waist was the talk of the hive
Yet now I'm too fat for the jitterbug jive!
And gone are the pleasures of starry-eyed dating;
My days are now tied up with multiple mating!
Feel sorry for hens popping two eggs a day?
Well this dame has more than one thousand to lay.
And last but not least in this long fulmination,
They call me a queen but there's no coronation!
So should you still think that in life I regale
You might well receive a sharp sting from my tail!
03/09/18
Personification of an insect contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Bee Creative Poetry Contest
Sponsor -Matt Caliri
To the skies...cries of have we sinned..the seasons spinned...winter grinned as before it’s really beginned...spring’s been sneakily binned..
That bitter wind does cheekily blow...delivers tingling..slivers of mulled wine mingling shivers..oh and..shed loads of snow..
You know it is nature's calling card...as the bleached flurries hurriedly dart. ...shards of frosty farts falling hard....
Slippery slurries beached...frippery start to beseeched.. billow wisps like waspish wafts of blossoming willow..
Chuffed to see a lush plush pillow..fluffed...puffed..buffed..kept aloft from mush.. with crystals soft..silky..stuffed
A natural ebb and flow gush...a smattering...then a rush...splattering to and fro..
Winter’s web.. gleaming coats of teeming white bright light beaming notes...
Dreams of fairies schemes….streams across mystic moats..dairy prairies floats...
Scoops of snowy soup spills..stoops and swoops…down the hills..droops off daffodil troops..
Everything swathed..bathed in wintry tiding...the sodden sky pours... hints of sly footprints trodden hiding…
Huddling crystal clusters grasping.. riding..gliding…deciding detours…
Blizzard wizard’s rasping rally…cuddling..clasping.. contours of the valley floor..
Last post gong of our winter host boast.. sounds like a love song..
In this Proustian getaway... adore the festooned foray..
Marooned yet cocooned…this wild hideaway soon shunning..
Being wreathed in bleakly stunning cunning..
Turns back to being shrouded..sheathed in meekly clouded mild...
You stung me with your waspish words
Injecting poison into my very soul
Again and again with those stinging syllables
Your words buzzed around my brain
Still you flew in and continued your scathing attack
It all came so easily to you
Viscous vitriol freely flows from your foul mouth
Deeper and deeper the venom seeps
You just stood there laughing at me
Continuing the little jibes and digs
Constantly belittling me
Criticising the way I look.
Mocking everything I say and do
Telling me I’m useless
The only thing you could never find fault with was my cooking -
I trained as a cordon bleu chef
My tears no longer flow
They have dried up like my self-confidence
Finally I can take no more
So I’ve cooked up a tasty little treat for you
Added my own special spice to your curry
I sprinkled flaked almonds on the top
They should mask the taste of the cyanide
Bon Appetite!
Dark and Twisted Contest Sponsored by Nathan D
09~21~15
although the snail’s response was sluggish
it was the slug who was moving at a snail’s pace
although the wasp made a beeline for the jam jar
it was the bee who became waspish after arriving too late
although the bedbugs were as fit as fleas
it was the fleas hoping the bedbugs wouldn’t bite that night
although the fly had opened up a can of worms
it was the worm who wished he could fly
although the ant quietly beetled away after the party
it was the beetle who kept dancing like he had ants in his pants
although the moth had butterflies before the fashion show
it was the butterfly who was a moth to the flame for the cameras
To be. To feel.
To feel, to love,
To love. To rage,
To rage, to die
Like a good Romantic, or to sleep like this,
Ghosting about
Like a loose plastic bag
That flaps on a windy night
Under a sodium street lamp’s
Eerie all-submerging light.
O Shakespeare, pity us,
O Wilkes, O Pope,
O Voltaire, O Heine,
O Byron. O Shelley,
Shed tears for us.
We have mislaid the liberties
You fought for.
And the truths you taught us.
The Board of Standardisation
In the interests of this nation
Will suppress the imagination.
Like ranters at Hyde Park
We’re still good for a Sunday lark.
Our patrons are benign
as long as we are innocuous.
They’ll allow a little room for satire
(as long as we keep our hats on)
Just to show what sports they are.
Toothless protest’s just a cliché,
But don’t let slip a waspish quip,
Or “Sirrah, Sirrah, the whip!”
Tow the line. That’s fine.
“Douse that prophetic fire by nightfall, sir,
Or the neighbours will complain.”
A D-Notice served on the brain
deadens every joy and pan.
Cross the heart with this red pencil
And with this stencil write:
THE END OF ART.”