Long Willy Poems
Long Willy Poems. Below are the most popular long Willy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Willy poems by poem length and keyword.
There was a Tilley Willy in her back
It was a seasoned one with pneumonia hack.
Sasha had been trying to shake it since lunch
It had grown up with the McMillian bunch.
It had tentacles that wrapped around her twice.
Tilley Willy thought living inside her was truly nice.
Other humans and dogs have ticks, lice and fleas.
She kept begging it to leave using manners and please.
The Tilley Wiley was determined to stay forever
Then she met a comedienne quite nice and clever
So she encouraged Sasha to stand really close
And that Tilley Wiley jumped from host to host.
Sasha’s pneumonia promptly and abruptly went away
The comedienne had a ridiculous cold the very next day.
Dear herb, shrub, vine and bush
if you be deemed unwanted or a pest,
your name is cursed to be unspoken,
or twisted into a foul nickname scourge.
To graziers you are Paterson's Curse
To beekeepers you are Salvation Jane.
No one knows your real name except,
the gardeners who planted you
in their garden beds, from which you spread.
The once loved, when lost are cursed.
Let's name a few: Fireweed, Freckle face, Koster's curse,
Lady-of-the-night, Mother-of-millions,
Sea spurge, Tree-of-heaven, Sticky Willy
What crime did these plants commit to be
put in stocks in a public place
and spat at?
- Outgrow the wanted plants and spread
- Prolific breeders
- Sprout from leaves and tiny pieces
- Produce millions of seeds
- Fruits loved by birds that scatter the seed in droppings
- Grow well every where with ease.
- Sticky seeds and burrs
- Not fickle nor demanding of conditions.
Each of these are what growers want and love
in other plants, they love to grow
in their gardens, fields and pastures.
Too much of a good thing is deemed a curse.
So their name is defaced and
replaced with foul sounding nicknames
listed as noxious, wanted dead,
on the Wanted Posters.
I am the end,
the last act, the final fleck,
the teeny, tiny terminal pixel,
but I am mighty.
I may be small but I have muscle.
I apply the brakes
and the word parade obeys.
I hold up my hand, blow my whistle,
and watch the traffic halt.
I am the language transit cop,
the red road sign painted "STOP!"
Language is my rodeo;
I corral the wild vocabulary ponies,
break them,
make them wear bits, bridles;
I am the word whisperer.
Important documents -
The Constitution of the United States of America,
The Bill of Rights,
The Emancipation Proclamation -
are what they are because of my mark;
without it, they would be gibberish.
Books would be nonsensical run on sentences,
characters shuffling willy-nilly everywhere,
no order, no structure,
misunderstood,
just silly words wagging their tongues.
I am Doctor Lockjaw;
I bar the word mill door.
Language is my life.
Copyright, September 9, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
The momentum of the large-headed human ego....
has finally put mankind over the brink.
There's no coming back.
The clock says 1 second 'til midnight.
The earthworms have shed their glass slippers.
Soon they'll be sliding underground...
Their prince will not follow.
They've been tunneling and stockpiling for decades.
Food- ammunition-water.
The {numerators} elite and their loved ones
have their inner mountain retreat...
On a smaller scale, the (denominators) have followed their lead.
The remainders/the remains/: the poor who couldn't afford to stockpile
and those that could afford to but were too stubborn to listen.
Will be left scrambling above
banding and disbanding
willy-nilly
whatever the moment dictates
frantic
scrounging for rat meat
and toilet paper
during a nuclear winter
666 miles of social distancing,
Fondly remembering when it was only 6 feet
putting balm to nuclear skin
covering open wounds with papyrus.
They'll forge an eleventh commandment
then just as quickly break it.
With mankind's flesh between their teeth
they'll be begging to a God
who finally got sick of it all
and stopped listening-
The Deplorables
Because there was hilly billy running around all willy nilly. flipping and flopping his fishy filet, now he's sloppin the mopin today. Out walikin' n chillin', n stalkin road killin', for black pot fillin', the kettle's the villain. Can't quite get it right, fight though he might, his light not bight by a right sight. Yet never has he ever, on any endeavor, goten it together to weather the whatever. Whether he's hootin' n hollerin' or rockin' n rollin', he's stumbling n bumbling, "dem cookie be crumblin." A pathetic excuse this obtuse red recluse, this mighty white wighty n righty up tighty should never reproduce. These cringey, whingey, power stingy, fumblin', grumblin', crumblin', mumbling, creatures' main feature's are backwards preachers, thruth bleachers, no teachers, and NASCAR skreechers. Hee-haw, southern draw, drug withdrawal, slack jaw, Maw n Uncle Papaw. Trumpy dumpy little stumpy, frumpy clumpy always grumpy, no last straw. Vile and bile, world reviled, can't reconcile such a defiled lifestyles, and all the while, siege heil siege heil.
Methinks muss elf akin to a cold prickly...
being analogous to a
limp biscuit viz
wussy wonky willy,
yet back in the day
rolling in hay worm
may at large cavorted
frolicked, and idealized
as a warm fuzzy.
Though aforementioned title
slightly risqué and silly,
yours truly dwells in Schwenksville,
approximately an hour drive
northwest from Philly,
a geographic enclave flush with
seeds of life and White Lily
hometown of mine reminiscent
of Lake Woebegone
similarly verdant and hilly.
Today I bubble with gumption and glee
riding a crest of carefree euphoria prithee
within Netherlands home to Zuiderzee.
Now yours truly lets thoughts unspool
as they popup like mushrooms
after a soaking rain
and flash across consciousness
hoping to hammer somewhat
comprehensible poetic product
wrought courtesy tool
of me noggin
stream of consciousness school
meanders and follows no particular rule.
Despite being rescued
from blimey and bloody
ten thousand cannibals yippee,
where before escaping xi
shark infested cyber sea,
I nearly fell prey to piranhas we
dulling their way think valley
girls enlisting themselves
to be worshipped
as omnipotent trustee
trumpeting themselves
as shaykhah of chic re:
to do bidding of commoners
heavily guarding, ousting,
and thwarting stiff contenders
for commodification, commiseration,
commercialization, communication
and glory of riches q.e.d.,
quod erat demonstrandum
selling one soul to the devil
what a pity
exploitation, juxtaposition, opposition
temptation teasing proletariat offeree,
who seductively utter née
all the while vicarious thrilling
analogous to shady subterfuges
within dark wide web
bloodhounds (created courtesy
artificial intelligence) ripping asunder
supposedly airtight code,
while proficient hackers punching
virtual holes at Norton and McAfee
and other logistics wizards to protect data
laugh demonically, hysterically,
maniacally, sadistically, and zestfully
at those payees party as licensee
guardians of regal materialistic realm
do as I saith - speaketh bourgeoisie.
Wordsmith's Veneration...
Aye willy nilly understate (trying 2)
tantalize, hypnotize, galvanize...
with "FAKE" trumpeting
spellbinding, rambling, quivering...
intoxicating, hallucinating, gyrating,
stop to take a breather...
English Language vocabulary, a
fascination, intoxication, provocation...
upon me ocular, neurological, mental...
faculties of this nattering nabob
from outer limits of twilight zone
i.e. literary krazy Jewish jabberwocky
issuing haphazard global toll till
fallout exacting deserved damn
cratering nascent (inchoate) career
digitally/electronically bi:
ne'er re: carpet bombing
away upon modus operandi, sans
sesquipedalian shrapnel strafes wrought
realization literary scaffolding
complex edifice thought
out in mind of yours truly,
not popularly sought
opportunity to experience
rush of excitement,
asper choice winner equals naught
inexorable effort to cobble innovative
linkedin words disappointment fraught
submissions witness polite declinations
attesting, lamenting, regarding poetic
expansive glommed language, unlikely
success tubby brought
adulation, commendation, enunciation...
fades into afterthought.
Ablest adept adroit aficionado
applauded aspiring authors accorded
absolute badge because
brevity brews brilliant burnished
bravado bubbling budding bulwark
captivatingly collates, communicates,
constitutes conveys avast literary
Grand Canyon chiseled, sans scribe's
Colorado devoid, asper driven desperado
contrariwise, through prevalent
persistent pinterest proclivity,
plus plethora pronounced propensity
resoundingly regaling readers
re: raffish ridiculous rumination
renders endeavor incommunicado
diligent doggedness ironically -
dampens dueling dynamic dud
dutifully dramatically diminishing
divine dream deemed darling
distinguished doodling I sip
prose poe hit tick drafter
equally or exceeding
prospects envisioning El Dorado,
thus this Neanderthal sites his lumbering
lugubrious trademark, an
immediate attribute sensing
missive heading directly
to Davy Jones locker
dead reckoning deep virtual
waters of cyber sea!
Now gather around, ye lusty lads, a tale I'll tell to thee
Of jealous Gods, monsters and ill-fated men who sailed the sea.
My tale is set in hoary times when fickle fate was by divine decree.
Then men were men who faced all odds, much sturdier than you or me.
It was the time when the Trozans fell, King Priam's pride was turned to dust,
Odysseus' ruse of Trozan Horse, made him of the God's accursed;
For Apollo's faith was crushed by heel of Grecian fleet,
And rape and pillage, with lust and greed, was rampant on the street
But fair Odysseus, with wanton fill, mindful of the weep and wail
With his Grecian hordes and a dozen ships to Ithaca did set sail
With hope-filled heart, with fair Penelope and Telemachus in mind
His course to fair Ithaca was charted and well and truly defined.
But fate, I did say, was most fickle-minded, and had deviously contrived
A fate which would try their grit and test how they fought, and survived.
And so the ships driven willy-nilly by the North Westers and South Easters
Drove them by predetermined chance to the Land of the Lotus Eaters.
The Lotus Eaters were a race which the world forgot in their drugged state
With food of the Nelumbo, of a species time forgot, but did their hunger sate,
And drugged their minds to exclusion of world, to family, and other cares.
Odysseus , abstinent was he,, dragged them back on board, with crew unawares.
Thence post-haste did the ships set sail and sighted fair isle with fatted cattle,
Fair game for stocking provisions, but first a Titan Cyclops they had to battle.
Odysseus, full of guile knew that force would lead to hapless naught,
So crept he in, midst cattle din, and there sleeping Polyphemus sought.
And there as the Cyclops soundly slept, blinded his eye, which was but one.
Polyphemus, Titan, unbeknownst to Odysseus, was Poseidon's beloved son.
With prideful boast Ithacan King, in derision his name did daringly decree.
Wild with rage, and dreadful pain, did Polyphemus call his father from the sea.
Deeply hurt at deceit and guile by which the Grecians blinded his offspring,
Poseidon did curse and said, " May stormy seas and whirly winds calamity bring"
So tossed about were the dozen ships, windblown and tossed on heaving seas.
With heavy heart and tired limb went they to Aeolus, the Wind God there to please.
~11 Jun 2016~
Day Dreaming Cowboy
Wish I was a cowboy
Just for you tonight
We’d Waltz and two step
Across this bar room floor
We’d put quarters in the juke box
Till they spilled upon the floor
We’d sing along with
Hank and Willy
Till they couldn’t take it anymore
I’d smother you in
Belt buckles
From my latest rodeo
I’d be the cowboy
Who rode that bull
Ten seconds more
I’d put you on a stallion
Let you lope across the
Wind swept prairies of my mind
I’d trade my Stetson
For your Levi’s
And lacy underwear
I’d place your boots
Beneath my bed
Till the little ones came
And kissed us both goodnight
I wish I was that cowboy
Just for you tonight
Lon 4/19/2021
Deborah happened on it by chance…and it had immediate allure
an advertisement in Asheville…for chocolate factory tour.
“We get to tour a chocolate factory.” she said. “And taste chocolate. It’s a win win.
Before you could say Willy Wonka I yelled, “Did you say chocolate…count me in.”
We showed up early at the chocolate factory…and were immediately aware
how the sweet delicious aroma of chocolate was wafting in the air.
We shared a look and a smile as we opened up the door.
We were literally now two children about to enter a candy store.
We learned a lot about chocolate…and about the French Broad company too…then we got to taste some chocolate from India, Nicaragua…and Peru.
There were people on the tour who could taste the differences…
“I taste citrus or flowers they’d say” and others would agree….
but with my less than epicurean palate…they all tasted the same to me.
Next we took a tour…where our tour guide happily conveyed….
from the cacao bean to the final product…how chocolate is made.
There was one point where we stood under a pipe…on the very tips of our toes
and the sweet smell of chocolate was pumped right up our nose.
We bought some chocolate for the road and Deborah said…undaunted
I think with this chocolate factory tour…I now have everything I ever wanted…
“Don’t forget what happened to the couple who got everything they wanted.” I said
as we floated out of the factory…a blend of joy and bliss and laughter….
“What happened to them?” Deborah asked…
“I smiled caressing my bag of chocolate and in my best Willy Wonka voice said,
“They lived happily ever after.”