Long Yelled Poems
Long Yelled Poems. Below are the most popular long Yelled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yelled poems by poem length and keyword.
He was big, rough, burly, with tattoos everywhere you could see.
Up both arms, down his neck; a big boy, weighted two thirty-three.
I tried not to notice him, for I am afraid of bikers this size.
When he came to the bar, I actually began to rise.
Don’t let me scare you off, he said. And he gave me a wink.
This reassured me a little, I am sure my face was kind of pink.
I decided to stay a bit. He and the bartender exchanged a grrrr.
They were not happy with each other, and I thought a fight might occur.
He’s not that tough, the biker said, pointing to the guy behind the bar.
If you want. I can whoop his ass, and throw him pretty far.
No thank you, I said, trying to down my beer. It had cost me seven.
I wanted to get out of there before someone got shot to heaven.
Bartender was glaring at the big guy now. I envisioned my life gone.
I slurped up my beverage and headed out the door and way beyond.
Hey miss! Someone yelled behind me. I then began to run and duck.
“I have your purse!” the big guy yelled. I was horrified now, I suck!
Big yellow cat lying across a Harley stretched out, gave me a yawn.
The big guy handed my purse, and then the bike he soon jumped on.
That’s my big brother the bartender told me, a few weeks later.
He likes to wrestle with me in the bar. We call him Kitty Gator.
Sugar Lily did not know her grandma well
But she recognized her smile as friendly
Her parents were excited to be off on their own
They acted like kids, waving and yelling.
Grandma Day yelled “Go already!”
They were gone in a blast after that.
Sugar Lily learned to snap peas out of pods.
She learned how to crochet a chain.
By the time her parents came back
Grandma Day was her new best friend.
She announced all of her accomplishments in the car.
I learned to paint a fence. I learned to swim in a lake.
I learned to dig for worms. I learned to fish bass.
I learned to be quiet when grandma’s boyfriend comes over.
Boyfriend! My daddy nearly wrecked the car.
Just teasing, I said, but can I come back next summer?
An evil warlock changed my vicissitudes on this horrible mean day.
It only took seconds, but he took all my power and confidence away.
I went from a woman to a purple dragon with red stripes you see.
He was in cahoots with an ogre who has always hated little ole me.
They transmuted me with abnormally joyful anticipation and jubilation.
I heard them cackling like old hen women, in fantastical celebration.
I was angry as hops, ready to do whatever damage I could do.
But they also gave me a loving heart, before they were through.
No matter how mean they were, I had to smile and be nice.
It was not easy for me to hate them, or fill my heart with ice.
I can do it Trixie yelled, ready to be whoever I wanted her to be.
She said we should throw the word vicissitudes back to Tennessee.
So Hank, this poem is for you, since you gave me that word.
I have written this poem twice, which was insanely absurd.
But the first time it disappeared from my computer, making me mad.
But thanks to this metamorphosis, I can neither get even or bad.
He buried his face in her. At first gently. Naked his muscles rippled in the morning light. He was beautiful. She was beautiful and he held her as if she were the last raindrop that would ever fall.
In the white of the stone. In the hand of their creator. Her dress flowed like, sat like, curled like silk. Her face spoke even in the stillness of her passing. His body, his presence yelled of a passion unharnessed.
Death by the poison of a venomous snake and you know we all die like this by the hand of a heartless serpent even if by happenstance but still the sculpture painted romance painted love. Screamed into the eyes of the beholder if not for love then what?
22~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
'Twas the night before Christmas'...
We all know how that goes,
A sleigh, some reindeer and cherry red nose.
The chubby guy with a bag full of loot,
Soot and ashes all over his suit.
Well this tale isn't about the poem or song,
It really happened and won't take long.
So, I'll get to the telling,
Of something quite compelling.
It happened one Christmas eve,
Something, so odd, you may not believe.
Santa fell asleep in my favorite chair,
The sight of that gave us a terrible scare.
There were millions of kids yet to go
And this fat guy might never show.
He needed a pick-me-up that's for sure.
A shot of adrenaline would just be the cure.
Not having that, we did what we could.
8 Red Bulls, plus coffee, would be just as good.
He quickly downed them, and got all hyped up,
Like a huge volcano about to erupt.
He hopped in his sleigh and started to fly,
Waved and yelled a hearty goodbye.
This delay could have been tragic,
But Christmas, we know, has special magic.
Kids soon had presents under their trees.
It's a good thing we didn't offer Santa Sleepy Time tea.
They threw me off a pirate ship
Into the path of a giant yellow jellyfish.
She had been crying for a bunch of
unsavory fools had thrown her off
another ship
Into the path of rudders that would
not have been kind.
Luckily a wave came along and
saved her.
She was sobbing as she told me
the story; I did not even think she
realized I was hanging on for dear life
I gave her my most interested looks,
hoping she would take mercy on me.
When we reached a whale she gave me a toss.
I landed next to the whale’s mouth.
I thought we were friends! I yelled
right before I was plunged into the whale’s mouth
I never liked humans she said
Then she laughed.
It was a mean, sadistic sound.
The last sound I heard.
There Is No Little Red Wagon
The professor, the priest, the psychologist commanded me
Do not think about the little red wagon.
My tormentors and captors yelled at me
Do not think about the little red wagon!
In turn they all question me ever so sweetly
“Did you think about the little red wagon?”
Naturally I respond, “No.”
I think I have them on the run this time, just for fun
Perhaps they don’t know
But when they asked again like a friend and a foe
I had trouble remembering
And said, “Could you repeat the question please?”
“Did you say something about a little red wagon?”
They turned on me, responded arrogantly
“Say that thing you just said one more time for the record!”
I said, “Sure.” “My pleasure.”
And repeated, “Did you say something about a dribble and a dragon?”
I guess that fixed their little red wagon.
This is such a bore so I can say no more about that thing on wheels.
Tuesday was the day that Saturn came crashing down out of the sky.
She fell with a plunk, many people thought they were going to die.
She got smaller and smaller, until she fell with a tiny little plink.
Saturn fell in my grandmother’s dark room, into her photogenic sink.
We grandkids asked Grams, should we share Saturn's plight?
Gram yelled. This is a dark room. Do not turn on that light!
Saturn spoke to us, using extraterrestrial telepathy.
She ate short bread cookies, and some of Grandma’s dandelion tea.
We kids do not keep secrets, so I guess you know bye and bye.
FBI came and began searching for Saturn. Grams said it was a lie.
Now two FBI agents are locked in basement – Pete and Old McSly.
Because Grams said if Mr. Lee turned on the light, he was gonna die.
CONT ... from Part 2
THE WOMAN WHO COULD EAT WOOD Part 3
Through frowning ululating flowers
of full colours she waded
for hours.
She scaled sharpie sharp rocks
and slid down roughie rough slopes.
She rested out of breath
next to the bones of fox dopes.
She heard the elf somewhere yelling, promising,’
Santa has changed his mind!
I’ll take you back to work! Christmas is back on! I’ll meet you at the vines maligned.’
B knew Mark was lying through his reptilian teeth
so she quickly got her breath back and headed east through a bush valley to a suburb called Heath.
A dim tunnel dripping she past made her thirsty
so she went inside with her
mouth open wide.
The water drops were just right for her.
When she closed her mouth,
lowered her head,
swivelled around,
Santa was right there in bright white-and-red.
He was staring furiously
and licking his lips.
B screamed, ‘HELP! HELP! HELP!’
and clutched her hips.
Shockingly he opened his super five metre wide like Pac-Man mouth. Then he sucked up B into it
so she wouldn’t be able to EVER AGAIN! eat his wood toiled toys. He yelled, 'NEVER again could she do it!'
She laid too scared
in his fat gut, literally a real tar pit!
But she felt positively relieved she’d soon get out
when she remembered, and Santa forgot, that there was no doubt that in a few days he’d poo her out.
THE END
"Rise an' shine you lazy cowpokes! Time to saddle up yer hoss!
Time to move them moo-cows to summer range!" yelled th' trail boss!
"You've lolled around here all winter, now it's time to earn yer pay!
Jump in yer jeans, pull on them boots an' let's git 'er underway!"
All winter long they'd grown fat in th' bunkhouse eatin' Cooky's fare,
But knowin' that on that long, dusty trail, grub could be mighty spare!
How they'd long fer good ol' gut-fillin' grub as they wuz mendin' fences,
An' roundin' up them wily dogies roamin' over God's vast expanses!
Come supper time th' cowpunchers would lounge about a blazin' far,
Smokin' roll-yer-owns, chewin' th' fat an' nursin' cuts frum bobbed war!
Thankin' th' Lord fer their grub, Cooky yelled, "Come an' git 'er fellers!
Ain't much, but me an' my ol' Dutch oven done purty good!" he bellers!
Th' menu never varied but they knew better'n to complain about his cuisine,
Er Cooky could be as grumpy as a rattlesnake er a disgruntled wolverine!
Ever' supper consisted uv th' same ol' thing - a classic case uv deja vu:
Beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!
Frum across th' valley a harmonica's melancholy tune wuz heard,
As th' night guard kept a wary vigil an' soothed th' restless herd.
Th' cowpokes dreamt uv a hearty breakfast but they already knew,
It'd be beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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