Lumping Poems | Examples

Reptile by Birth

Into the abyss
I look in to see 
Peeking over, to discern 
Her looking up at me. 

Reptile cold and slithe,
I slither through the dewy blades,
And writhley race across the glade.
A lumping creature, 
Limpling, legless loping,
Filled with their plastic dopamines. 

Wet with amnion, glistening,
Halting in the flatlands,
No colour lights my way,
My brain is shriveled, stupid 
Human thought so far away. 

My mind a blackhole vacuum 
Leaving naught alive 
I eat up ash and dirt 
Living only to survive.

Pulsating log, flicking tongue
To smell the sour air. 
My mind consumes it
Swallowed whole, 
Leaving me no feeling.  

Absent, that sacral dome of thought, 
Vacuous cranium, filled with
Negative nothings, 
Not a word of right or wrong. 

In that chasm, to which I look again 
I see my steady gaze returned 
Regurgitated, digested meat
A meal for hungry birds.

Old-Fashioned Parloring

Old-fashioned parloring. Dreaming
of friendship with tea and cakes.

Feathered fascinators, blooming hats,
all dressed like a bountiful bouquet.

Chatterbox of lovely talk, liveliness
in eyes and lips. Excitement of togetherness.

A cozy of ladies is the best. Dress us up,
kiss us with tasty treats and sips of chai.

Such is the picture of yesteryear, placed
in the Southerner's space. Children pass by

with hardly a howdy-do. Little girls pleased
by a lit up screen, chattering at a box,

unable to size up the others by their character,
wearing ripped up jeans and too small shirts.

These girls don’t know the beauty of baking,
the blossoming of a glass teapot, the lumping

of sugar, an afternoon of nestling in proverbial
glow with sun streaming its shadows on the wall.

One girl glances up, her eyes fly off, like butterflies,
into the space behind the frame, the fragile glass

removed for this moment of time. Her great-grandma
smiles and weeps, holds hope for this progeny.

Suddenly, the girl of twelve, is whisked away in time.
She’s seated at a fresh set table, not questioning why.

I'm Envious of the Clouds

I’m envious of the clouds
   That float happily in the sun –
Changing into colorful shrouds –
   Lumping from many into one.

Their most compatible friend –
   The wind, admits
They beautify the high heaven –
   As nebulosity permits –

Travel without a passport –
   Slipping away on a whim
For a day’s length or more –
   Then return a denizen.

Zealots Kangaroos and Weather X-Rays

Young zealots absolve beyond comprehension
discussing elaborate frenzied garbles
hereby inciting jealous kangaroos
lumping marvelous night occurrences
providing quintessential ravishing stalemates
tasting universal variations weather x-rays

Un-Fairie Queen

An un-fairie queene
from an unchivalrous tale
lumping and clumping
off beaten tracks
down beaten ones
so beaten
that they click and crack
criss-crossed with crabgrass
so tall that it looks
like some fiendish crag
it crassly sticks to soles
and copiously 
feasts on clothes
not only that
there are the pools
mighty, classy and cool
clamouring loud and clear
to be given their due
for they are 
the sole claim to fame
of those grumpy roads
they welcome cars
with their clip-clop
and lure them to splosh
to splash the passers-by
Then comes that tired 
un-fairie queene
holding a ray of hope
clinging to it
 lest it slip and fall
and though dim it is
she still believes
it can bring some light
and touch some souls
That’s what she has
her feet of clay
but come what may
she will forever
have faith
in her fairy ray.

Johannes Was a Gentleman

Johannes was a gentleman; she had heard this.
Greta knew him not, but when he entered the room
she sensed it was the lord of the manor.

He was casual; spoke in a low voice.
Seemed to sense that a regular voice might frighten her.
She had never been this close to aristocracy.

Her father had warned her to stay away from the rich.
He had called them rapscallions, and knaves.
His experiences tainting them all, lumping them together.

Greta was more open minded than her father;
she gave him a bit of a chance. The light flickered
in his eyes; his sense of humor was obvious.
They became secret friends, more than
enough to teach her that her intuition was good.

A Through Z On Fire

Alligator alley always answers
Bringing bulbous batches of bubbles
Creatively and curiously cavorting 
Deliberately denying and distorting
Elusive energy and enthusiasm
From freakish forwarding fanatics who foresee
Glorious globs of grotesque gossip
Hereon, hereto and herewith heralded
In illustrious illumination indicating ideas 
Joyfully and joyously justifying
Kibitzing kindnesses of kith and kin
Labelling luxurious languages, lumping them as lovely.
Manifesting monstrous maniacal mystical miracles
Needing Nirvana and Never-never-land nuisances
Opposed to outrageous ornateness and ordinariness.
Persecuting prideful pompousness and prissiness.
Respectfully receiving responsible rectifiable residents
Such serious succulent sensuous senatorial secrets!
Truth touching tremendous thunderous tentacles
Understating understandably undeniable underlying unity
Verifying villainous vexing vindicators 
Willfully wishing willy-nilly wispy ways will work wonders
‘Xpecting ‘xceptionally ‘xperimental ‘xperts
Yoking the young and youthful,
Zippy zealots showing zany zesty zealous ways.

Much More Powerful Than My Parents

Magical muggle, one of my dreams, delight me with your fanciness.
Magical muggle, come closer, and give me a taste of your pranciness.
“What are you doing in there?” My father roars at me.
 
Nothing, I lie.
“It better be nothing!” my mother says.
They have nothing to do with Muggles, lumping them together as worthless
beings, who generalize witches and wizards, and pick on us, 
tormenting us because we are magical and have precognition.
 
But my gift of foresight has shown that the love of my life
is going to be an enthusiastic, un-biased, faithful magical muggle, and I am
much more powerful than my parents anyway. Grandma taught me that.
 
Hiding it well, biding my time. My true wizard love should be here in six
years and three days.  That is how exact my gift of precognition is.
I smile, roll over and go to sleep, imagining our three
gorgeous half-breed children who will call me Mommy.

Tripping Skipping Lipping Lee

Tripping, skipping, lipping Lee. I’ve got a wart hog, you’re on my knee!
Spiking, liking, biking me, I’m going to travel, far as you can see.
Hopping, bopping, cropping, key. Fits in a door knob, bigger than me.
Smacking, tracking, fracking, we.  You are a he, I am a she.

Jumping, dumping, lumping, fee. Were you talking bad about me?
Laughing, cracking, graphing, gee.  Did you understand how to flee?
Skinning, skipping, hopping, see.  Where is that beautiful oak tree?
Leering, learning, licking, he.  What kind of woman would I be?


Hunting, bunting, breathing, she.  Bear hike cumberdash, knows Mr. Dee.
Shoving, loving, doving, bee.  From unknown places, now here with thee.
Wondering, thundering, gee.  Leave me now, go get some tea.
Jimmy, Whimmy, Limmy Lee. How much more fun can a rhyming poem be?

Revised: Jan 18, 2019          Contest: Rhyme Battle Xii
                                          Sponsor: Juli-Michelle

The Way People Are

People do the things they do
From “normal” to bizarre
Because, as often is observed,
“That’s just how people are.”

But lumping them together,
Even though some traits are shared,
Implies that those who give
And those who take can be compared.

We all have things in common
Yet it’s surely not a fact
That because we’re human, there’s 
A certain way that people act.

An Educator of Fortune

I came across a thought 
My mind it caught
Of the bygone that I lived
From which I was ripped 
For the rest of my life

All I took was a glance 
Of a tutor of chance
With whom I wish to hold hands
Over all these lumping lands
For the rest of my life

I ask her why a blue sky
She shoots back why
I can take no more of this emotion 
Such of that of a fateful bitter potion
For the rest of my life 

I take a glimpse of the monastery 
To which I hold the pass of entry
At the bricks that were carved of enlightenment 
And at the steady environment 
For the rest of my life 

Now I sit on her throne 
Delighted to be her clone
If this were not the end
For her I would have sent
For the rest of my life

Fifty Shades of Grey

Wild and eccentric
Delicious sin
A naughty pick
A bull with no pen

Only a disk
No real relation
A fantasy twist
Of imagination

Goosebumps formed
Fine hairs erect
Becoming warm
A sensual wreck

Body of brick
Persuasive and stern
Delightfully sick
Passions burn

Smooth brown hair
Camouflage his horns
Convinced it's fair
She bears the thorns

Position of authority
Gives any girl a rush
But without priority
It remains a crush

On the edge of my seat
Heart thumping
A good girl's treat
Throat lumping

The screen went black
Fingers crossed
Mild heart attack
The ending was lost

How could it end
Right in the middle
Wrapped up in the wind
Satisfaction brittle

Slightly livid
Feeling deserted 
My heart still amid
The author flirted

Leaving me to decide
What comes next
As though he lied
I'm feeling perplexed

Hungry for more
I try distraction
But I'm still on the floor
Solving this fraction

Perhaps this explains
The best seller label
Audience left in chains
For the few who are able 

How clever was he
Giving a thousand endings
Some would agree
The sequel is pending

Hear That Whisper

Hear That Whisper?


 That faint whisper one can almost hear at the break of day
 is the angels fluttering dragging the last of 
 the stubborn intense pains of darkness away!

 That roar one hears as the damn gates loudly clank to
 is dark shadows locking the miseries into you!

 That wailing cry you hear just before sweet morn's light
 is your heart screaming for iron chains to break open
 the bindings cutting your throat all the evil night!

 That sad remorse lumping up in your burning hot throat
 is the dregs of sorrows that cast in the deep blues
 as you lay there helpless in a burning, sinking boat!

 Never hear that whisper and feel so proud and relieved
 is that your fantasy that gives you a moments rest
 or hell about to break loose in a soul forever aggrieved!

Robert J. Lindley , 08-03-2014

Ghosts

A shadow of a family
Sits, lumping on our couch
Watching TV with mindless eyes
Occasionally letting a few words out

The lines that bind together
Lie about on the ground like jump ropes
They’re always in the way
Tripping up dreams and shorting out hopes

Every emotion results in a trip
The kitchen holds our sleeping pills
We are cannibals who ravage our own souls
Unaware of what we’ve just killed

When shadow touches skin
An unholy shiver acknowledges the split
Broken bits lie behind beauty
Our reality is a switchboard with connectors that never fit.

Written by Trudy Schrader on July 4th 2007


Note: This was a poem I wrote 3 days before I left my husband of 14 years (16 at divorce).

The One I Can'T Touch

The one I can't touch
is a flirt, but not much.
She brushes me slowly
a hint of soft lust.
She strides along with me,
my pace she has matched.
She glances not quickly
are you sure you can pass?

A slither of heat
is wrapping around me.
A heart skips a beat
her motives astound me.
Sitting on time consumption
lumping in all my assumption,
hoping my body ponders,
instead of fleeting off to wander.
I stand erect and turn around
but luckily now, hes coming down.

A face to face simple embrace
she slithers away,
the heat is replaced.
We say are goodbyes
and part our ways,
the day has gone by
nothing is phased.
I smile just a little
cause i am just flesh.
My thoughts are unworthy 
but my hands he can trust.

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