Rotund Poems | Examples

Slurring at the Elephant in the Room

How many times have we met? I don't have thick skin
if I were to come under the needle of a vet;

barf would linger on clothes that aren't yet washed
down by the hose of a zoo attendant.

The span of your ears sweeping back the stench
I exude with perspiration, thanks, elephant.

My rumbly gut on your gut, your rotund barrel
takes us over Niagara Falls.

A cold, yet steamy mist can exit rage.
A friendliness plummets over me where I stand

too drunk to squirm and go visit my girl.
I turn and want to unlatch my cage, bar

pressing my nose to what might be in store
not ready to eat hay nor sleep on the floor,

grateful that your prehensile
trunk can reach in the fridge and snag a beer.

Big Bobby Buddah

Look at my belly,
So rotund, full of jelly!
I am in a jam.

we call them babies

their skin is a different color than anyone else’s in the room; a color
reserved for babies. Even toddlers do not have this kind of hue.
they are rotund; they have the fullest tummies. They are unbelievably
stinky when they spirt out their mother’s milk. we call them babies.


babies are puffy
rubenesque and full chubby
squared up and farty

he had expensive tastes

the cat was Rubenesque
He was rotund
He was round
He was stuck up
We thought he was hilarious
He had expensive tastes
Insisted on only the best treats and foods
His wives were not laughing

Dance In The Square

The caller’s voice resonates in the jovial air,
his elegant moves steer on floor each pair.

Hold her, hook her from the rotund rear,
swing her around in circles with full gear.

Do-si-do and promenade in postures wild,
each step entwining your hearts beguiled.

Swirl around like an eddy in rhythmic flair,
dance to the beat of heart in the square.

Allemande steps you’re to deftly do-si-do,
until music fades from square with no clue.

the bard'z fuddled garble

.

                 bizarre I say
              twixt mine mane
                  mine digits
                    twisting

           she peeks mine look
                   hern eyne
                      plead
                         i
                       me

                  suspended
                mine imagine

                 az the moon
                   mine see
                  the rotund
               hiz derogatory 
                       fist
               mine purgatory
                      think

                       pop

he has got a rutabaga butt

He’s got a rutabaga butt, a rutabaga butt.
My cousin has certainly got a rutabaga butt!
Jerry was singing this loudly and proudly, like a clown.
We could hear it coming, going and upside down.

I felt sorry for his cousin though we had never met.
You might hurt his feelings I told Jerry; better stop it.
He kept singing, "he’s got a rutabaga butt, and a giant gut!
My cousin Jed has the world’s larges rutabaga butt."

Horrified now, I insisted on meeting Jerry’s cousin Jed.
He is a rotund guy with diverse coloring and a tiny head.
His body is made of a rutabaga, so the sound now makes sense.
I have not been able to stop singing this silly song ever since.

we do not all want to see that

Pompous yam stuck his tummy out big and bold
It was not a young fresh belly, rather rotund and old.
He is so arrogant, he thought we would all like to see.
His rump-like rounded tummy; he’s full of idiocy.

You Are Still Beautiful

There is a dogwood tree planted in our front lawn.
It reveals its beauty with each glorious dawn.
It was pretty when young, but lovelier with age.
Majestic white flowers, like modeling on stage.

You gave your body so our children could be born.
I know you think you look rotund and very worn.
Yet, to me you are still as beautiful as when
Our first date and first kiss and our love did begin.

So, don’t think I will want any other woman.
I could not do that and see myself a true man.
I love you for yourself and just the way you are.
You are lovelier than the whitest dogwood flow’r.

he is so rotound and rubenesque

Shawn was full of blarney most of his youthful days
with his full face, his emerald eyes and his ginger hair
He sang Irish ditties in knee slapping ways
When he had too much beer at the Dublin fair

He is so rotund, so Rubenesque, so big, some said.
Santa Claus is too, said his wife, her head totally red.
She liked everything about her chubby happy man.
Loved him completely, as only a second wife can.

Chew Chew Matt Kung Fu Cat

Chew Chew Mat the Kung Fu Cat
Was roly, round, rotund and phat
She challenged every cat around.
Threw them into the air and onto the ground.

She was as fierce as any feline I had ever seen.
Her face was wide, her eyes were green.
She slammed me into the chair right away.
Okay I said, Let’s get this on, let’s play!

hes got a rutabaga butt

He’s got a rutabaga butt, a rutabaga butt.
My cousin has certainly got a rutabaga butt!
Jerry was singing this loudly and proudly, like a clown.
We could hear it coming, going and upside down.

I felt sorry for his cousin though we had never met.
You might hurt his feelings I told Jerry; better stop it.
He kept singing, "he’s got a rutabaga butt, and a giant gut!
My cousin Jed has the world’s largest rutabaga butt."

Horrified now, I insisted on meeting Jerry’s cousin Jed.
He is a rotund guy with diverse coloring and a tiny head.
His body is made of a rutabaga, so the sound now makes sense.
I have not been able to stop singing this silly song ever since.

We do not all want to see that

Pompous yam stuck his tummy out big and bold
It was not a young fresh belly, rather rotund and old.
He is so arrogant, he thought we would all like to see.
His rump-like rounded tummy; he’s full of idiocy.

Archaeology

Walking along a road, diagonally, 
through someone's house briefly 
and back out where there isn't a door
across their vegetable patch and
eventually over the bones of some buried
unknowns.
Cows are currently grazing in someone's
hallway, while a tree grows in the kitchen.
As I walk, I trample through a Roman bath
where in a different time a rotund, well fed
Roman is relaxing in his water.
My next foot down stamps the hand
of a warrior who has just fallen to the sword
As he, in his battledress and beard, 
lays in someone else's hearth 
where a herb-filled stew is being cooked.
I tread effortlessly over walls and pits, 
rooms and murder scenes, above oceans
and below oceans.
These layers of time leave layers of life
which layer the ground silently screaming
voices and echoes of stories once told. 
There will then be a layer to come
where someone will tread their feet
over my life, my house and my bed.

Too Much Meat and Bread

she cannot get into clothes anymore
prefers a blue mumu or sweat pants
red meat eater from Iowa
well-fed with carbohydrates
rotund and Rubenesque
waddles into rooms
squat and stocky
overweight
chunky
bulk

• Short Rotund Poems
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