Short Lob Poems
Short Lob Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Lob by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Lob by length and keyword.
Have any of you ladies been hit with a lob
From a baseball right in your “mossy bob”
As a male I cringe
I feel a twinge
Remembering some groin hits, I still start to sob
Have any of you ladies been hit with a lob
From a baseball right in your “mossy bob”
As a male I cringe
I feel a twinge
Remembering some groin hits, I still start to sob
Trump Mettled With Mind
Trump with minute minds often mettled,
Of all his supporters who are unsettled;
Ignorance lob
Like doorknob;
Over cliff his bike should have pedalled.
Jim Horn
Grenade Lob at a Mob
Of course I am watching MSNBC
and came up with this.
A grenade should give a long lob;
Can completely destroy the mob;
Of Trump rid;
God forbid;
President sucks and is some snob.
Jim Horn
I’ll make ya feel it and make ya throb it
and I’ve been known to cut it and lob it.
So before ya get sliced
ya might wanna think twice
cos no one cheats on Lorena Bobbitt!.
Written: December 2015
I have an unusual job
All I have to do is lob
On their doorstep once a week
And then I go to bed for a sleep
Every two hours I am woken up
I take their tablets in their scheduled sup
For I now make my living
Testing drugs in their measured vision.
© Paul Warren Poetry
I AM Walking Smelling the Fragrant Flowers
I WALK THROUGH GARDENS
FILLED WITH LILAC, JAZMINE ROSE
LAVEN HYACINTH
HONEYSUCK LILIES
SMELLS SO FRAGANT THE BLOSSUMS
MOCK-ORANGE FREESAS
MORN GLORY YLANGS
TUBEROSE HELOTROPE AND
LOB MARITIMAN
1/26/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.
A man without a job
Had scarce to fill his gob
Scanning the press did See
Much work in jeopardy..'
So his pack; on back did lob.
He'd take train to short supply
Where time; was stacked up high.'
As a man of Limerick town
He was never feeling down
For t'was surely worth the try!
[bard1]
To wit, sans pearl, mere grit and sand,
an irritant, sebaceous cyst,
expressive as a mongrel’s gland,
self-seeking randy churlish tryst!
[bard2]
Eccentric heel’s ethos raised grand,
eschews finesse, rough skewers gist,
a numpty dumpty, brillig panned,
thou frontal lob, now dully bris’d!
Long years back writing just was a job,
To my boss— a bugbear, my pet lob,
It then turned to hobby—
To numb noise my Dolby,
My life’s passion by now consigned FOB
Of an unpaid cabby,
A do-not-so hubby,
A horse in harness, show-off doorknob.
_________________________________
FOB: Free on board as in shipments
Reflections |02.05.2023| humour
Two am., I’m up again
Staying asleep befuddles me
Needing to flip the switch at the main
And turn off my mind you see
What wheels do turn
Screech round then stop
My head doth burn
Like flames atop
The buried truth
Must eventually come out
I drink the vermouth
Washed down with a stout
Easier to lob off my neck
And see my face roll on the deck
Most hearts are marbled with the fat of prejudice.
Some more than others.
Some have a heart that beats lean.
Like a white rose in the summer heat.
Others have more fat than heart.
Theirs beats much more slowly.
Rebuffs all visions of love.
Every beat billowing a bolus of hate.
How to burn this fat off.
Lob a heartfelt prayer to God.
Then wait...sometimes indefinitely.
Under a grin, redirected,
A sniff of grief claws
Through, revealing
A sad blue artery,
A pain 24-7.
Underscored with carefully
Emoted verbs,
And adjectives imbedded with
Mock sincerity,
A simple sentence: a right to be honest.
Beneath the pulse in heartbeats encephalo
A few tearful regrets
Lob empty phrases into
A field with no guilt, washed and dried,
And returned unlabeled.
Pop is the web of her fame
ups new wig on any pose
out of her toe is a red flame
big ego, yet men call for rose
the sun and sky beg for her name
era of joy in a big dose
sex is no mud in the game
all bow to her icy nose
bed her bro, any guy should
ask any boy, no one could
tie the zip and ego and build
any man, she can withstand
the biz, she so understands
far in a lob to us, she stands
A writer writes
As symbols cite
An artist paints
A visual strain
A thinker thinks
A verge or brink
A singer sings
A vibrant fling
A player plays
A sporty say
A dreamer dreams
A profound theme
A craftsman crafts
As finesse drafts
A thousand jobs
A certain lob
A way to live
A way to give
A sketch in time
A poignant rhyme
Leon Enriquez
21 August 2017
Singapore
I am not applying for Santa's job
It is lies that's coming from Mr Floods gob
But there's drone footage as proof
Terry pushed him off the roof
And a large sack with bricks in he did lob.
Theres a warrant out for Terry Flood
All the kids in the world want his blood
His evil scheming will fail
There's a top cop on his trail
His scheme will crash to earth with a thud.
Written on 29th November 2022
Apt art aids
Prompt plot paid
Etch etch earns
Late lob learns
Glimpse good grade
Trust tough trade
Craft clear core
Meet much more
Ply prompt praise
Rest rude raise
Make minds meet
Grace good greet
Treat taut taste
Weed wills waste
Sift soft stakes
Mad mind makes
Graft good gist
Lure lame list
Words work well
Time trains tell
Leon Enriquez
28 September 2019
Singapore
See success soak
Yield yonder yoke
Make moans moving
Boom brings blessings
Old options opt
Live lovely lob
Sense swaying see
Seek simple spree
Ink imprints id
Glimpse gracious grid
Note nimble nighs
Speak solemn sighs
Stalk sensuous sides
Hurl healthy hides
Oomph oils only
Wiles word wildly
Thrill tender think
Ideas in ink
Mind mellow match
End echoes etch
Leon Enriquez
18 November 2014
Singapore
Sitting here in rhythm’s rhyme
What bait to use to snare
What size hook will do the job
So many to compare
Fitting spaces into time
Or backhand cutting lob
Splitting places walls to climb
With faster graying hair
Harder now to weave and bob
Timing’s on a tear
Icy teary blue eyes rime
Hang it all
The rig’s too small
For a longer
Stronger
Line
One has to cut it fine
Like one sweet corn
Or two carbuncle
Slice it now and
Bob’s y’ r uncle
If I find one foolish for the job,
Was E Musk’s cunningly lofted lob—
A lob in no man’s ground,
Rare if such a fool's found,
And Tweeter’s stuck with a stuck-up knob!
_____________________________________
Happenings |17.12.2022| Humour
Poet’s note: Elon Musk though committed to quit Tweeter’s top job, still seems stuck there as a sore door knob. For, as he said: It won’t be easy to find one foolish enough for the job— a clever tennis lob from Musk, and as lethal as an ace!