"hippos" poems
Some of us are really hungry hungry hippos
But I'm a ***** ***** hippo
Sometimes I'm both
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******
Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.
Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.
The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
A lion’s mane would’ve been permed,
zebra would be all white,
spotted leopard would’ve been spotless,
an orangutan would have blonde hair,
an elephant’s tusk would’ve been whiter,
rhinoceros would’ve had smooth skin,
hippos would’ve been skinny,
raccoons wouldn’t have had dark circles.
Need I go on?
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 6:08 PM UTC
Today's goal,
mimic
all those
unfortunate
souls
met.
Meat,
another use,
all those
unfortunate
souls.
Draw
them in
a pen,
consuming energy,
eating.
*Hungry
hungry
hungry
Hippos* *
*...games.
*Hungry
hungry
hungry
Hippos* *
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
Where's your lady?
asked the chimpanzee
the bear looked askance
the tiger growled
zebras rolled
macaws looked in trance.
Where's she
your lady pretty
queried the lone rhino
it's not good
this solitude
roared the lion with raised eyebrow.
Did you lose your way
this November day
when the sky's blazing blue
this fair weather
you aren't together
how come asked the shrew.
Your face it shows
shouted hippos
this fine day of November
boars did grunt
scowled elephant
you're lost without her.
They were so true
alone at the zoo
emptiness surrounded me
daylight though gold
sky blue bold
I roamed unhappily.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
Hippos in crates
On rollerskates
Crashing through
the rickety gates.
Crashing and bashing.
Oooooooooooh, how Smashing!
Rolling about
Their teeth a-flashing!
Running amuck!
Watch out for the duck.
Open the doors!
Back up the truck!
Zipping up the ramp
Like any old champ.
There they go!
Don't forget the stamp.
Crates in the mail!
Delivered without fail.
Those Hippos on skates
Lurching down the trail.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
I jumped from couch to couch, avoiding the floor that was lava.
The balloon soared and floated in the air, and it could not touch the ground.
Circus animal cookies and chocolate milk were there everyday.
When I was small, the world was big and magical.
My role models were Barney and Babar, Kermit and Elmo.
I wore pink leotards and frilly tutus and stretchy slippers and shiny, black tap shoes.
I’d look up at the sky to see that fluffy white clouds were bunnies, hippos and butterflies.
When I was small, nothing was impossible.
Parks were kingdoms and the jungle-gym was the castle.
My glittery costume gown and my plastic tiara meant I was a real princess,
Peter Pan would come take me away, to live in Neverland.
When I was small, I was immortal.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
The hippos are boiled alive when the curious circus caught aflame.
Who is to blame? The drunkard clowns or the tightrope walkers and their ineffable fear of heights?
Maybe the ringmaster and all his lion taunting, crowd cheering, crowd antagonizing ways,
maybe he's to blame for releasing the bearded lady in a room full of kerosene and unseen wicker flames...
Or...just maybe, it was an accident and could not be prevented under the extraordinary circumstances
which took place on that fateful day where hippos became a poached soup of meat, teeth, and lard.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
There's something crazy going on these days
Down at the city zoo
The giraffes have joined the high society club
While the monkies are getting tattoos
The elephant's are packing up their trunks
And moving to the Bronx
With all the hippos on a diet
In an effort to lose their junk
The Lions have stopped lying
The cheetahs have stopped cheating
And as far as all their drinking
They're both going to A.A. meetings
The orangutans are the ones to blame
For a pyramid scheme gone bad
Left the zebras all in the red
When they lost everything they had
The crocodiles are out sunning themselves
By the pool drinking Piña coladas
While the mother snakes go on Maury
To try and figure out who is the father
Yes, things are a little crazy these days
Down at the city zoo
But if you were locked in a cage all day
Wouldn't you go crazy too?
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
last May
on my couch
as we pretended to watch
animal planet
as we pretended to listen
to hippos playing,
the world was silent
as we slowly inched closer
until
we breathed
**** it’
and then
after all that time
for the first time
like nothing else
there was nothing else
but time
that’s when
I knew
you make
me brave
enough to jump
headfirst into
a pond full of
some predatory
hippos.
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC
Yesterday morning, I woke up to find birds of all colors swirling around me
Yesterday afternoon, I cooked lunch for my friend Steve (he's an elephant)
Yesterday evening, I composed a symphony and entranced sixty hippos with it, lest they should be unhappy
Yesterday night, I died in the arms of my enemies
Tomorrow, I will be born again.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 3:57 PM UTC
Rain forest warm,
predicting a storm,
hippos, giraffes and more
Parumping the water hole.
didn’t take us long, to slap a crown
on a fools heart.
Everything the light touches
made the lions cold.
had to many sad boys in your bed.
(To tune of: Nants ingonyama bagithi baba from: Lion king intro)
Moat of toys,
prey on canniballs,
venison visceral
Drop your bridge Shallow moat.
Midus touch,
rabbit didn't quite touch
lucky enough, your trust, bust
The weatherman cuts.
Can't fight a storm with a pack
Of lions, and djarum butts
Cool Cats don't like the water
won't splash,
might soil their tight pants
Sea captain called
old Horizen won't dance
"listen to your old man".
not worth a penny of your sand.
but if we weren't so green-headed,
A compas might save our hand
for marriage
we don't want plans
They don't understand
want to roll around with simba
Giggling in the butterflies
when they're gone, find another man.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC
Whispers I sent out to dawn latched
on to the solitary sun to trail
the arc of a common time
in a sky the hue of gold in grass.
The land leans on the baobab
in a dust storm of wheels and lenses.
Wheels and lenses.
When the dust settles, I will dust
my shuka and the goats will return
home, to comfort my eyes that flow
the spate of the Great Ruaha,
seeping secretly into the baobab
I have chores to do, a shuka to ****
A shuka to ****
Will they buy the beads I strung
as I rocked Naeku on my back,
to make circles of day and circles
of night, as wide as the baobab,
in the colour of clouds, the colour of sky.
There's colour to stars in a darkened night.
A darkened night.
Killeleshua is fragrant in thousand leaves
Am I not worth more than thirteen Zebu?
The watering hole was flecked in hippos
and the firewood is the colour of dusk
abundantly generous as the baobab
Time, a viscous passing of the sweetest honey.
The sweetest honey.
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC
if it were up to me,
i'd wear pyjamas all day
but
social convention dictates,
that while taking the minutes,
of the meeting for
the arts faculty directorate,
thats NOT okay.
if it were up to me,
i'd wear pyjamas all day.
but my boss says,
it might be
difficult to tell a phd student NO to a grant application,
in a bath robe festooned with purple hippos drinking tea.
if it were up to me,
i'd wear pyjamas all day.
but
my husband tells me, POLITELY,
that jeggings,
are not best suited to my ruebenesque frame.
if it were up to me ....
but
apperently it's not.
.....so black pants cream shirt and vest it's to be
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
at curiosity’s urging
he found haven in haiku
a safe place where people listened
without judging
a thread to test truth’s waters
and tell his story
a 5-7-5 sequence as larynx
giving voice to childhood horrors
beaten regularly with a rubber garden hose
that left no outward evidence
bleeding so badly
he lost a kidney
too terrified to tell the doctor
with his father standing right there
it was a secret kept in the family
her verbal belittlement inculcated
“you should have never been born”
“we can’t afford you”
when he brought home all A’s
they said, “your classes were too easy”
his older brother mercilessly joined the chorus
and the torture
with parental approval
still, his eyes saw beauty
they saw river rocks as hippos
submerged in a backyard creek
they watched in awe at the flight of owls and hawks
swooping down on their prey
they described a “sapphire lake”
“so blue it was almost black”
“a jewel in the belly of the Sierras”
they captured trees and blades of grass
and fallen giants in petrified forests
they found a wife who loved him anyway
despite alcoholic binges and blackouts
his poems told of years of loneliness she erased
they spoke of her as sole reason for sobriety
he found peace in poetry
and used the internet to vent his wise *** ways
at times he even spoke of his family
as if they were decent
but every November remembered
his birth month dredging up the past
he wrote of whispering demons haunting his heart
and scars on the soul that never heal
I can’t imagine his pain
or sense of normalcy
they killed this kid when he was little
but it took him four decades to die
last Friday my friend took his own life
he called me a gentleman and a scholar
and formally thanked me
for encouraging his writing
he defended me in the face of trolls
even though we never met in person
I hope he knows how much we all cared
and I hope there’s a heaven
where he can rest in peace
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 3:43 PM UTC
Hypocrite tournament
put the hippos in a
tourniquet
Turnt a bit
too turned up
Two ton tummies
summo wrestling,
who will win?
Mounted champion
munching on
mountains:
A hypo-hippo-perbole
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
On Saturday
any Saturday
every Saturday
multi-themed pedestrian parades
pour down commercial corridors
celebrating a holiday known as
WEEKEND.
Middle school queens throw
exaggerated waves
from backseat upholstery tops
in imaginary convertibles marking
the current flow route between
Foot Locker and Game Stop.
Marching throngs display
personal banners on
plastic handled brand bags
drawing peer clusters,
human petaled floats,
vying for ribbons
passing devoutly interested
sideline spectators
now feeling a bit empty
without score cards.
Hippos, thin men, package jugglers
stroll along the branching avenues
labeled in chest advertisements
including everything from
Magnetic Health to Jesus.
No mega-city floatilian
compares to the mall regalia
in a midsize hometown
duck-n-spend.
Though it may be
a little short on free candy
it is still sponsored in part
by Macy's.
Interlocked peddler palaces
reign as shopping centers,
though shopping is the least
of the reasons to be here;
not unlike people going to
a hockey match
are not going to watch hockey,
or partakers in Nascar
don't actually go for racing.
Truth is,
we are all hoping
to see a collision,
Haves with Have Nots,
Lovers with Haters,
Colored Hairs with High & Tights
Refined with Undefined
Talkers with Solitaries
Personal Loathing with Itself.
Unanimously, they all come
for the curiosity of encounter
incalculable, anxious, wanted
or unwanted.
In secret,
dreamers hold royal hopes
praying to Aeropostale gods
pleading favor with credit cards
and a bump in popularity
that if so anointed
the purest of this parade's followers
would be next week's
Grand Marshall.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Pins in a haystack
Needles in the cushion
A knack knick whack-a-patty
Push n tha' tooshin
Waggle wiggle bumpin thump
hungry hippos roast a ****
Candy apple, hide-n-seek
Count to ten, you best not peek
Wormy wiggle, rigga ma roll
rat-rug boat-tug sac-de-Cul
Almost done, have words with fun
Yup giddy yup giddy, "Run Forrest Run!!!"
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
narfffff say the kitties,
arffff say the doggies.
blah blah bah say the hummies,
but we Hippos care not to say a single word and eat!
We simply like to belch!
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
Sit Still
Tap...
Tap...
Rhythm
thought comes ¡ thought goes
Enter》
《Exit
~ Thar She Blows ~
Oh!
Sister Beating Heart
to Brother Brain
which to follow to keep me Sane??
Chutes and Ladders to CandyLand
Stick my neck into the sand!
Hungry Hippos
Oh so hungry
Sorry! for th' Monopoly
Guess Who? Philosophy
The Game of Life like Battleships
Palms will twist into tight fists
Twister contortion
Muscle Rips
and all we say is,
"God, we pray"
So I just...
Sit Still
Tap...
Tap...
Rhythm
thought comes ¡ thought goes
Enter》
《Exit
~ Thar She Blows ~
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
The salvation of yesterday's tomorrow
creeps blisterlingly by,
torturingly
resurrecting stale hopes of today's past.
In silence we dream of golden canals
and fluttering kisses
of the white man's world,
left superficially untouched by loose laws and pendulous light.
Only history's kings remain incumbent.
Zestless promises of the white fence linger ceaselessly in the campus of hippos
unencumbered by the passive revolt of tomorrow's yesterday yet
lost in the oceans of affirmative action
and unsteady governmental regimes.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
59% of Africa practices Islam. Five times
throughout the day, the giraffe’s heads
point toward Mecca. The hippos have
the hardest times turning. Sometimes
they don’t make it, and that is when
the gazelles laugh in high leaps.
70% of them laugh.
A third of the world say they believe
in Christ. Half of them capitalize
his name in text messages. A quarter
like to write it as JC. The rest
are too scared to ever write it down.
Or say it out loud. Sometimes
They are the ones that pray.
95% Say thank you.
76% I’m sorry.
67% Good job.
61% I need help.
47% Wait in silence.
346% of us are looking for someone.
I think those the 47 percent waiting
know where he is. Probably a cave.
We know this because of the man
with the clipboard that waits outside
the church. “What were you praying about?”
Thoughts: *I was asking god to help me **** the neighbor lady.*
Words: I was asking forgiveness.
The man with the clipboard knows all
writes down that they were
praying in a time of need.
When 32% are reincarnated. 70%
of us will crawl. Half of our
bodies will bruise, and exactly
one part of us will remember.
Then in the silence that the 47 percent
left. 47 quiet answers will arrive
to the other 53.
They will shouting
their praise. Every one
percent of ourselves
will never hear
God kneel and pray.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 1:11 AM UTC
There are things we know
don't be wrong in traffic
don't **** angry hippos
don't traverse rickety stairs
these are things we know
we are aware, and refrain
There are things we don't know
yet are aware that we don't know
neutonian physics
slavic languages
origin of universe
these are things we don't know
but are questing for answers
There are also things we don't know,
things we don't even know we don't know
I attempt to reduce this category daily.
and plus
this category only hypothetically
exists, and isn't that true about
Anything?
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 12:09 PM UTC
Oh how I wish to be a fish
And Swim the silver stream
splashing about with river trout
would really be a dream.
To be a bird you say absurd
but I would love to fly,
to dive to swoop to loop the loop
Touching the deep blue sky.
Now fancy that to be a cat
and play outside all night,
to take the air without a care
beneath the soft moonlight.
A dog maybe would more be me
chasing a rubber ball,
With one desire a nice warm fire
where I could curl up small.
Or a giraffe oh what a laugh
With neck so long and thin,
Eating the leaves from slender trees
With spots upon my skin.
No wait a while a crocodile
With teeth so sharp and white,
I'd guard the swamp with jaws that chomp
So best beware my bite.
Hippos are nice and so are mice
a rhino would be good,
a shark an ant or elephant
A hog waist deep in mud.
But I am me as you can see
and you are you of course,
But if you could I bet you would
Prefere to be a horse.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC