Belch Poems

Summer Rain

dark clouds gather round
they rush and collide in sky
igniting fireworks~
wind howls, clouds fly past the sky
fast is the change of weather

wisps of rain dripping
dry land sucks it greedily
belch of steam rises~
heat waves abated for now
earth leaves a sigh of relief

soon the rain grows weak
and now its rattle is stilled
leaving waves of thrill~
like a sweet symphony stopped
making the hall fall silent

Meeting Captain Gary Bee a Pirate

Every pirate west of the Caribbean had heard of Captain Gary Bee.
He was reputed to be way younger than the next captain at twenty-three.
We were anxious to meet him, so we invited him to tea.
He strutted in with short pants, that barely covered up a knee.

It is rude to ask pirate captains their age, so we did not.
But he could not have been a decade older than a tot.
He spoke with polish and finesse', was unassuming and not brassy.
After a lunch of bean curd and bean salad, he was a bit gassy.

Excuse me! He said after each burp, belch and break of wind.
We thought he was delightful; he became an instant friend.
Captain Gary Bee, the notorious pirate king of the seven Seas
I was glad he decided to stop in often for our cakes and teas.

alent sho

He trundled his way up the three heavy steps
His mop of hair searching every direction
In the middle of the stage a brash spotlight
shone on a large drum kit
Behind a curtain dangled over a hand painted sign
The burgundy curtains partially
covering the letters making it look like alent sho

The boy now seated behind the kit dwarfed by its side.
He adjusted his seat slightly, closed his eyes and
took a breath
The crowds murmurs abruptly cut by some drunks
sloshed repartee -Hey.kid you, a belch breaking his sentence-forgot your sticks
With a tiiter of some of the onlookers
The young boy slowly opened his eyes
A tear slowly rolled down his pale cheeks
Swaying from his chin for a moment
before falling
It meandered along the cymbal's it’s tremor almost melodically before snapping upon the snare
Each tear falling in perfect formation
No beat missed a methodical beat
One after another
The silence of the audience
mesmerised by his music
He played with such sadness
The tears of those watching only adding to his symphony

Racing the Currents

Softly murmuring, the river’s raspy voice
Settles my soul with its rumbling choice,
Rustling quietly beneath a glowing moon,
Splattered by the sound of the river’s rejoice

Light trickles from stars who’re strewn
Across flirty skies where dreamers swoon,
Leaving the heart full, moaning its needs,
While witnesses tell tales much like cartoons

Roaring rapids reveal what the mind reads,
In stories of crashing winds with its dark deeds,
While the river gulps and hiccups on its course,
Promising to bring us its astounding proceeds.

Waters boom and belch, such a mighty force,
Revealing God’s strength, the only true source,
Mighty waters rip out a path like a racehorse,
One that most gamblers would surely indorse.

Loud words

In the silence of the night, there comes a slam, 
A door swings wide, a sudden splash of rain, 
The thunder echoes with a mighty bam, 
While rivers babble tales of joy and pain. 

The birds awake and start to warble tunes, 
As streams begin to gurgle in their flow, 
The wind begins to softly mumble runes, 
And trees release a gentle, leafy belch below. 

A distant clang rings out, the night alive, 
As branches crackle underfoot, they thrive.

NOISE ANNOYS

NOISE ANNOYS

Externally it might emerge as a belch
Especially as the seltzer may just fizz
But inside, one may just hear the stomach squelch

Maybe a hiccup, well you know how it is
A grunt is quite the opposite, so they say
But no-one should cackle in a TV quiz

A silly giggle might just escape one day
Yet a howl might just be judged a bit too loud
But a laugh, not a bellow, that is Okay

Such sounds may amuse an audience or crowd
In a studio setting, rules can apply
But deafening silence is rarely allowed

Bodily functions can often go awry
And can surprise anyone, yet few know why

Working in the Smoke

Brick, grit smeared towers,
crank-out smears for heavy smokers.

Under every stacked chimney
goblins belch, coughing up,
cancer into a riddled sky.

Workers wade through
ankle pulling tar,
grab at the soothing puffs,

as a smoldering sky glows
red
in every clouded yellow eye.

Burp

Reindeer at Christmas will often eat carrots
Though Santa once had one who liked to eat parrots
But parrots at Christmas can be hard to find
He wasn’t too fussy so he didn’t mind
He never complained that he felt out of luck
When push came to shove he would also eat duck

With Christmas upon them there’s no time to eat
But he wouldn’t grumble and he wouldn’t bleat
He’d fly through the skies with his mouth gaping wide
A mallard would soon sate his hunger inside
“Don’t swallow ducks whole,” that was Santa’s suggestion
“You'll belch through the night due to dodgy digestion.”

A nine year old lad hid behind the settee
And woke mum and dad at a quarter to three 
He told them he’d waited since late Christmas Eve
And then he said something they couldn’t believe
“The presents are under the tree neatly stacked
I swear they were left by a reindeer that quacked.”

MAGNIFICATION

Close up, on the smooth couth
meretricious pod, vibrantly
violating my optics violently,
even through the microscope.
Its swarthy stare is maliciously
resplendent and evoked from 
parsimony.

Nature's beauty is suicidal.
pulchritude through lens,
but a spike to the neck.

Even in risk, identified ignorance is ignored.
veracity is a voodoo doll,
if you toss it out it re-emerges like 
a comet
relentlessly.
the microscope aggrandize on its perilous magnificent shock.
like an arboreal boat it is shielded but 
pops in agitation, adjudicating what
personality to adorn.

It feels like a placid charade,
for toxicity comes with respect
and beliefs, adherence.
just like a horse belch loyalty
and a den of destruction 
her seeds swell calmly in hot dosage bean.
opulently lethal.

I see her dancing high on the bed of pleasure
through the microscope, with feets enveloped in predicament and her lips covered in crimson ichor.

A queen, so clean, a routine as green.

PEARL HARBOR

P  Propelled into the war after tora, tora, tora.
E  Escalation arrives in Oahu, paradise explodes.
A  Amorous and hula skirts set aflame at once.
R  Reveal of a takeover plan, pot shots extreme.
L  Lucid nightmare lit with oil and screams.

H  Hear it! Smell the scent that still reminds us
A  About the cost of freedom; the belch of deep
R  Roustabouts who have settled into their sleep.
B  Bust out! Ring the knell until it comes alive.
O  Odor lingers! We must bring it to the surface.
R  Round up the freedom fighters of the deep!

Froggy Bottom Chorus Line

Froggy bottom chorus line was jazzy and smart
They obeyed with rhythm, they bogeyed with heart
They brought their dance routine to a whole new art
Choreography of their steps, courtesy of leader, McLart
This boggy chorus line danced nearly off the chart
Every one of them, even smart little missy Tart.
I was mesmerized said my dour cousin Bill Bart.
Best of all was when the whole line began to belch and fart.
Scaring flies who did not know which way to dart

Older Than Dirt

When I was a young lad in the prime of life
Never thought I'd still be around
When my driver's license said, “older than dirt!”
And my mind was no longer sound

But I can get away with a bunch of neat stuff
Rack it up to “he's left the planet!”
“His mental capacity equals that of a wee child”
Gonna take full advantage, run the gamut

Need to pee and dribble now and then
Talk in riddles and scratch my bum
Wipe my boogies on my Sunday clothes
And belch when company comes

Know all the tricks as I giggle to myself
It's a downright lead pipe cinch
Con them till they put me in a old pine box
Mumbling about my belly button lint

Old Belfast

OLD BELFAST

No hooters belch and screech in the mornings anymore
Industry has disappeared from the City’s working core
The Factories have all closed their gates a long, long time ago
Now silent shadows fill the space where workers used to go

Steam cranes bow across the lough, an entry on a page
Decayed tired buildings line the Docks, relics of an age
Rows of broken windows where he silence trickles out
As nature now takes over where grass and nettles sprout

The workshops have been stripped and only carcasses remain
Moss grows on the floor where the roof lets in the rain
Miles of red brick walls which somehow now look grey
Blackened muddy puddles where singed old timbers lay

Grand imposing structures, much too big for modern use
Now crumpling and eroded from dereliction and abuse
Spectres from a Victorian age now roam these soulless lanes
You can hear their whistles on the wind. Their presence still remains

Guinness Blessing

To every man who's gathered in the pub,
enjoying our good Guinness by the glass—
may all your troubles burp and belch away
and all your dreams, in bubbles, come to pass.
For never on this Greenest Isle was seen
a sweet colleen, or girl, or bonnie lass
could half resist a man whose frothy ale
bestowed a blessing, brewed with
Guinness gas.

Sláinte!

Trombonists Used To Be Cool

Trombone man
throw me a horny bone.
Sit your brass down
push it out
mute a melodious belch
or gargle a groan.
O trombone man
slide it low, let it blow
take it back, make it moan
sonically hump that farting camel
all the way home.

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