Best Belch Poems
I have borrowed the first line of this piece from the"unknown scribe" , which I
read many years ago.... The rest is for ALL the great mothers who are SOUPER.
Who took me from my cosy cot
And sat me on an ice cold pot .
To make me pee ,when I could not.......... My mother
Who fed me from the very start
With bosomed milk , straight from the heart
Then burped me, 'till I'd belch and fart...... My mother
Who warmed me from the Winter breeze
Dried the blood from my skinned knees
But told me "fibs" 'bout birds'n bees..........My mother
Who healed me when I had a chill
And nursery rhymed me Jack and Jill
But lied to Dad , about being on the pill...... My mother
Who coaxed me past the school day bell
Smiled and said .. all would be well
But then went home and cried like Hell.......My mother
Who was protector from life's curse
Was doctor , dentist , priest and nurse
Friendly Bank ,with open purse...................My mother
Who lies beneath this cold grey stone
In peace ,at last , and all alone
The first true love that I had known.................. Mam
x
Categories:
belch, funny, mother, thank you,
Form:
Rhyme
I've never twitted on Tweeter
nor am I an Instagrammarian
I've searched on Goggle
but cannot find MyFace on the interweb
I ask "how do I find the North Star?"
and get 4,460,000,000 hits, mostly ads
for an ice cream bar called "The Big Dipper"
so I go make some toast and eat lunch
at least I can work a toaster
Kids think I was born in the Jurassic era
believing my first job was swabbing the deck
on a Byzantine sailing ship
for I speak of phones connected to the wall
and TV sets with 4 channels and cars that got 8 mpg
I don't know url's from www's, or http's from html's
my mobile phone always auttocronects my speeling
and cyber censors block my search for 'penal colonies'
I cannot find the mute button on Zoom
so my belch might make it into the meeting minutes
my internet takes regular coffee breaks
and the only tweeting is the birds outside my window
so I sit at my screen watching dots chase themselves in a circle
trying not to get toast crumbs
on my high tech keyboard
Written 16 Mar 2022
Categories:
belch, technology,
Form:
Free verse
When I was growing up,
Daily they packed my outgrown:
Shoes, shirts,suits and trousers;
And paid me commendation
As they milled around me
Like night ants around light!
When I was geisha-guy
And my frame was fame
And my gaiety was deity
Oh they milled around me
Like day ants around rose
When worker I was
And my table was the host
To all that delighted belly
Oh they rounded me about
Applauded me with their belch
After my grain and grape.
Now my hairs are white
And my frame is gone
My teeth have left
Sight is dim, hearing is poor;
How quick they dessert me
Like a cinema after the show.
It is home alone
As they call me demented
The brats that once me hailed
No one to tell goodbye
Sad today I must go
My end is now.
Categories:
belch, angst, betrayal, emotions, growth,
Form:
Verse
Where no sound escapes unchallenged above the din
of too many wars, waged for profits that have no future.
Lost now, only darkness clutches, upon his demise.
Fables, told ‘round friendly fires, chant his name eternal.
Birds of the forest, and fish in the sea, remembered his kindness forever,
and slowed in silence, when spirits spread the news of his demise.
From eastern tongues, chants heard in midnight chapels,
aglow in reverent prayer ‘till daylight dawned,
and rows of fallen soldiers, white stones of his demise.
His friends who could not broach the musket….lift the water pail,
and scorned the day of distant guns, their path was lost.
The masters of the chase cursed not of his demise.
Tho centuries turn, the din still heard, fresh enemies forged,
repeat once more, while mothers weep, their cries unheard,
and planes come home to belch caskets, filled with his demise.
The fallen sing from distant stars, so bright for all to see,
with blending light, the truth never dies.
Behold the day when all will see the end of his demise.
12/30/10
8:20 am
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
belch, warurdu, prayer, day,
Form:
Ghazal
I sat beneath a Veteran-oak,
In awe of His strength—
Here was a solid spirit!
Sympathy you get from Willow,
But stiff upper-lip from old soldiers,
With forged bark —
His limbs flexed, cut, rippled against the wind…
No chinks in this warrior-wood…
“Divide and Conquer!”
Then I thought of my Father—
A cook at the end of the war—The Big One!
You know the One I mean, as if there are small ones—
When the commanders were through eating
He was instructed to toss the leftovers
From the belch of plates—
Trashcans were in the alley,
The steel that seems intrinsic to battles
In one form or another—
The hungry German children
Would sneak pass the guards
And line-up;
My father would sneak pass his superiors
And his honor
To dispense carefully wrapped scraps…
Well, soon the line was out into the street
As my father was compelled to seek food
From wherever he could steal, beg or barter
To procure—This brought attention—the cat-out-of-the-bag,
And all hell down on my father,
As the captain screamed: Gus, these are the enemy (the children in the alley),
What in God’s Name are you doing?
He was forced to stop—no Court Marshal though…
I looked up again at the old oak,
Through the snarled branches
Deep into the staunch soldier,
Where I spied a nest
In a small, compact fork—
Having a canopy of extra leaves
For shade and shelter from the wind—
I smiled—hum…
His bark reddened, but like my father, no apology from this weathered soldier…
Categories:
belch, allegory, allusion, father, history,
Form:
Free verse
CLEM POTTS AND THE MOON
not a pleasant sound
combining potts with the moon,
but, farm girls had learned
clem potts, in his rustic way,
was quite the village dreamer
lord of the haystack,
when the field was night-flooded,
the cows all asleep,
was he crooning his love theme -
clem potts, wily moon-schemer
her name, clara june
was the prettiest filly
with clem all aswoon
she’d met clem potts at the fair
where he’d won the ‘dog-eat’ fest
forty chili dogs
the last one nearly come up
he could still taste it
the beans, the hot tomatoes
belch without puke, the test
and, by god, he’d won,
had staved off hurl tornado
stored the big rumble
that churning away inside
mixed with green bile and the rest
he was quoting keats -
the moon-streaked straw in her hair -
thinking not those chili dogs,
about to brush clara’s cheek,
bent on a roll in the hay
clem said, “i love you.”
lord when lips formed the last word
clem’s gut did a flip
and the poor young clara june
turned blue from the blast, then gray
If your name is Potts I must apologize, so too if Clara June.
Categories:
belch, humor, humorous,
Form:
Tanka
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
Categories:
belch, age,
Form:
Rhyme
Run barefoot thro' the park,
Dare to stay out after dark.
Kick up a storm of Autumn leaves,
Watch the birds nest in the eaves.
Go skinny dipping in the brook,
Climb a tree to test your pluck.
Race thro' woods in dead of night,
Look for fairies in pale moonlight.
Watch the trains thunder down the track,
See the smoke belch from its stack.
Peer down the dark tunnel up ahead,
Here there be dragons we fear and dread.
Witches fly across the moon,
Casting spells riding on a broom.
Don't let them see or lest you'll be,
Turned into a toad for all to see.
Run fast, run fast,
Get home at last.
Ragged breath from heaving chest,
Safe and sound at mothers breast.
Happy now, sat by her chair,
Your not a meal in the dragons lair.
Boys and girls play out at night,
Trying to be brave but full of fright
Mother has called me in for bed,
A welcome drink and toasted bread.
It's the end of the day,
For a sleepy head.
© Dave Timperley 2012
Categories:
belch, childhood, autumn,
Form:
Rhyme
Sell the kinetic death metal,
see the swivel profits
zooming to the stratosphere
Bloody schoolyard body count
is the cost of doing armed ant-farm business
Collateral damage is the soulless audit estimation
Bottom feeders at the algae low end of the food chain,
eat shell casing scraps
tossed by an unbalanced, warfare Great White nation —
Shark DNA with a ravenous capitalist avarice attitude,
saying: Keep silent minnow sheep,
don’t be fearful of the palpable lead ricochet sensation
As the automatic spark-bark dog manufacturers
howl that the Second Amendment is your security salvation
They constantly belch
that only the mentally ill
unwisely use their adult toys to murder-kill
While they lobby their pet politicians
to bullet execute any national health care bill
Such a vomit reminder
of regurgitated vile hypocrisy
We’re always told
that only the mentally sick
create the carnage from guns
As the death metal lap dog politicians
close more mental institutions
by not providing government funds
Unbalanced hypocrisy ...
lunatic leadership
of high place dark principalities
Green-covered gold lust of Roman greed proportion
guides their immoral decision-making
And the blood flowing in the Republic streets,
those Terminator weapons
will pump-action human life keep taking
Categories:
belch, corruption, death, grief, political,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
"I am feeling it." He said.
He meant his age. As I watched
I saw a vision…
Out from the cuttlefish bones of his breast
grime coughed up and dribbled.
I saw his heart stutter, the vapid flutter,
watched his lungs belch and utter
like a broken bladder.
A horseman on a creaking steed
raised its hoary head
and pointed an ancient ladle
speaking thus -
"Stir me belly lad," it said,
"spoon me sticky sump,
dole globs of lymph from here to there.
Me grease is dumpy and lumpy.
Me hip-bones crunch
while me dingle wilts and dangles.
Me ears is gummy lad,
I've gone to the bad.”
The specter faded.
The old guy smiles, rubs his thin hair.
"I also see it sometimes," he says,
"that liver-spotted ghost
that chains me to an even older vision
of you."
Categories:
belch, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
She sees herself suddenly as a small girl
bare feet on the cold black and white tile
little toes curled
sees the white porcelain tub and
how pretty the light blue water was
so deep it almost came to her chin
as she climbed in
For hours she'd play with her dime store sailboat
loving it though it would hardly float
always taking on water
listing, never level
her wet skinny back hunched over
shoulder blades like primordial wings
every few minutes she'd have to shake the thing
Trying desperately not to break the spell
of pretend
and when
it was time to let the water out
she'd always stay to watch the water drain
weighing the emotional pain
both fascinated and horrified,
as the suction intensified,
by the force of the water
the unstoppable slaughter
waiting for the inevitable rotation
to begin
the dizzying spin
Slowly at first growing faster and faster
a miniature cyclonic water disaster
The dime store boat of course on its side
circling faster in the relentless tide
Then the drain would give a horrible belch
much satisfied with itself.
As she grew the tub got smaller
with shallower water
less and less room
for pretend to bloom.
Years later, dime store sailboat long forgotten,
life having been mostly rotten
working with the most cynical of cynics
ER nurses bitter that it's more like a clinic
runny noses and coughs that folks thought were urgent
working hard to save those who were truly emergent
Hearing from them the phrase: "circling the drain"
memories suddenly flooding the brain
almost able to feel herself as that young girl
watching the sailboat beginning to swirl
Feeling the blood drain, face going pale
she sees vividly the boat with its bright red sail
yellow hull and blue plastic deck
fine hairs rising on the back of her neck
She realizes now the fatigue of age
is from fighting the pull with defiant rage
The closer you get, the faster you spin
and soon the dark whirlpool draws you in
With a knowledge that seems to be purely primal
she now understands the downward spiral
And she knows that she will not put up a fight
she'd rather go silently in the dark of the night
And the dime store boat comes to rest on its side
so it's all come full circle at the end of the ride.
SADNESS
©Danielle White
Categories:
belch, childhood, introspection, life, nostalgia,
Form:
Lyric
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!
Categories:
belch, america, war,
Form:
Acrostic
As the Dime Store sirens flared
bolts of irradiated invite,
my query was denied.
Their pimp-striped pilots only moaned,
their lust fueled by encapsulated
stench carried only by toothless carnies
from the canyons. Canyons o’ Crazed Confliction.
And behind… the dull dynamo hum.
I screamed for the Kelp Queen to come to me,
her tresses woven wave-like in the wabe.
My demands were simple.
The scars of the trucker's she must carry
(as war carries death)
for inbreeding has tainted her line.
“Can Omaha be far?” she pleaded
and tugged at my inter-ache
as tin balloons tug with time .
“For you?” I replied in a
flatulent belch.
The boiling madness was by now
beyond the horizon but kept in check
still by the neon dogs crouching by day under the interchange.
It is they who will now stalk the disease plagued ports
I sailed from so many
days
and
images
ago.
Until her kleptic crew of vagrants and priests
sprint with me in postpartum harmony.
Hipsters for TRUTH.
Categories:
belch, dream, fantasy, imagery, nonsense,
Form:
Narrative
Malice unsated. Insatiable.
The children of the frenzy
belch poison beyond the shell,
yet suckle there at the breast
of an uncertain woman
gratefully turned to stone;
long for a distant father
who has quietly despised them
since the uncertain womb.
Insatiable malice. Unsated.
18th June 2020
Categories:
belch, hate,
Form:
Free verse
The artist Hokusai memorialized,
In his woodblock print of raging seas,
The great wave off Kanagawa,
That brought Nippon to its knees.
Again the modern rising sun is caught,
In the wrath of shifting plates,
And the belch of a feral tsunami,
Which left millions unsure of their fates
Waves swallowed the archepelico.
Mount Fuji stood at the ready to defend.
The islands won the battle with nature,
But Japans ill's will take years to mend.
Grace and will fills the souls of surviviors
Ancestors fortitude flows through their veins.
They will try to accept lifes yin and yang,
While resolving the tragedy that remains.
The flying cranes wings are strong.
Broad and feathered to deal with lifes tests.
Through centuries they have learned many lessons,
On how to rebuild and strengthen their nests.
Categories:
belch, natural disasters
Form:
Rhyme