Best Belches Poems
Hell belches out more black-hearted ballads
than the accord of heaven that releases
only the innocent and wafting
lofty dreamings of a population
unversed in the ways of emotion.
They simper and insipidly bow and release
delicate praises to the air as perfume... oh joyful
white roses. Sweetly sing with your monotonous harpischords.
Not we.
We are the fire in the blackest midnight...
the mud that births monsoons of a terrible beauty.
We tremble lest our own fire overtake us, we are the torrents
that pain your face with every gleefull beat.
We are the dreamers of dreams.
We are lovers, burning holes in sheets of purity and
invincible morality... we scream and shiver to our toes...
oh haunting electricity.
We are intense anger... the fury of emperors untold...
we shatter our enemies into the oblivion they beg for mercy
fists bulging, contorted eyes stinging from the battle.
We are howls of bitter triumph, the sweet partakers of the
lost cause. We are brazen to the thought.
We are the aroma of sadness that arises from the blackest pit,
we are the oppression that snuffs out the candle.
We praise from the very depths of our cavernous abyss
our own masochistic knowledge... the fiery knowledge that burns us
as we consume ourselves.
I wait in all the crummy
little barrooms of the soul.
I look about and sniff the air,
drink, and wait.
In the demi-world of honky-tonks,
which vie against night's
inner gloom, beneath mantles
of thick smoke, pinches,
slurred speech and propositions,
I leer drunkenly about,
swimming in the haze
of my heebie-jeebies.
I wait.
After the smoke clears away
and the honky-tonk tones die,
when the scraggy light of the
morning after spreads, mustily,
across the floor,
I wait.
After the hangover,
after the aching head, glazed eyes,
belches, and specks
which move around my head in circles,
I see a different sort of light:
A flatter sort.
In the sordidness,
ergo filthy waxy sawdust on the floor,
I have seen a conjuration
which I sought.
But soon it disappears
and will not come again.
Illusion slips from mind
with lifting drunkenness
and break of sensibility
and pain creeps in which
is not merely physical.
Oh well.
I must try again tomorrow night.
There will always be another night.
'Twas the night before Christmas, I’d forgotten the sprouts
So I sent out a plea to the local boy scouts
I’d remembered the crackers, the turkey and ham
but my guests would expect sprouts, so I was in a jam
The scout leader admitted that I was in a pickle
and he said my family were all somewhat fickle
I said Uncle Bert just adored eating brussels
then he’d fart for days with his lax sphincter muscles
The scout leader had a plan, it is so well thought out
He'd call each scout’s mother to donate just one sprout
Every scout hurries round with one sprout in their hands
soon I have plenty of veg to sate my guest’s demands
On Christmas Day the relations ring my door bell
Pat barges into my kitchen; she makes my life hell
At one time she cooked meals for guys in the Navy
So she has to check if there are lumps in MY gravy
On the stroke of one o’clock I dish up the food
Uncle Bert belches loudly, that man is so rude
They devour all the turkey and round stuffing balls
By the end of the main course I’m climbing the walls!
They don’t offer to help, so I fetch the dessert
Uncle Bert drips brandy butter all over his shirt
Then they guzzle the cheese and finish the wine
Bert then farts profusely, he’s a disgusting swine
Then we sit round the TV to listen to the Queen
Bert’s eaten too much, his face has turned green
Pat gives me a present, of a hand knitted jumper
It’s three sizes too big, I just want to thump her
They’ve descended on me these last fifteen years
I ask if they’ll reciprocate, my words fall on deaf ears
They never say thank you, they drink all my booze
Next year they can whistle, I’m booking a cruise!
Lava thoughts stream from my internal computer.
Some days she rests with no gumption;
today a seething volcanic monstrosity.
Muse has kicked into overdrive; she will have her feast.
Over worked, I am drained like a marathon runner.
Quivering and shaking; muse belches dream schemes.
Too many to count the numbers; on and on she plunders.
Mind can’t stop the flashing phantasmagorical imagery.
Why does she deny my needs?
The brutal taskmaster blows her top.
Again and again I plead; she just will not cease.
Dreams rise and fall; I can only save one.
Oh how I long for sleep, when her rant is finally done.
steel carriage belches
carbon cloud into the air
too early frog croaks
Christmas Day has arrived; the thought fills me with such dread
For over twenty years they’ve come to me; it's doing in my head!
I get up at the crack of dawn to get the turkey in the oven
Gran moans about my cooking – she belongs in a witches’ coven
I always arrange the festive table last thing on Christmas Eve
I don’t sit next to granny; her table manners make me heave!
My sister is so overweight; you should see the size of her fanny
She belches loudly when she eats, so I’ll sit her next to granny
The taxi arrives at twelve o’clock and I crack open the sherry
When they sit down at the table they are starting to get merry
I slave over a hot stove; no one moves they act too grand
I’ve given up asking for help, they treat me so off-hand
Well this year I’ve rebelled and put laxatives in their soup
I’ll smile secretly when off to the toilet they will all troop
The soup has been devoured and I clear away the plates
When the laxatives take effect they’ll be in dire straits!
The turkey has been carved; all the vegetables are piled high
Uncle Albert grosses out; he needs a trough in a pigsty!
Turkey, and all the trimmings they will quickly devour
Granny moans about the sprouts she said that one was sour
I quietly sit seething whilst they get all get steaming drunk
Uncle Albert farts loudly – he’s worse than a blinking skunk!
Christmas pudding is eaten, followed by juicy mince pies
Sister Annie stuffs her face, as more fat piles on her thighs
Single handily I clear the table, and then we open up the gifts
It costs me an utter fortune; you should have seen their lists
Annie has knitted me the most disgusting baggy jumper
I smile sweetly and thank her, but I really want to thump her!
At four o’clock the taxi comes and they all go off home
I sit by the fire with a cup of tea, I’m so glad to be alone
Next year it’s going to be different; I’m going to go away
Booked a luxury cruise – I’ll be abroad on Christmas Day!
C form contest
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12~30~16
A semi baked semi colon is neither a seminar nor a seminary session. It is in fact the whirr of wheels from the large overweight apostrophe on a bike. Uphill downhill and all around the picturesque towns, villages and hamlets but not cities for cityscapes' are carnivorous and carnivores can charm even a chalice from a wagon if and when sealed with the juice of a steak. Well oiled grease test then. All in line. Good. Garages grab greenery giving great galloping geraniums. On the phone now are we? Oh good afternoon. Good morning. Good evening. But never a good night in a customer query box ticked. Tickle a ticket to induce laughter. In many many rides on a bus or a train a mandatory mane maneuvers managing mere mobile movements. And always remember that the globetrotting goldfish in the wicker hat can sing mist loudly to a cone. Hahaha Kyu k pass hai saja hai mekhana and a fried onion belches to a melted cheese. *** geomorphologic Z
There's a calmness to the air of the trailer park
As the dumpster in the back slides to the right
Underneath is where our Super Hero has his lair
And where adventure starts out every night
For years now it's been the same old routine
Belches as he wobbles to his feet
Throws the remote down on the beer stained couch
Scratches his rear at the same time picking his teeth
Yes, the night belongs to Beer Belly Batman
Who spends his time fighting petty crime
From spitting on the sidewalkers to mouth full of food talkers
Putting them back in their place and back in line
Sure he used to be a top notch crime fighter
Evil forces he always did foil
But after years and years of beating crime up
The beating on him has taken its toll
If the neighbors music is to loud feel free to call him
Nothing he likes better than knocking heads of unruly kids
Hey Punk!Pull Your Pants Up! Is his favorite motto...
Giving Super Hero Wedges like nobody's biz
I don't know about you but this much is true
I always feel a little more safe and sound
And sleep that much better at night
Knowing there's a White Trash Super Hero around
Intrigue
Curvaceous, Mysterious
Teasing, Shooting, Falling
Flutterbys, kisses, peptic, belches
Oppressing, haunting, revealing
Omnipotent, Divisive
Doldrums
Birds fled from the sky
Cinder of clouds dry for rain --
The lightning forks night
The landscape is bare
The water recedes to deep -
Tsunami rises
The earth belches smoke
Thundering hooves char the leaves -
Volcano erupts.
Joanna Davis
How much are you… willing to give?
Lay down your life so they may live.
In this cold world when passions flame
burns so bight beneath your name.
I still believe in what your said…
that time will come in days ahead
when love and hope will rule the day
Hate is forced to run away.
I look for your face, you hold my hand
Give me the grace to understand
Tell me now, what I should do?
Strength of will to see it through
Justice cowers, forced to hide
Too afraid to step outside
Could you stand firm of foot and say
I'll not let fear get in my way?
When a cold white world freezes the truth
Stillborn’s the child and stunts the youth?
Justice is blind, for if she saw,
She’d cry her eyes till they were raw.
I know you not; you know me less
With broken bone do I confess
Sightless eyes feel the pain,
of ruptured heats and punctured vain.
Sole less; heatless, skeletal, carcass.
Statue standing, arms erect
Belches out the crown’s reject.
Justice tight shuts her sight from view
With all that blood...well wouldn’t you?
Sue constantly gobbles her food
Then belches, it sounds rather rude
Next thing she starts farting
Foul stench is departing
From parties folk now Sue exclude
I’m having a party tonight
Sue pleaded to have an invite
I put black charcoal powder
In her portion of chowder
Sue’s buttocks stayed clenched very tight!
Sue purchased some charcoal biscuit
The charcoal really did its bit...
At a dinner party
She’s no longer farty
And chooses where she wants to sit!
8/13/19
Grumbling,rumbling and Wobbling my pen moves on the white paper,staggering as it strides onthe line Gush!it belches as horrible sound comes out from its tip,the lines are blur and twinkle stars appear.I am drunk No!not me its my pen,different thoughts flow into the mind beclouded by mundane things repelled by celestial beings Why!why am I here grumbling;I need to write to my glover or lover to join me in this journey to the peak of mount Everest where I`m at the top of my write,did I say write,Oh no!right yes!right now,Think of singing lovely vibes to your sweet g~~lover on the top of the tower with all your power for her to pick a drawer,Yes a drawer Stop interrupting pen...Am I confusing you no! not me it`s my drunken pen Not drunk just being funky eventhough I`m not pinky,My pen sip~sip more brandy so as to be more randy and not candyd.....avalanche of words pouring like tsunami hurricane and tornado Enough! enough I need to be free from this possessive pen spirit~of al~~co~~hol~~Blank~~blank~~blank...Black out~~back down...P~O~a~r~~inks spreading all over my paper Oh no!stench,stench of vomits~What a quagmire
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Burps are often stifled,
But belches should be loud.
When burping one looks sheepish,
When belching one looks proud.
Sit stubborn on your perch of heat
be still until I’m gone
my vigil won’t induce one note
toward your explosive song.
My absence sets your trigger
faint gurgling a shake
until great belches power on
a steamy shrill above the watery quake.
I’ll not come a running
because you give the nod
now YOU’LL go unheeded
I hear just my i-pod.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
May 5, 2012
this was written for a poetry challenge which was to write a poem about an unnamed subject and have the reader guess.