Long Babble Poems
Long Babble Poems. Below are the most popular long Babble by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Babble poems by poem length and keyword.
~My Heart~
• One last night before the grave
• Thousands of thoughts of you I save
• -Every night, I experience the same dream
• That you haunt me, exposing my sensual needs
• You push me,
• Into a pit of everything that terrifies me
~LOVE~ I confess, I fear, I avoid!!!
In the back of my mind, the moon can’t be as large
My heart bleeds, to feel more than two worlds apart
Tonight I will embed, your fantasy, my fantasy,
The Astros; I project --into your arms, of security
Your eyes render
A heavenly sanctuary, a slight sick smile to my face
You stay, I stay, in a dream we touch lips
I venture my heart then I stray, Am I afraid?
Feasibly, I’m not open-minded
I hide under this mask, these covers, that make me hold back
• I echo the moods of past dreams
• I proved to sustain a closed book, yet open your way
A trusted aspirin, can’t make thoughts of you go away
Dramatize persona, the erroneous kind of light
Yet it continues to run like hot lava, melting my mind
I’m ever so soft, when lost with your words,
I’m weak, I feel each time I cross my fingers
I’m loss of words I babble, my heart sings
Then pretends, nothing is going on
Then, I hallucinate of that kiss, and then slowly it fades
Tomorrow's another day, every mood will get in the way
• Today, I will strain
• And make sense of what clogged my main artery
• In a holding cellar, like wine it will be worth the wait
You plead for me, you pinched my eyes
I fall back to reality
Avowal, Instructions, Discipline, and Lock Down
That explains it all!!!
By:PD
I shave every morning after making love to my wife at night;
My beard now drags across the floor.
If I had a nickel for every time that I was right,
The next time I am right I’ll have one cent more than four.
I am so tired I feel beat like a rented mule;
Seven days a week I must go to work.
Scratch my back with a chain saw and call me a fool;
For dropping out of college, I am such a jerk.
“Who licked the red off your apple”, is what she asks of me;
My mood is always kind of sour;
Civility lies buried in the grave with chivalry;
My days need another twenty hours.
I’d eat a one ton tomato, are the words I thought they sang
In that song from many years ago;
If the world really did begin with a cosmic blast big bang
Then Genesis is fiction, don’t you know.
If I had common sense it would be the pamphlet by Thomas Payne;
Though the pages would not be too well worn.
In a world all gone mad, normalcy makes you insane;
The civil contract, politicians have all torn.
If you had seen what I saw, you would saw the table in half
And crawl out the whole that the two halves now make;
If two wrongs make a right then I would be the one with the last laugh
As my life is but a series of mistakes.
I pull out my watercolours
to try to paint what I’m feeling
Vibrant red stained by brown
Bright yellow blemished by grey clouds
But the blue, isn’t blue enough
No matter how much i try
Should mix in my tears
Or breathe in a sigh ?
My colours comes to life
Dripping onto my fingertips
As my hands sob onto the canvas
Puddles start to ebb and flow
The red is shocked by electrifying oranges
And seemlessly the ocher dances
The emotions glide through the water
Rippling in ever corner
My paintbrush soaks up the shadows hidden in
The umbra of my nights
The ones with which I put up a fight
The vista of shades become a philharmonic conversation
A babble of acute sensations
Dribbles of passionate abstractions
Mirroring my great sollitude
They wash out into the pot
and merge into a muc of liquidifyed spleen,
Gunky disquietude ready to be pored out of me
As i stain the paper and myself too
I giggle because now I really am blue
These stains stick to me
And now you can see
The true colour of my melancholy
(for Jim Ducker)
The growth plundered your voice,
robbing it of tone; you spoke
in well-articulated whispers, inhaling
through that tube thing in your throat.
You shone, in spite of it all.
No self-pity, even near the end,
after years of speaking to us
in breaths the way you did –
yet you had a voice, old friend.
Always the bright guy at the bar,
you brought a twinkle
even to a whisper; a susurrus of wit
would penetrate the tedious tones
of those for whom EastEnders
and the latest from The X Factor
provided fodder for barroom babble.
Struggling to be heard but stubbornly
winning with smiles and quips,
you were never less than sparky
with your crackling one-liners
and the percussion of your Good Advice.
Quite suddenly you died;
thirteen months ago you died.
You would not wish me to reach
for a soppy synonym.
You did not pass away:
you died, you died, you died.
I handled your affairs –
so long ago, it seems;
but time and distance are
such fragile things, and grief
is no respecter of them:
whisper its name
and it will return to you.
Life is jesting, breasting amplitude waves.
Wait till they cave to my whims, make them slaves
to my non-stop babble "a-ga a-da"
"goo-goo gaga”, “coo”, ma-ma" and "da-da."
Staring at frightful strange faces falling
to my belly, a bubble, Ppppprrrrrrrrrrtttt, blowing.
I giggle, but they look pretty silly.
Drowsy, "Ba-ba-ba," they call me Willy
their good at imitating my babble
as they worry and come on unravel.
With enough practice they'll get my command
and I'll have them eating out of my hand.
4/12/2019
Poetry Contest: Baby Face What's You THINKIN 2..
Sponsored by: James Edward Lee Sr.
Did someone just mention nudie beaches
Where inhibitions are thrown to the wind
Divesting oneself of the rules of society
Exposing all our lily white skin
Where voluptuousness causes virile males
To babble incoherently and drool
This is not to disparage the lesser endowed
But it's always been BIG BOOBIES RULE
Don't have to be large and well shaped orbs
Small and perky can still turn heads
A female's appeal has a very wide range
Must be upright and preferably not dead
As long as her body has all the main parts
In a relatively organized manner
It's immaterial to most virile young males
When viewing with his built-in scanner
© Jack Ellison 2014
A re-broadcast!
To aerate, babble and procrastinate
decluttering man cave rubbish
welcoming this temperate
(Billy me) idle March thirtieth
tooth house sand nineteen
eventually to accomplish
sorting thru lifetime
worth miscellaneous
papered material former
rainforest, I banish
to the shredder repurposing
once upon a time
stately majestic humongous
dignified cub billed bearish,
yet stern silent taskmasters
razed forest mongers left blemish -
fueling the roaring engines
of western civilization
paper products service
material world feeding bookish
appetite, sans (ironic
knotty twist) printed
hot off the press bulletins,
bestsellers inform boyish
wordsmith, how vast
treeless tracts hasten
global abomination, chopping
degradation, lamentation... brownish
blotches encompass inert naked,
torchered, and zapped
originally pristine realms
overrun by sawyers brutish
Paul Bunyanesque (sporting
as good) fellas carved
cleared, and cropped enormous
swaths back when bullish
intruders displaced indigenous
peoples crowing manifest destiny
as mantra to appease expansionist
predilection frenzied cultish
zero sum game to annex
unbroken wilderness promulgating
feverish gold rush to demolish
wantonly scorching Earth,
whereby present day burgeoning
population irrevocably establish
ruination ushering ominous augury
permeating mine mortal mutterings.
When the world was youthful
spiderwebs sang as they were spun.
Language was woven in the air
as accents of winds and trees
conveyed by an eloquent sky.
Untrammeled meadows annunciated
upon the lips of dens and burrows
scooped by shrew, mole, and vole.
Fresh bathed daisies signed a speech
as they swayed,
buttercups birthed calligraphy’s of sunlight.
Giddy rills gave voice to fritillaries
that flew to the sun or moon.
Words were idioms painted upon
the melodious leafage
of the up-risen and rising.
Then that shaggy brat
the primordial ape it grunted forth,
translating its gripey gut
through the clack of a creaky tongue.
Guttural and gregarious
it learned to babble and
belch an oral discordance.
It yapped and yawped,
yawped and yapped
until a spoken language
verbosely pivoted to prolix
polluting the very airy air.
Then it was
that a nascent poet boldly stood
rhyming would with could
until even the dumbest of his tribe
understood
and cheered him fit to bust
while the green grown world
with all its idiomatic kin
lost the will to express
as before
for the fluent earth again.
I’m judged without them knowing what I go through.
Whatever I do, judgment always falls.
The venomous tongues never fail.
That’s why, no matter what I do, I don’t care about their opinions.
I don’t live for them.
Their judgment is nothing I need.
Examples shoot out from every side—
I sit on them all.
The world is cruel; whatever I do,
They’ll always talk about me.
I don’t care about their gaze! I am myself,
No matter the circumstances.
I do what I love, I nurture my joy, I build my confidence.
Their gaze slides off me—
Useless and barren.
Two things I weigh without emotion:
Their lives, and their views.
I’m not like salt—
Good for every dish.
Their opinions don’t count.
I simply try to move forward—straight.
I walk without fear, even when the ground crumbles.
I follow my path, not the one they try to force on me.
They told me: “Keep a low profile,”
But my truth does not bow.
I prefer my blunt silences to their fake words,
My raw actions to their empty promises.
I no longer wait to be understood.
I understand myself—and that is enough.
They want me to doubt, to bend, to break,
But I raise my thoughts like a banner of defiance.
I’m not the reflection they want to force upon me.
I am what I chose to be—unmasked, unmirrored.
I need no validation.
What I build is my liberation.
After each trial, I strengthen my armor—
Not to hide, but to choke their persecution.
They love when I stay low, silent, invisible.
But the moment I rise, they point their dry fingers.
Let them talk—their babble can’t reach me.
They beat against filthy walls—
I don’t hear them.
I’ve gone deaf to their slander.
I am my own measure,
No factory product, no cartoon.
I do what I must, without their permission.
My cross, my voice, my choices—
All are mine.
Nothing in me bows.
My life is no submission.
Self doubt is my destroyer,
Puts obstacles in my way,
It is my enemy, my poison,
Killing my talents and abilities.
The negative babble
Chatters loudly in my head,
Reinforcing the self criticism.
It gets under my skin,
Haunting my self esteem.
I feel it travelling around my body,
Like bacteria flooding my blood.
It makes me confused, unsure,
Bringing me down to the dark side.
I'm stricken with feelings of unconfidence.
I've got to fight these demons,
Obliterate the bacteria,
Execute the lies,
Bring in the light so I can shine,
Embrace faith and believe in myself.
I have to take control,
Reward myself with peace.