Long Balk Poems
Long Balk Poems. Below are the most popular long Balk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Balk poems by poem length and keyword.
This sinner here --Michelle--
learned at St. Peter Chanel
there's no point to rebel
Life without God is Hell
Not just a state of mind
also an afterlife confined
to weep, & teeth-grind
all happiness -- behind
It would NOT be fun--
not "a day in the sun!"
no chance to go for a run
the joys of life -- done
Never chillin' with friends
too late to make amends
from Love, the soul rends
and remorse never ends
I don't know about you--
thoughts of Hell make me blue
but it really exists -- it's true
souls could avoid it if they knew
A big pothole in the crosswalk
won't disappear just cuz we balk
we have to watch where we walk
to be safe, lock, barrel and stock
To step up safely, it'd be smart
to climb the ladder to God's Heart
via her--who from Him--isn't apart
the Immaculata's sweet help is a start
Say, Mary be a mother to be now
she's closer to her Son than me --or thou--
from His Cross, He did endow
her to be a mother to us all --and how!
Mary's every word in the Holy Bible
can clear up any anti-Jesus libel
her love for all nations, intertribal
more devotion-worthy than Cybele
I hope Jacinta, Francisco, and Lucia
keep up their intercessory Ave Maria
praying till the world's end: good idea
for peace in Russia, Ukraine (& Korea)
These kids turned their lives around
with the fervent prayer life they found
their sacrifices for sinners did abound
due to their vision of Hell so profound
St. Faustina also envisioned Hell & told
to lovingly warn us, not abrasively scold
read her beautiful story and be consoled
Divine Mercy's testament is New, & Old
We have a way out, with the Lamb
(in other words, the Great I Am)
it's not too good to be true, no sham
Divine Mercy doesn't wish to damn
Ceaseless tortures? No thanks!
I'd rather join the ranks
of all the repentant cranks
giving up our sinful pranks
So then here's my advice
gotta be better than "nice"
but God's grace will suffice
to grow virtue from vice
He's the Way, Truth, and Life
He understands our strife
Urging us with Love, not a knife
Loving us though our sins be rife
There's a twist to this story
I look forward to Purgatory
as more purifying than gory
for God's greater glory
Ultimately I say: Aim Higher
God created us with the desire
after this short life, to retire
to sing in Heaven's choir
Walk these streets with me
Observe the cracked sidewalks
That poor people walk
And rich people balk
Look at the dilapidated strip malls
And broken down concert halls
Once resplendent and representative of the American Dream
Now a bitter reminder of an empire in decay
And it's not okay
But we're living in the ghost of glory
A former empire set on fire
We're in dire but led by liars
Serenaded by choirs of bugs and mice
It was the middle class who paid the price
Whose feelings might as well be chiseled with ice
Because we're melting in the pot
As our dreams begin to rot
With nary a thought from the billionaires
Who will be there but without a care
Walk these streets with me
Look at the hopeless eyes
Starving and fed up with lies
We sold the American Dream
For an American meme
The gears of capitalism keep turning
As the cities keep burning
We greased the gears with blood
And enough tears to cause a flood
Suffering so much we can't fight for our own life
As the media sows seeds of division and civil strife
And when you speak out
They'll break you down and make people doubt
But walk these streets with me
Look at the grafitti on the walls
It's heartfelt and more inspired than what the media calls
Cinema which is just there to distract
From the fact that we're on the wrong track
And even worse on the wrong train
Filled with those who COVID-19 has slain
But if I have your attention folks
Don't forget he who called it a liberal hoax
Look at the fires in California
Look at the water level rise
We're on a path to demise
Look at the hurricanes
Every summer bringing fresh pain
Look at the wealth increases of Bezos, Musk, and Gates
The grass is greener on the other side but this is our fate
Walk the streets with me
And look with me
The Panama Papers
The Pandora Papers
The convenient death of Epstein (he didn't kill himself, did he?)
All to protect the cowards in power
But like the energizer bunny we keep going
And going and going and going and going
Only the batteries are finally dying
And the leaders play games and are lying
Knowing we're running out of time
Just walk with me and look at the grime
Look at the America you don't see on TV
It's where you will see me
And millions just like me
And maybe you'll see this idea that we're free
Is just a fantasy
They wage war on the poor
Selling their souls what for
But for gluttony and greed
Dissension is what they breed
Harmony and discord
A duality we can't afford
People die on the street
Chilled to the bone, no heat
No bread, no bed
So they commit suicide instead
And the system is so corrupt
A melting pot is ready to erupt
Boomers failed the youth
Doomers birthed who know the truth
16.07 is the living wage
But 7.25 has us locked in a cage
And we work hard to line their pockets
Yachts, mansions, pensions, and rockets
Racial tension is their weapon
So we don't collectively unify and step in
They say work hard and achieve American dreams
But the reality is not what it seems
Connections grant privilege to the rich like royalty
As they demand we stand for the flag and show loyalty
I'm tired of being a stepping stone and I'm not alone
And this is what we've been shown
Epstein didn't kill himself we know
Another death to protect those in power and another low
America grows darker by the hour
So in a moment of clarity
There is no peace and prosperity
This is a raw deal and we need a green new deal
Because I'm tired of being a spoke on the wheel
Illiteracy is on the rise and that's our demise
Because they can feed us their lies
They blame us and claim we have no ambition
But survival is the majority's mission
Stuck paycheck to paycheck until we're dead
And those who care get shot in the head
I beg you to put your hand on your chest
Against your beating heart are we doing our best
Laws against sleeping in the car, sleeping on the sidewalk
These don't fix the problem but we can't talk
Because they balk and say you should have done better
Anything to lick the boots of the debtor
But despite all of my rage I'm still just a rat in a cage
Soon to be a forgotten footnote, a faded page
And that wheel is going to keep turning
As American lives go up in flames we're burning
But that hatred is twisting deep inside
And revolution is what we need if I must confide
The system is built on a foundation of failure, it's broken
But our passion and fury has been awoken
For this is our watershed moment to stave off calamity
After discouraging decades of enmity
So if they must wage war on the poor
We'll wage war on a system we abhor
Control of breathing is quite complex
And if you really check the specs
You find all kinds of balances and checks
Within the medulla, cells playing their role
The DRG, inspirational control
Using cyclic neurons for their goal.
Actions potentials from the DRG
These cells are cyclic and fire intermittently.
Then muscle contract to the best of their ability.
To the external intercostals and diaphragm they talk
And these muscles, at the neurons’ stalk
Follow orders and they do not balk.
And when they stop, the muscles relax.
Air is forced out as muscle slacks.
Volume decreases and Boyle’s Law acts.
So breathing in costs ATP
That means the use of energy
But calm expiration? It’s just free.
But when you need to force air out
Or at something, really shout
The VRG is what it’s all about.
It talks to abdominal muscles as well
As internal intercostals to make pressure swell
And air in the lungs can no longer dwell.
The Apneustic center in the pons is a source
Of a center dealing with force
Of an inspiration’s course.
The pneumotaxic center deals with duration
And both centers talk to each medullary station
And help regulate breathing condition.
The limbic system has some sway
In breathing fast or slow at bay
More than most realize, an important say.
And the hypothalamus, always of import
With its influence never falls short
In aiding ventilation, it lends its support.
For other than limbic, it deals with fever
When it tips the temperature lever
And makes ventilation a greater achiever.
Lastly there’s the cortex of the brain,
Whose job most think, is always to reign.
But when it comes to breathing, it is quite plain.
You can’t stop breathing by your will.
The lower centers always still
Make breathing a reflex, cortex input almost nil.
And just what drives this reflex to ventilate?
From where does the need originate?
From the chemoreceptors, it does emanate.
Receptors monitoring proton concentration.
Then messages sent without cessation
To the brainstem for increasing ventilation.
And hydrogen ions, where are they from?
Carbon dioxide and water, voila, they come.
The magic formula, carbonic acid does succumb.
For merely a hunch or a hint of a kiss
I nearly was lunch for a hit on a miss
She shimmied for me in a short pirate skirt
No army of men was a match for this flirt
I started to flee in the face of a rout
She called me at once and she turned me about
In only a bit I was back to her side
My courage was hit by the lack of my pride
She puckered for me like a heady young lass
My body was tuckered but ready for class
She stood there like cream that was ready to pour
I knew that my dream was too good to ignore
I almost was tempted to go back to work
The job of a pirate is nothing to shirk
The thrill of the moment was pressed in my mind
No luck of the lady would leave me behind
My greatest concern was the captain's own good
Who surely would kill for the lass if he could
Or hate me and weight me in deep-water drink
The fate of a date with his daughter, I think
My mind was prepared to be pared or adored
Or find that she scared me and there'd be a sword
A weapon to thrill me and fill me with fun
Or maybe to kill me and spill me when done
For these inhibitions, I needed more time
My living traditions were not in their prime
Perhaps she would thank me or think I was shy
Or maybe just spank me for getting her high
Her lips were still puckered in place of a pout
In only a moment my luck would run out
To tease her for naught would be tempting my fate
But that's what you get when you balk at the bait
I knew she despised me for acting so dumb
But then she surprised me with bottles of rum
I figured she liked me and wanted me bad
Or maybe she spiked me with something she had
She shuffled my way with a sly, subtle grin
A silent rebuttal to scuttle my sin
She stood on my feet and we giggled like fools
Then matter-of-factly she rattled my jewels
I fell in a heap as she ripped her own dress
Her daddy would beat me and make me confess
I knew that my chance to survive was not good
A pitiful dance on a long plank of wood
I knew that I lost on my very worst date
A victim of love to my scary first mate
Her guile was more than you miss in a lass
But that's what you get when you kiss out of class.
Glancing down from breathless heights,
Amidst climey sighs,
The looming colossus awakens from slumber
And stretches across Thelwalls linear skies.
The hot engines hissing steam -
Recalled from fond memories long back -
Tumbling like huffing little rain clouds
Down from the lofty metal track;
Wherein brightly painted carriages:
The publicans daughter, the verger,
The magistrate, the chief executive -
Seated first class, all habitually sat.
Swift grandiose arches, a celebration
Trumpeting the artful masons cunning devise,
Boast loudly of the great towers
Parallelogram of terrific forces:
Crossing over in giant leaping strides.
Here below, like Hercules reclining,
The stoic gates of Latchfords black fortress locks
Lift to brace against the immense swell
Far and beyond the chimming remarks
Of Greenhalls absolute, mechanically proven,
Georgian bell;
When, ensconced within a purpose-built,
Purple brick tower:
Strikes the centuries old brewery clock
On the twelfth
Of every God given hour.
A rich bankers cantilever
Pushes doggedly against opposing, sheer,
Red Sandstone walls;
Again the mauve and azure rock pigeon claps...
And then...coo, coo, cooingly calls.
Dry buzzing heat blurs over
The hum of a high noons imcumbent midday;
The coup-de-gras scimitar wing stoops -
To fasten onto its slower-witted prey!
Steeped sides slipping amidst tumbling yellow
Gorse and sporadic flowers
Balk at the foreboding waters edge,
Where, over the denizens swirling bowers,
The resolute little rusting lugger,
Puffing and chugging,
relentlessly dredges and scours;
Churning the murky Eastham silts
That drab Manchester draw:
Into the vast hollowing quays
On beachless, concrete Salfords industrialized,
High-rise dockland shore.
Through the deepest part of the black
Channel
A salt grimed hulk smoothly slips...
Attached by a twisted hemp to the tugboat
That hauls the great ships.
Stirred by the bow waves
Flowing and ebbing like currents in time:
From the trough to the peak
The jettison and flotsam climbs -
Before succumbing to powerful undercurrents
Of irresistible designs!
She was her own person
Until she met him.
Him had another idea for her.
He wanted to mold her
Into a new person,
Someone she tried hard
To be
For him.
She tried for years
And years, hiding her
Lights under the burdens
Of trying so hard to please him.
She stopped smiling, and
Forgot how to laugh.
She started second guessing
What he wanted her to wear,
To say, and how he wanted her
To say it. She lived for him,
And he lived to train her.
This went on for
Years and years.
No one in her youth would
Have recognized her.
They would have been
Looking for the bubbly,
Gregarious, friendly girl
Who had died a long time ago.
In a shallow grave, under
An oak tree where she
Decided to bury the
Best of her, so she
Could allow him
To be the He
He was meant
To be.
He wanted
Her to wear
Grays and browns.
This was against
Every artistic
Fiber of her soul,
At first.
But she got used
To it. He chose
Her shoes; they
Had to be plain, dull.
He did not want her
To outshine him.
She started to balk,
But he gave her a look, and
She quickly acquiesced.
He was her prize.
She was willing to do
Everything to keep him.
In keeping him she
Was losing herself.
He did not want children.
She had always wanted
Them, but
She kept quiet about it
Because he was her prize.
He did not like friends,
So she gave hers up.
Some did not go away
Quietly. They were the
First ones cut
Completely
Out of her life.
She helped him
By not protesting,
Not balking, not
Doing anything
That would rile
Him up, make
Him unhappy or
Make him
Pout.
She completely
Lost herself.
Her family kept
Thinking she’d
Find her way
Back to them.
But she had
Her prize.
And he would
Not allow it,
So it never happened.
We were just
Sad that she traded
The life she wanted
For a life we
Never thought
She’d have ever
Wanted.
If you had
Known her as a
Child, you would
Have never thought
This could have happened.
She used to have an
Opinion, she used to love people,
She used to have talents. If she
Had them now, she was hiding
Them.
To suit him.
That men have no emotions is a misconception
But we drop them with little reception
So we bottle them up inside
Ironically finding the bottom of the bottle to confide
Men are taught to be strong
And that any weakness is wrong
But in my 28 years I've found
These are lies and the truth might astound
Take for instance the little boy with skinned knees
Who happened to fall while enjoying the breeze
Maybe comfort that little boy when he feels weak
Instead of making him feel meek
Men get so used to holding it all in
Until their soul bursts from within
And they lash out in violence
Because they've suffered in silence
And I'll be the first to say it shouldn't be that way
Not day after day after day
Men are taught not to talk
And yet when they strike out we simply balk
At the idea that maybe the problem is institutional
And we might have to move away from the conventional
When men have a higher rate of suicide
And men are more likely to be victims of homicide
There's a toxicity in the foundation
That doesn't fit the narrative of the news station
We're just taught that's the way men are
But this damned lie has been spread too far
To get rid of violence
You must eradicate silence
And some will argue men have every opportunity
But tell that to a young man in the inner city
Who is so used to a cycle of drugs, thugs, and crime
Perpetuated by the media all the time
He's just trying to survive
In a world that will never see him thrive
But as a poet I feel there's something strong in verse
And this social construct is something we can reverse
And I don't condone murder and rape
Just that men need a safe place to escape
And no place is safer than the written word
So encourage your sons to be written and heard
Give them outlets to express their pain
And that it's okay to think with their brain
Instead of resorting to their fists
When they're lost, afraid, and pissed
So that we know men having no emotion is a misconception
Maybe next time give them a little reception
He puts it out there, the Schrödinger’s cat of invitations.
Now, I’m irritated. “I TOLD you I don’t have time for.. involvement.”
“But you have to eat - so eat with ME,” he shrugs. “You can build a friendship with someone and still have freedom.” His observation was casual, as though it were unrelated to anything between us. He seemed to have the intuition that I’d balk if pressed.
“You’re subversive.” I said. “Why me? There are prettier girls, more agreeable, fun girls. I feel like I’m on the edge here,” I look around to indicate the room, the environment, the university. “And I can be a complete as-hole.”
He looked a little offended, “You’re interesting, I like what I know about you and, yeah, we can all be as-holes - we’re in a pool of “A” types, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What do you KNOW about me?” I ask.
“I’ve read some of your writings,” he looked thoughtful, “I may know a little about how you think, It’s unusual.. interesting.”
I’m shocked and I squirm, “You looked me up?”
“I looked you up.” he nodded, “to be sure you’re not an axe murderer.”
“How much did you read?” I asked, wheedling, my inner-writer engaging.
“Tell you at dinner - YOU name the date and time,” he smiled.
“My idea of “dinner” is walking to a dining hall, picking up a bag of food, bringing it back here and taking ten minutes to eat it between chapters,” I warned.
“I have a meal card,” he says, jiggling his student lanyard.
“We’ll see.” I said. “Have you talked to anyone else about my writing?”
“No,” he answered, “Why?”
“Please don’t, I have to think about it.” I say. As far as I know, no one I know in RL has read me - it’s an odd feeling - like maybe he got ahold of my diary. I haven’t worried over the fact that someone I’m in physical proximity to could look me up. That all this stuff is actually out there.
“Don’t think my misgivings can be cajoled away,” I say, “no more talking.”
He chucked but we got back to studying.
Once upon a time and place,
There lived a princess fair of face.
She was searching for a prince to wed,
One of noble character bred.
Many a fine tear she had shed,
When each prince came up lacking.
One day as she went for a stroll,
She came upon a grassy knoll,
Beside a quiet pond, and saw a fallen log.
She sat down and began to weep,
Her sorrow running oh so deep,
At failing to find a noble prince to share her life.
"Princess fair, why do you weep?"
Asked a voice so rich and deep.
Surprised the princess looked around,
And spied a frog upon the ground.
"Good frog, did you speak to me?"
The frog replied, "I did indeed."
"A princess so fair as you,
Should never have to feel so blue.
Please tell me what your trouble is,
Perhaps I can be of help to you."
"I've been searching for a prince to wed,
One of noble character bred, but all have
been sadly lacking."
The frog hopped from the ground to log,
And said, "Princess, what I have to say will be a shock.
You see, I'm not really just a lowly frog.
I was once a handsome prince of noble character bred,
Until a hateful witch I tried to vanquish,
Put a curse on me instead."
"The curse is that a frog I'll always be,
Only a maiden's kiss will set me free.
So if you're willing to place a kiss,
Upon my ugly froggy lips,
A prince again will I then be,
And both our dreams will become reality."
The princess hesitated just a bit.
His tale sounded so far fetched.
But then again, frogs didn't talk,
And this one could, so she didn't balk.
She bent down, closed her eyes and kissed him.
In a flash a handsome prince appeared,
finally freed from frog's disguise.
No longer did this princess sing the blues,
She'd found her prince and at the news,
All the kingdom celebrated.
Everyone was so elated.
The prince and princess soon were wed,
And together they raised chilldren of noble
character bred.
Entered into Carol Eastman's story poem contest