Long Balloon Poems
Long Balloon Poems. Below are the most popular long Balloon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Balloon poems by poem length and keyword.
Have you seen a better fool like me?
A dimwitted dreary buffoon like me?
Buffoonery has its limits, ridiculous,
But for me it's monotonous.
I never change,
I'm always the same, It's such a shallow shame!
Yes, I am the one to blame.
I see politeness wearing
A fancy pair of friendship earrings.
Who does that? An acrobat, a bubbly brat!
Who thinks that a polite chat
Is a friendship, this and that.
Then when people change
And they cut me out of their range,
I feel sadly strange.
When am I going to learn
And stop feeling the burn,
Stop making politeness turn
Into a glib friendship that's not even worth an earn.
Buffoon's bubbly balloon
Should be popped,
Buffoon should be stopped.
I am an open book,
Oops, a buffoon brook,
It's time for a new look,
And get myself off the hook.
Imagine
Just Imagine
Feeling behind the preparation
Thanksgiving destination
Morning rise
Dreaming being an actual balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
Held high by volunteers
No soar
Entertainment for sure
TV Camera lens, the focus, the movement throughout
Being the “POETIC REACTION – WORDS RESPONSE” balloon
A first, and certainly no last
Maneuvering overhead as spectators observe
A difference and joy approach
Through the Thanksgiving breeze
Winds that blow
Caution in being slow
Leading the way down the New York City streets with Santa’s arrival at the very back in parade finale
Kids wonder in captivation
Above all joy
The smiles and the laughter
Surging opportunity
The rush of unity
One’s own balloon dream
The thought in what it would seem
Asleep in the dream mode
A story tale Unfold
Awakened from sleep as if the dream was real
Feeling like a movie stream
Anticipation
One day
Who know?
It could become reality
In the meantime, let’s commence the parade
Sponsored by Macy’s made
As the British put it, “UP AND AT IT”.
i have some scars that i can’t remember getting
on my knees, on my hands, on my face
a blur of blood, tears and screams
a blur, another blur, we were tearing at the seams
you said we have to leave, we left, it didn’t change me
it didn’t change me but i shifted
i shifted far away and disconnected, i disappeared
you want me to open the door but the door is too loud, it’s too loud to open
i don’t want to end up deaf
pop it. pop the balloon, i’ll cry, i’ll hyperventilate. but you still pop it
and offer me something new
a new room again. white and naked
i feel white and naked
you have a tan but i remain pale
i can’t open the car door. my palm is on the handle, i’m about to push but i can’t
i can’t will my brain to do it
it keeps screaming at me to open it
you tell me you’re not going to wait forever
but i don’t want to step outside
it’s five hours to home. five hours and my brain keeps screaming we’re all gonna die
you tell me i have to stop calling it home
you tell me i don’t have a home anymore
you tell i have to get used to it
i don’t want that
i don’t want to forget it
i don’t want to forget the way i held her hands, soft and responsive and oh so intimate
i wanted to kiss her but i couldn’t. my brain kept screaming at me to kiss her but i couldn’t
i knew she wouldn’t want that so i never did
one ugly scar, two ugly scars, three ugly scars
more than i can count now
my brain keeps screaming the plane is going to crash but i ignore it
the flight attendant is nice, i wouldn’t want her to die
so i ignore it
you told me you missed me
it didn’t sound like it when you banged on the bathroom door
i can still see myself trapped inside with a construction knife
cut, cutting, about to cut
i fill up the bath, i fill up the bath with warm water
hot, warm, about to get cold
about to be tainted with blood
they won’t be able to save me
they don’t know my blood type
i asked my mother when i was little
she told me to ask my father
i asked my father and he shrugged
they won’t be able to save me so i’ll grow cold in the bloody bathtub
i’ll grow cold and the water will too
The tv sings soft tunes
But my mind cant focus
Im watching the charecters go by
A second later im watching myself
Seeing everything from an outside view
Its paranomal, really
A spirit tied to its old body
having to watch it get passed around
Being held like a child holding a balloon
tethered to it for all eternity
Watching its life from a window
But never really living it
Never feeling the proper emotions
Or remebering the right thing
Cause your mind is not yours
It is broken
Being held by scraps of glue
Falling apart at the slightest of movement
So you float
Keeping yourself steady
Not falling
Your a ghost in your own body
Balloon, balloon, so high in the air,
Its destination I know not where,
Its point of departure, that is too
A mystery in the sky of blue.
I too wonder, wonder, why oh why
This bright drifter was allowed to fly
As it left to float in the air so high,
Did a two year old begin to cry?
I must, I must ask the question “who?”
Is the boy or girl whose age is two?
Did her grandma say, “this is for you”,
Giving it not to the sky so blue?
A puzzle, a puzzle, too, is how
This nomad came to where it is now.
Did playful winds blow it over this town,
While silly gravity went upside down?
What about, what about, what about when
Did this wayward orb’s fun journey begin -
Way back in Egypt by a pyramid
When Cleopatra was just a kid?
Maybe, maybe it had cargo, but what?
A note or resident of Lilliput?
Oops, by Gosh, it did just disappear,
And my thoughts did too - with a pop, I fear!
Dear Belarus
We need a truce
From the deceptive abuse
Balloons in flight
We all see the commerce sight
Bringing packs of smoke
Sounding like a crooked joke
When they drop
Stop
Think what they will do to our future crop
Using those former theatrical cool props
Known to charm
Reality doing harm
Luring youth to a picture filled with power
Cowboys and planted flowers
Puffing away
Later who will pay
Believing the marketed, product to sell
Distorting human blood cells
Paving a pathway through hell
Still weary
Our other theory
Raisin
About this floating invasion
Where territory gets its mark
Sending a message in the dark
We can shoot them down
If they do not turn around
And go home
All alone
Pondering everything
Especially who has the talent to sing
Thicket of intermingled branch tangle
Hides pimple shine ripe juice strawberries strewn
Across pine needle pick up stick mangle
Fragrant lily pink tang gives tasty boon
Hook horseshoe slender stems support balls' dangle
Gloss hanging globes celebrate scarlet balloon
Bountiful renewed eruption of Spring
Sprouts floated fruit fit for a fairytale King
Hidden in haven bed of duvet shade
Shielded precious berries, safe from predator
Sweetest treats endorse purely Heaven made
Cones pushing petals exalt Mother Nature
Lanterns swinging China Town of gloomy glade
Lined foliage raises redness in rapture
Emblem of wild leaf crown insignia
Represents righteous memorabilia
Humble hunter uncovers last month's melt
Freshened season floods taste buds in wonder
Tart bumpy tongue tid bits brazenly dealt
By pine imbibed wildness growing under
Woodland umbrella where I'm gladly knelt
Gaunt Winter cruelty is cast asunder
God's lollies extend tender umbilical
Sun warm strawberry snack sabbatical
16th February 2021
Written for Contest: Spring
Sponsor: Regina Mc Intosh
The way the sunshine dangles from her smile,
The sways in the lines of her silhouette
And her story of heartbreak shaping her voice
Caused by the past villains met.
She leaps free and fierce
And is no longer afraid
For it is the ordinary ways
That pierced
Love's balloon;
Smeared the image of a perfect man's face.
It was because he chose lips over conversation,
Hips over company's elation and
Not sips of wine or art over humiliation.
Now, she dances in the shadow-tips
And studies his moves in notation.
A beckoning becoming of beauty.
He noticed her everyday skin.
His eyes tore through her in search of perfect aesthetics
And though the air took slow moments to pass, to reveal her helium
She has finally fallen in love with her everyday skin.
She owns gold bullions of insight
Taught through lessons of fight or flight.
Her perception instils belief in her ordinary beauty,
Refills her trust in knowing:
Mascara cannot be your armour.
Lipstick holds no intuition.
Plump lips can mumble words.
Glossy fingernails cannot scrape away fear.
A dull mind does not build a kaleidoscope-dream
And makeup cannot hide your true self.
She is beauty.
no time of peace from ink stains inside the mind
a fluted overlapping
blackish pool
as melancholy rises like a child's lost balloon
snatched by wind
sometimes a sadness of swimming in circles
bald days of "what will I do?"
"how will I cope?"
exhausting in their dulling
these shadows that have the force of grief pinned to one,
a brooch of blocked choosing
inner disarray
motivation stunted
a melancholy that has no pleasant intervals
when given to rummaging through debris
piled like festered leaves
internal challenge, to climb back up the bank
to reclaim a fertile turf of happy endings
trying to smear away a melancholic blue
by opening one's self to signs that glue
Poem written May 8, 2023
4.
on this spine
having a mouth of crocodile
always jump down
the climate
everyday
the sunglass changes
look at the soil and the sky
no one of them has any body-guard
the open mouth of the light
swallows the grey coin
here the wall becomes more tamed
the wild jasmine comes nearer to the heart
and hums
then ripping open my veins
should i also vomit the blue elocution
accumulated on the cock-pit
after recovery of the flower-mill from fever
the harmonium is being played on
even introduction with the gas-balloon
has not been done yet
5.
arrangements are being made
the green shirt will gradually
turn reddish
the culverts that have become exhausted
within the travel-format
will get recharged again to sit up straight
and the hawker will get passed the silent-home
shouting with undressed coconuts in hands
from the lap of the stand-still rocking-cradles
of the children-park
the amaltas will say
i’m ready
then to escape the sun-shine
the boy who comes to attend the private tuition
will embrace… oh margosa … its your pierced-heart
you may tell him that the name of the girl
who is eating guava and swinging her legs
sitting on its branch is munni
6.
the horse is running
just above 3 feet of the yellow cornice
his back is full of dreams
or a girl named miss dorothy
around it is the mid-night
around it is the wind that wants to be printed
and in every corner of its flying
are hundreds of skirts
all are of free-size
what may be their market-price
there is no shop-keeper there
in that valley
a shadow is proceeding on
do you know whose shadow it is
he is philip the teacher who gets irritated easily
this time there is no thin cane
in his hand
in the pieces of papers dumped in the waste-box
under his window there is a manuscript eaten up by the worms
there is ‘darling’ there
and ‘yours beloved greta’
in which skirt
a touch of that greta does remain
is it being searched even today
is it greta or margaret or eliza
there is no bar if it is dorothy
in whose smell there is no greta
who has no such horse flying just above three feet
of the yellow cornice
each mid-night fills the fountain pen
with the flow of blue ink