Long Ballooned Poems
Long Ballooned Poems. Below are the most popular long Ballooned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ballooned poems by poem length and keyword.
An oppressive still
has settled the morning.
The gray water of the bay
is as motionless as concrete.
I would like to float from here
but cannot find lift
even on the breath
of these words,
they remain stuck on a page
weighted with consequence.
Yesterday, there were places
where I could go,
the wild and overgrown
far corners of a backyard
or high up in the branches
of a tall tree in the unfenced
freedom of a park at the end
of the street.
There I was unobserved
beneath a sky that was endless
and not bent into the lens
of a microscope. Birds
and newly minted dragonflies
flew through the sunlit air
lifted by psalms rising
ballooned with meaning
towards a “somewhere”
not circumscribed
by a name.
It's so weird looking, and I've really grown to dislike it.
I remember as a child, how cool looking it was when it filled up with bath water
I would squeeze the skin around it together to completely hide it, it worked!
Growing up I've always had one of those Innie types
Unfortunately, these days my Innie has become an Outie
I guess my tummy being a bit ballooned, and my age, has something to do with that
I hate my new Outie; it pops out like a cherry on an ice cream cone
The only thing it really hurts is my feelings, it bothers me constantly
Geez, it looks like I've got a third nipple right smack in the middle of my tummy
Perhaps it's time for a diet, I want my Innie back!
TO BEING IN LOVE’S LOVE
Being in love is an episodic emotion
Ballooned in exotic expectation
Tested by inflated orgasmic delirium
Often fizzing in diabolical diffusion:-
On the other hand,
Loving and being loved,
Is an eternal comic reality
That God spiritually bonds
To be eternal throughout life:-
How beautiful and exciting it is
To love spiritually, and eternally;
Being in the cosmic reality of
Blessed God sent true love
Ballooning beyond all
Limits and expectations:-
Being forever in love with you
Remains exciting and loving
And being loved by you is limitless,
And beyond all expectations: Praise God!
Each day I give Him thanks for the gift of you:-
I’ve come back to that place
where bumbles bounce and blooms bedazzle -
a place that ought to be one of happy recollections,
for it is so pretty here. . . even now,
and the air so fragrant.
Despite its loveliness, the garden of this city park
can never more enchant me,
and the ruby bedazzlers that still reside here
I never can forgive for their betryal.
How innocently they all looked on as my dearest childhood friend –
pleased to lean in to inhale their petals’ sweet scent -
gasped upon receiving that sharp sudden sting.
Her face ballooned out, becoming nearly unrecognizable
as she struggled to breathe, but we both were unaware
of my darling friend’s most severe of allergies. . .
She fainted then, never to bounce back,
unlike those bumbles in the garden
where the blooms had so bedazzled her.
They bumble around even now, forever bouncing back
to remind me of that most dreadful of days.
Fat you were, beyond description.
Jabba the Hut had nuthin' on you.
From a scruffy little Brillo-pad sized stray
Your appetite ballooned you
To an incontinent continent of feline adiposity.
A fur covered Butterball turkey
With attitude
You never failed to fall below expectation,
Seemingly unable or unwilling
To grasp the concept of the litterbox.
To think we named you Shadow.
Even that part of you looked heavy.
You'd just sit on something that groaned beneath you,
Paw draped across that vast white belly,
And look at me like, "Well?"
Then one day,
Too chubbed to make it across the street in time,
Some car bopped your noggin
And knocked the life outta you.
They brought you to me
Unmarked yet dead;
I crammed your soft bulk into a bootbox
And buried you under our big tree out back.
Death gave you a measure of dignity
Unattainable in life,
As I suppose, in the end, it does us all.
Kurt dangled on a bangled teardrop crying for muted vision
Braced for superficial insight as the surface mirrored the cracks
Tension was his life line for he longed for shedding his fears
But nightmares thoroughly punctured his resilient sound of despair
He drifted on ragged conviction that vivid living was a fantasy
With monumental imagination draped in reminiscent clouds
Guided by unquestionable courage he hung on for dear life
Or to what remained once deflated imagination congealed
His matted hair rose high while dreadlocked thoughts pierced
An innocent grimace concealed the past of an untold future
Yet he mastered a nostalgic smile for the sake of his journey
Undercurrents must not overwhelm the attraction of moonlight
He was threadbare to the staggering core but free as a lost kite
Abandoned forgotten and flying to the sun’s caress nevertheless
When the bubble popped he ballooned into timeless surrender
And found a magical place in the whirlwind of his imminent soul
Tender emotion so nearly defeated by reason and shadowing doubts
Resurfaced as soon as he let go of his conquest for seeming control
The proposition dawned that it mattered no longer whether he was
Inside his floodgates or closer to streams of consciousness' periphery
A magician appeared within the scope of horizon in hopeful belief
That love and compassion would be victorious over moribund battles
He therefore buried knife edging chisels of hatred instead of his heart
Mopped up sobbing misadventure and wiped the mist from his eyes
09th March 2020
Contemporary Ode To A Mother Crying Out
To Her Children…2015
Sprawled out on life’s stage,
her world turns and runs
river red with the blood of her children:
flowing like a wandering stream.
Bloated ballooned bellies
mock aborted pregnancies;
once luscious breasts
sag in parallel union
with sinking faces
of lost hope.
Lost hope—whirling
like solitary ghost smoke
of abandoned fires:
abandoned fires
dying in waning time.
Hollowed red eyes
of fleeing lovers look rearward:
the wholeness of nothingness simmering;
as smiling death sits—
waiting and anticipating the wonted feast.
Heartbeat of hope struggles—
murmuring in the valleys and shadows;
searching the gods’ penurious mercy.
In the midst of the Dante, hazed hell,
a wretched mother clings
to time and history—once again.
Rooted in her audacious faith,
she cries out to her wandering brood in Diaspora:
those liberating souls spewed from her precious womb.
Scattered liberating souls—umbilical bound;
destined to restore her great grand glory:
With sage seasoned good courage,
sagaciously she squats—
awaiting the victory.
Anxious in Ancona (1)
His plan, as he’s boarding his baldachined barge
en route for the easterly sea,
(arthritis allowing) is giving it large,
but the pain is as bad as can be:
though Rome is his home, he must go and take charge:
Cortona is cortisone-free.
One thousand four hundred the Christian years
(and then we’ll add sixty-four more):
Pope Pius the Second, that subtlest of seers,
is bound for the Umbrian shore.
He’s even less warlike than Billie Joe Spears,
but wants to be wading through gore.
He’s running a fever, his legs have ballooned,
but he won’t be deflected or swayed.
He’ll not be impugned or dragooned or lampooned:
undampened his rodomontade:
the mention of mercy, mere salt in the wound –
hell-bent on a pious crusade.
The portents are palsied: a bargeman is drowned:
this project is just getting sillier.
“Venetians are keeping us hanging around:
we can hire troops for Tyre in Sicilia.”
The Middle East! Pius wants boots on the ground
(now why does that sound so familiar?)
The ominous omens are gathering thickly,
but no-one could call him a quitter.
He’s scrofulous, suffering, sallow and sickly,
but boyishly buoyant, not bitter.
They land him on sand on the strand of Otricoli,
and lift him aloft in a litter.
Dust
by Michael R. Burch
Flame within flame,
we burned and burned relentlessly
till there was nothing left to be consumed.
Only ash remained, the smoke plumed
like a spirit leaving its corpse, and we
were left with only a name
ever common between us.
We had thought to love "eternally, "
but the wick sputtered, the candle swooned,
the flame subsided, the smoke ballooned,
and our commonest thought was: flee, flee, flee
the choking dust.
Keywords/Tags: love, relationship, relationships, divorce, parting, separation, loneliness, alienation, grief, sorrow, lost love, loss, lost, dust, ash, ashes
Fifty nine inch tall wife
once willowy wisp
postmenopausal galloping gourmandiser
playboy centerfold girly
figure ain't no mo,'
which superfluous weight deterrent,
love life yours truly
took Kamikaze nosedive
arousing, exciting, stimulating...
as romancing the stone statue,
but seen thru Tom
gobbler beady eyes
butterball babe resembles hottie
female turkey on steroids without feathers,
spouse already qualifies as Hen pecker
not admirable characteristic
to encourage physical intimacy
whew, which allows this husband
to redirect pro creative pursuits
where English language
beak homes muse,
which amateur philologist
attests to literary penchant
most likely garnering posthumous fame
revving up avast surge
necessitating Barry yore
to deter den of thieves
against stealing precious
documents - sold at auction
avid fans snapping up
bajillion tattered staind scribblings
indistinguishable from chicken scratch
interlaced with gobbledygook
(unbeknownst to John Doe
who faintly resembled me dead
drunken grizzled shabby skidrow
anonymous deceased wordsmith),
mortuary performed makeover
courtesy same Joseph and the
amazing technicolor dreamcoat
academy award winners
unexpected set couture club craze
suddenly everybody and their ilk
including grandmother goose, pink panther,
porky pig, Scoobie doobie do, ugly duckling...
triggered feverish buzz feeding frenzy
even cosmetic surgeons experienced
boomtimes, cuz ma
eternally sleeping pose
inspired cottage (cheesy) industry,
the global economy witnessed
unprecedented unsurge
ending world wide poverty.