Long Belches Poems
Long Belches Poems. Below are the most popular long Belches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Belches poems by poem length and keyword.
The Psyche aye seeks an end to sling
Its filaments wide across and all around ,
To ensnare it's weird, stray prey with a fling
And there comes the ominous web, ill- bound
To stay back and grab the first victim found ;
From out of the depth of the benumbed torpor
The creeping, coiling ,ruffling ,volatile thought ,
Ever entangled in plots beneath the stupor ,
Sneaks, to find it's clumsy, uneasy way out
Seeking some flaw or fissure along the coffer .
Despite the reach and the cold vicious win
The prize fetches not the full upright feel ;
No ransack nor test for the wrong or sin ,
As success above all ,reckons a good deal
And the wildness belches over the raw meal ;
The goal reached, only incites a new hover
As the impulsive sensors grab at one and all ;
While a little morsel, a small patch ,and cover
Suffice, needless is the trade so selfishly tall
That transacts the mode of contented survival.
Death ,destruction and fall haunt fear greater ;
Desire and greed dwell in selfish pleasure ;
Thirst needs only a satiable gulp of water ;
Pelf and riches, beyond being some treasure
Cannot buy real relief or intent in any measure ;
All wild pursuits, mere Quixotic , end in vain ;
Glamour and virtual success go sans form ,
Brittle trophies and awesome ravages disdain ;
One stands not even at where one began, forlorn
As the very ground beneath the feet is torn .
The American Revolution describes the process whereby one George was replaced by another
Though Jack has climbed his beanstalk,
Saint George his dragon slain,
Gulch-Mammon lives on happily
And myriad is his train
His belly is enormous,
Yet full it ne'er will be.
The moment luncheon's over,
It's time to start high-tea.
Gulch-Mammon's teeth are millstones
Whose grindings rarely cease.
His slightest indigestion
Is menace to our peace.
And every time he sneezes,
Things worsen, though they're bad,
And every time he belches,
The Richter Scale goes mad.
Perchance he bored with eating,
He starts to smoke and fume.
You'll always know his whereabouts.
Just watch out for his plume.
His home is just palatial,
For gold is everywhere.
His rest-room seat is golden,
A thing most choice and rare.
No one knows for certain,
The income that he draws.
Whatever you are making,
It's vastly more than yours.
There on his vast plantations,
Some kine are thin, some fat,
And many laws and statutes
Did little to change that.
Are Jack and George just sleeping,
Or are they in his pay?
Whoso may know the answer
Seems disinclined to say.
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!
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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.
The earth shakes, quakes;
belches up ash, rock and smoke;
spitting tsunami’s and cyclone winds.
Here and there,
extinct species reappear,
as if they’d been spewed from cavern’s, at earth’s core;
perhaps they’ve been hiding for centuries.
As fracking splits the earthen floor and sea beds;
unseen and long forgotten creatures,
rise to exact revenge.
Churning waterspouts awaken sleeping dinosaurs,
while angry winds, spank the trees and buildings.
Who wouldn’t awaken to such a maddening tantrum?
Even the dead, in their graves,
are coughed up in droves,
as Mother Earth’s womb, is ripped apart;
by human abuse.
When…tell me of one time, just one, when…
You saw a lion shoot another, with an assault rifle or
a pack of wolves, building a bigger bomb?
I dare you tell me of just one!
Grizzlies don’t burn down forests; mankind does.
Mankind…is there any kindness about mankind;
once corporate demons, have taken control.
You’ll never see a canine, selling slaves;
no feline littering; no squirrel or rabbit,
dumping toxic waste into oceans.
Only man…unkind…destroys.
Isn’t it time for the human species,
to develop a conscience?
No, it’s past time!
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.
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?
Restless in the cradle night.
I spin and curl,
witless I puzzle over
a timeworn conundrum of self.
The brain buzzes on
being its usual endless blunt toothed saw.
The body belches and rumbles
as it tirelessly works to produce
the odd snort or snore.
All is a normal stasis on an escalator
speeding to nowhere,
Just the random outtakes
from under-rehearsed thoughts
dropping like dying mammoths
into tar pits of forgetfulness.
Then your hand, or is it mine
lays an imminence on my inner sight.
Can a hand be within a hand?
All five senses but also a sense of presence,
as if my flesh were a glove
for some beloved ghost – yet
a warm substantive entity,
more a reality than I.
No harm is here,
only the begetting of love,
a flowering,
both an opening and an enclosing.
There is a voice,
one I realize I had left somewhere
returning now to charm time,
to show me
where a loss had occurred.
There was a bifurcation,
two voices grew deaf to each other.
This recollection becomes
a mirror of awareness.
I am now translucently unilingual.
Oceanic and free.
This is how the All speaks, said one voice.
This is how the All listen, said the other.
A third voice said:
and here is the grace of silence.
A dark and faceless bedroom
consents to talk with me awhile.
The brain buzzes on
being its usual endless
blunt toothed saw.
The body belches and rumbles
as it tirelessly works to produce
the odd snort or snore.
All is a normal stasis on an escalator
speeding to nowhere,
Just the random outtakes
from under-rehearsed thoughts
dropping like dying mammoths
into tar pits of forgetfulness.
Beyond all these moving parts
is a soundless voice,
a voice I realize I had left somewhere
returning now to show me
where a loss had occurred.
It was there at a bifurcation
in a nowhere place.
that two voices grew deaf to each other,
but now in this instant
the voices have become
a synchronized dance of one.
I am translucently unilingual
through my mouth and ears.
An oceanic speech
funneled through a shell of self.
This is how the All speaks, said one voice.
This is how the All listen, said the other.
A third voice said:
and here is the holiness of silence.
Listen to the land
Look at life
Watch the seas
Therein lie lessons
For you and me
Land cracks, thunder claps
Lava flow, fissures show
Mountains burst their tops
Winds whistle through canyons
Earth belches oil spires
Forests light themselves on fire
The land speaks in many ways
Been talking to you all your days
Life does things strategically
From instincts unspoken
Spiders restart webs anew
Not repairing ones broken
Plants are older than us
They know more than we do
Using only light and water
Feed us, keep us in proper order
Seas lapping on shore
Caps of icy foam galore
Frozen arctic blocks dropping off
Deep black ocean depths
What we see we can't fathom
Tsunamis flash and roar
Then there's glassy stillness
Minds try to grasp its vastness
Land speaks truth
Life resets itself
Seas reveal reality
Look for lessons
You will see