Long Bellowing Poems
Long Bellowing Poems. Below are the most popular long Bellowing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bellowing poems by poem length and keyword.
The lion lay hidden
from the noonday heat
thick scrub surrounding
only movement a flick
of an ear as he listens
tuned to all around him
Lazily he stretches
tail slowly swishing
he draws himself up
standing full height
he now towers above
the small clump of scrub
Making one wonder
how it so perfectly
gave him camouflage
impressive as he strides forward
Roaring calling out to his pride
answering distant roars reply
he strolls towards the sound
king of all his surrounds
All scatter before him
as they catch his scent
he slowly prowls his lands
not yet time for the hunt
he marks trees as he passes
Letting all know this land
belongs to him alone
climbing a hillock
he stands in silhouette
true king of the beasts
written 03/24/2013
The lion lay still and silent
under the thorn trees patient.
The odd flicker of an ear
as he watches a deer.
Lazily he stretches, tail swishing
at full height he is now standing.
The small clump diminishes now shrunken
the screech and flapping of a startled chicken.
He calls to his pride bellowing
roars across the savannah echoing.
First he claims then he challenges
his rivals soon scatter as he plunges.
In silhouette he stands against the landscape
a final series of roars, as they escape.
Magnificent beast in his full prime
this king continues to rule for a time.
written 03/15/2015
contest: The Makeover
I am stumbling along the beaten down path and struggling to get out of the dark, there are some boulders in the way and I have to work up extra energy to roll them away. The earth wakes up from its midnight slumber grumbling about an extramarital affair while the sun, moon and the stars watches closely from over there; two newlyweds carrying a bundle on their head, moving from city to town without decent place to lay their head, and the music bellowing in the heavens kept their spirit alive. Daylight breaks with an explosion in the skies sending people running all over the street, and thick smoke bleeds from the clouds spreading a stagnant fume around the town while the universe stands on top of the Hill breathing fresh air, and I struggle to find my way around, but my instinct forces me to lay flat on the ground, and I saw the vision of how the avenue disappeared. There is an avenue beneath the ground floor where they smuggle merchandise into the town. They were naturally formed from an ancient avenue that once exist before an earthquake sinks it three hundred years ago. Everything is in tack and they have lights below the tracks they have place where you can sleep when you are traveling in the deep. The layers are so deep, you have to follow the water pipes and it will lead you straight into the open street. There are no caretakers down there just one long tunnel that leads you out of hell, you must pay a fee at the entrance, leave it in the box and ask no question, they are monitoring you from a screen that is embedded in my dreams. I have embarked on this trip of a lifetime to complete something’s on my bucket list, so give me the space so that I can accomplish it before it's too late; the merchants have gathered in the town to begin the negotiation, and there is a long line of them stuck below the ground so open the door across the street so that they can come out of the ground. Come let me show you the mystery of the avenue that was swallowed beneath the ground.
EYE and Heart rambling pounding after death!
kissing bruised valves of mind
breaking ribs and sternum
into the ghost-kiss of afterlife!
aaaaaah!
Love grows a coat of fur, lips thicken
for the everlasting kiss! Like crepuscular,
hiding under the table -- cannot bear to be
seen. Born from an aborted fetus -- crumens beneath
its beautiful eyes! Secrete waxy tears, senseless boredom eating
away within its four-chambered stomach barely
taking sustenance it crawls away!
Everyone refuses to feed her -- lips and hands
smell as semen and cigarettes; god's cock hardening to woody bone for the anger
of his fallen angels! Hey! Go away! Go away!
Autumn rut. The hidden gallons of evil passion
tips back it's majestic crown -- Christ with hands
nailed up, bellowing to Heaven!
the condom falls and again a new universe is born.
Again. And again.
:: 11.12.2020 ::
A musky, burnt haze sears slowly into my nostrils.
The twilight hour pulses steadily, bathing stark walls in an eerie gloom.
Too awake to drift to sleep, yet too tired to drag my bones off this sinking mattress.
Thoughts cyclone like a tsunami within a withdrawn mind,
picking at scabs; the half-life of my darkness pools in red droplets.
Licking the wounds, the taste of metallic and melancholy blends.
Loneliness wraps its arms around my dejected shoulders like a winding sheet.
A howling wind rattles the paper-thin glass making up my windows,
as I ponder how I became the living dead.
Traumas poisoned my sanity,
slowly paranoia replaced reason,
delusions became my nightly bedfellow,
whispering sweet unpleasantries into tainted ears,
leaving hallucinatory trinkets in my repeating nightmares.
The world is shrinking, withering,
yet as I am becoming paralyzed by fear, I am unequipped to stop it.
Like a freight train derailed,
bellowing at full speed towards the inevitable,
I too am racing at the speed of light towards oblivion.
I am the queen of self destruction.
Ritualistic Razor sharp scrutiny of my reflection -
constantly spewing hate at my mid-section,
whilst effortlessly faking the pursuit of perfection.
A crumbled up heart beckons restitution in the midst
of train-wrecked relationships,
ruinous friendships,
and crumbled up to do lists,
in white-knuckled fists.
The essence of happiness remains a mere mirage
for one who is an expert in self-sabotage.
With nothing but empty reminders sprayed out on a dreary collage,
it is exhausting living an ever consuming facade.
Procrastinated plans worship at my feet,
whilst brooding and bellowing as I hit snooze on repeat.
Impatiently my ambitions take a seat,
before wisely declaring undeniable defeat.
Daily my mind’s army assumes a familiar avoidant stance.
Love and hate engage, again, in a repetitive dance,
between an avoidant retreat and a stagnant advance.
It is clear: as long as I sit on the throne of
self-destruction,
for me… for being whole..
there will not be another chance..
I
Seated in a bray were three friends,
On chair,pavement,aisle did they fill.
Merrying,hopping,sharing their advice,
Like the hopping daffodils does in the
hay.
But a languorous serendipity perchanc'd,
And the three in decisions advanc'd.
Sadness to the utmost flew,
Joy opposite in decision yet in the land
drew.
While strife beneath the earth dived,
Making the three friends in separation
thrived.
Life seem'd vague when they unity despised,
And they all did in love's isolation lay.
With no hope of boosted liveliness,
All were bethrot'd to weariness.
II
Then came a fearful bright dawn,
Strecth'd wide in the sky like unto a lawn.
Sadness pierc'd her eyes through the sun,
It seem'd natures plotted against her.
Then said she unto herself like unto a
'street dancer',
Bellowing deep towards the shadow
'mancer'.
"I'll arise and return to joy,
That we along with strife will by unity
coil".
Then she arose and edged to joy her way,
That if she be not in the land then she'll in
the bray.
From afar Joy point'd her gaze like unto a
gun,
With " Is that not sadness...?",laying in
mouth her.
Then she dashed into her arm with
her in her sight,
And both did all their predicaments
recite.
III
The Nightingale often mock'd strife,
"Plumpy belly,disgusting snout", in
Nightingale lies.
Her atmosphere scolded her heartily,
That she ev'n in her dreams dwelt wearily.
Then she too rethink to revisit aged folks,
To at least enchant logs of pending talks.
And if by help they can bail him out,
" If Joy won't,Sadness will";She thought.
Then she picked her way towards Joy
abode,
And for hours she in anxiety rode.
A mile ahead,her eyes sensed steadily,
All in each sight, the three again met
merrily.
And again in the bray were the
three;
But can these really be?
He is a Benscar, a burly, beastly, bellowing, befitting ugly bug troll.
This was said by my older cousin who fibs, his name is mean mole.
I do not believe you, I said, because I was aware cousin Ruth.
I think for once in his life, Grandma said “He might be telling the truth”.
We all tromped down to the river to meet this troll named Benscar.
He was taking the carburetor out of grandpa’s 1972 red and white car.
What are you doing? Grandma asked, “To Leroy’s Four Four Two?”
I thought I would clean it up and give it as a gift to the two of you.
Not so mean I told Mole, who looked sheepish and sick.
He had been hoping that his relatives would be a little more thick.
Neither grandma, grandpa or I ever believed Mole after that.
Neither did Benscar, who stayed around to play with our farm cat.
Upon humankind pleasant things The Creator did impose.
Among these the inalienable right to undisturbed repose!
Whether slumbering upon a royal palace bed or a cottage cot,
Either provides blissful snoozing, it really matters not!
I pray the Good Lord will not hold unto me a grudge,
Should I reach that Golden Gate, my faults for Him to judge,
For stealing naps in those hallowed, hard chapel pews,
As the preacher expounded upon his platitudinous views!
Even sleeping on an army cot with its mattress so very thin,
Sleep came easily despite the overpowering din.
Blissfully dreaming until "Reveille" jerked me up alert,
To the sergeant's bellowing - his authority to exert!
I've cat-napped through many a long and wearisome concert,
My spouse poking me with her elbow trying to keep me alert.
Despite her constant prodding and ardent imploring,
She says I really embarrass her with my fitful snoring!
Even in an airplane flying at thirty-thousand feet,
I manage a few winks despite the din - now that's quite a feat!
I suppose many misguided souls find solace in their booze,
But for me - there's nothing like a peaceful, blissful snooze!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 9 in "Your Snooze, You Choose" Contest - June 2010
Camping on the sandy shore of the beach
Getting bored by the waves and their screech
Sitting around the camp after cooking out
It was so much fun just talking at our hangout
Soon, we noticed a couple who were fighting
Across the beach in a house we were sighting
They were making trip after trip up the stairs
We all knew this battle wasn’t one of our affairs
Still we watched from our place in our lawn chairs
Not much caring that it was darkening their tears
We watched for hours and heard their angry shouts
When we finally hit the sack it was midnight or thereabouts
While we laughed and hooted at the wife’s victory
That husband was bellowing that this was contradictory
Never would we forget that vacation with its entertainment
During our monotony on the beach this was our sustainment
Favorite Vacation Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
February 3, 2022
Gran and Gramps are BUM BUMS!
Standing beneath bouncy castle with hope and glee
Begging my Gran and Gramps to lift me up to see
The fun and exuberance of children taking a jump
Rolling into the middle like one big kiddie lump
Screams and giggles radiate through the air
Flying shoes, squished candy and knots of long hair
Children in chaos while adults swirl round
Bellowing “Be Careful or you might hit the ground”
I plead with Gran and Gramps in my best squeaky voice
To keep their big promise and give me the choice
To join in the fun and experience all the sites
They renege on their promise and gosh that bites
I crawl into the car with a big scowl on my face
Those two party-poopers are a child’s disgrace!
Riding home in silence and feeling so glum
I give them a nickname “Gran and Gramps Bum Bums”
Waving goodbye and as they drop me to the door
Dumb “Bum Bums” will be lucky to see me anymore!