Long Belting Poems
Long Belting Poems. Below are the most popular long Belting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Belting poems by poem length and keyword.
Shirley, BEEEEE You !!!
This days light, has come to a glorious end,
with it, it brought some memories of a friend.
Lady Snow, was belting out – whispering in my ears
of days winging by – memories , experiences of bygone years.
I have reached in deep – knowing – I created your tears
as your world of doubts, of insecurities, of fears
hung onto a desire for me – for my passions fires
fires that have lead me to beds and to funeral pyres
upon which I have burned and burned, yet never learned
to be compassionate, empathetic for the passions earned.
Only for the touch, the feel, a fleshy meal I yearned
for, a talking in tongues to that deliciously sweet pink
- Mother earth laying beneath a furry, forest floor – and think
of all who gave, all who needed, and realize !, to my grave, a fink.
I, sometimes wonder ?, about all those who gave much to me’
I wonder what they feel ?, – think – if at all and what they see
in what once was- that made up the moments of what would be,
now nothing more than experiences committed to memories hoard
where they are all stored - in remembering, would they be boars ?
Some will remember, some will forget, some will deeply bury.
I am left, can only wonder ?, - in the end - will they carry
fragments, flakes of my soul, my spirit, me, with them to their end.
Will they ever wonder ?, will they ever know ?, I was just a friend
or will they see me as empty to them now as I was empty to them
so long ago, a time of once shared intimacies and fun, when
we were so care free, before we moved on to things different,
and new for me and you and what we once had, was sent
into the caves of history for which there would be no rent.
I do wonder what was in your mind, what you were able to find ?,
as you thought of me, did you find that I was very seldom kind?
For all these many years – tears for what was left behind
- all of life’s pleasures, with – all, from time to time, fill my mind !
B. J. “A ” 2
February 18th 2006
thesis: strength endures voids and emptiness.
strength constructs no homes (antithesis:
if your house leaks then on swollen days
in sullen seasons there is no home for you)
there is endless repetitious strength
enduring endlessly there is this paradox:
strength is the void endured and consequently
synthesis: enter everybody’s anti-hero cross-eyed,
sees crossed eyes cross-eyed but looking in his eyes
sees straight, sees sick, sees something monstrous
something insect, sees this philosophic frippery:
that is sees man
endures in his mirror that is self-doubt,
his left arm being his right arm
his left eye sees his right eye
and no eye sees his nose right.
synthesis: enter naked the hero’s fists blazing
won’t put up with that mirror is laughing
smashing his left hand smashing his right hand
breaks his wrath in half–
enter the dumb smile of blissful blindness or
dumb sadness belting down a drink
enter an angel’s colorful rags and bells
enter a man in colorful sights and smells
enter blonde beauty dragging a bulging jock.
there is the entrance where they enter through
the black hole with crescent thin edges
the animal den the fish smell the ocean motion
there is women’s strength endures the stretch
forty-eight hours of warm pain
two hours of sharp pain around midnight
last sight the tippy-toppy veins of its head
bled and blood and body and push push Push–
and the tide goes out,
enter sleep.
All my life's a circus
where clowns still dance on my brain
where elephants fly and tigers get high
by now your surely insane.
The retarded goat sippin a rootbeer float
started belting out a familiar tune
It had to do with his girlfriend Sue
and a rather horny baboon.
You're up on the tightrope and begin to fall
as the ringmaster calls your name
You hit the ground and look around
and wake up on a plane.
You land in the tent where the
circus freaks dwell
but beware of what they might steal
your hanging around upside down
and fall mentally ill.
Your friends are all gone
and your left all alone
for life has been a game
You turn on the tube and watch something crude
as you slowly go insane!
Ever have a song,
Stuck in your head,
Short one or long,
Perseveres like the undead.
The radio serves us Koolaid,
When we're on the move,
Any time of the day,
Our mind starts to groove.
Heard power ballads,
When algebra quizzes occurred,
Motivation to succeed it adds,
At least, that's what I heard.
When around family kids,
Sometimes the songs they play,
Long after Adieu bids,
Haunt me on another day.
I see something good,
Falling out of the sky.
Even if I should,
I will not ask why.
Music that enters my mind,
Might not be all me.
The intuition I find,
May be a key.
Sometimes I need music,
To help me get work done,
Especially so I don't lose it,
Or to promote an atmosphere of fun.
At a concert,
Do brain waves become one.
Like at a solar eclipse,
Does a mass cover the sum.
Does it feel the same?
Are we zombies to the sound?
Belting the same lines,
With other fans in the crowd.
Is it bad to be in a cult,
When direct poison isn't served?
My eardrums, I didn't consult,
Even if the opinion was deserved.
If the moths in my wallet,
Fly away to the beat,
Does a hurricane whatchamacallit,
Spell other people's defeat?
Is the butterfly effect even real?
What happens when they're in a group?
Migrating with zeal,
On an instinctual loop.
I see a plague afoot.
The Hive Brain has won.
I never give it the boot,
Because the situation is fun.
I have Bad Blood.
I'm Never Gonna Not Dance Again.
Like a drip or a flood,
I will never say when.
Music enhances life,
Makes movies, and makes us think,
Sometimes wields a knife,
Or demands shedded tears to drink.
I will move mind over,
Give it its own track,
Feel free to takeover,
Or completely attack.
Music is in my heart,
Possesses my body and soul,
May we never be apart,
And always on a roll.
I will let the chorus consume me,
Like a thirsty vampire on a binge.
My subconscious mind is the emcee.
Let the Crazy Train infringe.
The craziest thing I have ever done
Is dress like a hooker in an off-the-shoulder sweater,
and the tightest, lightest baby blue hip hugger, bellbottoms,
in order to procure the lead to the senior play.
I had to sneak out of the house, dressed in red lipstick
and false eyelashes.
I am a Bible-belt girl, and belting out the Bible was not
good enough, I had to be better than that. Usually my mother
washed my face six times before I could leave. I had this weird feeling that the only way I had a chance was to ooze sex, which my 17-year-old self barely knew existed.
Yet, I did it, and the idiotic teacher could not stop staring at me, which made me feel all-powerful, and all kinds of stupid. I am morbidly embarrassed to tell you that I did procure the part, and was uncomfortable the entire time, thinking what he must have been thinking when I was dressed as a tart. So was it worth it? Totally.
Old melodies,
Old tunes,
Belting out from the radio,
They were my father’s favourite,
He danced to it with my mother,
He hummed to it whenever
he was busy with his tools,
Smoothening and
assembling pieces of wood,
They elicited a
heartwarming glow from his face,
They were the impetus for his pace,
Nostalgia everywhere,
I’m in a realm of my past days,
My budding days with my family,
They were bittersweet moments,
Days of meagre rations,
Days of sufficient portions,
Days of desert pangs,
Though we desired opulence,
We were happy in our little way,
Like a fabric,
We were interwoven,
Soldered and riveted.
March 21, 2022.
Working like dogs to get there,
Finally she rested her warm skull against the curve of my neck.
I say skull because the weight of her head had been appointed
The Carrier of all Grief and Weariness in her pregnant body.
It was then we rolled into our old rhythms.
Our heads resting against each other
While rivers of thought rushed into lazy streams.
Warm light ran along the wooden columns that lead to
The perched squeaks of young children belting out carols.
All the while our one-year-old was putting on a show of her own
Jack Benny would've had dreams about.
There we were in the back of the church,
Laughing on mute, upturned by joy.
“ FREE PIANO “
THE AD SAID FREE PIANO IT’S YOURS TO TAKE AWAY
I WAS NO MUSICIAN MAYBE I COULD LEARN TO PLAY
THE PIANO RESTED ON THE SECOND FLOOR HAD BEEN THERE FOR YEARS
AS THE MOVERS ROLLED IT OUT THE DOOR THE MAN BROKE DOWN IN TEARS
I SHOOK HIS KNARLED HAND HE SAID I’LL NEVER PLAY AGAIN
HE HANDED ME A LEARNERS BOOK SAID GOOD LUCK MY FRIEND
THE PIANO OLD AND SCRATCHED STAINED FROM FOOD AND DRINKS
BUT TO ME IT WAS BEAUTIFUL I WOULDN’T CARE WHAT ANYBODY THINKS
I LEARNED TO PLAY THAT PIANO AND MY FRIENDS WOULD SING ALONG
WE’D LAUGH AND DRINK THE NIGHT AWAY BELTING OUT EVERY SONG
OUR SHADOWS DANCED ON THE WALLS THE PIANO SOAKED WITH BEER
WE SANG OUT LOUD AND PROUD SINGING WE’RE GLAD TO BE HERE
I ENJOYED IT FOR MANY YEARS NOW MY HANDS SHAKE TOO MUCH TO PLAY
IT BROKE MY HEART TO THINK IT BUT I DECIDED TO GIVE IT AWAY
I PUT AN AD IN THE PAPER SAID FREE PIANO FOR ANYONE
A YOUNG MAN CAME TO GET IT SAID PLAYING MIGHT BE FUN
I GAVE HIM THE OLD LEARNERS BOOK WITH MY NOTES FOLDED INSIDE
FORCED A CROOKED SMILE TO COVER TEARS I HAD TO HIDE
AS HE WHEELED IT OUT THE DOOR I TURNED AROUND TO SEE
A SMILING YOUNG FACE IN THE MIRROR OR WAS THAT REALLY ME
What have you done, for you look like a perch?
On Botox you should've done some research
I won't sugarcoat it
You look very bloated
Your face is engorged, and some will besmirch
Resembling a puffer with puckered lips
I wanna pop them with my fingertips
Dress yourself up in lace
Get rid of that fish face
Girl, you better get real and come to grips!
Your booty sticks out. You've such a huge butt
People laugh behind your back when you strut
They giggle and they wink
Some even say you stink
Like a three-day old catch of Halibut
Your teeth are threatening like a hungry shark
Who'd bite me like a mad dog with a bark
You're known as a stinker
Caught, hook, line and sinker
People point at you and call you a snark
You are as fishy as a speckled trout
So nice to people before it's found out
It's nothing but a show
Just a smoke screen you blow
A tasteless fish thrown back, without a doubt
You've earned the deserved name of big mouth bass
A loose lip fish without an ounce of class
Kicked out of many schools
Cause they didn't like fools
Shunned by all the Tropicals known as wrasse
You've been compared to the swimmer called 'carp'
A lesser species whose teeth are quite sharp
A catch that's not a prize
Most fishermen despise
No angel fish when it plays on a harp
Sometimes you resemble a red snapper
Belting out words like a winded rapper
Blah blah blah, on you jaw
Irksome as a jackdaw
You sound like the news anchor, Jake Tapper
When you swim in the pool, you're called a whale
Ya think that's due to the size of your tail?
In candy you indulge
It's the cause of your bulge
You might want to try a diet of kale
I deem it important to attend church for my spiritual maturation.
I really savor the fellowship of a loving and caring congregation.
I especially relish the potluck suppers and other social interactions,
But even in this worshipful scenario, there are bound to be distractions!
Now, I don't mind the preacher pounding his pulpit to gain attention,
Or the occasional "amen" from a dear sister for her comprehension,
But that feller across the aisle who always sings off-key and out of tune,
Sounds like a murder of cranky crows or an out of sync bassoon!
I thrill at a great rendition of "How Great Thou Art" by the choir,
And the crescendo of the organ as it grows higher and higher.
Even the woman belting out her mezzo-contralto doesn't bother me so,
But that feller across the aisle who murders "Amazing Grace" has got to go!
I can tolerate little children who holler and scream now and then,
Or the occasional raucous ringing of a cellphone now and again,
But I approach congregational singing with little or no anticipation,
When that feller across the aisle brays, "The Churches One Foundation!"
I don't mind the snoring of the guy who occupies the pew behind me,
And I can abide the pastor's profound homilies to a certain degree.
But how I dread to hear that feller's odious and tuneless strain!
(I suppose I could move to another pew to ease my Sabbath bane!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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