Long Bilge Poems
Long Bilge Poems. Below are the most popular long Bilge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bilge poems by poem length and keyword.
sam i yam not,
nor will this 'lo bot go away
cuz, every coordinate in cyber space allows,
enables and provides
an opportunity to bray,
and thence get access
to each excel lent power full point
one among the beguiling bajillion,
thus this ming boggling concept proffers
(even the generic mom and pop hacker
tubby in her/his element field gloating
as if they won
the Irish Sweepstakes that day
despite neither could claim
direct lineage, sans Emerald Eire
analogous to Celtic temptress,
whose grand geography
beckons toward entranceway,
where sensory, levity,
and ecstasy punctuate foray
boot that diverges one hundred
and eighty degrees asper gateway
onrush of spam enters electronic hatchway
spilling forth like
offal horrific bilge interlay
sloshing violently, revoltingly,
and nauseatingly, witnessing a jay
bird donning mask (yule hating)
beak coming contrivance fashioned keyway.
force full brainstorm to firewall
to place on indefinite layaway
inundation of spam midway
between now and eternity,
essentially noway
no more, and if necessary
hermetically seal myself
stationing a pal in drone willingly overpay!
Tim looked at the strong box crafted in oaken wood saplings and reason
Inside a map of his world he had travelled with dreams gusto and passion
Far away seas crested in a whirl wind of passage collected within and
Not without a longing desire for sails full of change and direction afar
A faded cross right pointed to where the treasure must lie and to where
The chest was buried deep in the quick sand of time or was it a coffin
He was nailed boxed in wrapped up in oil paper stabbed with his anchor
A pirate had pulled the plug and Tim perched on a dry dock of thought
Cliff faces and reefs obstructed horizons and sails were glued to the mast
And the ‘must’ to end suffocation but the bilge was flooding and scuppered
The crow’s nest for outlook swung precariously from one side to other as
Jacob’s ladder had lost most of its rungs as even the transom cried treason
His torso wriggled in the trunk but the binnacle bowed not for the compass
But then the needle found headway where scrawny worms had gathered
Punctured the confinement and the boom chain snapped emotional drought
At long last and long may it last Tim found a ferry to the chest in his heart
02 March 2019
Through mirror’s bilge, Mariana on deck -
Wick’d queen, licks lips, with a delicious scheme.
In mock ascent, ego gives cheek a peck.
Suddenly daughter’s reflection - a gleam,
As snow forms queen’s exhale into a scream,
Her rubious threads covered in bright light,
Mariana’s hair in cascading flight.
Furious dark red strands taint apple’s flesh.
Fruit’s innocent beauty beckons a fright.
Hoary-shapeshifter tempts Eve - step-hate fresh.
8/15/2020
Contest: Pick-A-Title, Vol 21 - Dizain
Chosen Title: Incandescence
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Dizain in 10 syllable lines
ababbccdcd
Checked by howmanysyllables.com
Mother said, “Avoid the bilge,”
Keep your dreams clear, don’t let them delve.
No depth in anger, nor strife,
“Steer clear of paths where woes are felt.”
Do not let your heart be like a delft,
Cold and rigid, set by a protective shelf.
Live close to the warmth, shun the frosty guise,
Let no icy barriers govern your heart’s ties.
Happiness isn’t found in mere eighths,
It blooms in each breath, in small and grand states.
Life’s not a problem to be conquered or braced,
But warmth in moments cherished, unspoiled, and embraced.
When the world feels coated in a sticky glaze,
Remember, love’s the beacon to guide you through the haze.
Mother said, “In all your face, stay near warmth's embrace,
Value love and moments, not the race.”
In the warmth of a hearth, not the delft,
Dreams unfold, and joy is felt.
Mother said, “In all things you see,
Stay true to warmth, and let it be.”
I was born in a landlocked getaway town
Where all the colors were black, gray, or brown.
Jobs at the steel mill were ratcheting down.
It was not in my future to stay.
So, I took a long walk off a very short pier,
An unschooled, untraveled recruit buccaneer
On a quest to cross Neptune’s vast salty frontier.
Hopped a slow boat to China one day.
Underway on the Crescent City, it seemed
The ocean was wider than I’d ever dreamed.
A ship load of sinners, our souls unredeemed
Steaming west toward whatever there was.
Keelung told Hong Kong to call Singapore.
Subic Bay badgered Mombasa for more.
Sea legs, as always unsteady ashore,
Even more so with liquor and drugs.
Bilge water sloshed in the depths of the hold.
The mizzen mast learned what the typhoon foretold.
I was sea duty tempered and Shell Back enrolled;
Wasn’t nothing but maritime norm.
I was born in a hard luck blue collar town.
Half the way broken and half the way down.
But time gifts its renaissance scepter and crown
To a jack tar who’s weathered the storm.
Subconcious streams flitter through my silty porthole
Ebb and flow through my consciences' filtering scroll
Clogging the interstices and my formative, fragile mind doth control
Perceptions of self flood my sensory console
Pent-up desires breach mind's, shallow levee and over carefree banks roll
Carnal instincts bleach and, over time, corrode my chaste compass's steady pole
My soul's rudder listlessly through the choppy waters doth stroll
Delusions of grandeur and trite fantasies o'er my wayward ship troll
Teetering sails are blown about by truant winds so droll
Faulty navigation beaches my tattered psche on a barren shoal
Battered by the waves of inconstancy paying a penitent toll
Tunneling through the brackish bilge; a frenetic mole
Seeking to escape frollicking tidal waves that my froward, youthful mind did cajole
Sifting through the rancid seaweed that years of cresting tides did dole
Cloaked with guilt, shame stranded on a rocky, desolate atoll
Still vainly trying to justify my hopeless condition; my fleeting worth extoll
If we’re all just dreaming and life has no meaning
And tomorrow’s no better or worse
Than what we do now is pointless somehow
Including another new verse.
To this one uplifted
From one that was shifted
From down in the deep bottom bilge;
If life is a squander
Then why do we wander
In search of our fortunes and fills.
If love has no reason
And winter’s no season
And snow never falls from the sky;
If the past is pointless and memories dim
Why even open our eyes?
From this slumbering state
This giant mistake
Of human existence and emotions;
If we’re all just dreaming and life has no meaning
We should all go drown in the oceans.
The pitter patter of a doleful rain doth resound
Satiatiating solace and inner peace are drowned
Guttural drips seep into my porous, emotive ground
Brackish hope drains through my bleached mound
Saturated soul shutters as the eroding waves continually pound
For jaundiced psche no awning can be found
Sorrowful torrents spin my head round and round
Moldy dreams my mildewing conscience doth surround
A dry, sheltered haven for my sanity cannot found
Streams of misery o'er my breeched levee bound
Tides of foam from my frothy mouth redound
Thunderous tremors my nerves hound
Lightening flashbacks my wits astound
Cold winds of oppression my woe doth compound
Reams of recycled heartaches wash up all around
The gurgling bilge my remaining light doth impound
Twere a blisterin day, on da Fundy Bay, aboard da ‘ Black Angel of da Blue”,
with a crew of 32, whilst resting a spell, wid a thunderin clap of grog ,
when da Jack o’ Cups , his Jib a hangin, spotted a Jolly Roger aft.
Aye! ye coulda sinked me! When dem thar scallywags gave chase.
So we pumped da bilge, droppin a load of crap in thar path, weighed anchor,
turned three sheets to da wind and tried to outrun dem thar sprougs,
but me mateys' deadlights twere blinded by da grog -
as useless as dem thar lanlubbers, and soon dem thar scallywags
overhauled da ‘ Black Angel’.
So! wid a heave to, we blasted dem thar swabs wid da balls off da Brass Monkey...six pounders dey be, but nary-a-one hit da mark and nary a one came back. Dem thar scuffeys' didn’t aim ta sink us, fur da botty be all dey be wantin.
Arrr! Fur sur now we be black spotted,
but I not be ready fur Davey Jones locker yet.
One more clap of thunder be what I be needin ta clear me groggy mind
and figger a way outta dis hornwaggle.
So I spliced da mainbrace and it come ta me in a flash,
da only cargo we be a carryin be Rummmmmmmmmmmm.
so we set dem thar kegs adrift and it wernt long afore dem thar
sprougs was a drinkin grog and a fine time be had by all.
~~~~~
Inspired by: Paula Swanson's contest
Awarded: Second Place
Author's Note:
In order to understand this narrative, you need to understand Pirate's language. You can
find it on the web - just type Pirate language in your search engine.
A humid day
mosquito clouds swarm and separate
along the dirt road to the farm
pig pens hazed by black flies.
Bob (an old friend), said, “man,
you picked the wrong time of year
to come visit,” he chuckled.
Hogs grunt and squeal.
Slop-time - the air was turgid with
with the numberless notes of a stale miasma,
the splatter of slick gobs of muck.
He hands us smeared green buckets,
a yellowing deleterious stench reeks
from the semi-solid swill
that the hogs grow fat upon.
There are stains on baked-in stains here
corrugated into noxious layers.
At the back of the sties
there are heaps of sludge
a bilge even the swine could not consume.
Bob bends to his tasks whistling happily,
while I explain to my wife
that Bob used to work for the C.I.A.
I can see she is surprised and impressed.
“He got tired of that sh*t,” I add.