Long Bilious Poems
Long Bilious Poems. Below are the most popular long Bilious by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bilious poems by poem length and keyword.
Many mountains, seas, women, and dollars made
But for you only was each moment played
As an aged wine flask, your decrepit skin cracks
As flaccid muscles bend your creaking back
Hard hammer toes hamper your stiff walking style
Toilet king, bilious bombard of bile
Fog obscures your mind, only to rise again
Wishing for many things which might have been
Stung as by tzetse flies you cannot forget
Fantasies won’t revive corpses of regret
Too late, with dreams drooling down your hoary chin
Awaken to the state you are now in -
A dream without legs, with all hope beyond reach -
A jellyfish sunbathing on a beach.
Australia I shake my head..Are there no better choices.??
Has all reason fled?? To elect a truly ghastly crew.' Elbow??And his ci-horts.' Oh what a bilious slew.' They projectile
Vomit.. Such gilobbdy-gook' glib enough only for entitled sooks'
Can't you see? Haven't you heard? In order to get a good life (you need to loose) these nerds.' Safe and effective
As i've heard it said..' btw hows the median death rate.??
Well it needs to be said.' What great talents have been taken from our sunkissed land.?? Ya know upon reflection
It could all be planned?? I think on government helping
Over the last five years..' I leave all to think.? I leave all to
Ponder how albo's held onto power? The big gutless wonder! I'm just waiting...Yet hoping our country wont go
Under.!
"I want nothing but death." - Jane Austen
Fatigue, weakness, and bilious attacks
I am dying day by day, night by night.
Each of my bones, like a worn-out twig, cracks.
Each split moment is an eternal fight.
My eyes yearn to see my bright day of death.
When my worries will be buried with me
Gentle breezes of heaven fill my breath.
Angels and seraphs all around I see.
Poesy has gone dry like desert streams.
Nocturnal beings pervade my blank mind.
I miss those buoyant aureate sunbeams.
Within my withering self I'm confined.
Let this life here on earth end like a feast.
Let me, from all my bondages, be released!
The basement I was born in
is now a walk-down bistro.
I was told about the new use,
try to imagine it
as a remodeling of that old place.
I dream now of yellow caterpillars on green leaves,
and green caterpillars on yellow leaves,
of the flake of flock wallpaper peeling in the night
the walls rustling with indwellers.
There are shadows rats, they molt,
and by the dim light of dawn
are only bones under a mattress.
I wonder about that Bistro
does it close at 2 or 3 in the morning,
does it then rattle unseen
with the echoes of asthmatic ghosts,
does it bloom with the bilious foliage
of wheezing lungs?
I can imagine its catchpenny lights,
its frontage blinking
with blue and yellow neon,
an electric fizz spitting statically.
I am at the table near the restroom
ready to run into the mold riddled closet
to shiver away hours of candle lit
psychosomatic creeps.
The patrons seem to be laughing
loudly at nothing at all,
my parents are screaming louder
just to be heard
they smash their words through slamming doors.
Mother yells about never returning
but we all did, just at different times
when the clocks changed to heartbeats.
I look out of a blind window,
there was not nor is a window.
The dank dark crawls around
on its one hundred and one legs.
Olive was vibrant and deliberated in awe in front of her wardrobe
Should she put on that glorious fox pelt for the night’s Hunters Ball
Surely it had to be politically correct and she would claim her place
In the hearts of those killers she had to write about for the Morning Post
But she decided for something less tainted and went more en natural
The emerald dress with a shade of sage and chartreuse trimmings
Loosely woven to show off her figure and pleasing for the crowd
After all she was a woman of firm beliefs and tantamount beauty
A lime stola for the stage light and forest green to harbour her bust
Moss and pine reinforced buttocks and myrtle sap silk to cover her crotch
You can’t wear that honey it’s near translucent and far to risqué
Its my nature to reveal what is out in the open and easy to see
A statement so please now hand me that praying mantis whip
Covered in bio-degradable material the reporter put on mascara
Jade eye liner and mint lipstick made from ground clover and laurel
Front page she thought and a tad androgynous for a man’s taste
But Olive was a seductress in name and ready to dance for her cause
They will be bilious with sheer envy when they undress me tonight
Her garments were made from hemp shamrock and cyan feathers
A bit of sea weed and a shiny perlemoen belt for modesty’s sanctum
Octopus ink dotted around the little sea horse brocade ready for the kill
Let’s find out who is the wolf in sheep’s clothing and who rules the party
It is not over until this lady sings to the crude fanfares of animal cruelty
My malachite shine will torture those bigots and hypocritical beasts
And a bit of irresistible irritation has to expose their cunning bushy tails
Before I put muzzles on their hounds and phallic antics and beat my retreat
The headline in the paper read Predators in Read Coats Impaled on Spurs
And a photo showed a foxy young woman presiding over her fallen prey
05th December 2019
ASP OF GRIEF
She buries her head upon this asp of grief —
soft with reptilian fangs, hard with poison.
Her covetous husband lies upon the Nile’s reef.
She holds her abdomen in her arms - his son.
with lunar belly...
the shape of her husband’s seed
...a fateful eclipse
The pit with its bone-chilling cold, hisses with hatchlings,
dreaming of spoiled seeds and seas with a vortex,
coiling around ships. A queen’s lips burn red, yearning for her king.
An abandoned wreck will not lay eyes upon his baby’s sex.
insanity’s kiss...
eyes burn with crimson lipstick
...unrepentant flames
She plays with sticks and desire, enticing asps of despair —
gorges with vampiric teeth. She embraces their mock
and likewise teases, beckons and pleads for death so fair.
Like a breeze about her ankles snakes snip her royal purple frock.
entanglement frays...
dyed purple threads unravel
...rigor mortis strikes
His candle ensign in the dark, a resurrected hero of vanity.
The light flickers with feet in the sand, footprints at lover’s leap.
His profile in death’s shadow, his purple passion of insanity —
laughter litters this carnivorous cave where ashes of dust heap.
alluring ashes...
Salome’s serpentine dance
...Cleopatra’s veils
The sound of a knife being sharpened, his sword with venom drawn,
leaps upon his self-righteous chest, a single blade’s deep penetration.
No handsomer lover, thighs of steel, tanned and craven brawn.
He lost his rapturous beauty bright and fleeting, weeds of veneration.
bilious-amber
mixes with his crimson blade
— a suicide pact
4/28/2018
Parad(em)ise
Dangling from a stolid chandelier of empty shadows
Her threadbare strings attached to vacant promises
Jemima has tried every angle of escape and refuge
Her make up faded and the jester’s façade burrowed
Deep into macabre deluded weather worn charades
She tries to gloss her lips but all she draws is blood
The empty bottle of juniper spirits by her naked thigh
A cannula of channelled happiness on desiccated skin
She powders her limp face in the vapour of a light bulb
Wired on Tungsten filament’s flushed out enlightenment
Beyond reproach and one line closer to a final curtain
She smells the fetid dungeon’s stench within and gags
Draped in the puke’s perfume and sickly acid bilious scent
She walks no further than the seedy river’s edge’s contempt
Offers herself free to the highest bidder and bids farewell
Just as the fairy tale fails to fall on prowling taste’s demise
One lonely taker strikes her bust in one fell swoop at last
Takes her dearest ink pumped skin that spelt ‘Only For You’
06th February 2019
In my own quiet bedroom,
In my own comfy bed,
Every night I escape from reality.
I give wings to my fancy
When the pillow hits my head,
And my dreams are like a movie that's starring me.
I'm Aladdin glidin' on a magic carpet,
And the djinn has ditched his lamp and hitched a ride.
The flying's great to get my kicks with,
But no good to pick up chicks with,
With a big blue bilious genie at my side.
I'm a knight from Camelot in shining armor,
Dueling dragons, saving princesses from doom.
What should be mine as recompense
I must decline and hie me hence,
The rules of chivalry are strict, no wiggle room.
I'm Columbus on that fateful expedition,
By sailing west we'll reach the East, least that's the plan.
While cruising 'round the Caribbean
Searching for a port to pee in,
We find, not India, but a new uncharted land.
I'm big brave bwana on an African safari,
Trapping savage cats because that's what I know.
As soon as we have made eye contact,
They're signed up and under contract
Then off to Vegas for my Circus Circus show.
I never know what's going to happen
When I lay me down to sleep,
It might give a less intrepid person hives.
I'm sure it's pure imagination,
Or maybe it's reincarnation,
And I've done those things before in former lives.
But whether Charlemagne or Sinbad,
Peter, Robin, Roy, or Fred*,
Or somebody else from myth or history,
In my dreams when I slumber
In my own Sleep Number bed,
I can be what, where, whomever I want to be.
But in the morning when I wake up
I'm so glad to be back home
Because it's really not so bad just being me.
*Peter (Pan); Robin (Hood); Roy (Rogers); Fred (Astaire)
If you want me
If you had loved me, our journey would have been different
Our way? There would have been one, but now there are two, different ones
Yours is not mine, mine is not yours
You are bilious
If you had loved me, our journey together would have been beautiful
Our way? You would have had a way, but now there is another, different one
Yours and his, not mine; solitude
Don't hope so
If you had loved me, our love would have been an eternal journey
Our way? I would have been your way, but the pavement is already cracked
The road would have been yours, overgrown with weeds, loneliness
I'm not coming back
A monorhyme is just a crime they despair
Their hat won’t doff “cat sat on a mat” affair
From the off they will scoff it’s got no flair
No not sublime they chime our nightmare
Snare all Pam Ayres heirs and try to scare
Stare at the fare then flare the pages tear
How very dare you from your pedants chair
Must be unfair have a big dig from their lair
Rare to wind me up unless you are Tony Blair
Don’t ensnare but spare this pastime I share
Views from pews can air but just don’t care
Will swear don’t be f**king clucking square
It’s not the tortoise more poise like the hare
Supercilious ploys make me bilious go spare
Hey nonny no.. love the bonny flow so there!