Long Blabbering Poems
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..... SONG OF DEATH ......
Tick tok, Tick tok,
In the past, goes the clock,
Where there lived a girl...
In a cottage, white like pearl...
She used to sing a song,
Humming, "the angel takes over the wrong "
But the poor girl never knew....
About the Nazis and the jews...
Once a darkest evening,
The cottage door had a ring,
Inn came a German man...
Blabbering, from Nazis that he ran....
The girl became so sweet,
She gave him...the best cooked meat...
But the dining fork and knife,
Took away her sweet life...
Her throat was bleeding with a deep cut...
With just a humming sound, her eyes were shut..
There she sang her favorite song...
The" DEVIL " Takes over the wrong....
Years and years passed by,
The cottage is still standing by,
But no pearl like beauty remains...
Only overgrown grass, and those age old blood stains....
A Nazi officer, finally renovated...
A beautiful bungalow, he created...
But those blood stains never vanished from the ground...
Who knew, the devil was soon to be found!!
His family finally shifted..
And Julie, his daughter, who was gifted...
With a voice like angel....she used to sing songs
And joy and harmony, was all around...
But that dark evening finally came,
When the sun was setting, drooping it's beauty,
Out was the officer, on his duty...
And now....the clock started its past game!
After the dark night, the morning arose,
Came in the officer, with a rose...
Julie came out....but with a change for sure...
But the officer had no clue, his daughter had no cure!!
Upstairs, the officer went,
Julie suddenly staring the ground...bent
And smiled like demon at those blood stains...
Which were now immense and fresh like the fresh rains....!!
The next morning the newspaper read...
' A nazi officer commits suicide, his body found on his bed....
And Julie (his daughter), bearing a deep cut on her throat...
Lies dead, with a dining fork and knife...near her bloody coat!!!
Tick tok, Tick tok...
To the present, comes the clock...
The cottage bell still rings!!
When Julie and the demon sings!!!!
~ Akshaya Baliga...!!
Based on a fictionalized situation and characters....holding a true history!!
I stare at the stark darkness ahead,
My hands squeeze the steering wheel
While a simple trepidation musters its way to my heart
The road is long, my headlights keeping shadows in check
I see the smooth path, intrigued by its uniform contentment
My tires and many tires before have moseyed yonder upon it
In the dark and light alike, with perspectives all their own,
Had they once thought, in the dusk or in the sun,
How much more will this road tolerate?
How much harder will the sun beat upon it,
And will the chilled darkness one night crumble it to nothingness?
There is no answer of course,
For they are silly inquiries, dimming campfire talks
And really, questions stem from a lonely mind blabbering alone…
The road moves unobtrusively,
Or am I moving?
Pressing this car with privilege to play its role,
Bravely contacted with the cold
Running steadily
Through the friction of the tires
This road, it will crack someday, in all the usual places
Dulling, eroding, becoming near-natural
Just to be made new and safe again
Ready for man and roadkill…
I will ask one more time for solitude’s sake,
Why is it so perpetually smooth?
I expected a bumpy night in this desolate stretch
But we should not have the ability to expect what disturbs us…
I am reminded that roads do not mean to satisfy little wonderments
Can care less for these zooming contrivances
That we sit in comfortably, turning on the radio to drown out the mutability
Tonight I bask in it, and though I am not fully lost in the night,
The road and this car keep me feeling secure,
Even when surrounded by wilderness
It occurs to me a lot—
How can one feel so human?
In the comfort of a car, we escape the darkness of the wild
Only barely,
And the road behind me,
Well it is abandoned, forgotten for a while
Till more wheels spin across its surface some other day
It is so smooth,
Barren and ordinary
Not existing to dream its own existence
But it is gracefully real, and getting realer
As I continue to gaze through the glass
Shucking Evil In Favor Of Good...
(courtesy of tasseled colonel corny maise aye aire)
Challenge more difficult than threading
camel thru eye of needle, hence catchy title
scotched, and I aim to endeavor and steer
away from task surpassing
defying gravity clear,
nonetheless (sorry), I still hotly air
glomming pablum attesting ill
success while sitting
in this wooden hard backed chair
oft times a means to leap bajillion
miles, cuz yours truly doth despair
one composite primate being forged care
fully vis a vis from carbon based life
je ne sais quoi essence Earthenware
composed, whether flora or fauna,
one species, sans latter, whose fanfare
of self importance don, trumpet
white out blinding search lights glare
ring essentially making grist for mockery,
parody travesty, etc shady spectacle
buzzfeeding nothing of pinterest to hear
blabbering blaring blather most teeny
tiny in utero homunculus hazardous heir
to the porcelain throne
faulty genes impair
ability to reign reduced
to basket of deplorable
what, particularly as
one benighted longhair
pencil necked geek refused treatment,
(cuz preexisting condition) by medicare
not covered, thus accursed
imp of the pervert
resigned to toss in hat
unsuspecting nightmare,
and run for political office
touting offering nuclear
weapon to every man,
woman and child
additionally larding couture
to design outerwear
housing protective
missile deflecting capacity,
which article designed by
Penn students, yes a bit
elaborate what with
doodads, thingymajigs,
and whatchamacallits
they (especially Eden)
did amazingly overengineer,
but, what the hey, now
the prophesied armageddon
answered courtesy
oven entrepreneurial pair
two peas in a pod, which
success stories ain't *****,
where Ivy League University
flush with funds to bolster
any promising idea, yea
even full body pod suited rainwear.
Customers are like bouquets of flowers passing through our twenty-four hours.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner all 365 calendar days guaranteed for a full twenty-four seven.
“Hello Sir”! Welcome to Waffle House America’s favorite place to eat!
Some say we are the closest thing next to God's Great Heaven!
We have a confusing language of our own, the blabbering towers of the real “April Showers”
Service with a smile that has walked the many hard-earned extra tenths of miles,
Nothing computerized with files, just organized by our own genuine unique styles.
Waitresses are serving with hard enduring time and each crosses over a mighty fine line,
Master grill operators optimize a divine talent marking your plates perfectly aligned.
Friday and Saturday nights the party train arrives blessed coffee to the many lips we’ll revive.
Regulars and irregulars you’re served just the same, pardon me did I really get your name?
Loud ones, quiet ones, and even the picky ones strive to come back to us,
Here we bring back the basics of being alive.
Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped?
So do you want them “All the way or just partly aflame”!
Young, old, or different at being indifferent just being sane,
Especially when the “Waffle House Way” is to say the first “HELLO”!
“Morning Mam”! Can I get you your usual or will you be having something different “TO GO”?
Brief moments of insanity with the moods that walk through our doors,
Thank God for every single one of those Jukeboxes!
The quality of service opening an eye to the sly foxes,
We’d really be in trouble if we sold liquors!
Foreign, military, and even civilian are in and out,
Our servers are like the gold stored at Fort Knox.
So what can we get you today that you haven’t already had before?
“The Waffle House Way” America shouts!
It’s like being home because that’s what we are all about.
Bird watchers say
there are birds that return in spring to play
build a nest, raise their young
but as seasons change there are always some
who stay the winter, forage for seeds
familiar ones that cling as autumn bleeds.
The robins well know
the proper time to come and go
and as the chill begins to fall
black-capped chickadees and wrens tweet their call
with caped juncos and titmouses slipping thru the trees
riding in on a wintry chilled and icy breeze.
Others stay like the screeching blue jay
clinging to a set of traditional ways
there is a click of cardinals bright orange and cherry red
slip in and out the old decaying garden bed,
woodpeckers like the big red-bellied and downy
glide sideways up trunks to find their bounty.
As winter ice and snow begin to fade
familiar feathers return to the glade
robins, sparrows, orioles and waxwings flit in and out the yews
nesting in houses left from buntings of red and indigo blue
you can catch a glimpse of the bevies in their gathering
mocking catbirds, wrens, doves and finches blabbering.
Birds of spring return in March on varied dates
some earlier far sooner than late
born for flight, scanning the earth escapes
reaching back in time unable to hesitate,
called by an ingrained memory
back to the place of their fledgling treasury.
Surely there are more feathered flybys
but climate change and migratory spies
and sadly on occasion, some clusters face
extinction by the human race
finding fewer familiar species in the states
the greed and corruption of primates.
They're just birds some will say
but if Rachel Carlson's Silent Spring arrives
how many will we find, survive?
For Spring BIrds contest
sponsored by Constance La France
2/19/21
I was in the park sitting on the bench reading a book when I was approached by an old man carrying a newspaper, he asked me if he could sit by my side to which I replied ''of course". After seconds of silence, he started blabbering on and on about random things in life, I started getting annoyed. I was clearly reading a book and didn't want to be disturbed and I couldn't muster the courage to tell him that.
So I just kept nodding my head and agreeing with whatever he had to say, to be honest, I wasn't paying attention to anything he was saying his words were in and out of focus,
I wondered how many hours can he talk without stop I wondered how many times did he brush his teeth I wondered if he had any other suit other than the one he was wearing. I wondered about his children about his family and his youth and how he spent it. I dared not to ask me such questions I respected his privacy and he violated mine, repeatedly.
I was enjoying the words flying out in the air, the sun, the trees, I was enjoying the view and nature, He was nothing but white noise in a symphony; a beautiful one I might add.
He noticed how silent I was then told me I need to be in therapy. Aghast by his comment I didn't understand why he said it, but I realized he wanted me to share something about myself, and when I refused to he got offended.
After a while, I excused myself to leave for brief moments and entrusted him with my backpack.
I walked few miles, I thought about how short life is, and how fleeting is the happiness we feel when we’re in love. I looked back at the old man; I took a deep breath then pressed the button on the remote control.
The sound of the explosion is music to my ears.
I
4:forty 4 in the a.m. scene
and I had been awakened by
the strangest of dreams:
of an overdressed Lion,
and Gator
And tales
of their peculiar golfcart
that was actually
two young whales,
who would swim them around
from each island and towne
while they both gorged upon snails...
Now, this twosome
(I'm told)
did become very bold.
as they chided and ordered
these blowholes...
and while missing the goal
(on each green, and each shoal)
would dig the sweet clams
of each sand trap...
and then they'd partake
(with some lemon, and cake)
leaving a trail of dead
shells by the golf map,
Said the Lion to He
that was all scale E:
"It's your shot, cause I'm closer
to Home"
so the Gator
(It's said)
did square up his head
And swung
while on his cell phone
to a blabbering Yak
who had stopped
for a snack
of a thick shake
and Cheesey
Big Mac...
Ohhhhh Electic touch shock my body awake
Arched back and gutteral moans
Shivers sweep my skin like circling tongues
Ohhhhh scream beautiful wild sounds
I can not lie still, nor think
Thoughts escape me and I - I - I - ohhhhhhhh
Ohhh Rapid touch
Torment me till I am begging
No, no, no more I can not take it
I shake my head in mock protest
Unable to contain, control -
I have no control and ohhh
Oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes
yesyesyesyes oh yes, ohhhhhhhhhhhhh
Toes curl and eyes squeeze shut
Tingling body my face is flushed
My head dizzy and I am ohhhhh
Ohhhhh, ohhhhhh, I am high
Inibreiated on your touch
And ohhhhh, ohhhhh you have not yet
Even entered my warmth with your
Ohhhhhh, your touch drives me to the edge
The edge of sanity,
Shattering the world into a jaged blade
And I forget whatever words I am about to say
Ohhhhhhh, mmmmmmmmhhhhhhh, ohhhh I am blabbering
I am ebullient, I am oohhhhhhhh - overflowing
Quickly you slide between spread thighs
Slick and wet with sweet ambrosia
Hard your pelvic hits mine and it is ohhhhhhh
Ohhhhh I am losing my mind
Rapidly I am approaching - approaching - aahhh
Ohhhhh, ohhhh, God yes, God,
Head thrown back, nails pulling your hot skin closer to mine
You ravage my body over and over
Waves flooding my senses - so overwhelming
You pound into me faster and faster
Till it is impossible to tell where one ****** begins and another ends
Ohhhhhhhh, my brain is numb with hot sexual desire
My lips are wide with laughter, sweet bubbily giggling,
Bottomless, Abyssal moans - voluptuous and husky
The squeak of lascivious screams piercing the night
Ten trillion galaxies up there, down there, around here
Each with one hundred billion stars, give or take
Can you wrap your head around an octillion?
All I need is one civilization that gets it right
Just one in an octillion, plus a spaceship, that's it
Not for me, the expansive vistas afforded those who sit
Atop a nation-sized pile of human wreckage
Three hundred million strong and breeding
Sipping Maggies and smoking Castros
Poisons to poison the perception of poisoning
The dog is so very done with the pony
My millionth micro-apotheosis
will not make me any more divine
than I already am, just more enshrined
The wooden boy will always be wooden
No, your institutionalized parasitism is for someone
Who wouldn’t slowly suffocate
On the ashes of that which cannot nourish
My roots require a different soil
So many starving at the Kool Aid and Twinkie buffet
The ten thousand ways I’ve died to be reborn
Ten-thousand and one mini-reincarnations
Not one courtesy of this benighted domain
Praise be to all that is not this invert realm
The sublime countercurrent opposing all that is worldly
Humility is unshrining of the self-statue
Shovel away the foul cement before it hardens
No I absolutely cannot play the game
Of hubris, your oh so tasty damnation
if I stand still the poisons will stop draining
And then what of my heart?
If you think all this blabbering is pointless
You shoulda heard what I was saying
Seven or eight addictions ago
Because that’s another fetid pile of wreckage
It’s progress, not perfection
You can just beam me up anyway
6/11/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Allow me to introduce myself, I am the Lion that is cowardly.
A puss in boots of the sorts, crippled with anxiety.
At this very moment I am feeling sublime.
For I am laying face-up in a poppy field, stoned out of my mind.
The fog is starting to clear, its all coming back to me now.
What was I thinking? What, when, why, how!?
It all started when I met a girl named Dorothy and her dog Toto,
accompanied by a tin guy with no heart and a brain dead scarecrow.
She said that some wizard who resides in Oz can put some courage in me.
All I needed to do was to follow them to the Emerald City.
Some may call it a lack of better judgement, but I followed her lead.
Skipping down a yellow brick road toward my destiny.
I immediately regretted it, but I was too scared to go back.
So I kept on following her regardless of my anxiety attack.
Now it could just be me...
but all things terrifying seem to follow Dorothy.
She is being stalked by a witch, traveling on a broom by air.
Her companions are flying demon monkeys, out of my worst nightmare.
I think that Dorothy may also be insane.
She keeps blabbering about a place called Kansas again and again.
I'm almost certain this place does not exist, she is talking crazy.
Maybe she should ask the wizard for a pill that will cure her insanity.
I think I'll just lie here in the poppies, pretending to be high.
Maybe they'll leave me here, I can only hope they pass me by.
Ill go back to my forest, back to my cowardly ways.
Back to being scared of my shadow, back to better days.