Long Black and blue Poems
Long Black and blue Poems. Below are the most popular long Black and blue by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Black and blue poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm stand'n, with legs split astride,
One foot on either side,
flip'n on the see-saw ride,
tilt'n from side to side.
Rock'n and Roll'n!
I'm in a juxtaposition
in between a flip 'n flop
You said you loved me!
Now you say, not!
Will you make up your ruddy mind.
I'm in such a bind!
The tides a' going out and coming in.
The sun's arising and setting.
I've given you love, and not got,
no love, back in return.
I'm all stained black and blue.
I wanna be red and yellow,
on the flip'n arc of the rainbow.
I'm sick of the way
the coin always flips,
between agony and bliss,
between I'm happy and I'm sad!
There's a gotta be a better way,
to rock'n on this see-saw grind.
I wanna be heads up, all the time!
I'm stand'n, with legs split astride,
One foot on either side,
flip'n on the see-saw ride,
tilt'n from side to side.
Rock'n and Roll'n!
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The clock says it's one o'clock.
But its fast, it's on the future,
on the just passed it time.
There's no going back, this time,
On some voodoo time-machine grind,
Get me off 'a this playground ride!
Flip'n in a juxtaposition!
Flip'n in a juxtaposition!
On a gray morning, when the sky weeps its clouds,
I remember another time, another me,
When landscapes flowed from my brush,
And every color had its own story to tell.
Emerald forests and ruby sunsets,
Danced on the canvas of my life,
I imagined I could paint happiness,
To capture fragments of the soul in every stroke.
But foreign voices, cold and sharp,
Whispered that my dream was just an illusion,
"It won't feed you, it won't save you,"
And the colors began to fade, slowly but surely.
With a heavy heart, I put the brush down,
And the world became a place of shadows and voids,
My dream, now a lost echo,
In a sea of unfulfilled desires and silent regrets.
But in the silence of the nights, in the quiet darkness,
Another friend rose from the shadows,
A simple pen, with black and blue ink,
Which began to write stories on white paper.
And although I no longer paint with colors,
With every word laid down on the page,
I feel I recover a part of myself,
A part of my buried dream.
The ink becomes color, the words become strokes,
And in every story, in every verse,
I find my soul again,
Lost among the shadows of the past.
In a way, perhaps I never gave up,
Perhaps I just changed my brush,
And now, instead of landscapes and sunsets,
I paint words that dance in my memories.
And even if my dream has transformed,
In the depths of my heart, I know it still lives,
For art does not die, it only changes,
And finds new ways to touch our souls.
Thus, with every verse written, I recover my dream,
And in the end, perhaps I have lost nothing,
But merely found a new way
To paint the world, with ink and word.
I wear this smile just for you,
It's fake and hurts for me to do.
All the times she did it too,
Wore that smile while black and blue.
The way I act as if nothings been,
Makeup I wear, it protects him.
The tears washed away what I hid,
Those pretty blues above my eyelid.
My lip it swells like a blooming rose,
The blood has dried inside my nose.
How can you look at me and not say,
You're sorry for making me look this way.
It hurts me knowing It'll all fade away,
Except for the smile that forever stays.
His ego got bruised just like my face,
When I decided to walk away.
It was a different kind of love
To say the very least
We kept our secrets in a glove
The Devil's kind of feast
Long sleeves in the heat of July
I became a makeup artist
No one questioned why
I guess I was the smartest
A toothache from his sweetness
When he began feeling guilt
His love was my weakness
I couldn't bear to watch it wilt
Before long I would chew on my leash
I needed consequences
I once tried calling the police
So he barb wired my fences
Despite my efforts to stay out of trouble
I maintained a black and blue
One day I went and popped his bubble
It was the last thing I would do
I wasn't afraid of dying
I was going to a better place
Nope, that's not why I was crying
Who would do my face???
As crazy as it sounds
I didn't want anyone to know
I know he was out of bounds
But my job was to put on a show
Spine-tingling,
down the chute,
gothic gutter trickle,
black and blue fusion,
stark signature tune,
wee faint hour phantasm,
mischievous melange,
surreptitious in its,
dimmed twinkle curfew,
for post meridian,
exodus egress,
minstrel me chorister,
shadow cape figurine,
humming nose sniffle,
spooky pale moon jingle,
on dank drizzled docklands,
looping street lamp,
whose eerie surveillance,
of claustrophobic canopy,
an intriguing ice pole static,
footsteps ricochet,
in bone chill metre,
following a stoic self,
upon intricate,
tangled torrent of,
rudderless echos,
sonic psyche figment,
in numinous nook,
star splatter sequence,
chasing motley mirror,
bilocation bold essence,
mutating fickle fragment,
stygian bard I,
smeared pocket-sized,
snapshots of,
my persimmon pursuits,
on grubby granite graffiti wall,
underneath ostracised,
a wringing wet shawled,
vagrant whose rusty tin,
I load with benign bolster coin,
golden hearts synergize,
in evanescent ebony,
furtive flying bat
squeak and scop,
placid pools
They swept me in a dustpan, not realizing it was me.
That I was sort of missing was noted quickly, by all three,
My mother, who was psychic picked carefully all through the lint,
But I had been so minus-sized, I was covered in debris.
Daddy sensed that I was in there, my body, black and blue.
Because as you have now guessed, he was a little psychic too.
They poured the lint in a plastic bag, with a pin-hole so I could breathe.
If it had not been for my grandma, I would have never been retrieved.
But she woke up in the middle of the night, and began to eat the lint bag,
Thinking it was cotton candy, which frankly always makes me gag,
Listening to Grandma Jo’s powerful dentures chomped me awake,
Gave me the incentive to disentangle myself and make my giant break.
Grandma smiled as she watched me, drag myself out of that white plastic bag.
I too dislike cotton candy, she told me and this batch, truly makes me gag!
I will beat you black and blue
and even add in purple too,
I’d rather not be hurting you,
have a chat and lager drink
exchanging thoughts that we think
end the night with breath that stink
over toilets people kitchen sinks,
next day saying oh what a night
and it weren’t December or 63,
the 23rd night of September it be,
is this plagiarising lyrically
you tell me, probably, possibly,
twenty first not twenty three
no today's the twenty fourth
I'm still drunk like a dead horse
did they copyright the copyright sign,
a poem write with no thought in mind
the winding road climbs decline
no transportation walk the hill
no chance mate not how I feel
display a random writing skill
tried to stop no brake or will
no take a break rolling wheels
strolling hills can't stay still
a few minutes of the day now passed
time to get up of my donkey
Why did I write this stupid rhyme
I’m just here killing time
I don’t do crosswords or solitaire
I just ramble on and go no where
See you later hope that was fun
If it weren’t write your own bloody one
Jock stumbled - pals called him a wus
(No injury was obvious)
But Jock bruised his willy
And now he feels silly
With todger strapped up in a truss
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
Old Jock had injured and bruised his man thing
His doc said "Jock, you'll need a tartan sling"
He's now looking quite built
Bulging under his kilt
Lassies swoon when he does the Highland fling.
After a week his thing turned black and blue
Jock said "hoots mon, what am I ganna do"
But he'd left it too late
Doc had to amputate
And now poor Jock has to sit on the loo.
WRITTEN BY TOM CUNNINGHAM
He washed his new jock, it was new
So it tightly embraced both its crew
But after the race
Oh what a disgrace
His now aching partners were blue
WRITTEN BY JOHN LAWLESS
Jock stumbled and he landed face down
Injuring the jewel in his crown
His bruised pride and joy swelled
By awe it was beheld
Jock's tackle became talk of the town.
The doctor said I know just the thing
To give support to your ding-a-ling
Doc got Jock's bits strapped up
Jock swore and he cussed
For doc said it could be longstanding.
Jock's dilemma can be seen by all
He's going nuts because of the fall
He's craving free willy
To swing willy-nilly
And longs to unstrap his cannon ball.
WRITTEN BY BELLE BELLEVUE
Now Jock knew about liquid nitrogen
But sprayed on far more than he might have done
So just when it mattered
One tap and it shattered
And Jock said Hoots mon, me old fright’ner’s gone
He said Doc, I need a new caber
My wife has never gone through labour
The Doc held his gaze
Grabbed three treble A’s
And sewed on on a three foot light sabre
WRITTEN BY TERRY FLOOD
Jock managed to get his willy banged up,
He cried loud like a little newborn pup,
Stayed in bed a week,
It hurt to take a leak,
All because he slipped on his sippy cup
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
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Score's zip to zilch, last inning's near halfway through
at Gettysburg Commons' baseball league playoff.
Champion Graycoats at their posts hitherto -
Blue Jackets hear the pitcher's husky cough -
a clue to the catcher - this batter's toast.
Pickett lobs the pitch from high on his perch,
Meade smacks it past the church house roof almost -
a bolt from the Blue, Gray gets lost in the search
and Meade makes an easy trip 'round three bases.
Hancock is next and takes his turn with relief.
He whacks one to the pitcher of all places
running like blue blazes in disbelief.
He speeds to first base while Meade makes it on in.
Then Hancock circles the field - score is ought-two
As Pickett sits on the ball holding his shin.
In shock, he volleys a few words of blue.
The umpire approaches, a'raisin' his hands,
"I heard balderdash," he bawls with a frown.
"Game's called for cussin', but the score still stands."
Singing the blues, Graycoats hand over the crown.
New "toasts" of the town are Hancock and G. Meade.
They both talk a blue streak to boast of the coup.
Dazed by their disbelief, Graycoats recede.
And for weeks, Gen'ral Pickett's leg's - black and blue.
written 12 January 2015
A shameful and disgraceful act
Causing havoc and impact
Is not going to be forgotten
An open door is quickly shuttin'
Locking me alone with the
Horrid and cruel memory
Feeling your fist again
Black and blue--more bones broken
Sun come up--abuse will start
There is not one single spot
On my body that is clear
Living in a hellish fear
That will last, I can not run
Chained up to a loaded gun
That will fire if I try
To escape, wondering why
This madman has changed so much
From the soft and tender touch
Of young love, gentle and pure
Now there's evil and no cure
For what I am being put through
There's just one thing left to do
Let the bullet in the gun
Undo everything he's done