Long Blood and guts Poems
Long Blood and guts Poems. Below are the most popular long Blood and guts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blood and guts poems by poem length and keyword.
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
William Charles Lunalilo
First King, chose by the people
Grandnephew of the Great King, as the people vote, was unanimous
Next year, King Kamehameha the Sixth died of tuberculosis
Hawaiian marriages are coconuts
Apple's eye, orchard nigh--girls uppercuts
Bees concede and confess
Honey is not the best
Lunalilo stings in-laws -- blood and guts.
Pacific divides paradise from lies, pulpit denies, missionary connives, fleece, devise hoax, and shanghais,
The native's supplies for whalers, all dives. At times, pearls for wider eyes, command contrives to control their lives.
Kings II & III foresaw their greed, the lands were a need to wed and achieve access was their way to succeed,
Lunalilo was short-lived, the people he decreed, as past kings agreed, a land trust deed, 'ere his life concedes.
Brutus, my slavering Rottweiler, growls
He knows he's tougher than pooches with tails
The long pointed studs on his black leather collar
Are matched by his canines which make poodles holler
The drooling saliva that trails from his jaws
As he lumbers about on his four massive paws
Is soaking the ground and his talon like claws
Encouraging folk to keep children indoors
Devil Dog, Satan’s mutt, hellhound and more
All labels my beast has been nick-named before
I feed him on red meat and shin bones of cattle
It’s said he eats tigers but that’s tittle tattle
The park is all ours because other folk run
But wait, there’s a kitten, now this could be fun
Brutus will rip him apart for a lark
And splatter its blood and guts over the park
Hey, kitty kitty, come over to me
Play with my dog, what good friends you could be
But kitten was clever, too clever for me
He hissed and now Brutus is stuck up a tree
How lovely are his cheeks, so soft and plush
like fluffy clouds against a moonlit dream.
Graceful are his whiskers like a paintbrush,
tracing our ankles like a flowing stream.
As king of the jungle, his razor claws
subdue small creatures like a mighty sword.
Pouncing on enemies, with brawny paws,
warm blood and guts are his playful reward.
Shiny and watchful are his marble eyes,
and with perky ears he listens to me.
I ask a question. "Meow," he replies,
and lifts his chin in a meaningful plea.
Though shaped like a liger, he's very tame.
My cat is my Muse, and that is his name.
May 2022
Co-written with my son for school
The pet store is a strange location
Where snakes run around legless
They literally run the place
Hissing is a form of foreign communication
Translations come at a cost to life and limb
Discounted by the new proprietors within
Turtles don't speak at all
They mind their business but not the register
The human stretched out on the floor is useless
With two puncture wounds in his neck he looks adorable
Not vampire cute with all that blood and guts
Foaming at the mouth he gurgles “poison poison”
I lay down next to him to whisper in his ear
“Pet meow”...”comprende?”
The new owners hate my racist remarks
Not in so many words but in the hisses
They too do not speak in meow
That shop is down the street
Where they speak English
Observing Death
Look into the trench when a bomblet falls
Squirms without legs, excruciating balls
It means nothing him squirming, twisting in pain
I eagerly search, to find more of the same.
It’s not a film the loss is real
Surprises me, how little I feel
Blood and guts hanging around
A burst of fire, death curdling sound.
A loud cheer erupts as they fall
And I feel nothing, nothing at all.
After all they have done invading Ukraine
I want to see them wounded and dying in pain
They’ve raped, tortured, looted and maimed
And now they’re killed under bullets of rain
I enlarge the screen, to enhance the view
Of an orc dying, because his time is due
War has a way, of raising the tolerance bar
A sniper takes aim, bullets riddle a car.
I don’t feel sickened as I eat my tea
It’s most important that Ukraine is free.
David Cox 04/02/23
There is a man that I am aware of, who delights
In our 'old blood and guts' he says he'll fly that
Flag forever.!!! Now some may well think him nuts.'
Yet he quotes about lines of lin-iage and of an
Australian commonwealth law, of treaty called
For and ratified in Versallies 'is this all for sure?' He
Speaks of God king and country, of indissolluble
Rights.? And that we have a freedom to bear arms (indeed to fight) in our countrys protection, for our own lives..And those of familiy and friends ( now are we all kings in our country? If this is right lets get on the mend)
Is this what he is 'speaking today?' Is he right and
Sincere.? Should we lend him our ears.? Are there
Gems in the claims he portrays? Should we all raise (the duster) that is also called the 'blood and guts' that has seen us often to victory.' Is that
All it takes as such.? What if a tbousand law savvy? 'i am talking now credible folk' gave him some room, and consultation? To try his claims now.' To see.' will this all hold up? for there may well be truth in the bloke.?
‘Get the motor running head out on the highway looking for adventure’
Well it is only the council road with potholes but Oliver races his pushbike
Walkman headphones sound ‘Born to be wild’ or Attention Deficit Disorder
But there is no doubt in the bikers’ mind that winter is recycling fast time
Orange banana saddle ape hanger handle bars and Che Guevara bandana
Another day for many revolutions as the wheels keep turning in tandem
He abhors bicycle clips as Oliver needs torn jeans to be one of the gang
No leather jacket so the hand me down brown corduroy one takes its place
Pedals turning downhill at full speed hard breaks and sharp swerve to the left
Another 360 degree circle wonderful skid marks adorn his pride and the road
It was easy today because morning dew and pink purple petals greased the path
For once the corroded chain has not come off after that creaking gear change
Countenance smirks on his face because has done it again and he feels so much
More achievement than if he was doing his homework left pathetically languorous
At home where his goody two shoes brother calculates tangents and radius
Oliver is an action boy full of mettle and metal and his scent is lubricant oil
‘Take the world in a love embrace and explode into space’ and dear emotions
Run high almost octane fuelled while his well-behaved sisters play octaves
From Amadeus on Bechstein or Steinway pined to bored ebony and ivory keys
Oliver hammers down wildly as the way forward beckons driven by freedom
He is oblivious to fragrances blossoms and bloom and the sweet scent of nature
Could not care less about chirping birds and the warm temperature resides only
In his teenage blood and guts as he rides through a pile of litter in which rusty
Debris mingles with pneumatic tyres and a very loose spring punctures the air
16th March 2019
Spring Is In the Air contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Warm Heart Warm Hands
Evening fell with blizzard snow along the lake
It had turned to a thick smooth sheet of ice
Shades of gray black set in with the twilight
Ghost images of swirling snow
Changing forms and shapes over the frozen surface
Vanished and came to life again as I approached
I have been lost for hours walking aimlessly in the shadows
Of tall pines and blinding drifts
To emerge from there to here, no hope in sight
Then, through the obstructing snow, danger approached
A large gray wolf moved with conviction in my direction
In erratic movements left and right it stalked
Trying to hide between each snowflake to attack
Sizing me up as a meal or snack
The beast launched itself at me
Hysterical red eyes, dagger large fierce teeth
Demon growls exploded from deep within the beast
Sounding from a long history of savage lineage
To intimidate and frighten me
As it lunged full force to seize my neck
The long gun was at the ready
Fingers nearly frozen to the trigger
I fired the death shot to the brain
The sound roared through the valley
Quickly, I drew my hunting knife
Slit its belly clean open
Plunged both my frozen hands into the beast
To feel the hot wet flesh and organs of the creature
Blood and heart stopped pulsing but served their purpose
I could feel tingling in my fingers, so
Frost bite had been averted
I stayed the night side by side with the animal
Warm heart warm hands till morn
Sun burnt open on a new day
And with it this spectacle
Blood and guts
Some surreal survival
As I wrapped my bloodied hands in the green scarf
Marched in the direction of a glow
Coming over a snow covered landscape
Altered by the drifts
Still lost with a long way to go
God needs your faith
otherwise he disappears behind your eyes
and you both go blind.
There are ancient inspectors looking into
your kidneys and liver.
Their horn-rimmed glasses
peer from under tortoise shells,
they search for any useful ingredients.
The science of looking is very old.
God awakes in a dream of you;
immediately begins
to stuff your hollowness
with blood and guts.
The soil x-rays you,
the sky photoshops your mind
erasing the smudged indecency
of any brain-damaged parts.
Some say this and some say that;
warm breath and cold air
blows through your burning straw.
Both the wise and the simple
allow themselves to be rocked gently
upon their own cupped hands.