Long Boiling Poems
Long Boiling Poems. Below are the most popular long Boiling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boiling poems by poem length and keyword.
The demons of my past, were bitterness, hurt and pain’s,
the vengeance of my hate, was boiling in my veins.
A hardened heart, that had turned to stone,
these demons of the past, had become my very own.
All the things that people had done, and said,
tormented and tortured the thoughts in my head.
How these demons, can destroy your future you see,
as they live and breathe, they destroy you and me.
In the shadows of our heart, the truth is hidden there,
but to enter in this way, do we truly dare.
The truth’s of this life, is hidden in the heart,
the demons of my past, now they have no part.
It’s the truths of these things, that sets a person free,
the demons of my past, no longer tortures me.
The young woman with a whispering voice, prisoner in words as soft as silk,
Weaves her silences around her like a veil that cannot be torn,
Her demeanor is a dance on a thin wire of bittersweetness,
And she knows if a wrong word escapes, the world will become a torrent of judgment.
She is not allowed to express her frustration, nor the anger boiling in her veins,
She remains polite, even when the storms within pull her into the abyss,
What will they think, what will they say, if she dares to untie her tongue,
If her words were to sound harsh like stones thrown into their silence?
The young woman with a whispering voice cannot speak her mind, trapped in social chains,
Her words must always be gentle, always like a muted melody,
She cannot raise her voice without being labeled a "disgrace,"
And her gaze, an ocean of unfulfilled desires, remains always drowned in conventions.
My dear, see how we please people according to their desires,
When care is not "offered" but merely "gifted" like a trophy of vanity,
The young woman with a whispering voice cannot free herself,
Her rules are chains of silk that cannot be seen but weigh heavily.
The poem flows like an unseen river through the silent landscape of souls,
And in each verse of melancholy, she finds a fragment of freedom,
A hope that one day, her voice will be the song of a liberated bird,
And the chains of silk will be just a memory of a time of captivity.
"Life can be short so lick the plate/bowl with your tongue. Let your tongue be a sponge." Quote By Poet
I set sail off on the red sea, I needed to get away and see what I could see. On the red sea the day turned very hot, I was boiling like I was in a pot. To cool off~I jumped into the red sea on the spot, Was I in a hot crock pot. It felt like I was swimming in a hot bowl of tomato soup, Turns out~I was swimming with the soup group.
Date Written: 4/28/2022
3 Place
A Merger With Food Contest Judged: 7/2/2022
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Like a brick-by-brick castle unfolding. with scaffolding
Petals after petals of distress go on unfolding.
Feelings of hurt, ache, uncertainty, and anxiety
Like rust in iron, it pokes and corrodes my gaiety.
Is it my physique, which is ill within, that causes pain?
Is my psyche, like a parched, cracked earth, screaming to be sane?
Like a termite-eating piece of art, I crush and crumble.
On the rocks of my sadness and loneliness, I stumble.
Is my blood boiling like water at 100 degrees Celsius?
My fear, anger, and pessimism make me nefarious.
My unmet needs, relational plights, and suppressed powers
Have grown in my orchard of hearts, like cannabis flowers.
I should come out of tension, like chicks out of shredded shells.
I should, like a lotus, raise my head from these marshy wells.
I should allow the graces of the sole spirit to flow.
Like the lilies of wild fields, by divine glows, I must grow.
Running around frantically,
The wrong lock for a key,
Boiling over, fuming,
Cleanness always looming.
Lurking over, smiling ear to ear,
Small, always wanting to steer,
“Too controlling!”, spoilt I’d say,
Always wanting their way.
It’s like their hearts are astray,
In one spot, you can’t stay,
Oh, how I’d love to keep them quiet,
Pitter, patter, follow it.
Fighting, battling in a “war”,
Toothpicks drawn over an apple core,
How silly we were as children, making food sculptures,
Fighting over scraps like vultures.
Contagious, maturity spreading fast,
Cough, breath, that’s my last,
Punch to the face, youth ending soon,
Lies spread by a goon.
Suspense creeps in with tea and crumpets, dear,
And murder, mayhem, chaos, stirred right in
—Poet Stirring Up Suspense
IT IS TIME FOR TEA
It is time for tea, a giddyup I need.
Water is boiling in the glass pot.
Sublime scent and flavor guaranteed
and great to sip with a story plot.
The warmth of Earl and Lady Grey,
with bergamot or peel of orange-lemon.
So arousing - a nose and tongue touché
as well as the development of dilemma in
my cute mystery novel. The dust cover
shows a striped gray kitten and steaming
cup of peppermint tea. A Christmas lover,
I sup on crumpets and choice daydreaming.
Whether herbal hibiscus, cherry or chai
in this cockcrow explosion of birdsong,
I live for and long for the climatic high.
My brain fog’s lifted, character’s are strong.
It is an intoxicating concoction, time well spent
to awaken this poet’s muse, cozy in red pajamas.
It is time for tea, the steeping and bent
of a stupendous cup, steaming with sunrise dramas.
"In the depths of my mind, a lover did dwell
A dark companion, with thoughts that would compel
Me to doubt and fear, to lose my way
But I found the strength to face him, come what may
He whispered lies, and fueled my pain
But I rose up, and refused to be tamed
I searched for a way to break free from his grasp
And found solace in the warmth of a gentle clasp
The aroma of hope, a savory treat
Filled my heart with joy, and my soul to greet
The soup's smell aroused, from corners so dark
Flavors of freedom, a delicious embark
I lost my lover, over a soup so fine
The soup's smell was so tempting, that I tossed him into the boiling soup"
I am a time traveler,
I travel incognito,
I am immortal,
Have traveled worldwide,
From the beginning of time,
So this is no nursery rhyme!
I see your planets devastation,
My message,
Hope, peace and unity.
My home is a far away galaxy
Far out in space,
I am saddened looking down,
At your wanton destruction
Of the human race.
In my galaxy, we live in harmony,
There are no wars.
This is is my last visit,
So humans take serious note,
My successor unknown,
He or she could predict doom
There is no longer room,
To be complacent and passive.
Beware of the likes of Elon Musk,
Planet earth, gather your wits,
For now, and from herein,
More conspiracies and cyber tricks,
Will abound.
Wealth must be equally
Distributed, an absolute must
Power will become far more just,
Perhaps an illusion,
But a worthwhile
Goal and solution.
Let my words echo far and wide,
From one side of the planet
To the other side.
Let all have equal access
To health and medicine,
No discrimination against
Color, religion or social status,
Step back a few paces,
Look at your pollution,
You need to adopt firm resolution,
A beautiful, pristine planet earth.
Is littered with refuse,
Thrown from car windows
You have become a dumping site,
There is no escape,
To where would you take flight.
Neglecting your planet,
Affects climate and brings
About hazardous weather change,
You have but little time left,
You are destroying marine life,
Temperatures so high,
Seas are at boiling point,
Is it not time therefore, for
Humanity to address this issue,
Stop being so greedy, strive
For enough only,
Then your life
Globally, will change
For the better, but please
Understand, and hurry, for the first step.
Begins with you.
I pray my echo has been,
Heard loud and clear,
Start repairing your planet
Today, but I mean today,
And you will have nothing
To fear.
I now bid you farewell,
Change is the key,
I can see you are sad,
But must also tell,
For humanity one day to live well,
Please persevere,
So that history may retell.
Poetry competition Entry: Starman Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tom Woody
Dated; 2024/11/17
There is a parasite made of pure gravity
lodged behind my breastbone.
The room dissolves around it;
the world turns to cold, uninteresting ash.
Nothing exists except the itch under my ribs -
the sickening, urgent demand to align the dark inside my head
with something I cannot reach.
I am pinned flat.
Sweat drips down my neck while my teeth click together,
a quiet, violent vibration in a completely motionless room.
My skin has been peeled back
and the exposed fat and muscle are boiling in open air.
My organs are being crowded out by a single, agonizing form.
It twitches. It drags its rusty edges across my lungs.
I am choking on the air I haven't breathed for hours.
This is the fever of fixation:
a quiet execution where the blade moves a millimeter at a time.
I lie here, a heap of dry, useless clay,
watching the ceiling fan slice the darkness into strips.
My mind is a meat grinder turning on empty air,
screaming for the precise,
elusive click that will let me draw a breath again.
It moves inside me, writhing, resetting my bones incorrectly.
It burns. It tears the wet lining of my stomach.
I cannot move my hand. I cannot turn my head.
I am forced to watch myself rot,
trapped inside the convulsing, invisible machinery of my own skull -
shaking, weeping without tears,
waiting for the agonizing pressure to snap into place
and finally let me go...
What I want to keep most is
Described as perky fizz
Bubbly and sweet
Boiling like under pressure’s heat
But in truth
Before hitting the roof
Enjoying time on earth
Arriving here from birth
I must say
This concoction is okay
Peppering a doctor degree
Fruity taste some time is not right for me
Lime on Richie, it just doesn’t agree
Moving on
Preparing the soda pop bomb
Shaken hard
Outside the parental car
Then unlatched
Streaming spray, no one can catch
Goes airborne
Imitating a syrup storm
Recently, those hand grenades
No longer are used to invade
Instead
Private conversations it is said
Can begin
After the tin
Is bought from the machine
Advertising refreshing dream
Finding a place, to sit down
Smiling dispensing, any frown
We talk together
Watching the weather
And the bargain sales
Steals that would send anyone to jail
But my dear fountain drink
It is you that makes me think
Of all the happy go lucky times
That do not cost a dime
Yet clears the mind
Relaxing with a stare
Not a care
Taking one sip then another
It is truly a single lover
Pepsi Coke Mister Pibbs
Entertaining chit chat and ad lib
For just a few precious seconds
As it flows draining my nekkin
No strings attached or lasting effects
Only thirst-quenching respect
Worth the price
When enjoying something nice
Cola in the circular container
Purchased by the after practice athletic trainer
Celebrating success
Passing the test
And when done
Socially secured it was all just innocent fun