Long Bottles Poems
Long Bottles Poems. Below are the most popular long Bottles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bottles poems by poem length and keyword.
Killers will kill
stoners will slide on the high
hookers will hook
trapping coins between sticky thighs-
Preachers will preach
to husbands and wives
then swallow the piss
of their own muddy lies-
The rapist will rape
the covenant will give
at times it's hard to make out
which is the lamb and which is the pig-
Gods will guide and judge from afar
presidents will pickle men
then place them in free mason jars-
The idiot swallows his own ramblings
the lush roots for bottles of peace
despite everything-time keeps sprinting
whether you sip the blood of Christ.
or swig down a ninety-proof drink.
feathers twirled,
long into the night.
ebonic ink,
splotched and saturated,
with the heart’s content.
t
e
a
r
s
created the first draft
of watercolors,
s
e
a
r
i
n
g
of the candlelight vigil,
long forgotten grief,
h
o
w
e
v
e
r
God never
f
o
r
g
e
t
s
He bottles up the flagrant fluid
of our awfulness, kept for
the day of wrath. Careless,
never; He eyes antiquity.
To all my fallen homies, know you're not forgotten/
I'm constantly pouring bottles in your memory/
When I'm awake, I feel your energy around me/
So I'm striving to be on top, on top is where my spot is/
I'm fighting demons trying to knock me off this mountain/
I work too hard to mount it, still feeling like I'm climbing/
Even though they want to knock and try to stop me/
They won't knock me off my pivot, trying to box me, I box 'em/
My homies were Malefic influenced and was persistent/
On doing the things that demons persuaded/
And the bed that they made, was the bed they lay in/
The demons they fought, was the demons I'm slaying/
From that drain in their brains, to that flame in their veins/
Spawning fire breathing dragons, blowing smoke like a train/
Front line banging that war drum/
Redrum that come with sniffles, you know my gist/
Like a fist punch, you catching a fist/
Or a wind you can't resist, you catching my drift/
We were dropped in poverty, so death is inevitable/
I'm here to give you knowledge/
You can eat up like edibles/
The same knowledge that Satan gave to Adam and Eve/
That turned them into God's, deprived them of Heaven's stool/
So to all my fallen homies, you will rise again/
Real homies don't die, we only multiply/
Rise and come together, we never divide/
Reverse domino effect, we fall and bounce back up/
Mass incarceration, population control/
Psychological warfare, brain washing the soul/
Homies don't have a chance, we are fallen/
We are only remembered by loved ones and homies/
That's why I'm pouring out this liquor every Sundays/
Locked up or in a grave, is the only way they want us/
Guns, drugs and money is our only components/
The government and the system is our only opponent/
Dark clothes, dark clouds is how we live our lives/
When we're mourning, depressed in our daily vibes/
We keep on living, regardless we won't ever give up/
RIP to the fallen homies that went back to dust/
Twice a month on our tiny little Isle
A group of heroes go that extra mile
Wearing protective clothing they clean the beach
Removing vast amounts of rubbish within their reach
Plastic bottles, fast food containers and tins
Items tossed away so thoughtlessly – it’s a sin
So many marine animals can get tangled in discarded plastic
They need our protection, or the results could be very drastic
Hundreds of bin bags of rubbish are removed from our beach
Restoring them to beauty, now they are as pretty as a peach
Volunteers work tirelessly with amazing solidarity
To help ‘Beach Buddies’ which is a registered charity
Contest: Stuff Thomas Martin
10th June 2015
64 I see the ocean
“I see the ocean”
Who can say that every morning?
Who can say “the boats are not gone.”
Even the sea knows my secrets,
“I’m tired of men”, “I am tired of empires,
Who can say that every morning?
“I see the ocean”
Who can look before him, the vastness?
To get rid of the deep night,
to forget images of glasses and bottles every morning.
to forget the unanswered question? Do you love me?
« Je vois la mer »
Qui peut dire cela chaque matin ?
Qui peut dire « les bateaux n’ont pas bougé. »
Même la mer connait mes secrets,
« Je suis fatigué des hommes »
« Je suis fatigué des empires »
Qui peut dire chaque matin
« Je vois la mer » Quelle chance,
Qui peut regarder devant lui, l’immensité,
Pour se débarrasser de la profonde nuit,
Oublier chaque matin les images des verres et les bouteilles ?
Oublier la question sans réponse ? M‘aimes-tu ?
‘Taties and carrots and onions
All have their own natural skin
So why do most of the suppliers
Use plastic bags to pack them in,
Either the fragile brittle type
That bursts all over the floor
Or the stretchy greasy oily sort
That resist for evermore,
Evading each attempt until
They grudgingly finally split
Just before the onset of
A near fatal apoplectic fit.
Meat is sold in indestructible packs
With film top supposedly able to peel
But unfortunately all seem to have
An equally indestructible seal.
The advent of plastic packaging
Has become one of the banes of life
Normally requiring heated resort
To hacking with scissors or knife.
Are they super human, these designers
Or is each just a malicious little rat
Extracting satisfaction from inventing
Such useless products as that
They say us oldies don’t recycle
They don’t seem to understand
In our younger days we didn’t
Contaminate many acres of land.
We took our own shopping bags
Used paper and glass to pack
Bought our milk in bottles
And sent all the empties back
If there is an after life I hope
It is made unavoidably obligatory
That every packaging designer
Suffer eons in purgatory,
And in the cause of justice those
Whose lives they’ve made so drear
Be allowed to sit and watch and,
Maybe, cheer and shout and jeer.
We sold our freedoms for Big Macs, big stacks of crack, and bottles of Jack
This mess is wack and in fact I'm totally done
Havin' fun with the lines I've spun
We want to sit here and whine and moan
And groan while we play with our phones
We're nothing but drones and clones
Bleeding out over the bones of our ancestors
We don't like the shape the world is in
But are the masses getting off their booties
Nah but as soon as as a new iPhone comes out
We get out the fastest
While fascist dictators blast us
And I'm the Christoph
But I'm so pissed off
That I could list off
All the things wrong with this world
When lies and retorts are hurled
This isn't the way things are supposed to be
And I'm led to believe I'm free
****, NSA already knows the lines I'm writin'
And we're out here fightin'
Over the latest celebrity newspapers
When the government makes off like capers
We can't see above the skyscrapers
Everything tapers
We're too busy feedin' kids this rubbish
Because it's important to fit in
And sit in with all the cool kids
But these are fool bids
Makin' new generations
The foolish leaders of nations
Let's just cut the funds off from the schools
And prioritize learning multiple choice answers
This is a gosh darn cancer
Because these kids grow up without actual knowledge
And I'm just another dancer
Looking for what is right
We're supposed to epitomize
And legitimize the spies and lies
Like flies droppin' from the skies
While the land denies
That there is a fundamental problem
But we're too busy sittin' on the couch to care
Becomin' freedom fighters on the weekend
Only to go back to our daily hum drum lives
And forget the strife that we strive to stifle
While armies march with rifles
We're too busy tappin' away on Facebook
And they took us for fools
Because the schools damn sure don't care
Where are all the minute men
To take out the the senate when
It's nothing but a hall of corruption
Where is the eruption
Just tell me
Where is your anger now?
The Day After Christmas
It’s the day after Christmas and all round the gaff
Lay the wrappings from presents, both splendid and naff.
Bottles upended and glasses on stairs,
Stains on the carpet, the curtains, the chairs.
Christmas tree fallen and blocking a door.
Bedrooms resounding to thunderous snores.
The remnants of turkey and all of its trimmings
Where e-coli blooms its unnoticed beginnings.
Upon the detritus, all twinkly and bright,
Shine fairy lights, forgotten, left on overnight.
Booze fumes and *** smoke still hang in the air.
It’s a mess that would make the most pious saint swear.
Under the sink on their cheap plastic tray,
Lurk brushes and sponges, the all-surface spray.
For after the fun, the excess celebration
Comes the down-side, the chore, the clean-up operation.
Sanity must be returned to the house
Where nothing’s displaced, not even a mouse.
Was it worth it for one day of party and cheer?
You bet! And we’ll do the same nonsense next year!
Recently has got me thinking...
Why do I resort to drinking?
Is it because I am lonely,
Feeling like a one and only?
Is it subject to depression
Or some personal oppression?
Maybe because it is legal?
Does it soar me like an eagle
For a short time there about
Until I come to passing out?
Ultimately, it's a choice
Spoken in a certain voice
That for me turns into habit
The more that I decide to grab it.
Cans, bottles, shots and schooners
Lately downed sooner and sooner.
Words that give me some salvation...
"Everything in moderation".
I will apply them in the end...
But until then - cheers, my friend.
The Interplay of Beauty in Darkness
I wrap myself in frozen-black, a back without boundaries-deepened,
my thoughts the viscous-tangled lianas in a forgotten earth,
an amnesia-desirer that loses all its forms in absence,
and autumn leaves spill their waves in consternating tumult.
The drunken wind weaves itself in vortices of ephemeral purple,
I rise weightless on wings of whiskey-butterfly sick,
my pain an ashtray where I pray to gods that don't exist yet,
the equinox has tilted oblique toward worlds in grave imbalance.
My body of wilted fog shows itself in shattered smoke mirror,
do I dream in the darkness stupor-sweetness or is reality the dream?
my clouds are false redemptions that bleed at dawn through cracks,
seraphim and serpents dance in the phantoms that disturb my abyss.
I keep silences like a sphinx of stone-speaking without voice,
my intuition is imperceptible laughter, through a jungle it flees smooth,
a widow-shackled in the curse of bitter-black drinks,
but the soul with bruised eyes blooms in the lock of torment.
Dawn scatters its stones of liquid-gold over the retina,
like nightmare-witches that rattle the empty bottles,
in semi-darkness my mirror writes prophecies with trembling fingers,
the pulse brings me closer to the altar of the sun with fatal flames.
I burn on the stone of sacrifice for my beloved of burned-moon,
in the chiaroscuro of existence where paradox is the only truth,
the darkened-beauty wraps me in petals of stellar melancholy,
and I turn into ash that dances on edges of non-being-hesitant.