Long Bullhorn Poems
Long Bullhorn Poems. Below are the most popular long Bullhorn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bullhorn poems by poem length and keyword.
she was all like - there's something i have to tell you
but before she gets to say it
his ex wife shows up
he's all like - she's going to be staying with me
she says - for the weekend
he says - for the summer
as he walks away you see regret all over her face
you know if he knew
you know he'd give his eye teeth
that's the way they tell stories
life however is not a scripted story
it doesn't work like that
people in love
one's the fridge
the other's the magnet
you can't avoid that kind of attraction
your lips are locked before your mind even kicks in
love is like that
you don't walk around it
it is an a to b and it is direct
you don't walk through one door
just as she walks out another
you can be in a huge city
somehow you both walk in to the same restaurant
somehow you're both alone
less than a second later
you are glued to one another
super glued to one another
there is no where
no where else you want to be
you are stuck together
like a tongue on a frozen metal post
no matter how painful it is
you are exactly where you want to be
you don't ah and hum around it
you shout it from the rooftops
you use a bullhorn
you are anything but shy about it
you know what love is
love is EVERYTHING
no one
i mean no one
dances around love
love owns you
when they write stories
they feed their audience
the same crap they’re used to
me?
i'll play some games
you know 'suspension of disbelief'
but love
you have to serve me a five star meal
you don't settle for less
when love
when your EVERYTHING
is the topic
What is love?
The North Star guiding
a lost seafarer home
or the Siren’s song luring
him to the rocky shores?
Is it frolicking in the moonlit
nights in a field of flowers
or trudging across
an arid, scorching desert?
Is it a freeway to bliss and joy
or a meandering trail
through a rugged terrain
of grief and woe?
Is it a cup of hemlock
or a chalice of nectar?
Is it a snake pit
or a bridge over the chasm
of hatred and bigotry?
Is it an ever-elusive mirage
or the rock of Gibraltar?
Love is all that and more
and yet it’s nothing,
A mere emotion, a feeling,
At first blush, irrelevant
and yet it’s an impetus, a catalyst--
An euphoria permeating our entire being.
It is here, it is there,
and it is everywhere...
Yet, it is nowhere!
It creates mayhem and chaos
if it turns and walks away.
Love knows no boundaries,
It follows no customs or creed;
It cares not for any
race or language.
Not unlike air and water
or the enlivening sunlight--
Vital in good measures
devastating in excess,
Vexing as a thorn but
as enticing as the fragrance.
Love is but love!
No one has seen it
Yet everyone is touched by it,
Its constant presence is overwhelming
Yet you’ll never find
if you go looking for it,
It traverses distant shores,
Yet it doggedly never
leaves your threshold.
You are born with it
but never can you own it,
Forever it hovers around you
but never can you rein it in.
“Love is a many-splendored thing”.
Yet none can explain its true meaning,
It would call through a bullhorn
and you may not hear it,
It merely whispers in your ears
and turns your life topsy-turvy,
More furious than the flowing lava
It would give you the chills if provoked.
He indeed is a poor soul
bereft of hopes and dreams
who befriendeth not love!
~05/02/16
~Free Verse on Love contest by Laura Loo
~"Love turns the world around"
contest by Nayda Ivette Negron
We've many differences.
You yearn for and demand respect.
I prefer to earn it but couldn't care less...
if you respect me or not.
You shove a bullhorn in my face.
Force-feed me your warped points of view.
You put a blowtorch to my faith.
I believe in dialogue, and I'm willing to listen; are you?
I fancy energy independence.
You don't mind drinking oil from the spigot of terrorists.
While spraying me with green philosophy.
All the while running just as fat as I am.
You're anything but lean.
I respect the sovereignty of my country and others,
With a big, beautiful mahogany door and welcome mat.
Just on the other side of a secure border.
I like a fair vetting process based on merit with some semblance of order.
You've a rose-colored revolving door from hell.
Bringing sprinkles of heaven and maelstroms of chaos and death...
onto my front porch.
I like giving all beings a chance at living.
Just like you and I were given...
Funny how you'll grieve over a stillborn.
But turn cold when the unborn are torn into pieces.
You hate my God and me for believing.
Want to cancel my peace and freedom,
You're an atheist, but I'll defend your right.
to not believe in -then leave you to your peace.
Because I extend a hand in friendship,
You think I'm soft and a pushover.
Just in case you chop it off.
The other hand is clawed and spring-loaded.
Willing to put you six feet under the clover.
What is love?
The North Star guiding
a lost seafarer home
or the Siren’s song luring
him to the rocky shores?
Is it frolicking in the moonlit nights
in a field of flowers
or trudging across
an arid, scorching desert?
Is it a freeway to bliss and joy
or a meandering trail
through the rugged terrain
of grief and woe?
Is it a cup of hemlock
or a chalice of nectar?
Is it a snake pit
or a bridge over the chasm
of hatred and bigotry?
Is it an ever-elusive mirage
or the rock of Gibraltar?
Love is all that and more
and yet it’s nothing,
A mere emotion, a feeling,
At first blush, irrelevant
and yet it’s an impetus, a catalyst –
An euphoria permeating our entire being.
It is here, it is there
and it is everywhere…
Yet, it is nowhere!
It creates mayhem and chaos
if it turns and walks away.
Love knows no boundaries,
It follows no customs or creed;
It cares not for any
race or language.
Not unlike air and water
or the enlivening sunlight –
Vital in good measures
devastating in excess,
Vexing as a thorn but
as enticing as the fragrance.
Love is but love.
No one has seen it
yet everyone is touched by it,
Its constant presence is overwhelming
Yet you’ll never find
if you go looking for it,
It traverses distant shores,
yet it doggedly never
leaves your threshold.
You are born with it
but can never own it,
Forever it hovers around you
but never can you rein it in.
“Love is a many-splendored thing”*
Yet none can explain its true meaning,
It would call through a bullhorn
but you may not hear it,
It merely whispers in your ears
and turns your life topsy-turvy,
More furious than the flowing lava
It would give you the chills if provoked.
He indeed is a poor soul
bereft of hopes and dreams
who befriendeth not love.
(*Love is a many-splendored thing", Lyrics by Paul Francis Webster.)
~"What Love is?" contest by Bobby May
Oh, say can you see the land of the freebie
and the home of the ungrateful bleating.
Where borders are blown wide open by vote vamps.
To the glee of coyotes -desperados -the depraved.
Stars and stripes replaced by the heartless-shooting blanks.
Where elitist stick shanks into the faith of good people.
Who're deemed racist for standing for a starry banner... disgraced.
The trinity was tossed long ago into cancel culture canyon.
Were last seen thumbing it down Route 666 in a flash flood.
As the cultists put another bullet in Honest Abe's head.
While looters and rioters and cop killers were martyred.
Working-class stiffs were slit open- bled out from either end...
into the collection plate of the jackass-fascist and Uncle Sham...
Where goodness was woven into the fabric of evil and mayhem.
Upon burning looms of crooked buffoons and bullhorn goons.
In the land of the freebie and the home of the ungrateful dead.
To the windows the students all go.
To get a closer look at the snow.
The teachers began shouting although
Santa fell down from the sky down below…
The school was in a frenzy from head to toe.
Santa was yelling his “ho, ho, ho, ho.”
The windows were filled with students who know
The snow is coming down with wind that will blow.
A blizzard is on her way, you really must go!
It is the principal with a bullhorn in tow.
The busses are summoned. Drivers are yelling “whoa!”
We cannot get out, or to anywhere go.
So we spend the night with our charges in tow.
They are hungry, so we break into the milk case and find dough.
We make up cinnamon rolls. They are tasty, so
We survive the night, with only the moon for a night-light glow.
The next day there is still a bunch of new snow.
The children are not as fascinated by the great show.
To the windows no one actually looks or will go.
Teachers are tired. Their faces are not fit for a beau.
Parents are frantic, run in to and fro,
Some take their children home early and so
Some teachers get a reprieve but as you well know
The usual suspects are there all day hanging low.
Hey, what did you think of that beautiful snow?
One of the teacher’s husbands asked, not in the know.
The staff glowered at him, this silly man named Joe.
Made him their Santa saying ho ho ho ho.
The media has two faces: mayhem and disharmony.
They bring in the highest of ratings.
Harmony and unity are ratings disaster for the media execs.
They couldn't care less about the people.
They get off on Plane crashes and train wrecks.
They are voice boxes for evil.
They love mass shootings, wars, and church arson fires.
Most of all, they adore a high-profile white-on-black crime.
Then they sit back with popcorn in hand.
Enjoying their heavily biased, fueled race riot.
Playing the same clips.24/7/365/ from a one-sided perspective.
Then enter the clowns.
The politicians in their ties and stilettos. Hustling for votes.
Then the activists and reverends slither in.
Stirring the golden pot with bullhorn rhetoric.
Hoping everything turns to rot.
The Soros's anarchists are there to make a quick buck
Get off and leave their greasy wet spot.
That time of day when sweet birds songs intrude
And thoughts of yesterday warm my minds brood
I turn the page to days when love was true
Your voice on my heart was a sunny coo
But now the light of day turns wintry blue
The hearth is cold where I once warmed with you
If only your lotus bloomed in winter
Then I would hope amidst snow and winter
That time of day when a heart waxes worn
The birds tweet their songs to a heart that stings
Their song is a cacophonous bullhorn
And a heart echoes in veins of cold strings
That time of day when still cold the heart sings
And cold throes of a wistful winter will sting
Bandicoot's bounce over my dead lead head.
Grim the outlook,
I am the grimness in my own storybook.
Moods are my mannerism's.
Gooey nose - a stonking flu
got me
now I mimic a monkey
with my bullhorn blowing.
When will the sun rise my eyes?
Blighted by sniffles, I dizzy and sway
to the 'Drug Mart', there to gag and goggle;
at so many meds for a bunged-up head.
Handfuls of hope
back to the laze-upon floozy chair
guzzling pills a popping.
Later, write this,
mayhap get pissed on some bitter brew.
Bandicoot's snoring.
A little peckish.
Here a glimmer
there it is, the shiny light,
feeling svelte in a sky bright blue.
Sniffing better, sleep later.
Disappointing Setback
Six long months they worked
sixteen bright and eager minds
planned our art event.
Artists looked ahead,
painting, framing their great works
for our yearly show.
Then the day arrived;
charcoal, moisture-laden clouds
shed their dreaded tears.
Bullhorn blared the words
heard with sad and heavy hearts...
"cancel the art show."
Artists packed their gems—
lonely display fences stood
naked in the fog.
Work of six months straight
quashed by nature's fickle whim
to spoil our event.
Sandra M. Haight
~4th Place
Premiere Contest: Setbacks
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron