Long Burgled Poems
Long Burgled Poems. Below are the most popular long Burgled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burgled poems by poem length and keyword.
A broad daylight spilled over my sleepwalking mind.
I popped out of a dream knowing something.
An alien from an alternative Ohio
had cat-burgled my consciousness.
I had been probed, not in a physical way,
just ransacked and rummaged
as if a strange mind considered me to be
a yard sale or curiosity shop.
I felt turned over, my stored stuff assessed
then replaced higgledy-piggledy.
The dust in my attic is still flying.
My junk is all tipped over.
I am not sure what the alien was looking for,
not sure what it made off with.
Something as yet unused has been pilfered,
and I will miss it when it’s time to find it.
When a burglar ate some of my expired food, it made him expire.
The next day I learned that an attorney was who I needed to hire.
They've sent me up the river for twenty years for manslaughter.
I've lost 50 pounds because they only feed me bread and water.
I wish that I had a bottle of Jack Daniels or vodka because I want to get soused.
What the hell has the USA come to when I go to jail because a thief burgled my house?
I hadn't gotten around to throwing my expired food in the trash.
Now I cry every day because my attorney took all of my cash.
Even though he took all of my money, he lost the case.
The prisoners lust after each other in this horrible place.
I can't take this prison any longer, my situation is so dire.
If you get arrested, my lawyer is somebody you shouldn't hire.
A black fly in midwinter
has burgled the warm air of the kitchen.
It struggles for height,
a brittle-winged air-bender
reaching for plateaus,
higher footstools,
grasping for spice shelves
or the slope of a slick cooker hood.
The splutter
of an over-revved engine,
the bolted clicking of insectivore plates.
Up it lifts again
turning like a wounded helicopter
only to crash-land
on a dish of cooling porridge.
Mired, it scoops gravity out
from a clogged exoskeleton
staggers to a porcelain edge.
Heavy airfoils battle a steam laden air.
Its weight now cannot be sustained.
It falls to the hard kitchen floor
spins disorientated on its back.
A dervish dance.
Sibilant thunder-claps
of a now dismantled buzzing.
Will it try again
to lift its wreckage?
Between the paused silence
of a ticking wall-clock
a burnt-out fuselage trembles.
Nothing disembarks.