Long Coddle Poems
Long Coddle Poems. Below are the most popular long Coddle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coddle poems by poem length and keyword.
The Man in the Mirror
Don’t you live at your mother’s place?
Are you in the basement or the room upstairs?
Are you still taking a year off from school?
How is that going for you?
How many is that now?
When your mother stops doing your laundry,
will you start to stink?
When she stops making dinner and feeding you?
Will you then be skinny again, as you need to check the mirror?
We were friends. We still are. You need to remember that.
That means I am here to tell you the truth.
I have no reason at all to lie. I have no agenda.
You are on a bad path. That is clearly evident by your lifestyle.
If you are okay with that, fine. Not much more to say.
If you are not…
I am here.
Not to coddle you, but to make you tow the line.
I will not be kind in the manner of which I choose to end your days…
As a bozo clown.
Grab a pad. A pen. Find one! Now!
The key here is a reference point. I am going to give you that.
From there… you will be in free fall until you fly.
Or…
Die.
At the top… write, “pray”.
Now we begin.
There are those who take what they want.
Pez dispensers of pain and suffering
,, gleaning, never planting
Rapists of fresh air and confidence.
Staining the souls of everything.
Tumors in the marrow of society.
They are small glimpses into hell
professional complainers and oppressors
With bachelor's degrees in deflection and deceit.
PHD'S in the blame game.
Others only take what they need.
Giving the rest away to those in need,
Calm waters, splintering calibers of decay.
They are small windows into heaven.
Bachelor's degree in responsibility and reason.
PhDs in fathomless faith.
The well-meaning try to fix evil with bleeding hearts...
Evil thinks they're soft tools-plays them for fools.
To be used for evil endeavors.
If evil isn't acting out, it is plotting its next twisted step.
Fashioning chalk pentagrams, dreaming in hues of death.
Evil can never be fixed.
Evil must be minced into oblivion.
The trend is to coddle and pacify-
Until it festers from an irritating blemish to
incurable disease and endless menace.
as turf wars go
here
the weapons concealed
before agendas revealed
and courtyard orders sealed
inside wetzel gooey goodness
grand central its not
maybe from the outside
but inside the buzz is low
the reverb high
lingering as smoke choking
on its own asthma
void of cache
or any semblance
of the character
chiseled into posts,
ceiling festoons
and the ethnic parades
chanting in uniform grunts,
silence and glares
required vitals from
their lost or stolen IDs
it isnt Union Station for nothing
a primal yack, spit and grin
flowing from the cakes of
baked commuters
forsaked souls
and a neighborhood watch
that drools in adoration
point a to point b (or c)
never had an intermission like this
then again
here
every director is the drama
they wish they could
coddle into love.
(10/30/13)
The Political Establishment
By Franklin Price
10/12/2016
(Opinion of the people)
The political establishment
Republican and Democrat
Don't listen to the people
On the hill, both dumb and fat
The longer they remain there
Find the people not their thing
The super rich who have the money
Are the ones who bring the bling
(Politician's interruptive rebuttal – in private)
What can I do to coddle to
The rich and make them notice me
To make me richer in this office
Than I thought I would ever be
The people gave me nothing
Except to vote me in
My present term is almost up
Hope they vote for me again
Doesn't matter I did nothing
To deserve a single vote
Most don't even know me
No accomplishments of note
Although I've been here several terms
Not yet fully on the take
If you vote for me just one more time
Who knows how much I'll make
Doesn't matter people struggling
To pay for health and make ends meet
My opponent doesn't care for you
He should go down in defeat
When I was born I forgot the plasma cradle,
forgot the in-keepers daughter
who had suckled lips with pints of brewed chyme,
forgot the liquid yoke of the now unknown.
When I was born
the light was in other people’s eyes.
My father was faceless,
my mother the only tree in the forest.
Her warm lodging hands lifting to coddle
spills of milky thirsts into mew-shaped narrows.
When only a dim cask of sight
I began to wink the world into shapes
I buzzed and gurgled like bee in a drain.
I howled inside a germinal brain.
Skintight I bloomed around a query of flesh.
Early things showed up to crowd my eyes,
back-lit beings leaned over a bar of sound,
spoke in suds and froth.
Later --- who can tell
when ‘later’ becomes a thing?
I saw through a bat-winged door
daylight from night,
colors stampeded in to beg a drink.
Early things,
the green of leaf and lawn,
red and yellow plastic shakers
mouthed to sooth raw and runty wonders.
Incomprehensible snow on a wet nose.
Then that light-box of undeveloped things
fell apart only to come together.
I saw the faceless changing,
and where a garb of perception
fell to a fitting room floor
there I was
an early thing blinking and being.
wonderful fimagery
a fibulation of truth
a frenetic shark-tooth
puncturing the carotid
artery, artistically
fandom of fibs
will coddle your desperation,
lean into your fabulous
collection of fables, fry
the fish according to recipe
mendacious media robots
move their mechanical jaws
plainly stating the news -
the words they choose
according to choice list
listless and yawning
it’s never dawning on them
that the puppet master
controls the strings
of jaws, eyelids and
applause
plausible lies
they’re after
laughter in the rafters
hell’s forever after
8/15/2022
Exodus 20:16, 23:1; Matthew 15:19; Revelation 21:8
branches and leaves catch ultra violet rays
you can almost taste the cool summer shade
little hands and feet are there most of the day
marbles, jacks, and double-Dutch are played
suburbia served from the tray of life
beneath Miss Hunter’s tree
on the highest branch between the leaves
a fortress of twigs house chicks who plead
to their mother for the board they so need
to grow, survive, and one day leave the nest
a budding ethologist adjusts their shutter speed
beneath Miss Hunter’s tree
lovers descend upon this tranquil site
anticipation declares their hearts were right
they begin to coddle through the din of night
carved initials on the trunk reveals their plight
they share a kiss and a bit of moonlight bloom
beneath Miss Hunter’s tree
Amidst the heavy crowd,
I was the only one who could
discern clearly the adorned God;
I did see the people bowed
and looked small before me and God
while I was sitting on the arms of my Dad.
When everyone was tensed crossing busiest road,
I was the only one enjoying a video of a crazy toad;
Neither I watched right side,
Nor did I see the road wide;
Never bothered about traffic signal or nod,
As I was holding the hand of my hero dad.
The heavy fever and body aches
couldn't make my heart shake;
Failure and fear couldn't make me cry
and the evils and problems never even tried;
As the caress of my dad's hands on my forehead,
accorded instant energy to face and move ahead.
In the mid of the loudest cry of the mob,
and the annoying songs on radio,
amid the blaring whistle of a train,
ignoring the chai walas song chain,
I did had a pleasant sleep,
and in my dad's arm, I had gone so deep
No mobile, no watch and no gadgets I bore;
All I carried was only the camera to adore,
as I had my dad beside me to coddle
and I used to behave like a toddler;
Kept me out of harm's way, his arm,
and I was the princess of his realm;
Even after his demise I feel his aura charm
The twigs of March drip, and dangle ~ late in the day
birdsong returns. New veins leach in the leaf
there are florets of sap-sweet offerings.
From oracle rings earth worms rise up from a mud,
then wade-in to wet nurse the soil.
For the young, this is a time for naked toes
and muddy faces. For the younger, the land suckles
with its bare hands. The old watch the seep,
hear the suck of a million open mouths
beneath the leak of muddling mists.
New birthed lambs bleat to be fed,
be strengthened against returning lions.
March is kind only for a spell, for who can tell?
There are rumors of dragons in coming winds.
For now, young shoots struggle forth
there is a quickening reach, a tufted greening.
Dens and drays are fat with new birthed cubs
that play and mew in Marches bustle
uplifted now in a mucky coddle.
an entry for Constance LaFrance's contest
Write a Beautiful Rubaiyat Poem
Make a discovery, well-worth your time!
Compare instant coffee to Starbuck's prime,
I-Hop's waffles to those frozen en bloc.
Voila! steel cut oats! makes hunger bells chime.
Use the stove to boil some salt water stock;
turn it down low and pile oats in the crock.
(what’s half an hour? I've a paper to read.)
I have retired and I don't watch the clock.
Lots of brown sugar and butter you'll need,
takes thirty minutes to coddle this feed.
Add whatever, the next verse gives my notes.
Steel-cut oats will get breakfast up to speed.
Include raisins which drift like little boats
in the sugary-rich, buttery moat.
For a breakfast or any meal sublime
include nuts. Then just grab a spoon and gloat.