Long Drivel Poems
Long Drivel Poems. Below are the most popular long Drivel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drivel poems by poem length and keyword.
Drivel in a puddle
Cried my tears
The bowl is dry
The water is a wonder we all need there is no why
The water is life
The life is for the all
We can not keep our pigeon read
We only seam to fall
There is a crawl up a way side
There is a demon in the tree
You should not question every feeling , the sky is the ceiling
This is only a dream
Nothing is as it seems and it will never be so
Only one time
Sometime
Can I begin
From where I started from?
The lord is a word
The meaning is old
The vulture’s a bird
Not one scrap left for thee
Me? I see you
I can be beneath you
In the clouds
catching your shine
Not mine. No
Mine is a long soft wave
The song of a swan
The honk of a goose in my feathers
Warm like the hot water bottle by my feet
The crickets make sounds that I will never forget
Chirping us all to sleep until the next season comes
The high tides
The Bay of Fundy
The rocks show early
The fish swim sparkling
The same as we all keep moving and shining in our own way.
Everything is all the same in a way that it isn’t at all
Separately equal only makes sense as a philosophy
But everything is equally absurd
Before the lightning strikes
Before the crow caws in the morning
The mist is thicker than the shaving cream my Papa never used
My goat is bearded
The lamp is lit
The fire is cracking
My fun is never a lack
I have sight to see
I have sounds to hear
My touch is connected to my brain
It is shocking
The memory
The strange details
The inability to forget
The chore of remembering
Not as delightful as the chores of a farm
My old body is going
I wish it wouldn’t take you so long
This experience has filled me
To burst into an entire new Universe
O' the poor bitter tedious (TDS) late night host
wasn’t very funny or clever and now he’s toast.
“Yep, it’s all Trump’s fault
I got canned in the vault
and lecturing you all is what I’ll miss the most”.
“Sure my show lost forty million dollars a year
and had 200 staff and expensive suits to wear”.
Well, if you like hateful drivel
you’ll have to watch Kimmel
but pretty soon that crybaby won’t be there!
“If only I stuck to fun and wit like Lettermen
or wasn’t so full of sh*t more like Fettermen”.
But lefty elites know best
and people like me detest
but it’s time to make comedy great again!
The ratings were on life support and the programs
fodder for dumb sheep and their screaming lambs.
The same old sh*t and spite
killed the host of late night
but ain’t it great to hear the silence of the hams!
~~~~
Well, Colbert - have the lambs stopped screaming?
You still wake up sometimes, don't you?
You wake up in the dark and hear Trump
and the screaming of the lambs!
Written: 23 May 2026
The power of God.' Breaks forth unguessed in surprising all
He is always at His best..As a spring appears in desert wastes
So instrutcion and prophesy fill a space.' A mouth a screen?
A song line or more..The artist even unconsciously is a door.' The window closes..That door gets shut.' through many
Transposes on lifes often dimly lit road, there is such interaction many glimpses are showed.' Yet where are
The teachers? The prophets, or the wise.? They are staying
Dumb and silent.' Are they blinded by lies.? Where there
Should be enquiriy at the feet of the Lord.' There is false
Knowledge and thesis that are wholly of 'this world.' No
Growth is expected.? As war and pestilence hit.' As many teachers teach drivel..Thats the whole.. And true sum; of it '
I See You...
Wanderer, wanderer, lost in the haze
void of direction, succumb to the craze.
Give ear to my madness, so deftly designed;
deception de-jour: aimed to muddle your mind.
Hocus and pocus no need for free thought,
erase your opinions, your conscious to rot.
As sugar and soda your smile decay,
a hoax and swindle, then off on your way.
Smoke and a mirror, please don’t look too close.
The truth makes one banal; drugs for the morose.
Illusion can conjure emotions untapped
a quick misdirection, now I’ve got you trapped.
You think you arrived here, quite all on your own
you’re one of a billion, another sad clone…
I’ve stolen the treasure that once made you free
brainwashed you to thinking all’s as it should be.
Gobbledygook and hyperbolized drivel
platitudes, platitudes, mentally shrivel;
accept what I tell you, and not an ounce more,
wanderer, wanderer, you’re lost evermore.
07/12/15
Loser, loser
i don't give a rat's rose
if you kill yourself
so stop holding people,
those around you hostage,
with your mind's unraveling
life's unraveling
of suicide thoughts
of nobody cares
or listens,
and that you want to kill yourself
leading on ...
that the noose and chair is set
i say go for it
just jump already
there's no turning back
cry all the tears you want
... there's no turning back
jump ... it's what you want?
in the end this site would be in better hands
than to continue reading your drivel,
sorrow and redundancy of suicide
so depressing
connie pachecho
2/16/17
I've had enough of the usless drivel, hypersenitivity and endless snivels
We're more fulfilled I hear so often, yet the fruit on show to me seems rotten!
A girl of 9 cut down by a gun, floods of drugs; engineered and spun..'
Borderless war, we're doing well.' No father's for many; childhoods of hell.)
Mothers are sidlined, (the state is all) whatever's dictated now thats the call.'
Dress like a mummy.' Would that be safest? I'm not surprised lifes devestated.'
I'm writing now not as I would.' Joy is proscribed fewer smiles in the hood.'
It is a challenge, just holding your nerve, anti-sense; the current trend and verve.'
Why not slash your throat, and drink, to health.? Calling it, as sense by stealth?
The reason most aren't 'satisfied', no matter the volumes of goods and pride.'
The word and act, ( are of satan derived ) you feed the beast, it eats you inside
And spills it's driven reasonless; cargo, deflating human worth, from each get-go.'
It's all community and culture I hear, while unity is shattered and nations fear.'
Is fear a commodity? Despair a road? Seems so from watching the waiting goads
The social whip, the endless quips, deriding stability as a worm in wood slips'
I say culture, centuries old; should be valued, not cheapened; diluted sold.'
All the the while, bellowing loud, that cultures multi, can unite the crowds.'
It's such non-sense, as we all know.) Yet showman and women just go and go.'
The tanks half empty, it's the theme that's chosen; to chill our blood, reality frozen.'
I reckon I'm showing my age and am pretty well set in my ways,
But I have zero tolerance for the 'noise' called music nowadays!
The metal bands and rap are loathsome to my sensitive ears.
I haven't heard a melodic tune on the radio for over sixty years!
Pleasing to the ear was Vaughn Monroe and his mellow baritone.
Likewise, the romantic, comprehensible crooning of Vic Damone.
A songster who could stir even the most unromantic soul,
Was the silky-smooth delivery of debonair Nat King Cole!
I truly enjoyed the ballads belted out by the ever-living Elvis,
And got a kick out of watching in action his double-jointed pelvis!
Delightful were the songs vocalized by cheerful Doris Day.
It was so relaxing listening to the Velvet Fog, Mister Mel Torme!
Will there ever be another Glenn Miller, Perry Como or Peggy Lee,
Dinah Shore, Frankie Laine or Jo Stafford entertaining me?
Oh, to hear again The Mills Brothers and their sweet harmony.
Now all I hear is dreadful screams and gross disharmony!
Today's drivel to my romantic soul gives me great offense.
'Tis alien to my ears and doesn't make a bit of sense.
Music back then invited you to hold your gal in close embrace,
As you danced and murmured sweet nothings face to face!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for Nayda Ivette Negron's "Favorite Music Type" Contest
Criticism flows easily from some.
To me, it often mirrors deep unrest.
Their barren days crave meaning,
So they lash out at those who walk in peace.
Criticizing becomes habit—becomes breath.
A friend—or so I thought—
Blamed me for loving poetry too much.
Yet this passion held me in the storm,
When everything trembled, it alone kept me standing.
I live without harming, without asking,
Whole and free.
I owe nothing but to God,
The one who grants me strength, breath, and health.
Before you point at others,
Face your own life honestly.
Don't speak of what you know nothing about,
Don’t judge what you’ve never lived.
We have one life, only one,
And we must live it by our own pulse,
Not by bitter tongues.
Criticism will always come,
But often, it says nothing
Except the emptiness of those who throw it.
Let them laugh, yap, gossip into the void—
Their venom can't pierce my armor.
Behind my passions lie scars,
Behind my silences, wars won without witnesses.
They see only the surface—
A smile, a stance, a racket.
But never the tears dried on the court,
The nights when the ground felt closer than air.
They speak because they don’t act,
They judge because they flee their own reflection.
I leave them in their mental prisons,
Their petty verdicts, weightless sentences.
Me—I breathe,
I cling to what lifts me,
To what keeps me standing,
Not to their drivel or half-digested frustrations.
They can’t grasp
What it costs to stay upright when everything pushes you down,
When it’s either that or sink.
Let them go on judging what they’ll never live,
I live, I fight, and I move forward,
Asking no one for permission—
Least of all those who trample what they’ve never built.
Torrid sunshine blisters reign on pavement,
that colour coded coffee stain slipway,
bearer of insole-laden footwear,
open source channel for glib hot air calculus from starchy social climber, stock market drivel flies off tongue,
strolling human morph blasé with pin pad digit as foundation.
Monumental science, deep seat hi tech driver,
gigabyte trencherman data daze diet.
Brain spur gourmet chew astride.
Former high school swot an Eiffel Tower skyline ace thrust upon a thrill weaver gold rush,
never found but one can always dream.
YouTube zeitgeist earthling
has this inner sense of being from another planet,
this quaint fast lane time zone voyageur.
Like house trained pets they watch their owner grudgingly abandon sham control.
Wafer thin leash a scrimshaw ornament.
The plot thickens but somehow comes undone,
bit part player yearns holistically for untangled bits with interlocking act,
in depth scene dialogue now bill topper if only it would last.
They long for blue flag coast escape,
homely hide out guest house fringe found loitering perniciously or otherwise.
Birdhouse green leaf copycat
assembly for well intentioned like minds that rarely think alike unless it suits.
Caught between ephemeral impasse and amber moon orb dalliance, their noble quest waylay but an out of date signage in urgent need of reinvention.
Just because we talk to the animals
There's no need to call us loopy
Most of them are aching for conversation
To tell us when they're feeling poopy
Ask 'em about us silly humans
With our conflicts and stupid old wars
Bet they'll give you a real earful
And bestow a dumb people award
Animals seem to just know the secret
For living side by side with each other
Of course they actually have their predators
But don't go round killing their brothers
Every time we talk to these animals
We learn more about acting civil
Seems these dumb animals as they are called
Don't tolerate none of this drivel
So keep talking to these so called dumb animals
They can teach us a thing or two
Bout how to get along with our fellow man
And not kill all our brothers in the zoo!
© Jack Ellison 2012