Long Dry mouth Poems
Long Dry mouth Poems. Below are the most popular long Dry mouth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dry mouth poems by poem length and keyword.
He had been in a deep dream, searching for a lost puppy
When the clanging alarm startled him to reality
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking his heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
His aching back, reminds him of a night of stooped typing
And his dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening his eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, he meets the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
His tongue dampened, he leans back to remember the reason
Why did he need to be shaken from his unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain his existence
Would he be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to his feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, he kisses his sleeping wife
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting his suspenders, his wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
He evaluates his current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In his castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in his ears, about debt and health
Watching his wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
He laughs, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During his day, he continues to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of his eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of his cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
His loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
He freshens his drink and is silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Poem- Salt
Poet- Aditya Aneek
Reciter- Shimul Mustapha
In a book fair, theater, cafe, on the first day of Bangla calendar, around the festive Valentine day
An ordinary boy is he, if one overlooks his insinuating efforts to catch a glimpse of her attention
She, as per beauty and diva goes hand in hand to fashion and attire, fits entirely an adjective
In a flock of Butterflies, among a group of youngsters, The boy is an utter misfit, an outlier
Even though he, a lion heart, approached her one day at last, “Will we have tea together?”
With his brave proposal in, utterly astonished she pondered for a while,then surmised, “let’s go.”
Sitting with her, face to face, he had a butterfly in his stomach
With his dry mouth, he sipped his cup of tea and then, “Waiter, please salt, here.”
With astonishment in her face, she asked, “ Will you have salt in your tea?”
The boy answered, “Yes, I was born around the seashore, along the salty foamy sea waves.
Once I have a sip through the salty tea, I see my village, picturesque
And the faces of my parents, floating around with the salty foamy sea, floating far.”
Silent a soul, she, heard the boy, and then replied
"I have never been to the sea, my home lies there in the mountaintop."
There, the subtle clouds touch there in the gentle most surreal, as a feather of a bird
The mountain and the sea, closely knitted there, day by day, a story , dense in heartfelt warmth
Then a marriage, a nest, at last a duo, aged through the grace of time passed.
The old man, before dying, handed the old lady a letter to request, “Open once I‘m gone.”
Once he died, the old lady, opened the letter, It had this written there
"I never could take tea with salt, ever
A startled one, I, stumbled in mumbling then , with salt, to ask sugar in stead
And then had an immediate cover up story of that type, to en wrap.
And so, had the forty years follow through with cups of tea with a pinch of salt.
The salt tea made by you is sweet."
The old lady went to her neighbors one day. They served her tea.
She asked, “ A bit of salt, please.”
Astonished, the neighbor asked, “Will you take salt in your tea?”
She replied, “Yes. The tea with salt is sweet.”
Sitting in rags all tattered and torn
He gazed through the window and loved what he saw
A raging coal fire, and some children to play
Just what he wished for on a cold winters day
The frost bit his finger and nibbled at his nose
and his shoes, thin as paper, could not warm his toes
But the warmth and the love that the family there told
Reached into his heart and blessed his wee soul
The dear little beggar boy was welcomed inside
To share christmas gifts and a log of yuletide
A meal that he'd dreamed of was served in a dish
And the sweet little child got his christmas wish
Sat near the roadside, a cup in his hand
sat a merchant, a peasant, a pitiful man
Selling flowers to towns folk, from graves freshly plucked
He watched as the villagers tucked into roast duck
Nose pressed to the entrance, inhaling the feast
He licked his dry mouth as they carved the cooked beast
A little old lady arose from her pew
and gladly she told him "There's plenty for you"
All grubby and dusty with an ache in her back
A frail, crinkled lady read palms from a shack
Not making much money, spending winter alone
She watched families rejoicing, and wished for her own
Trying to remember, a life led before
With her sister and daughters, before she was poor
A kind gent passed by her and decided to spend
his christmas or longer, for she needed a friend
Sat at the butchers and begging for meat
Dusty the mongrel was just under their feet
Just a scavenger, all dirty, they shoo'd him away
and he got used to the harshness of being homeless each day
Tucked beneath hedges, to escape winters bite
He flopped down his head, and he slept for the night
Dreaming of children who'd bring him a bone
Rescued by a schoolgirl who gave him a home
What do you dream of, when you're sat all alone
Money and chocolate, a new mobile phone
Or the simplest things that are taken for granted
Like a home and a family, to be loved and be wanted
Do you think of others or not have a care
when enjoying your holidays, do you have time to spare
See the dear little beggar boy at your windowsil
Let him in, spare a second, 'tis the season of goodwill
I had been in a deep dream, searching for a lost puppy
When the clanging alarm startled me to reality
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking my heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
My aching back, reminds me of a night of stooped typing
And my dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening my eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, I meet the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
My tongue dampened, I lean back to remember the reason
Why did I need to be shaken from my unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain my existence
Would I be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to my feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, I kiss my sleeping wife's brow
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting my suspenders, my wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
I evaluate my current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In my castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in my ears, about debt and health
Watching my wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
I laugh, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During my day, I continue to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of my eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of my cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
My loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
I freshen my drink and am silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
In the great Old Grove forests
Perry, Sayva, Diamond, and Jack
Went out and built this tree house
A fine little tree house
It had a ladder, it had a few windows
It had a little garden they built
The garden full of fresh mulch
Smelling like spiced wood and peppered dirt
In it grew mushrooms
Great beautiful mushrooms
Even The Crow Club paid good money for these mushrooms
The mushrooms were blue, round, as big as a human head
Some others were pink like a birthday balloon
Or blue like pine fire smoke
They grew and sold many other plants
They grew tobacco of all types
They grew purple leafs
They grew sea foam sunflower
They grew great green ones
And a few other funguses and mosses
Southern sand moss
Eastern tree rot
And northern Gaviran puddle flower
All was great to sell or taste
On one day, as a rainstorm thundered on
The group stayed in their treehouse
They smoked from pipes or rolled paper
They ate from jars of peaches and pears
They bit into juicy green apples
All while they reclined on pillows
Their fingers weighed down on fuzzy blankets of fur
And like that old stump pilgrim story about “The night before Yuletide”
Visions of everything good, danced inside their skulls
Imaginings of birds
Big birds, not like the birds they sold to in their kingdom
There were brown vultures that smelled like brown sugar
And you could ride them
You could speak with old extinct seals
Their bones the color of freshly pulled teeth
Fingers and knee caps became numb as the time passed
As paintings never seen before were everywhere in the treehouse
Paintings in the eyes, brush strokes on the skin
An invisible painter, the smell of clay and paint chemicals
Prayers to The Frog and The Loon heard in each ear
Electric light outside
Perfect smoke under the nose
Dry mouth from breathing too much
Still sweet from eating too much
Relaxed until it will all go back
Back to what it was
But it can be done again
All you need is a garden
Some leafs
And a treehouse
There once was a fox, as wise as can be,
He lived in the hollow of an old oak tree.
Not so very far from an ol’ Farmer’s Farm;
A farmer he knew would do him great harm.
Also, on that farm lived a lively young goose,
And he caused the fox’s dry mouth to juice.
Without a care, the goose gandered about,
Causing the fox great apprehension, no doubt.
One day they met at the edge of the farm:
The goose knew, for sure, the fox meant him harm.
Mr. Fox, I know you can eat me, he said,
But, I know a better way you can be fed.
The farmer has many an egg you can eat,
and they are more juicy than feathery meat.
I’ll tell you just how to gain your supply;
as quick as a wink, or the blink of an eye.
The farmer is rich and he doesn’t have need
for all of his wealth, and all of his greed.
We poor of the earth, he cares not about:
We should take eggs from the lecherous lout.
Sure, he feeds us, and quite well in fact,
But he profits from the sweat of our back.
We animals are brothers, and should take heed
About each others wants and each others need.
You can sneak around by the ol’ mill gate,
while I distract the hound, down by the lake.
His threat to you I shall circumvent,
and you can then eat to your hearts content.
The sly ol’ fox, he surmised this odd tale:
Hen’s eggs were delicious, he knew quite well.
Oh, this we will do, he quickly agreed:
Eggs, he knew, were quite delicious indeed.
So, the goose set off, the hound to distract,
And also the fox, to the mill gate out back.
But, the goose had another plan in his mind;
A problem solution of a far different kind.
He enlisted the hound in his subversive trick,
To solve the fox dilemma finally and quick.
He sent the hound round to the ol’ mill gate,
Leaving himself to just piddle and wait.
Then suddenly upon him with claw and tooth
Pounced the fox, ‘fore he could honk or hoot.
In this moral lesson we all can deduce,
Why no-one says: “he’s as sly as a goose”.
The SLY fox knew: “If the goose would betray
the farmer that feeds him, he will betray me too.”
Lionel
BROTHERS IN MADNESS
We have been here since time begun, special we were
Thought to be decedents of the sun
We were and are
Brothers in Madness
The Madness, when settles for you it may lift
To us, we endure this despairing gift
It’s been likened to tripping, on Coke or LSD
But our trip will never end, and it will only bring sadness
A lifelong trip, my brothers in madness
It crosses all races, no one is immune
It sweeps through families often bringing death & gloom
At first it is good, the images you see
The voices are happy, all things can be
Nothing is real, or at least you think so
When you sleep, you will wake, but with me I don’t know
They tell me to do things, bringing sorrow and badness
United we suffer
My brothers in madness
The drugs we are given, others made these choices
They block the dopamine and slow down the voices
But then the shaking begins, and my feet start to move
I’m not a rapper, im in the Chlorprom groove
Another set of drugs to take this away
But dry mouth & blurred vision is the price I will pay
We sit there together, all of us shaking, dreaming of peace
And a new awakening
But the life we often live, is a circle of sadness
Don’t pity, try to understand
My brothers in madness
I know I am more, than the voices in my head
I deserve a real life, not one spent in a hospital bed
I deserve to happy with a smile on my heart
I deserve to make my own choices
Just like you, I deserve that start
Most of us, at some point, will come to that spot
A decision to make, to carry on or not
The voices I live with, the drugs I endure
I’ve got to do it, to keep my mind sure
One of us decided, it was his time to leave
To start over fresh, in that land up above
No voices, No drugs,
Just acceptance and love
No blame at his leaving, no pity, but there is sadness
Our friend has left us
Our brother in madness
Phil Evans
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
We’re all huddled in a corner, eyes squeezed tight.
The lights are all off, we’re deprived of the light.
Maybe if I keep my eyes closed it will all go away.
There is so much fear that words can’t even convey.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
My heart is pounding in my chest, my palms are sweating, and silent tears fall down my face.
What if today I became an officer's new case?
I hold my knees close, I feel the pressure in my chest.
This morning all I had to worry about was my Science test.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
I hear cries, heavy breathing, and the slight intercom hum.
The teacher keeps us silent, something we used to think was dumb.
The drills don’t prepare you for the deafening silence.
We never listened before, but now all we show is compliance.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
I smell the perfume of the girl next to me, whose face is tear-stained.
I get a whiff of the boy's cologne in front of me, I notice how his eyes are nothing but drained.
The smells mix with my teacher's favorite scent.
The class smelled like vanilla every day, calming as its intent.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
I taste the food I had before this horrid experience lingering in my dry mouth.
My stomach is churning, the food begging to come out.
I swallow hard with little strength left over.
I look at my teacher, searching for courage in someone older.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
Lockdown.
I find nothing but fear in my teacher's tired eyes.
No matter the words of reassurance, we can tell they’re all lies.
There is no way of knowing what might happen next.
If I make it out of here today, what will be the lasting effects?
I’m scared, I’m exhausted. I want to go home.
I start to think the worst, my mind starts to roam.
My only wish right now is simple and easy.
Please, I’m begging, don’t let anyone forget me.
Stranded..
I am walking and walking
Cannot find Anyone
Civilization seems non existent
My only companions are the creatures of the forest..
As they roam freely..
These creatures are at home..
As my home seems one million miles away..
Lost and alone I feel..
Anxiety sets in..
Very little food left..
Very little water left..
I cannot stop moving..
I must continue.
With a dry mouth..
Cottonball effect..
Lips utterly chapped..
Painful blisters appear..
Full body fatique..
Knees feeling weak..
Cannot continue..
I must stop to rest..
Few sips of water to drink..
I must conserve..
Sun is beating down on me..
Scorching hot sun..
Sun burned..
Almost seeing double..
I will rest under a fine old oak tree..
Sitting under the old oak tree..
Body leaned againt the old bark..
I close my eyes..
I am in a deep slumber..
Awakened by a Pleasant looking couple..
Was I dreaming?
As there is human interaction..
My wife and I are lost..
We are hungry..
We are thirsty..
Please can you spare water?
Please can you spare food?
Yes..
For I have this bottle of water..
You two can share..
I have little food..
You two can share..
Gracious smiles on both their part..
Warm embraces..
Followed by many thanks..
To my dismay..
No water was left..
No food was left.
As I..
Lifted my head..
No couple..
Completely vanished..
I shouted ..
Continued shouting..
No signs of gracious couple...
Mirage perhaps?
Delirium is setting in..
Continue to walk..
I see a well..
Beautiful well it is..
Captivated by its beauty..
A woman with a cheerful smile..
Offers me water..
To drink from the well..
You are thirsty..
You must drink from the well..
The well is plentiful..
Water is plentiful..
You are plentiful..
You have already drank from the well..
You have given abundance to those in need..
When you give..
You shall always receive more..
Immediate terror.
As consciousness reclaims you,
You are brought into an even more pressing darkness.
You are alone.
The silence that surrounds you is deafening.
For one eternal moment it alone is your captor.
Until you remember how to breathe.
It is broken by your panicked, jagged breath
As sightless eyes search for reason.
But you are blinded by the darkness.
Your mind swims in fragments.
Questions, fears.
Tumbling over each other in an attempt to make themselves known,
To bring sense to the senseless.
But you can’t hear them over the pounding of your heart,
Beating against your heaving chest
as if in an effort to escape.
As if it knows what is to come.
Your dry mouth stretches wide
To release its desperate call for help.
For answers.
For salvation.
Your cracked lips tear and split,
a sickly sweet metallic taste
Trickles onto your parched tongue.
But the pain this brings is nothing.
You don’t stop.
You scream and thrash,
But cold metal binds your wrist and ankles,
Holding you to an even colder metal surface.
You can feel its icy touch everywhere upon your trembling form.
You are naked.
You are exposed and vulnerable
To whatever it is that lies in wait
Within the surrounding darkness.
The tight binds chafe against skin covered in a cold sweat
As you twist and pull more frantically.
The cuffs dig into your flesh,
The metal beneath you becomes slick with your blood.
The change from cool to warm is anything but a relief.
Agonizing cries of torment
Blend with those of desperation.
Your throat feels as if it’s being shredded
Yet you hopelessly persist with your pleas
Until overcome by heaving sobs
That choke you.
Coughing, gagging, spitting blood.
You pray for an end,
An escape from this hell.
Every tear a screaming word of your silent prayer.
But it has only just begun.