Long Frack Poems
Long Frack Poems. Below are the most popular long Frack by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frack poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep breathing walkers
stretch across the blue grass of early day.
The park is a Florida basin under river roots.
A native cracker jammed down in a no-name Ford
listens to a country station that’s mega-nasal,
tin-star shaped and boozy.
Alligators break the dark circular water,
try again to feed on egrets,
as usual the birds are too strong to be plucked.
Later on, a guy with a big belly and low belt
will grandstand for the daily on-lookers
while throwing chickens at them.
This early I am just down in the mouth,
still surfacing.
Restless night and my legs got jailed
by lidless dreams. Now the back of my neck
tingles as old sweat refries itself.
I’m here taking the soft wet breeze
making out with a cold one inside a soda bottle
waiting for the man
who will show-up like a pond swimmer,
weed clinging to his billowing tactical shorts.
Only I and Frick and Frack over there
supposedly walking and talking
see that the park is all too clear-cut
and faking it.
When the ankle-deep mist rises,
it will be certain that we are waiting for some,
and another much cooler tomorrow.
Where did you get that oatmeal cookie I asked Jack.
Off the oatmeal cookie tree, we keep it out back.
His mother gave the kitchen counter a tiny whack.
With her old-fashioned apron made from a flour sack.
I got into their frig and got myself some pepper jack.
Where is your other kid? Oh, she said, do you mean Zack?
I did not know about him. I meant your little one, Mack.
He is with my husband, eating lunch at Restaurant Jack Stack.
Jack got excited and asked “With Frick and Frack?”
They are his cousins; the three are usually a pack.
Yes, said his mother, and also with Uncle Hack.
The acks in this family, they simply don’t lack.
There’s gas in them there seams
So the scientists seem to think
All they have to do to get it is
Dig the holes, then sink
Sink down hydraulic drills
Force under high pressure, mixture in the cracks
All the gas then seeps upwards
And that’s what they call the fracks
Fracking is new big business
They say fracking is here to stay
Blackpool had its tower
But has the tower had its day?
When they pressure shoot the mixture
And the ground does bang and shake
As the fracks travel through the ground
Does it cause a new earthquake?
Never mind the ghost ride
Or the mouse trap racing round
With a little bit of fracking
Will it all fall down?
No more Blackpool illuminations
No more trams or central pier
When the scientists start their fracking
Will the frackers shed a tear?
They say there are no earth tremors
It does not cause new cracks
In other words poor Blackpool
The scientists don’t give a frack…
Do the politicians listen?
Do they bother what people feel or think?
You only know where moneys involved
They will let the frackers sink
With a little fracking here
and a little fracking there
The gas it rises to the top,
do they catch it in the air?
As long as they are comfortable
and they themselves suffer no lack
One thing about the politicians is,
they never give a frack…
© GG 13/08/2013
Fracking is forcing under high pressure a mixture or water sand and chemicals into the ground fracturing rock to release its gas, everywhere they try it is seems to cause earth tremors, they say there is no definitive proof but do they care when money is involved.
Blackpool suffered two quakes causing them to stop the fracking for a while but they want to start again.o my question is once more 'Who gives a frack?
Swelling waters rage across the land;
two foot, three, four…water-tantrum’s take their toll;
capturing houses and cars.
The collection grows with every storm.
Tempests wage their war on unsuspecting trees and crops;
limbs whirl about the airways. frantically.
Four legged’s seek the higher ground for, safety’s sake;
hurricane is a non-discriminatory beats;
attacking everyone and everything in its path.
Whirling, swirling wind-tops, cut through land, neighborhoods, cities and forests;
flinging debris like a child throwing a temper-tantrum.
A spoiled brat in a rage.
Land will renew with time, cities will be re-built and birds will populate woods,
forests and parks once again; provided that,
hurricane tantrum does not repeat itself, too soon.
Nature’s children can be fussy and destructive to,
people who upset the natural balance of things.
Everything that exists has a purpose;
from the cockroach to the human.
When each does it’s part, a balance is achieved.
Kill the rats off and the pests that feed off of them;
infect dogs, cats, livestock and even homes.
Frack-crack the earth’s crust-to-the-core and
tectonic plates slide too far;
carcinogens flood water and wetlands;
killing off billions of lives.
Man, mammal, bird and fish…all gone.
Obliterate the trees and you obliterate oxygen;
obliterate oxygen and you…extinguish all life.
The human beast has, an uncanny ability to do as,
they please; never considering the consequences of,
their actions.
It’s so easy to blame nature’s other children for,
human carelessness and mistakes;
Preaching about responsibility while avoiding it.
Click Clack Frick Frack Click Click Clack
I know better than to turn or ever look back
In a foreign land, I try to relax and watch the sights
But if we fly off the rails, God will turn off our lights
Click Clack Frick Frack Click Click Clack
I fish around in my purse and find my brown sack.
There are a couple of crackers, the cheese is all gone.
What if some psychopath has these timbers half sawn?
Click Clack Frick Frack Click Click Clack
The person across the aisle gives her child a whack.
This reminds me of home, as a matter of fact.
I am ready to return; not truthfully a traveling act.
Click Clack Frick Frack Click Click Clack
We are slowing down. Are we there, Jack?
I have to settle back down we aren’t even close.
But the train feels weird, as if I’m being watched by a ghost.
And there the story might have ended
But the bite on Suzanne's thumb
Throbbed and became distended,
'I must say, I feel a little rum',
she said and lay down on her bed,
but as she fell asleep a patch of fur
started growing on her tum.
She slept a light and fitful sleep
Full of strange hypnotic dreams
in which she leapt from branch to branch,
speaking in a stuttering chattering scream.
When she awoke she felt warm and cosy,
her bad dreams had all gone away,
The clear bright light of dawn was rosy,
She was looking forward to the day.
But looking in the mirror her face turned a whiter shade of pale,
for now, coming from her lower back was a thick and bushy tail!
Her two front teeth were now so large they stuck out prominently,
And somehow she was not quite in charge of an urge to act, well, more rodently!
Now instead of inspiring her yoga class
With her incredibly flexible poses,
These days Suzanne is sure to be found
In the park, (only partly obscured by the roses),
Listening intently with her pointy ears for the sound of a poor unwary fella,
that sits down to munch on a nutritious lunch
of sandwiches filled with nutella.
For Cyril had imparted a terrible curse,
He was a ware squirrel you see, man,
and what is worse, his thumb biting curse,
had passed on his populist schtick,
and now she's a big Daily Mail fan!
In her throat comes a lump
at the mention of Donald J Trump,
And austerity, well now she's all for it, ha!,
Let the poor rot in hell,
And the disabled as well,
Katy Hopkins she follows on Twitter,
She's the chair of her local EDL group,
Since she abandoned her candles and crystals,
At night she culls badgers, just for fun, with a whoop,
And owns shares in a frack site near Bristol.
Could this be the end for our white witchy friend?
Can the curse of the ware squirrel be broken?
Fear not dear reader, there's light round the bend,
these few verses are merely a token,
Soon in hushed tones by crusty old crones of a miracle will it be spoken,
how Suzanne the fair, once cursed by a ware
Squirrel was magically spared from this sorry affair
by our old Jedi mate Oby Wan of Conorbyn,
for it 'twas by him that she was awoken.
How ideal to luxuriate
supposed divine right frill
maximizing climate control
with matter of fact bravado
creature comfort pang to fulfill
consequent flagrant portent
to exercise freewill
beware controlled environment
pays hefty bill
cracking heat as
temperature gets chill
cumulative destructive
ecological footprints generated,
thus advisable to swallow
figuratively bitter pill,
herewith suggested
binary/digital quill,
cuz unchecked energy
consumption will
necessitate fossil fuels
subjected to frack and drill
invariably contribute
render moot no rhyme
or reason for Jack and Jill
to hastily clamber uphill
fetching pail of possibly
tainted, ruined, polluted... water
evidenced courtesy eutrophication
algal blooms, decimated krill
aquatic flora and fauna stockstill
meaning... untenable for life
perhaps percolating, spewing, zapping...
seepage from landfill
nsync with detritus
many industries spill,
not necessarily directly
linkedin to cranking thermostat until
warmth ideal for barenaked ladies,
who cavort, frolic,
viz yule eyes imagistic poetic skill
veritably lighting boathouse row
reflections shimmering, scintillating,
glistening off Schuylkill
deceptive brilliant appearance
unsafe toxic drinking water courtesy mill
yens flowing electrons to power
industrial secretes no longer confidential
public knowledge and awareness critical
to stem tide allowing, enabling,
and providing juice to sustain treadmill
ever faster rat race pace of life cozily housing
*****sapiens hermetically sealed against
extreme temperatures,
ye must adapt experiencing chill
bundling layers of clothes -
case in point yours truly,
who also keeps windows ajar
refreshing brisk air lungs to fill.
Alligators break the dark circular water,
later, a guy with a big belly and low belt
will grandstand while throwing half-frozen
chickens at them.
This early I’m still surfacing,
last night my legs got jailed
behind lidless dreams; the back of my neck
tingles now, as old sweat refries itself.
I’m waiting for the ‘man’.
A breeze combs damp hair
while I make-out with a Michelob
inside a soda bottle.
He’ll show-up in sockless Crocs,
baggies bulging
from the pockets of
his camouflage shorts.
I and Frick and Frack over there
fake an interest in the egrets
as the morning sun flickers through
snowy spread out, translucent wings.
The ankle-deep mist rises
revealing clearly
that we are simply here
as another form of park life,
waiting to be fed
one more far-out evening.