Long Frothing Poems
Long Frothing Poems. Below are the most popular long Frothing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frothing poems by poem length and keyword.
EPISODIC POLITICAL MOCKERY
Legislative trials are roaming;
Congressional criminals
Gaining more freedom to re-chain
Our growing liberty:-
Today’s bombed and pre-bombed
Societies and us are becoming
So similar in judicial acts of inequality:-
For us, the Constitution has become
As a stretched rubber band
Of negative jurisprudence—
And in today’s apathetic joyous modernity,
We too, seem to approach a modern-day
Diabolical bombing Civil War situation:-
Remember, all choices have their
Accompanying consequences;
Be they sweet Moonlake-like
Or geyser waterfall-like:-
After today’s extended Breaking News episodes,
I am praying this Just Different poetic prose flow,
Will be of an awareness thought-provoking
Brain-shore frothing consequence:-
A WAVE SPLASHING FLOW OF
WARS, LANDS, SEAS, AND US
Today’s war waves flow;
Oily frothing away lives
And once useless ships:
Soaring ships costing so much
To be replaced and bombed out:-
Today’s warring times
Unanchors old warrior ways
Of making money:-
Not only do gas prices rise,
But also its shipping cost:-
Ocean warring times
Leave much collateral ways
To make land-money:-
Land-money to support the
On land-power mongering:-
On land or the sea,
Political war making
Is about money:
Money to support power;
Not winning equality:-
Just check it all out,
And see what this war has done
To poor you and me:
We do not have equity,
Justice, nor democracy:-
Final awareness:
Oceans have us surrounded;
Ships daily cruising.
Can not warships also cruise,
Right up to our shores as well?
New World Colossus Deception—2015
(Apropos The Sonnet of Emma Lazarus)
In her brazened left hand she holds the tablet year
of her shore’s liberty;
And a raised right lights the weary way to the land
of the brave and free;
But today, blind eyes look out to the wretched skies
and tormenting seas
Where frothing waves and white clouds tease hopes
of fleeing refugees.
No longer are there waiting arms and love
for a roaming, exiled family—
Greeted no longer with silent lips, but with vociferous voices
screaming no
To “…huddled masses…homeless, tempest-tossed…” children
that are to be;
Though they dare, must be aware upon these shore
is nowhere for them to go.
Their religiosity—washed with blood of the innocent—
has no place in this land;
For them and theirs—is no way a true Puritan would ever lend
a helping hand
To welcome their tried tired yearning pregnant hopes
of a new life begun.
No! Hell no! There of those here still waiting for true
and full freedom to be won!
This is the land of the Pilgrim’s pride; land where other
fleeing fathers and mothers died.
This land has only fought wars of peace; there is no place here
for you to peacefully abide.
I'd been sleeping poorly what with my agonies
needed an early morning nap but
at a ratatatat on the front door I jerked awake and
obediently open up, a respectable couple not
this time trying to get me to switch my energy supplier or
join the young communists but
'We're from The Sun'
asking me if I had any thoughts on the 'Love Island House'
Excuse me what
She mentioned a house number and I blearily
glanced across the road at
the house recently painted in blue and pink
mumbling, I really don't care about it
'Could we use your name'
but I'm not deranged enough to give them that, and
It turns out it wasn't the house opposite but further along
beyond my eyeline,
I'd seen it tarted up with lights
seems it's been called out by a disgruntled neighbour
"The house is lit up like a building from Las Vegas"
and The Sun was frothing at the thought
of a Love Island related story and bothered me
Lee Holloway Towers in his fretful slumbers
Not my problem baby and
I will never sleep again
Can I ask you something?
Yeah, sure.
Would you say I’m the tear the clothes off sort of woman.
What sort of clothes are we talking about.
Any clothes.
Does that include that leather jumpsuit.
Apart from the leather jumpsuit, though every other guys managed to get it off.
Maybe they had the instructions.
Or maybe they were just more experienced.
I would be more experienced if I didn’t have to phone your office to book you in for sex.
Is that why Sally was laughing at me.
Was Sally the girl who took my message.
Yes, do you know the embarrassment that caused me.
Sally says she’s got a leather jumpsuit, and she’ll show me how to get it off quick.
Yeah, I just bet she did, they don’t call her SS for nothing.
Are her parents German.
No dummy, she’s a slapper.
That’s not nice, I’m going to her house tonight to practice getting the jumpsuit off quick.
Have you lost your mind, one look at Sally in her underwear, and you’ll be frothing at the mouth.
She’ll not be wearing underwear, seemingly this is how you get it off quick. Sally says after five attempts, I’ll be an expert.
Let me put this to you in a simple language you’ll understand. You go near Sally and I will chop something off you.
Oh, I’m sensing insecurity here. Sally said this would happen.
Right, I’m going into the bedroom, and I’m going to get naked, then I’m going to put the bloody leather jumpsuit on, then you’re going to take it off five times, then we’re going to have sex all over the house.
Better not tell her, Sally said this would happen.
The Bible says "thou shalt not kill"
now proudly join the army lad, and go kill,
come back home, and follow your Bible again.
O middle class, your fathers built your homes
with union help, now disperse those union halls
and happily work for minimum wage, six days a week,
chant bribed politicians working for hidden oligarchs
reaping 100 million dollar bonuses, crowded apartments
will suffice.
O Appalachians, your once proud mountaintops now
miles of desert, debauched by profiteers, unbridled by
regulations written by lobbyists, clothed in frothing
chemicals, drowning your despair in burgeoning liquor
stores.
O beautiful blufflands, along my Mississippi,
I see you now, your royal crowns
decapitated,
your limestone sand greedily slurped by
frac-monster gargoyles wearing saville row suits,
entombed in New York skyscrapers.
O broken occupiers, etch your days in Heaven,
on your jail cell wall.
Truths, all truths, build slowly,
but truth must fight on, for your children's children
will know you tried to save our people and planet!
...we must fight on!
....we will!
TWINED POETIC MOTHERING AND FATHERING
My heart is inditing a good
matter…my tongue is the
pen of a ready writer.
(Psalm 45:1)
I
Poetic Intentions
Sitting here waiting, fogged brain—
Like an anxious womb—craves
Impregnation of creativity:
Pleading the fertilizing genius thereof,
To usher in the seed of the birth
Of the long desired poem:-
It’s soon painfully realized
That poetry is of the nature
Of the sowing mind, deciding
When, how, and indeed, where,
The midwife of revelations will be
Called to monitor delivery:-
The crisis of unawareness cured—
In awareness—I now cheerfully
Ponder in sage contemplation,
As the spirit of the poetic midwife
Soothes my anxious, suffering nature
With the coming joy of poetic parenthood:-
II
Poetic incubation
Here, woodshedding in the cave of self,
My pregnant mind seems to have gone
Into an eerie state of suspended animation;
Leaving excited, wiggling words, kicking
And loudly jumping around, as if they
Where in a kind of drunken stupor:-
And when so aroused, such words seem
To rise and hop onto a roving lexical
Poetic merry-go-round: whorl pooling
And wave frothing towards waiting shores
To be inked and moisturized into awareness
And hydrated sands of beaching enlightenment:-
Poetic minds do not just exist;
Rather, they are living mind-wombs,
Waiting the fertilizations of wordings—
Deeply sown in endometrial cognition—
To be reaped into waiting juicy fruits
Of divine wisdom and navigating guidance:-
The poem is not merely
A mental shot-out ejaculation:-
Rather, it’s the result of spiritual incubation
In the mind’s womb, and when it’s deemed so,
The Creator breaks waters’ flowing poetic blooms:
The man-shed, and she-cave, the mere waiting rooms:-
Rare as each blossom on a tree,
From Watusi tribe unto the Cherokee,
Each member of man's family,
Has their own unique biography.
Rare the nights of burgundy,
That prelude yellow dawn ecstasy!
Green are the fields so summery;
Pink the rose of fragrancy.
Silvery moon most satisfactory,
And stars winking at you and me.
Nature speaks not of equality;
Pale butterfly to grasshopper free.
Deep blue sky and frothing sea,
And colors of the nebulae.
A spectrum of hues, each in harmony,
Is how it was all meant to be.
Redbird red sings a rhapsody,
Pretty bluejay warbles his gaiety.
The sun shines on His Majesty,
As orchards respond fruitfully.
Like a toddler taking maiden steps
The narrow stream moves through the woods
Tripping and falling over pebbles and boulders
Chiming its silver anklets
Drowning the whisper of bamboo leaves
Its sweet murmur falls in my ears
As an eternal living melody
The cosmic song heard over aeons
Forcing itself in irrepressible flow
It thrusts and shoves its way down
Through thickets and a line of ferns
And the tangle of creepers and brambles
As the water sluices down the rocks
It is a frothing braided torrent
Producing a harsh grating roar
Like the crescendo of a tribal symphony
There it forms into a small pool
With its waves gently rippling
Where birds merrily come to take a dip
Refreshed they fly back sunning their wet feathers
Sometimes travelling unseen
It suddenly emerges into the open
Cutting its way through cracks and fissures
Never willing to surrender before hurdles
With a bearing immaculate in grace
It sends out waves of pure delight
What joy it is to watch the dilly dally
Of this sedate pilgrim moving to its destination
July.31.2022
Anything Goes Poetry Contest
Sponsor. Mystic Rose Rose
Love sets our hearts on fire,
not the city.
We abide by the eternal victory
set forth by life’s Word.
We are about the Lord’s business,
not the entanglement of choice,
not the frothing of the masses.
We kiss the feet of Jesus.
We don’t soak our own feet
while we spit hatred to the wind.
We hit our knees, black and blue bruised,
the devil crushed beneath.
Our prayers are real,
not tortuous to our mirrors.
We don’t think ourselves God!
We don’t lean into our every word.
We don’t deliver arrows to the great or weak.
Instead, we beseech the creator of our land.
We are wise as a serpent, harmless as a dove.
Peace is our governance.
We seek it.
We read it.
We live it.
And when we fail, and we do,
we repent and start anew.
Lies are not our gospel,
that is good news.
Pride comes before a fall.
Before you turn your finger outward
you’d best look within your own universe,
thoroughly, completely, no drawing back,
no hiding places. He who is without sin
throw the first stone. Boomerang!
2/24/2021