Long Gobble up Poems
Long Gobble up Poems. Below are the most popular long Gobble up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gobble up poems by poem length and keyword.
I gobble up books of holiness
Hoping to find the clues to demystify this illusory mess
I do believe in my faith, to it I do swear abidance
I do believe in unity, in the fact that all holy doors lead to the same place
But I cannot help getting more and more puzzled about our world
Yes, the more I indulge in it, the more I find it as being so absurd
It seems not to care about our being
It seems to only wish to keep on revolving
See the dead bodies being buried in submissive grief
A sight it is, which does feel as cold as an autumnal shedding leaf
Time, in such a case, much needed and heeded
Is all that is left to hope to being healed
Autumn does give way to Winter
Winter does promise us all, the joys of Spring, the warmth of Summer
Similarly, our scars shall heal
Life, this world, of such, does readily will
But then, I like not life here
Amidst a sea of confusion does it steer
Confusion and un-mindfulness
See, it is bent on being even when it has struck us with distress
Such was how I felt
When I paused and wondered about those vines
Those vines growing on those headstones,
Those vines caring not about that which I lost
Everything has to come and go
I shall someday no more have a shadow
But life shall go on
Yes, on my headstone, life shall go on
On my headstone, life shall say in an uncaring voice
What's gone is meant to be forgotten
Look not at what lay behind
Rather, focus on what lies ahead!
25th September 2016
Contest: Overgrown with Vines
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
There’s no such thing as hunger.
No grasping with tongs.
Like a spidery leg.
Meals.
Not restful, relaxing food.
Jumping beans and spidery baked goods.
Makes me upset like-
There’s a curtain endlessly.
Hunger sadness.
The reaching feeling.
To the top shelf where the cereal lives.
Spiders on top.
Jar of cookies too.
The freezer makes me depressed.
Like lonely iced tingling.
I like to gobble up the leftever ice cubes.
Nothing else.
Nothing else makes me as happy as-
Ice cream.
Scraping.
Tasting.
Hamburgers delight.
Nothing else.
Is like a meal while watching tv.
When she left two weeks ago…
I started eating the sickly leftovers.
Some are mine.
Others have always been.
We sing our sixties folk songs
And live in our Woodstock memories
Dancing to Cher’s Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves,
Hanging on to our excitement at surviving the seventies.
Peace is our sign, with love beads and Go Go boots
Thanks to Nancy Sinatra and “These Boots are Made for Walk’n”.
Don’t squawk, youngster, go your own way. Be you.
Don’t just survive, thrive! Live your soul dream.
Take this guitar and travel the world. Take Route 66.
Here are the keys to my Chrysler. Sure she’s old, but she’s powerful.
Singing “Little Ole Lady from Pasadena” with Grandma is not enough.
You have to get out there and live. Your life is waiting!
Destiny is sending you a cookie cake. Gobble up those chocolate chips.
Like Auntie Mame said, “Life is a banquet,
and most suckers are starving to death”.
Don’t let it be you. Go out and grab your gusto.
Parade in your pizzazz.
Be your most delightful and delectable you! Live your ethereal truth, my friend!
Gold Leaf
Gold leaf frescoes on a church wall are very lovely
Saints and angels on display at a pretty price
Just outside, mold takes over, clings to surfaces, settles
Poor people float inside like famished spirits
Transformed with tarnished shoes and souls
They see the glow of heaven at their heels
Marbled floors and altered states of grace
Collection baskets fly by, gobble up dollars
More gold leaf is needed
Walls must be fed
Outside mold clings and grows
Ivy also, on the ancient structure, very pretty
Gold leaf comes at a glowing cost
Lovely frescoes, angels and a cross
The priest promises to feed the congregation
Perhaps next season
Hunger must wait, we understand
More money is needed immediately
Gold leaf angels are more than mysteries
They are financial emergencies, for gold leaf frescoes
Solid gray skies
Over daylilies trying to bloom
Several different species so colorful
Open only a day, live life to the fullest
What have I done with my nearly 29,151 days
Birds fly in
Mostly to feed from birdseeds
The feeders need a refill so they can eat
Those birds usually fly in, overfill before a rain
Another day of possible showers so they have to eat
Fresh seed put out
Mockingbirds zoom across flowerbeds
Land, catch a bug, zoom out
Another mockingbird lands on the cement
Bobbles along like a roadrunner
Redbirds flock in
Hit the red feeder that matches his color, perfect camouflage
Boy, he is eating gourmet food
From the buffet
Rakes out what he doesn't like
Sparrows fly in
Feast upon the discarded seed
That landed upon the cement
They gobble up those small seeds
Fill up in just a small amount of time
Female red cardinal
Flies in and lands on a wood feeder, aged, grayed with time
It seems to match her color perfectly
She is harder to see since she blends in
She fills up and flies away
Amazing
No susurrus in the pines
No crows cawing all the time
Just the symphony of songbirds tickling my ears
And the cymbals clanging out woodpecker's notes
A few minutes out on the porch
How it makes my day
Now a zephyr begins to move
Stirring the asparagus and spirea
Wow! A break in the clouds.
The sunlight beams
Casting its morning light
Across my wildest dreams
A flower garden with more plants
To feed the birds, bees and butterflies
Thank you
God for your creation
For your gift of flowers
A mixture of clouds, rain and sunshine
All of life upon this earth
Cabal’s Cantankerous Carnival
Carefully they plot the final climax before midnight falls at summer tides
Anticipate what is brewing in the potty vessel of self-righteous ritual
Bellow the fire smack lips full of distasteful belief in merits of power
Add aroma with relish spice up grubby gruel grab ingest and deliver
Lust for confluence of mouth-watering dishes served with a price
Surrender humanity on their quest for more greed more consumption
Clearly man must eat and woman must feed gobble up nourishment
Altars stand tall but Lucifer serves no reminder of Satan’s crooked flesh
Resolution and resilience to international cuisine quite a chart on the menu
No mind is an island but with the right spoon they rule currents and water
Incriminate ingredients when the chief potboiler stirs oil limbo and stench
‘Virtue’ they shout ‘Pursuit of Happy Homicide’ ‘Survival of Fattest Egos’ Might'
A potent mixture emerges when eye balls turn jelly when brains overcook
Let us consider whether gluttonous carnage remains cannibalism at heart
29th 06 2018
Once upon a time...
The story now says,
Happy moments rhyme
Warm feelings this way.
Beauty in a cake:
Chocolate ganache,
Fiesta in a bake
With clever panache.
Feel your taste buds speak:
In wonder's surprise,
Mouth feel greets fond peak
In flavours so nice.
Word of mouth reviews:
Treasure this fine bake,
If Michelin knew
Your chocolate cake!
A fond recipe:
Ann's chocolate cake,
Thick ganache funds spree,
A generous take!
A mix optimal:
In premium fashion,
So phenomenal,
Worthy of mention.
With this fine ganache,
A sure ecstasy,
Gobble up panache,
Happy meets easy!
A flash of delight:
Ever magnetic,
Devotion highlights
Finesse dramatic!
Once in a grand while:
In breezy fashion,
A cake styles fond smiles
In sheer attraction!
Add more than enough
Secret ingredient,
Yes a special stuff
To bring heart radiance.
Money cannot buy
What the heart now knows,
Here's to eating highs
To make your soul glow!
Leon Enriquez
18 April 2017
Singapore
When I am on a crowded train
I’d freak out, guaranteed,
Unless I had a magazine
Or book with me to read.
I tune out all the body parts
That press against my own;
And I am in my reading world,
In which I am alone.
I focus on the written words
And gobble up each story;
By doing so, I can ignore
Surrounding territory.
I catch a glimpse though, now and then,
And always am amazed
At people who just sit, with their
Expressions slack and glazed.
To me, my subway reading
Is both calming and required;
I get to where I’m going
With some knowledge I’ve acquired.
And best of all, my mind has been
Completely occupied,
So I could not obsess
On all the ways I could have died!
November water somber black
Runs under haunted houses down the block
Moving through the shallow aqueducts
Poisoning shadows, contaminated, liquefied
Red bricks cling to deposits rank decay
Waters feed on foundations on limestone rocks
Down there to etch the center of the soul
Sinkholes gobble up the ground
Houses draw their own conclusions, shatter
Take men down as well in fear, in sin with malice
Expire as the lungs fill up with sediment
Only silent water knows the hour
There are no tombstones by the sinkhole graves
Silent meanderings, black water, somber wet
Continue down beneath the street
Gravity of the matter takes on meaning; holds
Sidewalks are known to walk alone
When sink holes take your home
She smiles like a mission statement—
all vision boards and decaf compassion.
Says she’s rooting for you,
then plants rumors like heirloom tomatoes:
carefully spaced, watered just enough
to grow wild in someone else’s yard.
You know the type.
Squeals I'd never
right before she does—
but soft, with mittens on.
The kind of sabotage that
leaves no fingerprints,
just your name
smudged under a headline
she pretends not to read.
It's embarrassing.
She curates concern like a lifestyle blog.
Screenshots your grief as hers
for group chat empathy drills.
Leaves the door open on purpose,
then texts you
how sorry she is
that someone let the cold in.
You never asked her to stay.
But you notice—
she always stands in the same frame,
just close enough
to gobble up the good lighting,
to crop you out.