Long Hogging Poems
Long Hogging Poems. Below are the most popular long Hogging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hogging poems by poem length and keyword.
(Innuendo -- Pigs)
All around are sticks and stone
Feel God's loving arms around you
-----At last, I am redeemed-----
A feast of my soul, you shall receive
A cake for dinner, I made out of stones
Ratchet pigs fill their dirty mouths,
Consuming my soul, sipping on champagne
At peace with myself, brushing off the walls
Nevertheless, tonight they speak in tongues
-I strain my ears to listen;
While pettitoes approach my page
I hear the squeals, I hear the chit chat
from he/she that wears no shame.
Am I she, the evil one?
The one you penned -
Under the influence of manipulation
Trying to stifle my voice of beauty
No matter, I am crazy, a dreamer
Never claim to be THE INNOCENT,
The Poet Destroyer!!!
I ignore the walls when they speak
Nevertheless, tonight they have eyes
They watch my every move
A trotters dance, of togetherness
Forgetting the reason we are here
I will win and conquer my privacy
You can't destroy what you can't see
I am the glory of my day
I am God's pet!!!
A Lamb, wearing white
To others a wolf in disguise
Spitting slithers, swear
I am the Devil's Advocate
I marvel how they snort at night
Today I will crash the sore whispering party
You! My friend, no longer exist
You are naught more than cobwebs
You will dream about me, write about me
I will give you ammo, then read it from you.
I will show you what a demon is!
Like the light and envy of every moon
I shall ask my reflection and remove
the residue from hogging lips.
I will watch you urbane the truth
The heat and lust I conquer from you
A font with no reflection, dating apples
Heading away from its own advice
A hard task from its quill, enjoying leftovers
Pinpointing fingers among shallow dreams
It's sickening to see pigs pat each others back
Feeding on my demonic words
Convoying innuendos in my bearing
Now it's my turn, to turn the roaster on
With no interest in removing muddy sheets
I shall smile and walk away
In - joy - my heart beats and smiles
Knowing, I made you look --- AGAIN!!!
By: PD
Life as we know it makes no sense if we have no choice
So what is the alternative and do we have a voice ?
The world is spinning out of control with violence and death all around
And the Republican presidential candidate is a racist media hogging clown
Everything is off kilter and while I sit and contemplate
What is my alternative and what will be my fate?
How do I sing songs of joy when chaos is on the rise?
How do I survive a Babylonian society and keep my eyes on God's prize?
In the midst of perversity and immoral behavior
My only alternative is to stay connected to Jesus my Savior
When I see a white man kill nine African Americans in a church
And after arrested given a bullet proof vest
Yet when an ex-military black man kills five white cops
He's blown up I feel such unrest
Over the injustice and the inequality that is occurring every day
Over 123 black men killed this year what more is there to say
What is the alternative? What is it that we need to do?
What is the alternative? As a nation we need to seek truth
I don't condone Mr. Johnson's behavior
but I understand where he's coming from
Too many young unarmed black brothers
Killed by white police guns
So what is the alternative?
What as a nation do we realize?
That racism is alive and well and killing blacks is on the rise
What is the alternative?
How do we bring about true change?
It's time for white Americans to stop acting like we're deranged
We are Americans too my people have been here over 400 years
Yes we were once slaves but let me make this clear
We are no longer your property
We are no longer your chattel
Stop killing and slaughtering my people
Like they're mindless cattle
So what is the alternative?
It's time we all develop a true relationship with God
And hopefully be infused with a Christlike love
And true compassion in out hearts
THAT IS THE ALTERNATIVE
My life was in shambles
But then I discovered.
I couldn't get over her
My heart had to recover.
My days were filled with sadness
My life was in ruins.
I couldn't do anything right
I had no idea what I was doing.
The days seemed to get longer
They just didn't end.
Life got so hard without
My soulmate & best friend.
The nights were even worse
I couldn't get any rest.
I missed my wife, with her cover-hogging self
& her sweet caress.
I couldn't concentrate
I had too much heartache.
My heart was hurting too much
It was too much to take.
My eyes were red
From all the crying I had done.
My soul became empty
I withdrew from everyone.
My family reached out to me
But I too far gone.
I contemplated suicide
I had no will to go on.
My children worried about their father.
Why is he acting this way?
Their innocence couldn't comprehend
Why I was in such disaray.
The few friends I had called
& I didn't answer.
This heartache I was dealing with
Was an emotional cancer.
I finally had an epiphany
I knew what I had to do.
I had to get her out of my mind
& come to grips that we were through.
I prayed for understanding
& for inner peace.
The Lord heard my prayers
& this heartache was released.
He gave me a new strength
That I never knew I had.
God made me realize
That my life isn't so bad.
He took away the dark cloud
That had consumed my soul.
He gave me a new way of thinking
Gave me more control.
He took the frown away
That was on my face.
He replaced it with a smile
Because now I live in his grace.
He knew my love for her was real
He knows I'll always love her.
But God's kept me sane
& he's helping my heart recover.
Wow, we have artists acting as if they are politicians,
Grappling with the facts just to try and get a kick in,
Listening to the style like damn that dude just fell off,
**** making me so sick, think I'm developing a crap cough,
When Hollywood is hiding rapists to protect them from you and I,
And then act like we're all racists who want everyone to die,
I know a lot of people who've leaned down and drawn a line,
Well I stand proud on this side, yeah I think I'll be just fine,
Social justice warrior or social justice actor?
You seem to think our differences should be the only factor,
A melting pot? Well maybe not, when race is always in our face,
Hogging all our thoughts making us all seem out of place,
Now, I'm not promoting prejudice and I never have or would,
So if you call me a racist I'm afraid you misunderstood,
I don't like labels assigned to people for a certain point of view,
If it's a separation thing I'm separating me from you,
So gather round and take a seat, I'm staging a little meet and greet,
My name is Eric and I have an opinion,
It is all my own, I'm nobodies minion,
Or anyone's henchmen or a goddamn lynchmen,
Like I've said I'm just a dad protecting my family,
Just worried about society and the division our future will see, if we keep up this hypocrisy.
I'll leave you with this: let's stop all the violence and I'm not talking about the speeches,
Through all of this destruction think of the ignorance it teaches,
Until what you claim to be against is what you are spreading,
With each act of violence where is this world really heading.
It is the singing bird.
It is the yellowing pages of old books gathering dust;
It is hot bread.
It is the sun, our beautiful laughs, and forgotten past.
It is the sunflowers, and the grace with which they move.
It is their quiet slumber at the end of day and the ease with which they rise in the morning.
It is the butterfly, perhaps more it than the cocoon.
It is in the way bees make more honey than they do sting.
It is a baby’s first cry,
It is the song on the Sunday radio,
It is the man on the corner tugging on his guitar, paid in half-eaten pies.
It is the humble transitions of humanity.
It is the first time a songbird leaves the nest,
Majestic in both music and flight.
It is the bird’s first injured wing that commands its best.
It is the first war that we must fight:
To profit. To conquer.
To service another man’s politics with all our righteousness, our rage,
our might,
To never see the burning huts, wailing kids, and men of the cloth
hogging tithes.
It is the caged bird.
It is the cocoon, perhaps more it than the butterfly.
It is our barbaric ways and bondage for the crumbs of cold bread.
It is a man’s final breath and the earth under which he lies.
It is evil.
It is children assembling weapons in bathtubs.
It is the man that fears his own kind because he is more dung than beetle.
It is the man that expects condemnation, like babies in mosh clubs:
It is gunpowder,
It is old people, it’s brittle bones and firepower.
It is love, it’s buckets of bullets, babies and bombs in asylums and hotels.
It is us, and our gospel.
There once was a land
they called Beautiful Tree
the best of the lands
where the birds want to be
Then, there were only
the Cards and the Jays
no other birds had yet
flown in to stay
Nesting in groups
with a thickness of thieves
the flocks ever growing
outnumbered the leaves
Soon there was pecking
each with their order
defending their branches
defining their borders
Then one day the Cards
took control of the place
changing the rules
at a blistering pace
The Jay's were disheartened
and flustered, they flittered
their soaring blue skies
ever darkened with twitter
The Jays still believed
they could all live as one
but if ever to be
something had to be done
Yet try as they may
and with all of their might
the Jays gentle spirits
weren't up to the fight
Watching the Cards
taking care of their own
hogging the tree
with their true colors shown
Consumed by their greed
and driven by pride
hoarding resources
as new fledglings died
With no other enemies
left to declare
they turned on each other
defiant to share
The Jays knew the secret
for them to survive
was joining together
so all birds could thrive
The Cards stacked the deck
to their utter demise
as the powerful peeps
of the Jays would arise
Singing so sweetly
in harmonic rhyme
even the Cards
were found singing in time
Soon to return
to their Beautiful Tree
ready to cleanup
the mess there would be
Once again living
a life less absurd
Isn't this Beautiful Tree
for the birds?
-Jeannie Minor
The deputy of this small town
enjoys flashing his police car lights
down main street,
in the evening, on Saturday nights
Like a one car parade on Easter Sunday
He loves Boss hogging people around;
being a big shot rural tin badge,
who only has the respect of his closest friends
Most local citizens have known him
since he was a little boy
He always walked with a swagger,
having a toy pistol hanging from his waist
Granted dumb luck in life,
chance meeting his wealthy wife
Caught her on the rebound,
when her marriage had crumbled
Opportunistic fella that he was,
he acted all sweet and humble
Melted her heart ... married her quick
You know how the rest goes,
the whole Hollywood story bit
Had her rich daddy give him his dream job,
working under the legendary town sheriff
Now deputy hates having to fetch the bone,
being told what to do by the aging law man
Deputy broods daily, his thoughts drifting wrong
Saying to himself it won't be long,
because the sheriff is old
It's gonna be his town soon,
and it's gonna be run
like a proper, hell-raising saloon
Rowdy weekends will be bringing in big revenues,
shaking down city folk is gonna set him up nice for life
They might even build a statue of him,
that would be alright
But first things first: ain't no deals gonna be done in his town,
unless they cut him in on the price
Deputy Do Wrong
has himself big plans
Deputy got ideas of doing more wrong ...
and everybody that pass through his town
is gonna be fetching the bone
A world without banter,
Would be sad one to encounter,
With spades called by their proper name,
Sitting in an Isle of shame,
While the holier than thou,
Tell us banter between friends is not cool now.
I feel for those who have never engaged in a little friendly banter,
As experience tells me it is hard to find friends that matter,
Without a little banter,
Those who call a spade a spade,
Would be greatly dismayed,
To be labelled ,
And libelled,
When banter is taken out of context,
And asking what is next,
For those who can read context,
Better than most read text.
Those who think banter has run its time,
And those who practice it have had their time,
Should ask themselves, whether a meaningless platitude,
Or some banter from a true friend will be cause for more gratitude,
When one is suffering a heartfelt loss,
And no longer give a toss.
I have recently been watching re-runs of Murphy Brown,
And her portrayal of someone who refuses to let breast cancer
keep them down,
With bouts of friendly banter,
Hogging the chatter
Between friends,
Who were fresh out of platitudes.
We should be grateful that some have that attitude,
And still see a place for banter,
In a world where few call a spade a spade,
And calls are out of context,
About Friendships that are complex,
Yet are a joy to behold,
For those who can put judgement on hold.
The big turtle of Galapagos.
Turtles, in general, are not good at communicating
with anyone, at least those odd figures who talk
a lot and sometimes sing
The big turtle of the Galapagos does remember
when a big storm had blown over the world and
many ships had run ashore on the island
She had been ashore laying egg in a hollow and
when she emerged, her way to the ocean was blocked
by broken ships, big chests sailors used to carry
around since they had no shells
He appeared in front of her, a man in linen trousers
said he would help her and began clearing the beach, talking at the same time as humans tend to do
His name was Carlos Hamsun, and he wore linen
trousers and matching shirt, since he was alone and
had no servant, his trousers were rather dirty
Nothing much happens in a turtle's life, but when
something happens, it remembers like having a picture taken, a photo that never fades
Since she had spent years when not laying
eggs, there was not much to tell, that is why
she remembered
Carlos Hamsun, humans have bad memories and needs
individual name, especially now with so many
tourist hogging the beach, making it difficult find
a suitable hollow to lay eggs.
Not that she lays eggs anymore, but she likes to go ashore
dig a hole and rest a bit, which is not easy now that
a bloody zoologist has made her famous
I’m roused from precious sleep, instantly alert.
Listening for you.
It's a skill all mothers master,
flipping the switch from asleep to awake.
I remember when sleep was an ocean,
endless depths of waves and dreams.
Tranquil, restful, lovely.
Now sleep is fragmented,
like a shallow puddle often stirred by little feet.
You can’t help but splash through it.
And I don’t mind. Most of the time.
Sure enough, the door creaks
and tiny footsteps patter across the floor.
You stop beside the bed,
thumb firmly in your mouth.
Itty Bitty Bunny tucked lovingly under one arm.
Your blond hair looks almost blue in the dark,
sticking to your sleepy face.
I lift you into bed,
half-noticing you feel heavier.
You're getting bigger every day.
No longer my baby, but always my baby.
You nestle into my side,
pulling on the blanket, hogging the pillow.
Your breathing is already steady,
and I know you feel so safe
tucked against your mom.
How I love being your mom!
My body is so tired, but my mind is so awake.
I’m not ready for sleep to pull the curtain across this moment.
You’re a ball of heat beside me,
a source of warmth – the greatest comfort
in a world growing so cold.
I’ll take fragments of sleep, always,
in exchange for these moments.
And you can have the tranquil ocean,
dreaming sweet dreams
for you and for me.