Long Inflate Poems
Long Inflate Poems. Below are the most popular long Inflate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inflate poems by poem length and keyword.
this middle aged rue stirring bummer
haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal en fold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold
the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19*** zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,
how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed
despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs n'er fro zen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, i still got ten
soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,
whose excite (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching from the lizard king.
This Spring Equinox (i.e. man date:
12:15 PM Tuesday,
March twentieth two thousand eighteen)
doth rejuvenate
inviolable hibernating animals
and plants, and me equate
to experience sensation,
whereby entire being does inflate
and (despite marital status),
nonetheless envisions another gal asthma mate
no...no...no...please do not think this chap
mean spirited and under rate
the woman (at present taking a siesta,
and i breathe easy),
who oft times doth henpeck, a trait
inherited many a chic hen
(with tantalizing tail feathers)
now (until she awakens)
proscribing yours truly to wait
for my repast most likely ad hoc
moist ideal for any nerdy kid to knock
senseless, the worst facet of self important jock
consisting of pop slop mock
Hungarian Goulash, a melange
of relics from age old meals
transformed into a petrified sawed little rock.
Your Elysian Killing Fields-
Your soul, my Love,
is the pristine gilded white,
that cascades down from Heaven's summit.
A river that fills me, a dry riverbed,
with your milk and honey.
Your current carrying me along,
to your eternity.
Eternally, flowing along,
your emotional streams,
towards your heart's tributary.
A maelstrom of passion,
pulling me down into your pools,
solitary actions.
In solitary enormity, destiny-adjoining.
You are my clandestine pulse-
that regulates my being,
with sacred verse.
You are the specter in my blood.
The scepter of my throne,
With you I can believe, in anything,
except for being alone.
Anything, everything you do.
Winds around me as a grapevine, entertwining.
The seduction to drink from your cup.
The ambrosial wine, your overflowing,
flowing into me.
Your passionate canvas calls to me,
to sculpt in its delicate flowering.
In hungered heaves,
when your rib cage expands.
Anticipating,
your Dove's-wanting to be freed.
Only, by my hand.
Free as the flame's flare,
the burning, consuming.
As I stare into you,
feeling your Crimson Fires, there.
Feeling as though, stalked prey.
In your Elysian Killing Fields.
Euphoria in sway,
atop your succubant meal.
My fate's threshold, crossed and sealed.
Helpless to your Impish ways.
I remain held, by your captivating allure.
The intoxicating poison of your capture.
Poison of your angelic tainting,
that runs through me,
clouding evermore.
The Conductor of the chemicals within me.
You entrench, your surrounding,
that abounds around me.
The Ballerina of the Little Death.
In sourcery, comes,
seduction's breath-The dance- of the seven veils.
Perpetual, into hunger's ballet,
which permeates, the skin,
burroughing its ethereal entrails.
You're always a puzzle,
a timeless wonder,
always to be.
The first of my needs.
If you turned to be the Devil's Daughter.
I fear he would have me, indeed.
My Love, the other part of me.
With this dream-
I pledge my Love to thee.
Yes, you are the ghost within my wings.
I am a phoenix rising from the sea.
Bring me out into your spring.
where I will drown,
in your farthest reaches.
Life to me, you will endlessly be instrumental in, as the Lords revival brings.
The Elite warrioress from Elysia to
Elate me, inflate me to Life from my dreams.
Executive- My powers are absolute,
thus I am totalitarian.
The legislature and judiciary
are each subservient to my whims.
I pass my bills with attendant
compliance, and interpret my own
terms as the law.
I shut the doors of compassion,
I am very deeply elusive.
I give no room at all to dissent.
I get bloated with the treasures of the nation.
In a leap year's tenure I bulldoze
my way back to my incumbent status.
And when four multiplies two, I impose
a minion to cover my ills.
Legislature- To obnoxious decrees I give my consent.
I inflate yearly forecasts to become opulent.
I am gratified for the cabinet servants' affirmation.
I always my selfish treaties ratify.
I am undoubtedly slavish to executive excesses.
I seek the redress of constituents' grievances
to enlarge my pocket's size.
And above all else, I am largely rubber stamp.
Judiciary- My evasive justice is yours' to reap
if you are a top notch,
whilst I withdraw the distributive
and restorative from insolvents.
I base my interpretations on business
interests,
and make laws for the interests of
a cabal.
Equity and rights are only in my
constitution stated.
But in reality they are no more
than abstract twins.
The sacred laws of our national prospectus
I serve as a weak custodian of,
and weaker still in the face of political
heavyweights.
But with all the lofty responsibilities
I am reverently saddled with,
I can do nothing more than
empower bigwigs because I am weak,
and they are powerful.
I try to describe my self,
To ascertain who I actually am.
To uplift the self,
I finally have to give a damn.
I always wished to pen,
Just didn’t know as to when,
And how to ascertain,
A shot that’s nowhere to end.
Wow! I am this,
Oh! Why don’t I know that!
Yipee! I have it,
Grrrr! Why can’t I try that.
I wanted to be free,
I wished I had a special she.
But all would be in a spree,
Once you get a money-tree.
But ain’t I got one in the yard,
So better I, now again, work hard,
Since that’s how I can make it that far,
To transform my life into a beautiful card.
Then I planned a lot,
But t’was the following that I did not.
Yet always I wanted to crack the pot,
On the first shot,
At the very spot.
What I forgot,
Was to plan a plot,
That targets a dot,
On the pot,
For the shot.
I dreamt of many a thing,
But ain’t I got nothing,
Wonder why???
Well that’s obvious unless you try.
Within I tried to inculcate,
The passion and spirit to fight.
But long did I wait,
The fire failed to ignite.
There were times when I cried,
Somehow wished someone by my side,
Off my heart, tears continued to slide,
But never I let them to my eye,
T’was then I realized,
For none wait the time and tide.
Life to some is a cage,
To some an empty page,
And to many, about wage,
But to me……it’s a big stage,
Where you got to perform,
With and all your form,
So as to leave a mark,
For the later age,
One that’s never to be erased.
In my note,
On every page,
I try to quote,
With all my rage,
In pursuit to control my age,
And free the self from all bondage.
So from everyone did I brush aside,
And finally chose to decide,
To get rid of my conflicting side,
Of my heart, I made a divide,
And individualized every side,
Then, finally, I chose to fly,
With a side,
That would get me high.
As such, I resolved,
Before life’s dissolved,
To use my reynold,
And get the self evolved.
Now a balloon I inflate,
With the smoke from fire that isn’t so bright,
But believe that’s enough for my initial flight,
Coz am …….determined to FIGHTTTT.
Form:
Compared with us, the kids today
Too little play and too much weigh.
Alone indoors they snack and sit
And buttons hit, while we stayed fit.
We'd quickly chores and homework do,
Then dash through doors to fun pursue,
To basketballs and arrows shoot,
To jump with ropes, and footballs boot.
We'd earthworms dig for fishing bait,
On scooters glide, and roller skate.
We'd hopscotch, seesaw, chase. and swing
And boomerangs and frisbees fling.
We'd tackle, dribble, leap, and throw.
We'd tunnel through and shovel snow.
In haystacks dive and wagons ride,
On ice and into bases slide.
We'd whittle wood and baskets weave
And pennies pitch and horseshoes heave.
We'd yank the strings so tops would spin,
When wrestling, try to shoulders pin.
We'd kindling fetch and firewood chop,
Inflate balloons to later pop,
Sink numbered balls in billiard halls,
And topple pins with bowling balls.
We'd weekly swim at downtown Y,
Our kites and model airplanes fly,
We'd darts and putts and marbles aim,
With lens or flint set twigs aflame.
We'd sneak beneath the sideshow tents,
Climb ropes and poles and chain link fence.
We'd hike and camp with scouting troops,
Rotate our hips in hula hoops.
We garden weeded, hosed, and tilled,
We'd soap box car and treehouse build,
At picnics joined the tug-of-war,
And barefoot romp when rain would pour.
We raced on stilts and pogo sticks,
Made pies of mud, our pets taught tricks,
Were paper, pin, and altar boys,
Ignored complaints of too much noise.
For caddie tips, we'd golf bags lug;
To jukebox records, jitterbug.
We'd carpets beat, played kick-the-can,
Collected rocks, and errands ran.
To school and back on foot we tread,
Down steepest hills and alleys sled,
Played pitch-and-catch in yard with Dad,
Pushed mower that no motor had.
We'd rake the leaves and chestnuts crack
And toddlers carry piggyback.
With feather pillows fight in bed,
Our cap guns fire, and fall down dead.
We'd wildly flail at punching bag
And batted balls and passes snag.
We'd zig and zag, avoiding tag,
Till tuckered out, we'd homeward drag.
No trophies or applause we'd get.
Our play was real, not internet.
To kids today, I this advise:
Get off your butts and exercise!
Joseph Robinette Biden
now commander in chief yay
manning ship of state
tossing anchors aweigh
heavily pierced tattooed
donning sheepish pirate(s)
at heady roiling waterway
fending off trolling rapscallion
much more thrilling
than watching cabaret
January twenty first two thousand
twenty one marks his first full day
wherein Oval Office finally
flushed, ousted, and zapped,
whose paternal ancestry
begat genealogical linkedin émigré
name unknown, nevertheless
one Johann Trump born within
Bobenheim am Berg, a village
in Palatinate, Germany circa 1789
moved to nearby village of Kallstadt
where his grandson, Friedrich Trump,
the grandfather of Donald Trump,
born in 1869 gamboled
upon grassy fairway
whereby grandson notorious
to grandstand and gainsay,
but especially renowned
windblown coiffure
kept intact courtesy "fake" hairspray
said product he did fulminate
against and inveigh,
cuz he envied (as does yours truly)
the trademark thatch sported by J.F.K.
At long last, a stalwart adept candidate
unwittingly saddled
with onerous figurative freight
COVID-19, homelessness, joblessness
sober statistics impossible mission to inflate,
whose physique slender and lightweight
boot pulleys and levers of power
he quite savvily can operate
personable and suave demeanor doth resonate
allowing, enabling, and providing
law and order to materialize,
and accomplishments downplayed
(unlike previous commander in chief)
whose braggadocio would never underrate.
Concern still prevails
regarding that woman user
egging fascistic paramilitary
white supremacist ilk
twittering as a digital schmoozer
hell bent on sowing anarchy,
cuz other Democratic contestant
did not defeat
soured at prospect their man beat
(him - who shall not be named again
ranks as a sore loser)
nevertheless, an oafish shill bruiser.
If prognostications allowed me,
at bedtime, when a supine American,
one garden variety and generic
sleepy Joe among madding crowd
will experience glee
at prospective buoyancy, decency,
fraternity, harmony, jollity, levity,
nobility, prosperity, serenity, tranquility...
wishing no ill will toward
former forty sixth president.
images are slow to fade, where did they go? why were they here?
pensive pen and ink, a gentle man of measure
pipe-smoke wafting cool blue persevering pleasure
cartoon humour designed with careful modest pride
arm-in-arm soothing his war-time petulant bride
oft-wiped canvas, woodland, moody misty scene
roaming through pale paintings where her lost man has been
merging ever always their special being; are they still near?
old parental faces time-spun and woven under my skin
memories upon memories, changing I, changing me
stories upon stories pile up, changing they, changing we
falsehood flailing, transition, turbulent knowing
transcendence, my mind, your mind, all minds are growing
we are mid-paced sampled brethren, thinking anew
significance in what we say and what we do
personalities on kindred journeys beyond kith and kin
kick string-strung corporeal cans down the celestial street
where the multi-dimensional membranes quiver
where energy swims across the quantum river
where slow light-speed traverses the nebula face
where superpositions collapse with certain grace
where fine bits of information feedback feeling
where negentropy out-runs chaotic dealing
pick soulful sounding song, counter-rhythmic orchestral beat
sprung from the fundament, nothing always trumped by something
prime numbers inflate unfolding untold troubles
universal endurance, containment bubbles
pushing, pulling fields, filaments of flexing shape
veils warp and wrap around a wily cosmo-scape
intelligent infant guises, gaining in-sight
impressions crossing chasms to inform the night
lives on holographic film, many melodies to sing
I hear them now, voices blending the chords of man and wife
I feel their presence, though they are forever changed
I know they are transformed, molecules rearranged
I share their warm substance, two people that mattered
I care for their essence, they will not be scattered
I record them in words, the library of thoughts
I sense they are near and far, few and many noughts
I am listening out for them on the other side of life
(alternately christened great insight
to those who Braille)
Ah.... so glad thee did ask
summoning poetic title
tis most daunting task
if lucky forthcoming praise
will yours truly to bask
and bathe with short lived,
while I quaff vintage
amber liquids out the
golden silver made flask.
Utter exhaustion taxes me
fifty shades of gray matter
while trying to grasp just
one measly idea amidst
all that scatter
to and fro hither and yon
analogous to mire and muck
that doth splatter
courtesy nasty driver
mad as a hatter.
Yours truly scrunches his brow
in an effort to provide,
enable and allow
gamut of meaty notions,
when finally satisfied utter holy cow,
mama mia, eureka, aha... ejaculate
(hoop fully not premature),
cuz arduous effort analogous
to navigating dhow
sailing frothy, choppy, angry... seas
until sudden (b)rain storm doth endow
sudden burst of inspiration
compelling necessary thrust to plow
ahead and expound therein how
so ever dictates of spontaneity now
let me smoothly coast along
offering scant obeisance, thou
divine fabulous intervention,
hence I feebly kowtow
despite covenant, viz devout atheist
nonetheless puzzled what activates
hitting me figurative pow
similar to Batman disabling enemy,
temporarily speechless disbelief
merely summoning wow.
Much time yours truly doth calibrate
what seems bajillion years I agitate
sitting days, weeks, months...
in an effort to nearly ready to abdicate
and disappoint countless followers
thus, this wordsmith doth dedicate
a section of this battlefield... before to late
(think Gettysburg Address)
no matter minuscule chance fate
will find mine path crossing
unknown online respondent(s),
whose feedback doth inflate
inestimable self confidence (ha)
generally held in check modesty sedate
even when praised in person, I emanate
introspective mien downplaying
genetic and/or environmental factors
wherever talent did originate
cobbling words together arose
courtesy this bookworm
doth really associate
predilection to hash out poem.
A Spiritual Quest
Through a lazy river bend just suppose...
A bent whinding effect as soon will go,
In caged fury of context in distant gloss
With poor in somen contemplation & frost
We aill make the mends for the survival of its fullest
To cherish a red rose that was plucked a time ago,
The knock on the door that will inflate my ego...
Yet instead shelter lies dormant amidst its call
Many having negate reality will often stare at the wall
Still today there is something stirring in the wind
With just a spiritual test by which to humbly depend...
A solders threat is quite imperative to digest
Through slight whimsical myre as a stranger would taunt
From a far one would soon revisit its inner habitation
A spiritual quest in vested restitution
As a climatic spiritual departure,
A heart must be aligned then saturated with truth
This is a sure fire way to withstand the truest test in time
A spiritual quest toward entering eternal rest lest I shall confess
Through long lines with tense adversity
The heart still vegetates in want for more...
Such as a will for power in its vested store,
With a truckload of fury yet why should we ever worry..
Yet still why is everyone today in such a bit of hurry,
Such as the flight of the Albatross
With wings span over twelve feet wide
To surrender to nature's testing side
In reaching light atmosphere in flight
Soaring ever higher to vast peaks unknown.
It narrows its gait in place of fate
The flight of the Albatross on its specific date
Through its perilous encounter through the sky
Down below a lonely butterfly takes part in the journey
We can see through a tinted shade of flurry our destiny
The ellaborate sounds of natures call lay hidden
Yet still the flight of the Albatross takes flight!
It's particular journey is for certain...
Through vast vanquished path of resistance sway
In marginal callous through its covetted vibrant way
Overhead shadows in tyranny
The flight of the Albatross on its merry journey
Eulogies are beautiful things in the way that many counterfeit things can be beautiful; in the way that deception so expertly executed can be so breathtakingly perfect; in the way that a fist sized cubic zirconia shines so brilliantly under artificial light to an uneducated eye. When it comes to death, people lie. We polish people. We inflate them to be great pillars of the community, concrete in their indelible mark on society because it is universally accepted that an ugly truth, with regard to both life and death, is more regrettable than a well intentioned lie. But I say don't paint over me. Let me be the sandpaper rag that no matter how hard I try, I cant make anything shine. Let my eulogy say:
*she hated celery, jazz and bandaids; didn't understand truffles, caviar and the Beatles; she abhorred people but loved "It's Raining Men," potatoes and dogs.
*she ate her words as easily as she ate her feelings
*she was at her worst most of the time, but she tried. She COULD be kind. She COULD be good, but she was not a kind person or a good person.
*she had a chip on her shoulder that would make Atlas start sweating and it frequently got heavy abd rubbed her raw. She coated the wound in a womb of sarcasm and anger to ease the pain.
*the inside of her head was like a white chapel brothel and her heart was the dark basement that was terrifying until you went in and turned on the light.
*she was a bipolar addict warrior chasing oblivion with a butterfly net with a hole in it.
*she wore everyone she ever loved around her neck.
*she loved deeply but never learned how to say it.
*she had religion but not faith. She was a rock thrown through a stained glass window, landing on her knees in front of Jesus whisperinf "im sorry" as she picked glass from her palms.
*she was ill.....not sick.
*she wasnt pretty. She wasnt sweet. She thought most of the world was garbage, but she gave money to homless people and cried at spca commercials. That has to be enough.
Don't paint over me. Let me go.