Long Intestinal Poems
Long Intestinal Poems. Below are the most popular long Intestinal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intestinal poems by poem length and keyword.
To be successful in this life of ours
We must be prepared to be in it for the long haul
Grab the brass ring and hang on for dear life
It's surely not for the weak of heart
It takes a lot of intestinal fortitude
To make it through, to be content, to be happy
A total commitment that no matter what obstacles are in our way
Our approach allows us to circumnavigate them
And enjoy life to the fullest
We only get to go around once so make the most of it
Listen to me... as if I'm some kind of expert on the subject
Throughout life, it's a learning process
Some of us never understand that and ever get it right
For those that do, the rewards are magnificent
We're very fortunate that life is so forgiving
Few of us ever get it right
To sum it up, don't sweat the small stuff
© Jack Ellison 2014
Does your back end waddle like a duck?
Does your rear sway from side to side?
Is there a rumbling sound when sitting down
With large ripples in your hide?
Perhaps it's that second piece of apple pie
Or that box of chocolates you consumed
I've seen you down an extra large pizza
It's a while before your breathing resumes
There is a cure for this age old problem
It's called pushing away from the table
But it sure takes a lot of intestinal fortitude
For some of us we're just not able!
Do you ever get totally discouraged
And think you're losing your mind
You're definitely in the majority today
The country's sliding into the brine!
There's still hope for all us tubby people
But we really must try to persevere
Forego that second large ice cream cone
And a trimmer you will appear!
The pressure is on, can't let a day go by
Without writing a poem... that would be unthinkable
The Poetry Police would be breaking down my door
And exacting severe punishment
Us poet guys are committed (or should be! LOL)
A bit of humour there...
Even on those days when it feels like we're brain dead
We must call on all the intestinal fortitude we can muster
Even if it's a three line limerick
What about a three line narrative?
Does that work or am I twisting the rules?
What do you call this thingy dingy that you're reading now
Ha! Gotcha... it's a POEM!!!!!
What a tricky guy I am...
When writing about writing a poem, I'm writing a poem
Strange eh!
© Jack Ellison 2015
This road is snake-like except
for the crusty scales of an intestinal
late dusk. A boy treaded on the
lane tracks lean and nomadic...
burnt shoulders grilled and toasted by
the sun, as if his coal skin sparked like
burning diamond weeds. In a flash, a tender
sorcery poured in my veins. There and then,
I longed to whisper a tune, play the tambourine or
partake of the loaf in my sack with him.
But he waited for paper clouds to ruffle his hair,
seemingly undisturbed by pilgrims like me
holding unto holy relics and bones of night. The gauze
shirt as his frock winged with the silver winds,
windblown stroking my ebony tresses with a whisper
hushed by his delicate omnipresence.
In a dimly lit bus, sand wheezed tribal notes
moist on my eyelids uprooted by uncontained
temples of longing, now becoming thick
as woolen destiny. If only for a flicker of time,
his eyelids met mine so briefly... parting saline dust
of sacred, smiling gazes. I was inside a cell
of a wombed bus. He was outside enlarged by a
hundred stars exploding dewdrops, inviting eternity.
For a fraction of silence, we met somewhere
between the fluorescent of our twin eyes. He, the angel
first fondly encountered ; I, the dreamer ever bewildered…
I remember...I was five.
---oooo----oooo---
(( P.D.'s " your Own Favorite Poem
by nette onclaud))
The mean old housecat has bulgy eyes
when she looks at us in our fish bowl
Oh, how much we've come to despise
that big mouth of hers, the black hole
Poised to pounce with sharpened claws
She's taking jabs with hatred brimming
that ugly feline beast with drooling jaws
for us little fishes, innocently swimming
Our little bowl is cosy, room for only two
bad kitty on the outside, always looking in
If her paw ever grabs us, what are we to do
we’d be much safer in a smelly sardine tin!
If she ever catches us, we’ve got big troubles
perhaps in her dreams she sees us as fat trout
In fear we produced a stream of gassy bubbles
If only our owner would give bad kitty a clout!
All the chaos made us soil ourselves with poop
so we let that mean old cat feast on a tasty treat
When her nasty tongue slurped intestinal goop
the beast screeched in horror! Revenge is sweet!
Our owner came home and cleaned out the bowl
Soon we returned to our safe sweet smelling home
Kitty got banned but can see us through the keyhole
Now we don’t suffer from irritable bowl syndrome!
Hot shot in my head writhing the guz let it swim in the round to twirl around the world charm junky paty you can see it Jennifer can't wait can you dusty cobwebs frothing mouth full of hit session doesn't matter really the body doesn't belong here anymore let it flow diagram illustrating the river Seine flowing through my belly dance of a serpent coiling around the intestinal tract cranial sacral therapy and rehabilitation services don't go. Trees change in the summer when I was thinking of a great gift for you my sweet love sucks the soul deadwood eats one up. Traipsing through your brain giving me a hernia and aneurysm. Bleed line the all-in-one communication. I lie down for the doctor tomorrow morning they are taking me to the down stairs department. I can't wait!
Hard to tell with the movies these days
What's real and really what's not
It's totally amazing what they now can do
Yesteryear it was always the plot
For old guys like me it's hard keeping up
Changes are happening so rapidly
Thankfully though, my guru-like son
Helps me and quite happily
My brain's used to suck up new information
With the power of a Hoover vacuum
Now I need strength and intestinal fortitude
Just for my trips to the bathroom
Where is it leading, technology I mean
Electricity will be driving our cars
Gasoline will soon be a thing of the past
We'll make regular trips to Mars
Really kinda happy I won't be around
My old fashioned brain might explode
Pretty damn sure my out of date cranium
Eventually will read “overload”
High in the Andes
Surviving the fiery crash
Overcoming winter’s storm
Telling their stories
Spirit of preservation
The inner soul of mankind
Comments: The Sedoka is an unrhymed poem made up of two three-line
poems called a katauta with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7, 5/7/7. A Sedoka,
pair of katauta as a single poem, may address the same subject from differing
perspectives. The katauta is an unrhymed three-line poem with the following
syllable counts: 5/7/7. This Sedoka addresses the intestinal fortitude of the
rugby team surviving the plane crash in the Andes in 1972.
You died at the young age of twelve in 1988.
Your death was something everybody would hate.
You died of cardiac arrest that was caused by intestinal stenosis.
You were a very pretty and talented girl, everybody knows this.
It's a shame when someone as young as you passes away.
You starred in all three Poltergeist movies and in Happy Days.
You also guest starred in eleven other TV shows during your short lifespan.
Your demise devastated your friends and family and it also hurt your fans.
Your life was so short, you didn't live long enough to drive a car or to receive your first kiss.
People will always remember your contribution and you will continue to be missed.
[Dedicated to Heather O'Rourke (1975-1988) who died on February 1, 1988.]
Be careful what you put in here
for soon it’s going to disappear
and start its journey through your gut
into the place that you then put
upon a seat in smallest room
where then expelled it makes more room
for mouth to welcome more inside
to once again join in this ride.
Spiced or bland or sweet or sour
whatever things that you devour
must make the same intestinal ride
but differ in their slip and slide
while some go calmly, some go slow
there’s ones who must resist the flow
and scratching, burning in their haste
are painful when expelled as waste.
So bearing all of this in mind
I think that all of you will find
if you take care what enters in
the place where gluttony is sin
that when your food is spent at last
at journeys end when all is passed
you’ll get a thank you from your bum
…….…for all mouth’s joy is not his fun!
©Ivor G Davies