Long Overheat Poems
Long Overheat Poems. Below are the most popular long Overheat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overheat poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm a polar bear, just that.
Don't ever call me bi-polar
or I'll angrily maul you to death!
Take a good look at me;
I'm a hulking menace.
Don't let my elephantine size
fool you. I'm surprisingly agile;
fast enough to chase down
an Arctic fox!
I'm a formidable apex predator
and wanderer of the North Pole.
When you don't see me,
I'm probably in hibernation.
My hunger is unslakable.
I can eat up to 10%...
of my bodyweight in 30 minutes!
My dense coat and body fat
insulate me so warmly that I...
sometimes overheat in summer.
When I do, I cool down by
plunging into the ice-cold sea.
Did I mention I can stand and
fight on my hind legs? I'm like the
energizer-bunny; incessantly mobile,
roaming hundreds of miles across
the barren Arctic tundra
in search of seals and fish.
I'm all dressed in white;
the snowbank, the perfect camouflage
for me to suddenly sneak up on a prey.
Invade my frozen kingdom at your peril.
I rule the arctic wastes like the king lion
rules the Serengeti!
Submitted for...
Strand Select A ,Any Form ,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 02/01/2020
Date written: 01/24/2020
I love the words you speak
For they reinforce the ideal in which hands speak.
A warmth that can't be heard, only felt.
A bonfire released in a cylinder.
The crackling of dopamine like wood.
Branches that provide warmth in times you aren't around.
The times dawn can be found in the palm of our hands.
The waking of primal urge where words do no justice.
It is there I find you.
Each crackle, every ash of residue where we've rested.
For you are the fire lit in body.
The cylinder that keeps me warm.
No matter how far away you are I melt in thought.
Urging to move closer.
Alas you welcome it.
Open flames that lash out without regard where it touches.
Our love is one of eternal scaring.
The wind lifting each flame higher.
The preference of action over word.
The concrete stained, scared.
Our warmth attracts the attention of the sky.
In brief hesitation we overheat.
Knowing only to collapse.
This is what it feels to kiss every word that slips through your lips.
In eternal heat.
A ring that burns in depth.
A sign that we were forever here.
I am drained.
The sap and moisture comes to a boil.
I am forever spoiled.
Forever yours.
Alas I welcome it.
The residue of what we've become.
A bridge of me, given to you.
Stacked and piled high.
A match thrown in need.
Without fear we provide each other in eternal warmth.
The sky borrows our heat.
This cylinder that can no longer contain this fire.
Distributed as red orange.
The look exchanged eye to eye.
The beginning and end of all we'd ever know.
The smoke covers as clouds.
I am reminded every time I look up
Ragazze o Pagliacci?
The lavish lips, exaggerated eyes
are painted on an hour before we meet you.
The art lies in our impact, when we greet you.
You see emotion, but it’s enterprise:
The punter gets the treatment while he buys,
but not for long. The trick is to repeat you:
to suck your proteins out, and then excrete you.
There’s nothing real about us – colour, size,
emotions. All prosthetics, patches, dyes.
Before we pull you down, we overheat you:
distraction is our tactic to defeat you.
You’d blame chameleons for their disguise?
Go rail at Nature. We’re designed to cheat you.
The static smile, laconic laugh, are lies.
A Functioning Drunk
Let no-one doubt that Canio’s in control!
A true-born leader, that’s how he’s perceived,
relaxed-but-ready, square-jawed, rolled-up-sleeved.
Protagonist his predetermined role,
in pole position (emphasis on pole!),
the sort who, should he feel himself aggrieved,
turns vicious. Preternaturally peeved,
not unacquainted with libation bowl
(or arma bianca, so the clown alleges),
as blunt as basalt, brittle as obsidian,
he might at last have passed his high meridian.
Look closely, and he’s frayed around the edges.
His pack, who’ve started driving in the wedges,
will turn to Baal-Berith on the death of Gideon.
Wanting the Shaft On
I think I’ll name your thingy “Solomon”:
the Queen of Sheba really liked his wood.
I love it when I get your column “on” –
it’s all to do with stimulus and blood.
I serve you in two offices, like Taft.
The other? No, he’s never understood.
Good skippers keep a watch-out, fore and aft:
I know he’d like to, not so sure he could!
I’m built for seamen. Such a nimble craft,
impressive hold for such a shallow draft,
and very steerable at either end
(one thing that he will never comprehend).
You want to move me? Make me feel the waft
of wanton winds, and see my sails extend!
My Habit
You say I eat a lot—
But a lot eats me.
I got stress I can’t tame,
Hate that drives me insane.
So many therapists I can't name,
Yet still love you and can't cause you shame.
Before you judge me based on my order,
Saying I have an eating disorder—
Ask:
What the hell in this world is in order?
You don’t see the hate,
The anger,
The envy I swallow with my food.
You just say, “Nah, dude.”
You think I don’t already know
You’re ashamed of my belly?
But I don’t care lately,
'Cause food tells me: “Take it easy.”
It’s not that I can’t control my eating.
It’s just your drama,
Your perfect bodies—
They make me overthink.
And I hate that.
But I can’t scream...
So I overeat.
So next time you say,
"Here’s something small to eat,"
I’ll pass—
Because I overheat.
Look, sugar…
I love you.
But this?
This is better than a trillion tattoos.
'Cause you stress me out with everything you do.
I hope you understand if you love me too.
So what do you say...
A buffet for two?
By Little One and Nova
7/9/17
Whether or not I ever find what I seek
You are what you eat
Bare foot or with shoes on your feet
You can try, but it'll do no good turning the other cheek
Nights of very little rest or a great sleep
Fields full of wheat
And beets
A rise of temperature causing lifeforms to overheat
You either still got or lost the receipt
Bouts of consecutive victories and defeat
On dirt roads and in the street
In the shallows and deep
On the move or taking a seat
Daily, monthly, yearly and every single week
Some foods that are spicy and sweet
The evidence was or wasn't concrete
Tasks didn't get finished or were complete
Many that just eat greens or meat
On either side of the creek
Far too many that are a fraud and a cheat
Towards them karma and havoc will wreak
Near and far from teak
Regardless of if the terrain is flat or steep
Information kept discrete or getting leaked
Resources that are rich or beginning to deplete
This little voice keeps telling me to
keep my head down and plow forward.
The further I go, the more debris clogs the road.
It is broken in some places
Gale-force winds are ever-present.
Sheer drop-offs on either side.
The sky spits blue ice most of the time.
The voice also tells me to dress the soul in layers.
But one can only layer up and plow so much.
The heart will overheat
and the soul comes to an abrupt stop...
When the voice becomes too hoarse to comprehend.
Maybe this is when God coddles the reins.
Guiding this swayback toward the light
and toward St. Peter's gate.
Reflection
There has been more advance in the last hundred years
than in centuries. At first they seemed wondrous, a
miracle as they helped us in multiple ways and most
eased our lives to some degree or another.
Yet all this technology and industry has come at a
horrendous cost to our planet putting it and us in
grave peril from pollutants that threaten to smother
us and our world to overheat and life as we now know
it to cease to exist.
It makes me wonder if we had known this would start
happening if we would have done things differently?
Sadly I think the answer is a resounding no! There
are many things that could and should be done but
governments and people are slow to respond caring far
more about their wallets.
We are lucky to have this wake-up call, it is time
to use it wisely. First we must stop the desecration
turning where possible to clean resources like wind
and water to supply our electricity. Petrol should also
be phased out along with oil we have other resources
that would be much kinder. I know, I know I hear you
shout codswallop!
But reflect a moment apart from your wallet which
you cannot take with you would it really cause you
stress or hardship? By cleaning up our act we would
be assuring the future of our planet and Not leaving
this mess for future generations to suffer and cope with
If there is anything left that is!
Nature is trying to warn us just stop a moment and
REFLECT. Think of all the natural disasters that have been
happening for the last 40 - 60 odd years and how much
more frequent they are and so much more violent than
in the past and I think the choices are clear.
dusty keyboards
I’ve heard the planet will overheat
and roasty-toasty carbonate us
- but what is that to me?
Let’s mock the low expectations of the world,
abiding as we can, taking what comforts we can now,
in this lusty winter - what purpose would cowering serve?
There’ll be spring renewals,
I’m willing to bet
ice in our martinis
and yet other playful summers.
It’s true. that someday, our busy keyboards will be dust
and all of our affections will lie in tombs
but worst case scenario
by natural and supernatural laws
- as sure as an infallible God looks earthward
- our souls will be lifted on heaven’s wings
.
.
Songs for this:
And when I die - Laura Nero
Jesus Walks - Kanye West
Somebody Bigger Than You and I - Elvis Presley
Twin snowflakes dance in soft pink skies,
lovers who yearned for their garden,
a bed of blue roses and black sunflowers rising.
A cottage stronghold against harsh winters.
Beyond the walls of the warm sky,
an evil presence from Crescent Moon’s eye.
Envious of warmth and quiet shadows,
it lingers over the hidden sanctuary.
A pale glow splits the silent sky,
light that burns and hollows the dark,
harsh beams overheat the sacred garden,
dead petals tossed in raging winds.
The lovers mourn what cannot last,
they weep until the edge of dawn,
above them, the Crescent Moon looms over—
watching what it has undone.
Existence’s fragile strings fray, unravel,
Just like seconds spinning frantically on a tarnished clock.
Until clogs overwhelm and overheat,
Gearboxes grind to a halt.
Suspension of time.
Desperation sets in.
A race to permanently remain in stasis ensues.
Breathe. Calm down.
Find your repose.
Survey your frozen surrenderings.
This juncture is not on your side.
An unknown future awaits if you don't find the right building.
Ramshackles span miles upon miles,
All decaying—a stark reminder of what you are vehemently fighting.
The kiss of Death’s cold embrace
will not touch your lover’s lips.
Find Zoltar.
Place your hands upon the frost-tipped crystal ball.
Shatter any remaining cracks.
Dig deep into a pulsating pool of memories.
Remember the differences between the buildings.
Zoltar hides in the shack that lies beyond the shadows.
There is a knotted handle made of human bone.
Enter the sinister establishment.
Feed the insatiable figure your soul.
Open the portal.
Place your hands on the gelid orb.
Pulverised,
Stagnating time’s equilibrium—infinitely.