Long Pollack Poems
Long Pollack Poems. Below are the most popular long Pollack by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pollack poems by poem length and keyword.
In the chapel, the pastor keeps preaching
The exact same words over and over.
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened!"
He claims that the more wealth you possess,
The heavier your shoulders become.
"Lighten your shoulders!"
He says a tithe of one-tenth is worse than a lack of faith,
Commanding us to offer nine-tenths instead.
Wait, what? What about my kitten's kibble money?
"Put down your vain, expensive car this instant
And come to me! Do you not have a two-wheeled bicycle?"
He barks that the gas-guzzling hippo is no longer needed,
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!
"Leave behind the lover you are flirting with!
Does it not waste your emotions and your wealth?
Come to me!"
Wait, what? Am I supposed to live all alone then?
Being so innocent, I believed it all and put it into action.
And before I knew it, I ended up drowning in loans.
Like a cat chasing after its prey,
Debt chases after me at the speed of light.
The pastor then tosses a remark at me,
Saying hunger is far better than fullness.
"The true meaning of 'Come to me, all you who are burdened'—
Have you finally realized it now?"
Yes, I have truly realized it.
That you were nothing but a cult leader.
Meanwhile, our precious seven-generation cat
Is growing thinner and thinner,
And my once hopeful eyes
Have become just like the eyes of a frozen pollack
Left forgotten inside a deep freezer.
Downtown moody boulevard chaos with
geometric grid shaped layout and contrasting
zones some fashionable clapperboard happy
comfy with creepin Bougainvillea outer walls
and others dark and lonely dog dirt proud – San
Francisco with its great fishing net big catch clam
mix of Chinese, Mexican, Red Indian stock, the down
and dowdy, the rich and radiant the haves and want
to haves and the opium red eyed living dead – they’ve
been heading out this way for years seeking their
fortune from the early gold rush days and Barbary
coast dwellers, the out of town chancers, all looking
for a free piece of pie, everyone wants the deal, everyone
wants to win on the dollar wheel – walking downtown
along Fisherman’s Wharf with it crab steam pots and
chowder sit easy squats and the huge swaying mass of
touristy camera clicking lot, walking down Obese Pacific
Highway thinking about America land of make it, use it,
chuck it, heaps of expendable disposable commodities –
visited City Lights bookstore shrine where Ferlinghetti
printed Ginsberg’s Howl and the whole Beat Generation
kicked off with the free flow thinkers so new and daring
think Pollack in words so brave and loose now faded with
ghosts of Kerouac and Burroughs in every shadowy bar –
big visit to Frisco Museum of Modern Art and introduction
to Sam Taylor Wood and Ralston Crawford keeping the
flame alive. Yosemite was a silent mountain contrast
hiking 5000 ft to elevated waterfalls on the trail of the
lonesome pine – then along the coast of grow anything
Santa Barbara, Santa Maria, Santa Monica and sacks of
Santa Claus goodies. Looking forward to Big Sur and
more Kerouac dream connections. Not looking forward
to flying home, could stay her, would stay here, if I was
rich or carefree with time, or daring and loose.
Mayonnaise in my mouth;
it was turkey—the first Pollack
I saw. His fault that the splatter
looked like a forgotten egg on the side.
Walking toward the waste
basket, I threw up in it after.
It tasted like sour metal
with rusty, iron edges.
At the sides of it, not worth
the gold tooth it's loosening
now. Thinking on it makes me
nervous, like it's going to be poison
soon.
I cannot avoid it, even if I wanted
to now, even though I wasn't sure
that was the kind of optimistic take
I was looking for at the time. The way
to turn even the worst of times into best
of whatever your feckless heart has—
just use it now because no one
is at the deck taking down tallies
for the sake of it. Please,
just give over; express the things
you have been saving. Hoarder of life
and things and collections of it all,
as a collector of it all, as a curator
of it all, as if you even have a stall
that would ever fit it all in, for jesus
sake. And that's all it ever would be
or ever would be not had you not hitched
it to the big part of yourself that thought
something in there was real and really in
there, ready for a real repair, as only
the cosmos can do for those that are
ready for it.
Ready for it.
Ready for it.
Ready for it.
Revise and be ready for it.
Whether the weather
necessitates to anchor
myself as a tether
when the frankenstorm
socks the east coast
shredding terrestrial
zone like soft leather
i may end up attired
in esprit de corpse
being tossed hither and yon
to and fro like a feather.
If...the forecast imbues
meteorologists flooded with folly
making a mockery
of humanity run amuck
in panic mode - by golly
this mortal male will don himself as
"the chief garbage" taster
with a garland of holly
shuffling along the
boulevard of broken
tin cans and rubbish
feigning to be melancholy.
This getup a throw
back to a costume
adorned this papa when
he attended grade school
eons ago, where corporal punishment
prevailed in case
student disavowed any rule
such as smoking in the boys' room
cigarette such
manufactured by Kent or kool
or lambasting any unlikable teacher,
(whose bookish face) at
receiving end of
pranks rather cruel.
So...presume that Halloween
will take place without any axe
of nature to grind monster
brewing at sea
and picture this poet decked
out dumpster diving
for the most fetid trash
and materiel with cracks
to be affixed upon
a heavy duty sack
with goop from
sullied foodstuffs -
a cause for glee
rotten meat infested
with maggots, shards of glass,
crushed metal cans,
et cetera to the max
will be haphazardly splayed
(Jackson Pollack like)
on this sturdy cloth
that will drape me
spurring a conga like of hungry beasts
ready go pounce – menacing
ferocious wolf packs
adding to the welter per helter skelter
of decayed detritus distributed
from head to knee
and a set of punishing
pronged antlers spiking out
in all directions upon
ma noggin-hence to tax
utmost fear in passersby, and quite
an abominable sight to see.
Within womb universe’s birth
nebulous placenta housed
seeds of life and white lily
billions of years in future
mid-wifery lady Madonna i.e. Gaia
twill abort... cancel... fail
cosmic amniotic fluid infinitesimal kernel
unknowingly intimated mother earth
giver of extant flora and fauna
unleashed post big bang cosmic explosion
galactic matter ala Jackson Pollack
across void
impregnating fecund celestial field
embryonic entities
germinating gamut multifarious
floral fauna spectrum
primordial soupy miasma
evolving millennial timeframe
distinct organisms *****sapiens
master exploiter oblate spheroid
usurped emiment domain
epitomized goddess of fertility
silent ovation humanity
predecessors ovulated
promulgating tentatively robust
quite pathological population
within clustered cloistered
substantial redoubts
mollycoddled, nursed
swaddled by ancestral
gracias moma mia
abba cud dab bra figures,
whose maternal role
guarded vulnerable progeny,
outfoxing invisible World Wide Web
building inexorably linked network
indomitable strength
against wild things
guaranteeing subsequent generations
flourishing webbed unbridled success
prompted contemporary bipedal hominid
chance genetic dice throw
origin of species weathering travails
horrendous maternal sacrifices
inducing acknowledgement
unknown female forebears!
The perception is mine,
though you may get sucked in
here is where I begin
a new expression
dropping sticks
they drip paint onto the canvas
in my own private Idaho
droplets on massive scales
tossed into the abyss
thinner smells its space
Or in a self-contained gateway
when in a walled in feeling, hesitant,
driven by tortuous tones
dispatched onto fabric
soaked into frantic fibers
contrasted construct
From need there are new ways,
when sober, quiet, less erratic
stable in a globular convex
arbitrary? Not at all,
drawn to the natural world
nature’s handyworks
there is order
an emotional splashing
where the eyes do not settle
rhythm spackles not of chaos
but evoking nature scapes
an orchestral overture
no finales,
where the eyes do not settle
I’ve captured summertime
Fall aside,
come one come all,
dance
alongside