Long Protruding Poems
Long Protruding Poems. Below are the most popular long Protruding by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Protruding poems by poem length and keyword.
My face is in two halves
smashed together in flawed symmetry,
each half squirming to get supremacy,
Oh Two-Faced One!
Split so, halved down the middle,
which side are you on?
Do I see my better half
in the mirror?
Or in the shadowy silhouette,
devoid of details,
that follows me around,
like a faithful dog,
wagging its tail.
Which half-truth should
I believe when spoken from
a forked tongue protruding
half-way out,
from twin lips clenched,
to hide the split slivers
of tongue clef in two,
by honesty to skulduggery?
The beat of the heart
I hear and feel as one,
emanates from two chambers
left and right beating in harmony
but not together simultaneously.
One flows into the other,
and upper and lower halves
beat one after the other
two by two, two by two
a tango flamingo.
But each half, though never still,
feels the ache
of faking a one-beat heart,
halfheartedly, to listeners,
with one half beating memories,
the other longing legacies.
Is half a glass,
half full or empty in quenching thirst?
Is half-and-half ever a whole?
Is the half-light, a fade or surge to the coming?
It's half past the hour:
I'm late, I'm late!
Or too early for the shower?
Is a half-life, the life of those
poor folk on Bikini Atoll
must endure waiting for
their hell on earth to end,
something we all share,
living our
own half-lives,
halfheartedly!
3 of every 4 creatures on earth
Are insects, now you know
Why hordes of damn mosquitoes
Pester and bug us so
They sow their seeds of mayhem
As we sit in the summer sun
Being annoyed by these tiny bugs
Till finally we get up and run
After a house fly eats its food
It regurgitates and eats it once more
Imagine if we re-ate our meat balls
That's something I would abhor
Americans eat 12 billion bananas
Every year, no wonder at times
We get the urge to hang from trees
Or scratch our protruding behinds
Each one of us uses approximately
Fifty sheets of bum wipe
Each and every day of our existence
We're killing our trees, my gripe
Maybe instead, use toilet paper
With a hole right in the centre
We could use it over and over again
Washing up is a disease preventer
In 32 years there are approximately
One billion seconds of time
Each one is so very very precious
Waisting one is a downright crime
With flaming pen
The beast inside me scratches to remove,
Fingers pulsing with my heartbeat growing
What will prove
To quit and quiet or sparkle softly,
In the distant night.
What would it prove to cater to
Such shallowness as one’s delight.
When beasts burst forth exploring every pore.
Scattered scallions
Relinquish the air to moan.
Even the box
Is outside the box
At Heaven’s gate deluxe;
To remove the pitied eye and stand forth naked.
I do hate, I am human, After all.
Who was it again that witnessed the fall?
Well, we all sag weary against the ropes
When each rose uncoiled clings,
The jaded blackbird sings, and
Pie-in-the-sky magpies flap their useless wings.
Look in the mirror at the naked scourge behind you.
Listen to the pounding of the drums of your doom.
There isn’t any room.
Not the slightest wiggling inch
Of breath or sound or excluded pinch;
When we shout Holy Hell,
Holy Haunted Hell, After all.
The messenger in all of us
That wakens a sleeping sickness of liquid pus,
Of bruised and startled semen-egg to mark its choice.
Heavenly Father where the hell is your voice?
Aloud, Aloud, After all.
Meekness protruding from some dark and brooding
Corner of misunderstanding.
Comes the Death; Comes the Light;
Comes the Commanding Voice.
Return once more to the core of all confusion.
Take back the shelter and reign in the smelter
Of Christ’s own blend of defiance.
Be in Death or Life or Hell
On Faith be our reliance.
And in the end of all, after alls,
We find yet another broken appliance.
We are not familiar –
we are city dwellers.
We have passed each other
on crowded city streets.
Proud yellows protruding
through concrete cracks.
I have danced with “lady slippers”
in a shaded cluster of trees –
marveled at their footwork,
I have cheered the dandelion,
that tenacious little terror,
for its unrelenting determination
to survive our mindless hate.
Small purple bells hang -
silent chimes adrift on
winnowing winds.
Bright red, the spiral twirl
of hybrid wanderers,
bred of pollinations need.
White buds of frostily
exhaled “babies breath”
lay low against the shrubs.
So I walk the city,
untamed gardens,
each earthy patch a home
where beauty may take root,
smile at passersby.
I thank the fickle winds of fate
for taunting the towering
shade makers, planting
each colored sun drop
amid the gray.
We are not “familiar”
we are city dwellers.
John G. Lawless
4/16/2016
What good has come of it: doing good?
Yes I am honest and yes my pots are clean
Still I wish they weren’t spick, span and gleaming
I wish they had need for a good wiping
What would it cost for a little dirt?
Constant cooking noises from across the wired fence
Makes my ears tingle with envy and anger
Constant cries of hunger exasperate from within
Fury blinds me, the Devil binds me
The door beckons, I make for it
Gun in hand, one thing on my mind
Heaven or Hell, I don’t care
I’m done with it: being good.
The good die young. I don’t want that
My grip tightens, the good must die tonight
Starting from tonight, my evil twin lives
The nakedness of my children
Their empty protruding bellies
Proofs of my foolish goodness.
The soap and kitchen sponges
Must be used more often now
After tonight, the only cries to be heard:
“Daddy, I want some more”
Still, and again
“Ogongo” crept into my mouth
As I behold the two nocturnal creatures
We have waited endlessly
No longer in my Aunt’s place,
But we became unsolicited watchmen
At the streets gate entrance
It was an ungodly hour
Darkness had key to everywhere
Still, and again
I winked at my cousin
He nodded, and murmured
“They are on their way”
But when midnight started knocking
Out of the furfuled dusk
Appeared the two nocturnal “Ogongos”
One bringing back the memory of the famous Yokosuna
Of the Heavy weight with an heavy duty
To her chest,
Were a very big size-less eve’s apples?
Her mean look compliments her dark complexion
Her burnt lips. . . Reddish eyeballs speak of her as a chimney
My cousin I pity from within my heart
Her hyena-like laughter
Turned me back to the second “Ogongo”
Of a lesser weight to the former
Her Eve’s apples were almost not there
“Bad catch, worst choice”
I echoed to myself until I saw
Her roundly shaped protruding buttock
Speaking louder than a loud-speaker
It overshadows her duck-like ugly mouth
It was an undeniable asset
Indeed, the “Ogongos” are both endowed
With a Unique Selling Point (UPS)
With these, I had taught they can never
Run out of good prices in the market.
Lo and behold,
At the crucial product delivery point
I rushed out of my room
Only to see my cousin outside too
Looking worried and dejected
The “Ogongos” are over-used products
The expiry date lapsed long ago
The USP was a flash in the pan
We both slept in the parlour
Leaving the “Ogongos” in their different rooms
It was a bad deal in a bad day.
Alayande Stephen T
09.55am
20th June, 2007
NB-Ogongo is a coinage for Prostitutes.
In Iba, with Ayo and Yemi, expecting
An Izobo daughter and Tobi’s call.
Weeks later
After I first strolled by in the February snow
Strings of fruit
Left out across the park
For birds and all sorts of wonderful creatures
And after I wrote a poem
And speculated
Who this mysterious park shepherd
Might be
In the unspoiled hunger of my mind and heart
Feminine Giver of Life
Was my hope
I see her far ahead
Yes
I knew it
A woman
Though it’s hard to tell with all our winter burdens
Wrapped around us from head to foot
She wobbles in a tattered squall of snow
Bent over a trail
With a breadcrumb bag of apples and oranges
Opened
To her mittened hand
Spreading stems and juice and sunflower seed
In the winter
With so few of us around
We own this park and make our own rules
Drawn
From we the few souls
Who have no need for words or direction
From above
Or below
But only share the lonely air and wind
Snowflakes
I note she now has a long stick
And way ahead
Appears to be writing a message on the trail snow
O SMILE
I do
Toward the end of our walks
I catch up to her since she stops
Often
Like me
Our existence is but nose chin and lips
Protruding under our wool hats sunglasses
Puffy coats
Boots
I like what you do I said
Thank you
“Just trying to get some people off their phones
Find nature”
She shrugs
“Some people call me the Horrocks Lady”
I hesitate then as usual
But with little filter
And desperate for the possible discovery of magic
I reply
I wrote a poem about you
It wondered who you are
“Thank you” she says and with that
Gives me her bent back
Reaches into her bag
And sweeps the palm of her hand
Atop the frozen ground
As another snow squall separates us
From our
Or really
My
Momentary hold on reality.
Jesus stands before me
with two broken arms
He proclaims, "you are not forgivable"
and tears ran down his face
But I'm an innocent man I professed
I have bee misjudged
Bones protruding and nails from his wrists
he walks towards me and gives me a hug
I am quivering as his warm blood stains my clothes
I look him into his eyes and ask 'why?'
"Man holds onto the darkest evils" he says
His crown of thorns pinches my forehead
Am I doomed to Hell, will I burn forever?
Can you stop the forces that are in place?
The leaves begin to spin up and around us
The clouds break and the sunshine warms through the open air
"You will perish for the sins of others, I cannot protect you"
"The Kingdom of Heaven is not in your path. You will indeed burn"
My tears turn to salt. He releases me.
I begin my descent.
Probably not my first battleground with this nasty bug
Still haven't tested positive after many attempts
But I know I have it now
False negatives or perhaps it's just my luck
I'm still kicking my way thru it, and I trust that none of you
Want to take this cross from me
But feel free
Grandma's got it too, that's my mom
Always taking care of us all no matter what the cost
Bless her soul
Hope all those vain vaccinations were worth it
So far so good . . . still here in the hood
No 911 calls yet but she says keep it on hold
This aint no ordinary cold
It reaches deep down and taints the soul
I feel for all the dead before me
Now is my chance to dance with this devil
Giving me night sweats and a backwards fever
I feel soooo cold like I could die
Really makes me feel that mortal mold
With an electric cord protruding from the back of my skull
Don't unplug me yet
I still have some more poems to write
Is tonight the night
I aint afraid
Jesus has my back
My faith is intact
He says Our Father forgives me when it's not
So, I say a few Our Fathers and struggle through some Hail Marys
(It's been a while since I've said those. Threw out my Rosary years ago)
I've walked thru so many Church doors that you'd think me a swinger
But I'm a deadringer for what is real
Ringing the dinner bell Ding Ding Ding Ding Dong!
What's wrong with me Lord, why'd you make me this way?
Extra toes and thumbs, kinda seems dumb
I think I would have been better off with an extra brain
Perhaps then I'da been a bit more sane
Less of a pain
More like everyone else like anyone else would care
I dare to overthrow tyranny and jerks
With a glare of my obvious godlike good looks.
I must get that from you, my Lord
Thanks for being there for me thru all these years
Putting up with all my failures and doubts and bad poetry
And to anyone else reading this malarky
Thanks for sharing!
I think I'm going to go now
And visit the porcelain thrown
For a while.
4/1/17
Flowers blooming
Spaced out or in a tight-knit grouping
All around things looming
In space objects still or moving and zooming
Birds pluming
And other animals grooming
Downloads queueing
Electronics in need of a rebooting
Or powering off, to enable cooling
Below, on and above the roofing
Toxins spewing
And other particulates polluting
Some of which are made for fueling
All weeds were removed by uprooting
Trees and bushes getting a pruning
Especially any areas that are drooping
There's just no excusing
You'd better stop snooping
And assuming
As well as tooting your horn
Or ridiculing the poor
What the hell are you fooling for
When deep down, you know you could be doing more
Ocean life caught by fishing poles, harpooning
Or cage using
Die hard fans rooting
Or booing
Times of booming
And continual losing
Certain insects and people cocooning
Humans continually feuding
Suing
And fuming
As if there is something they want to be proving
Major scale jobs, including
A lot of or very specific tooling
Drugs and alcohol others may be using
And possibly abusing
In the right conditions, water pooling
Near and far from any rocks protruding
Live a life of your choosing
Continue pursuing
Knowledge, and ways of improving
With or without musing
By: Dalton Ogletree