Long Pummel Poems
Long Pummel Poems. Below are the most popular long Pummel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pummel poems by poem length and keyword.
Daggled and bloodied, the young man lay upon the ground where he’d been
left.. .left by vile men who, spurred by senseless hate and ravenous for a taste of
violence, had lured him with false fellowship and brought him to this secluded spot
by veil of darkened day. At first, they bound his arms, rendering him defenseless to
what was to ensue. After dragging him a small way from the back seat of their van,
they proceeded to pummel his stomach and his face, breaking his nose almost
instantly. When he stumbled to the ground, he received the heels of their boots as
they kicked at his extremities and then again, he received their cruel blows to his
stomach and face. When certain they had done enough damage so he would not
last a night in the cold, they spat on him and drove away.
As his attackers sat far away in a bar, drunk and boasting how they’d “done the
world a favor,” he’d already passed the stage of vomiting and gasping for his
breath. And though his brain was writhing with awful pain, with knowledge of his
sure obliteration, his chilled and broken body stayed inert. Reposed as if inside the
womb, he felt the ache receding, and before night’s shadows passed into the dawn,
his blood had stanched.
Now as flesh turns into carrion lying undiscovered in the dust, his spirit… never
quashed. . .cries out for justice.
On this and in many occasions
We've seen him proudly display
His titles along side of his
World Championship.
Tonight he enters the ring a
Battered and Bruised man.
Allowing a non contender to
Best him, and then again being
defeated by the number one
Contender. He was battered and
bruised by the two and took the microphone
In front of an unsatisfied crowd saying it's
Obvious you all don't like me To then have
a guy who has been an upright official come in
To help him after the brawl, to pummel your
Worlds Champion who refuse any help, he wanted
To do it his self
On the gurney microphone in hand he began singing
" I saw it in her smile" to wild the bunch, he got a loud
Standing ovation, to his and the fans delight .
Tonight the Champion enters as the underdog.I have
Been told they have the video ready waiting for it to
Become official. It's believed this is the champions night
To be defeated. He is out muscled, he is out gamed, he is
Injured and wrestling in pain He can't be disqualified or counted out.
Past champions have called for him to forfeit the title and try to reclaim
It in a "rubber match" if you will, or use the series stipulation to have
him who would be champion to commit to a continuous seven series
Where the odds would be in his favored. His opponent can out wrestle him
On his best days and tonight, they say only a fool would go in
Not thinking about himself.
" I saw it in her smile
The look upon her face"
These the lyrics we have heard all evening, we just wanna know if she can dance!
Against de Slate
Reporting
Irma Sunday Evening
By Franklin Price
9/10/2017 - 6:22PM
For six hours we've been watching
The eye of Irma twitch
As the winds and rains around it
Are making life a *****
Since I last wrote her actions
She has twice come to the shore
As some have indicated
Here to even up the score
She landed last in Naples
Eye overhead on land
Was determined with her wind and rain
To make a gallant stand
The weathermen stood with her
She tried to blow them to the ground
They grimaced and they squinted
As they were buffeted around
She sucked the water from the bays
To make the tidal surge
Then when she would pass them by
She would open up and purge
The surge already happened
And it made Miami flood
Covering streets and highways
With much debris and mud
Although the eye was never there
Miami got the brunt
Got much more than bargained for
More than they could ever want
Irma keeps on moving on
Without a full blown eye
Left the lower lid in Cuba
Tore it off when passing by
It did not seem to matter
Her focus still not bad
She saw to pummel Naples
With the right hook that she had
She's headed for the city
With the Russian sounding name
Saint Petersburg is waitng
To see how Irma plays the game
Putin is not resident
Nor is the POTUS Trump
If they were she'd do the same
And kick the city's rump
Half blinded, getting old and tired
She's traveled very far
Still searching for new lands to hurt
Irma's now a fading star
Still can do some damage
Although she's hurt and sore
If you are in the path she takes
Should hunker down a little more
The wounded beast still packs a bite
With her surge and wind and rain
Still able to hurt and end you
Or at least to cause you pain
Dressed in white christening gown
Creaky snow break mountain melt
Dissolves rigid in simmering spring
Ached ankles pummel, putrid pond
Ancient decompose steams surface
Sulphur syphons Winter hestitance
Grabs goblins soup bowl grotesque
Monster murky rub manic massage
Active agitate upsets puritan sculpt
Boiling bubbles bump aside burden
Besieged by beast belly, slimy spa
Crystallises chartreuse, past spent
Dunk of disgusting salve, hot spew
Baptises black ducks in inky erupt
Aotearoa flow, now zeal spills over
Rejuvenating Rotarua
- two lakes -
5th January
When like a sullen miser, the dark skies relent
unleashing rain to pummel a parched, dry land
grey soaked clouds press forward, a grand event
whipping wind wildly like gusts of lashing strands.
The clash and clamor of a restless storm excites
ignites imagination to great heights of wonder
as lightning streaks and cracks the fragile sky
and thunder presses pounding fists to plunder.
Without reserve, wildlife gather and take cover
motherly trees engulf them with leafy arms
wildcats seek caves, foxes burrow down under
farmers herd their livestock into wooden barns.
Each day God directs His drama in the skies
He orchestrates every movement under the sun
His glory unfolds as we witness with our eyes
for He is Lord over all, He is the Mighty One.
12/28/2021
Updated on 3/23/2023
As daylight slowly dissipates
an assembly of dark clouds gather
moist petrichor air lingers
burdened beneath its weight.
A restless sensation
pulses within me
I am alert and watchful
as I look expectantly
into the vast horizon.
In an instant, I view a flash
a white hot x-ray
a jagged razor of lightening
streaking across the sky.
Pregnant raindrops
pummel down from above
puncturing the dry landscape
satisfying soak starved plants.
The scene is brilliant and intense
as nature’s hidden anatomy
is revealed, and maybe a glimpse
of the heart and soul of heaven.
I can feel the earth reverberating
beneath my feet, shaking with joy
as if celebrating life
with a reckless abandon.
Brilliant sky scapes transform
minute by minute, as I witness
a living drama, a kaleidoscope
of heavenly halos
a masterpiece to behold.
As I watch with rapt attention
awestruck by the power and beauty
that surround me, I whisper
a prayer of quiet reverence
thanking God for His grand display.
Written on 2/14/2018
He lived in a world of pure destruction,
of hate and deplore.
He sat locked in his room,
staring at the dark.
The bruises on his arms were aching,
the cuts on his face were ranking,
the feeling in his heart was sinking.
He knew his parents had gone out,
to party and have a good time,
and when they got home,
they’d be ready to pummel and thrash him.
He’d sit there and wait,
until they were done,
then he’d cry to himself,
all night long.
His grades were dropping,
his friends were disappearing,
his voice was lost.
One day his parents returned,
ready to harm,
but more harshly than usual.
They smashed his windows,
and beat his walls,
they threw and hit him,
with blood smearing everywhere.
They stuck the glass through his arms.
They hammered his head.
They damaged his eyes.
They pounded his chest.
And then they stabbed him a few times in the heart.
When they overlooked what they had done,
they ran far away.
When the police finally came,
it was too late to save him.
The police officer said to his partner:
"So sad how a boy of such young age had to go through what most adults fear."
A warm summer day
Possible light spray
Hand in hand
Staring at the sand
A gentle stroll
Eyeing the big poll
Through the gate of destiny
The excitement and the chemistry
Grasping for the handlebar
Hand sliding down the cold bar
Rocking back and forth
From south to north
Backside clasped so tight
No chance of a big fright
Mouth open and so happy
Making daddy a happy chappie
Run grab the chain
Feel of rubber so plain
A gentle push
Feeling the rush
Legs flying so high
Going faster like a fly-by
Back down to pick up speed
Careful not to fall and bleed
Jump and land in the pit
Searching hard admiring the split
Hands playing deep inside
Make her more bug eyed
Finally grabbing the bucket
Not resisting the need to suck it
Filling that deep hole
Like a game of whack a mole
A leap up hands lifting up the prize
Happiness fills the glistening eyes
A lift up legs spread
Climbing on the bridgehead
Clambering through the tunnel
Loving the idea of a pummel
Making it high and to the top
Ready for the massive drop
A slip and slide is all it takes
For a girl to have the shakes
A frictionless fall so fast
Has left her aghast
Next to grab the tall pole
A hard grip around the bean pole
Legs wrapped around so tight
Hitting the ground eyes bright
The day is done legs so tired
Loving all I have acquired
Time to go and have a rest
And realise I have been blessed
It is ALLright, my brother
Clip on those wings
Your conflict is of
the greatest tragedy
I can feel your rage,
frustration of the hustle
Take on those wings
Ascend to the skies
Envision the dream
Our new Black Paradise
You are not your struggle
Go on, grow this hustle!
Breathe, climb higher!
Believe, glide through the fire
Channel the voice that roars within
Pummel the void that snares the weak
Clip on those wings and set to the skies
Seek out salvation, Black Paradise
Let off the channels of idiocracy
Hold onto hope as you set your sails
Look to the glory,
Glare beyond the skies
See the grand meaning, Black Paradise
It was more than a word
More vivid than a dream
A nation united, unified by peace
The dream of perfection,
The hope of freedom.
Still it evades us, Black Paradise
In the land of my Fathers
Lay the seeds of the earth
And with the sweat of our mothers
They suckled the plains
So grow forward my brothers
Set to the skies
Glide through the fire,
Black Paradise
(In the late Middle Ages, the people
of the Spanish village of Fuente
Ovejuna rose up spontaneously and
killed their cruel overlord.)
No, there were no words.
Nobody seduced the villagers
with, "What Is To Be Done?"
No-one came with drums
to smite the heart
and pummel the Pueblo walls.
Best call it a communal twitch,
a spasm in the Pueblo soul.
Nothing seized us, entered into us.
More accurately, something went.
We seemed to have mislaid ourselves awhile.
Of the doers, who shall abide the deed?
None recalls the doing.
What can it be likened to?
Falling down a wellshaft?
Oppressive closeness,
voices that were all torque.
When we returned,
ugly sunlight had transformed The Thing
into a thing more prosaic.
The village was itself again.
But It had lost Its head.
People (we were plural once again)
were still as corpses.
Someone said, without conviction,
"Tyranny is dead".
A throat was cleared.
It didn't look like Tyranny.
It just looked uncomfortable
where it lay, contorted.
Some of them spat and shuffled off,
some just stood uneasily,
impressed at their own embarrassment.