Long Ramming Poems
Long Ramming Poems. Below are the most popular long Ramming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ramming poems by poem length and keyword.
sometimes I wish to cut myself open
just to see what is hidden inside
how lucky I am
even Jack the Ripper would bypass me
that's how lucky I am
but I wish to see
what am I made of
what's so heavy inside
that keeps my head just above the water
enough not to drown
sufficient to maintain disabled
when I open my cavities
and arrange my intestines
all over that metal table
when those heavy gasses deflate
I might be finally liberated
unless it is my soul
a heavy 21 gram that reflects odor
no wonder lungs collapsed
maintaining my vocal cords agglutinated
(haven't let out a voice in a long time)
and my neural synapses dried
I'm fuc*ing dried out
there's nothing left inside
only a velums from organic structures
I'm like a pile of used plastic bags
maybe that's the reason I feel nothing
(plastic is a flinty bit*h)
I'm overpolluted
garbage built impediments
(nothing can circulate)
and I have chest pain
as my feelings are strong-willingly and forcefully
ramming at that tortured core membrane
(still didn't cry)
You died on me
I can still feel you
haven't shed a tear
but I can feel you
shadows
walking behind me
yours is the laudest
In ghostly white of midnight as
sky- shadows trace gossamer streaks ,
I become a recluse,
losing tracks of stars' grave hues
and the flavor of meadows
in snow grows bitter...the bronze gate
reeking of metal cold, again --frozen
like my rusty, numb thoughts.
Must I remember
how they were slain? The wails come
to haunt those Godforsaken eves
when the lane flooded groaning voices,
ramming our old grills from darn
collision of cars--- in a flash.
And now, dim clouds reflect frozen
bodies of kin like grief stricken portraits ,
pale as folded , bloodied sheets...
and I turn away from this mashed
scene on a vintage gate, grating
flesh in drills of shock
...my recluse core, seething
' Leave me alone...'
The groom will keep his name
whilst she will change hers
to his. We talked over these things
as we constructed a home
that would become home to the new couple.
Some laughed when they asked us
to construx the place.
We put four corners up using poles
we used untreated lumber
interconal and external leaving the walls hollow
we used cobb to fill the walls
we found it best to
construx in quarters
building
to where the bottom of the window would be
and then ramming the cobb into the agapes.
we used cob and concrete
and drove rebar into the softened material.
we put concrete blocks and slabs of stones
in the pre dug trenches
and pour concrete in the bottom before
we began constructing box type walls
that we packed from the ground
and nailed them in place using
the bobcat.
separating the two materials allowed us to
save time by separating the cobb
which meant both parts could cure
separate and we could
continue work
not worrying about overloading the wall
and allowing errors.
we put a barn type roof on using tin and plyboards.
we used a faux stone decorative brick
on the exterior
the place looked authentic and brick.
Inside we used a natural stone ledger panels
to give a Desert look to the inside.
Certain areas inside used sheetrock
which we used mitered edged We cedar
and stained and shelaced the wood
and painted the sheetrock a cream color.
the center of the place had rammed earth walls
four walls that didn't touch but were
join together
using pallet wood
from the floor to the ceiling.
the pallet wood had been treated
with borax and stained.
we explored building topless and bottomless boxes.
and drilling holes
in the dirt
installing poles
and places the boxes around the poles
and filling them wi cob
on our next project
we'd use the same system
to creat rooms with this structure.
and would use te
large beams to
create a roof.
that would use both plyboard and tin.
sixteen by sixteen
centered windows
On a normal day the sun shining,
Riding in my Jeep with you beside me.
Looking into your beautiful eyes,
I look forward and from the corner,
Of my eye I see a car coming,
Ramming into us,
Glass shattering,
Pushing us over the hill,
Falling falling, looking long enough,
To see the love of my life,
Go thru the windshield.
The pain in my head is excruciating,
I feel the blood running down my face.
I reach out, calling her, she isn't moving.
I call her name over and over.
Then suddenly I hear her moaning.
I tell the paramedics,
Slurring my words....her first.
They load us up, where is she??
The paramedics tell me she's right here,
She grabs my hand, baby I'm ok.
The paramedics tell me it was just,
Lucky there was no glass,
In the windshield that saved her,
I hear the paramedics call out,
We're losing her, I whisper I Love you.
All the lights fade as I hear,
My love screaming Don't leave me,
I Love You, Bring her back, begging.
Days go back I open my eyes,
Hearing a voice pleading to
Bring me back, the most beautiful,
Woman looking down upon,
Crying and kissing me.
Then I look and see the
Dread in her eyes.
Don't worry baby you will walk again.
I look at her seeing the pain in her eyes,
And my whole world comes,
Crashing down.
Her shirt is bloody.
The nurse looks at me and says,
She wouldn't leave,
She was here everyday reading to you,
Telling you she was in love with you,
And she would never leave you.
One day you will stand and watch,
Her walk down the aisle,
Marrying the love of her life.
Your love is everlasting.
Your road to recovery will be long,
But have faith she will always,
Be by your side.
Written By: D. Collins 9/20/19
I'm just ripping and scripting all of this out.
Imagining if I was out there in the crowd.
This poem is written with a little "Bootsy" in it.
A baseline that turns it into a clinic.
"Wayman Tisdale" definitely was nowhere near scrub.
Some bad Mamma-Jammas that I am speaking of.
Hold it right there! I ain't quite finished, yet.
If you heard "Flea" you'd see what I'm getting at.
I'm talking the best in the biz. "The Cream of the Crop."
My man from "Limp Biscuit" certainly ain't no prop.
Ramming "George Clinton" funk all down your throat.
The best of the best. Known all over the globe.
There ain't nothing better than a "Beast Bass Man."
One that can carry us to that "Promised Land."
They can start at the bottom, and go way, out front.
And, when they finally get there, it ain't nothing but funk.
The Darwin Awards are a posthumous honor, recognizing those who have improved the human gene pool by removing themselves from it by their own foolish actions.
In a robbery way out in Long Beach
Elliot's handgun misfired in the breech
Down the barrel he took
A quite scatterbrained look
Then made it more than a figure of speech
There was a foolish fellow named Gary
Who gulped gasoline over near Cary
The fuel made him gag
So he fired up a ***
And now smokes in the state mortuary
"Look, no helmet!" Phil proudly decried
In the headgear disobedience ride
He stood for his rights
Then put out his lights
When he flew off his Electra Glide
An impatient Korean got miffed
And was ramming the doors of the lift
Then went a bit daft
When he got the shaft
But his ride to the bottom was swift
References:
http://jdgroover.wordpress.com/2013/08/20/the-2013-darwin-awards-are-out/
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2012-03.html
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2011-03.html
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2010.html
What a sick monster of a man creeping
around with no morals ramming sick agendas
Inside twisted ideas down peoples throats
All the time smiling in his deeply disturbed soul
paying his thirty pieces for the ferry man
Your entry unto the devilish domain
He disguises himself falsely as caring about people
when the suffering lie on trolleys unattended
As the homeless keep rising
Selling off state owned assets without consent
from the nation he should be prosecuted
under high treason of the state
Face the life sentence appropriate to such crime
Under the eighth ammendment our nations law
was passed and still stands tall
We are the land of saints and scholars
A generation of God's seed
We will not be involved in such a disgusting pact
One with blood as it's signature
which has been addressed by this countries kin
in the constitution clearly written as an unlawful act
He should be imprisoned to have such a biast mind
closed to the reality of home truth against the living in God's holy book
his only written words arc of his seed and covenant
There was change, an odd pulse,
a new cadence and tone, in the place I grew up
where my mother had been...
Where white fences stretched out to cradle our home
but where zones, unfamiliar, were on now on the cusp
On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake
Windows cracked open,
a wind coming in, ....
Intangible nights, in the familiar old room,
alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things...
There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on,
and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go
The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass,
was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense
And a place to fit in
My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride
in the same maple bed, where my mother had died
And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room
where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon
I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained.
I was there at his side,
when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too
but was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings
Eventually, I would grow with a fresh point of view,
but the child that I was, still waits for the moon
I'm older and wiser, maybe stronger than then
but, the moth will look in, escaping the moon
ramming the screen
seeking the flame...
batting its wings,
while resisting the change, ...again, and again
11/3/14
Traces of the masterful
impregnable prepubescent wall
still extant scads of decades since
complex edifice erected to force tall
permanently leaving me unmoored,
marooned, and furloughed ready for pall
bearers to spill soil upon my
then emaciated stick figure overall,
an unlovely bag of bones
stripped of flesh,
sans unseen deadly parasites,
who valiantly tried to mothball,
and nearly succeeded, kneaded,
and deeded landfall,
when aghast parents
at wits end betiding,
halting, and ramming ace kickball
player with serious
game of life and death,
the latter cleated toehold
unanimous decision to install
topnotch scorer anticipating
seeing his name plaque mounted
within glass encasement within guildhall,
faintly hearing inaudible teammates
praised showered, visited
head upon one, with grit and gall,
who clinched championship
wrathful excoriation against me
referee could not forestall,
who fumbled, kindled (as predicted)
loose tongues flaying hide with no rescue
to escape being skewered behind eight ball,
thus the above "FAKE"
metaphor merely to accentuate
self repudiation delivering
to this defacto scapegoat
bullies taunts endlessly berate
ting, jackknifing, and resulting
with implacable self hate
deferrening allowance,
asper my grant (migrant)
humph...pariah status
to learn social skills quite late,
and apathetically to marry and mate
despite ambivalence within my pate
even now...the entombed fortress prison wall,
I cannot obliterate
hence... no surprise WALLS - I HATE!
(alternately titled...
whoops rites of spring
prematurely ejaculated).
This livingsocial mortal opposes
rigor mortis deadened waiver!
Great slabs of ice thrust
from Perkiomen River
competing forces did deliver
contraction and expansion
giving yours truly,
a frightened shiver
hurled with heft of Goliath
smashed into a bajillion pieces,
akin to alms giver
momentarily, sans freeze-
frame (courtesy J. Geils ghost)
suspended, hallucinated
me accursed and destined,
grim fate akin to drunk Mini driver
city, viz frozen blocks buzz
feeding frigid air, a sliver
of Ice Age dam axed
face of Paul R. Vortex
as he launched a
thousand shrieking banshees,
an narrow escape as I did quiver,
hence explaining thunderous crash heavily
argh...no time to mull
battering (ramming analogous to
more'n one angry red bull)
Highland Manor Apartments
little imagination needed
to envision skull
and crossbones harkened full
Nelson deathly hallowed
grip inescapable pull
aghast and petrified to brimfull
(of mine non hull
king manlihood down
to the last drop),
nonetheless didst cull
atavistic adrenaline
laden fight flight, never a dull
moment whirling as
a "FAKE" undercover agent
with an off humorous bent
(what, that might earn me ten cent),
plus considering myself civil gent
(yea, really no time asper hero to invent,
such as the unassuming Clark Kent),
ah...wishful thinking misspent
mere seconds to spare sought
shelter in makeshift tent
deep sea diving into blanketed warmth
this whimpering poet went!