Long Rat Poems
Long Rat Poems. Below are the most popular long Rat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rat poems by poem length and keyword.
Life as a Rat
Yes, every city is a labyrinthine cage
woven from streets seen from celestial heights,
but also – from the silken threads of your habits:
The paths you follow, or avoid,
the cafes where your presence lingers like ghosts,
the markets you cross
on your mythical journey home,
to work, to dance
under the spell of Friday night's embrace,
and the restaurants
where you might have savored delights,
if fate hadn't sealed their doors.
Oh, yes. A dozen winding roads
and fifteen hundred faceless extras
would be enough
to stage your entire
cursed life on a stage –
and yet you yearn
for a million souls
to feel painfully alone?
Ten thousand destinations
to pretend you're trapped?
Five hundred thousand
square kilometers to hide
in towers that kiss the sky,
far from the fortieth floor –
Ah, yes. A Universe,
to remind you: it exists,
just beyond the door.
And so, in the labyrinth of city lights,
where the moon whispers secrets
to cobblestone alleys,
you wander, a solitary specter,
through the mist of your own existence,
weaving dreams from the shadows
cast by neon ghosts and ancient bricks.
Each step, an unspoken symphony
of forgotten memories and future hopes,
a dance with the unseen,
a waltz with the infinite.
For in this mystical labyrinth,
where time is but a fleeting illusion,
and space is an endless canvas of possibilities,
you are both prisoner and poet,
caught in the web of your own creation,
yet always creating verses
from the stardust of your soul.
Oh, to be a rat in this cosmic playground,
to navigate the ethereal threads
of destiny and desire,
to find solace in the solitude
of a crowded universe,
and to discover, in the silence
between heartbeats,
the profound truth
that you are never truly alone.
Rat-a-tat-tat, hear the gunshots repeat,
children are shooting children in their school.
And yet, gun control bills end in defeat;
corporate America is no fool.
Money matters more than lives; it's a fact;
politicians fear the gun lobby's might.
And do nothing; when school kids are attacked,
except to acknowledge that it isn't right.
No show of tears can quell a mother's pain;
nor condolences or thoughts and prayers.
For words can't bring her child to life again,
and the message she hears; is no one cares.
All those who say guns don't kill, people do,
invariably know that is not true.
As a child, I had much to do
Crushed it, when I tried to grew
Participant of the Rat Race, I am
Suddenly everything was scattered away
Now when I try to think of you
And calculate what went wrong
Where was my mind that day?
Why everything went so wrong?
After endless struggle, when I dream
Those equations , cry and scream
My demand curve went wrong way
And that was the end of everything
The sweet little Tom & Jerry
still playing with no worries
Then my mind cries and says
those days are so far away
Every-time when I think of it
I think as I'm a liar and cheat
After this endless bargaining
Life ends here.... Screaming
They're starting to gather in small clusters.
Fed up with being shackled by a 5-star virus.
Letting a redrum rat control how they live and think.
Soon they'll gather by the thousands-then millions.
Shouting out "we are not your commie minions".
They will march and demand and never go away.
They will not stand for a summer of perpetual gray.
There are napalm and gasoline in the air... again.
Camouflaged hearts have turned into slurry and flint.
Batons will twirl in the streets, seeking innocent blood.
The sound of halos cracking-the smell of rat tails burning,
All the goodness in life being dragged into the urn.
The ultimate alpha male is pissing blood.
Eventually he'll place us gently into our destiny.
Churning earth into a ball of Tiffany glass.
Pretty whorls of panic, loneliness, and death...
Let the cleansing begin.
I am inviting you to imbibe with me with a little drink said the cat.
The tiny mini mouse was surprised, for he had heard the cat was a rat.
What would we have to drink? He asked, a bit leery of this.
We’ll have some white Zin, it’s wonderful, said Cat Miss.
The tiny mouse sat on a toadstool and took a few sips.
The cat was all chatty and moved back and forth her cat hips.
You are so nervous! She said. Why can’t you relax like a bee?
Or a butterfly? Asked the pink monarch, whose name was Lee.
The mouse did not put his guard down, he was nervous as heck.
Cat Miss said, “I can get you some white Zen, bottled up in a peck.”
The mouse could not calm down, his home was quite a trek.
Unfortunately, he drank too much and ended up in a wreck.
Moral of the story is do not worry about what might not be
And if you go out drinking, stick to sassafras tea
Like sunshine on a cold Spring morning
deceiving our judgment and senses,
the rat manoeuvres through honest lives,
a Machiavellian villain before our eyes.
Sharp pain in our back can not be felt,
slowly we bleed unknowingly from
malicious acts assumed as mistakes
and poisonous words on metaphorical plates.
The gullible gobbling every last morsel
coaxed by the rodent kings charm,
others now treat us with utter contempt.
Realisation dawns slowly, this was all meant.
A great planner and chess game player
- a master manipulator,
this rat's moves to the winning check mate
eminate from the deepest bowels of dark hate.
Rubbishing others to his own gain,
convincing the blind he is the best,
while deadly charisma gnaws his path,
My fellow man I plead, watch out for this rats wrath.
Last year was brutal for me, if it weren't for my new friend convincing me to hang around, I would have been fine just passing away and putting an end to my so-called life. I've been homeless for almost a year now and my residence is anywhere I can find a warm dry place to rest my bones. Living on the streets of Manhattan isn't so bad, that is, if you don't mind gigantic size rats sharing your space. Or, if you're okay with hanging with hookers, hoodlums and other homies. I've become accustomed to the life of a vagabond, eating whatever good meal that I can scavenge from a garbage can or dumpster. I used to live in Hoboken, New Jersey with my wife and kids but that all ended one terrible day last year when my wife and kids were taken from me by a drunken tractor trailer driver. After the accident I became a mole, my life was shattered, I was shattered, I wanted to die. That's when I started hitting the bottle, taking pills, shooting heroin and smoking crack. Within three months I went from living in a beautiful house with a wife and two kids to being jobless and homeless and having nothing to live for. Getting back to my new friend, he found me one chilly evening on the sidewalk on 14th St. in the village and showed me to his place of warmth where he lived. He was homeless as well but new the streets very well. He lived in an abandoned building in a makeshift house made from cardboard boxes and filthy rags. He took me in, and we've been living together for nearly a year now and he's been trying his best to keep me going. He too lost his entire family one sad day when his wife and four kids were swept away in the flood from hurricane Lucifer. He taught me that no matter what happens in life, there is still reason to live, because there will always be someone who gives a rats a.. about you. Who ever knew that one of those gigantic black rats could be so kind and thoughtful. He's my friend and I love him, and he loves me too!
That's my story and I'm sticking to it!
Oops! Wife just called... I got to go pick up the kids from school now. See ya!
Rat Catcher
I feel repulsed when he is near, I ought to have compassion
for this cripple, a twisted foot. an arm that does not
function as it should a beggar with scabby skin, eyes as black
as looking into the dark side of the wishing moon
this is not a man you can be kind to, the more you give him
the more he hats you and wishes you an early death.
His diversion is to follow funeral processions, but not into
the cemetery, no one wants him there
I have wondered why I dislike this cripple so much it must
be a memory of my childhood
After the war in Norway, there was hunger in the land
but I noticed the children, the children of the well-to-do
those who in later years suited men in politics
often threw away lunch boxes that their maid had packed
something they didn't like
There were many rats in the waste bin, so I had to be quick
before the rats found the food, one rat jumped up and tried
to take the lunch I held in my hand
The rat's eyes shone with loathing, it hated me for being
human, like the cripple who hates normal people too
and blame them for his hardship
In the knowledge he will hate me more, I give him
a few shillings when I see him, this dirty little man who
forsaken by his mother after he tried to sleep with her.
I fear him too, four black horses, clicking hoofs on
a pebbled road and he is the only mourner.
The ancient scriptures are both boon and bane
on one hand holding out a ray of hope
yet also becoming a thought form chain
letting us not with light of truth elope.
Each breath we take anchors us deeper here,
aliveness depending on senses five,
so then how may light of clear truth appear,
if dying ember we fail to revive?
Religious belief, a culture borne curse,
which no doubt, cajoles us to look inward,
imposes strictures we need to rehearse,
that repressing lust, we be not wayward.
What’s repression but a short term measure ~
Save pure of heart, none can find heart’s treasure
Save pure of heart, none can find heart’s treasure,
purity meaning God’s light in our heart,
whence gently smelling roses at leisure,
we feel deep within, bliss ignition start.
No sooner we rise, ego pulls us down,
seeking our undivided attention,
dragging us in swamps of wealth and renown,
where love never ever gets a mention.
At the crossroads by employing free will,
we alone must choose the vibe of our muse,
so animating silence, if we’re still,
we can overpower ego spawned ruse.
Discarding lower mind, prone to research ~
Let us here now prioritise God search
Let us here now prioritise God search,
which simply means, if pure be our intent,
the bird of bliss on our heart’s tree will perch,
upon our granting God’s love our consent.
Nothing need be done save coming undone,
Stripping dark desires and fears from our core,
whence recognising God and soul are one,
bliss beats rise and we beg for an encore.
Let us choose to give our soul some relief,
getting to basics, melding head with heart,
whence this discarding conditioned belief,
we behold demons of darkness depart.
Peacocks dance in sunshine entwined with rain ~
The ancient scriptures are both boon and bane
Choosing a genuine leader
Is a dauntingly difficult task
To constitutionally ask
Uninformed voters
To vote their conscience.
Such a practice defies science
And natural common sense.
That too many followers lack
And where criminals hack
The convoluted system
With a simple leaf
Of a fragile stem.
It is hard to catch the thief
The convicted felon, the liar or the backstabber
Who lies like a hot fryer.
It not easy to choose a leader
Who can only win the pot, but
Can lead, without being the butt
Of all hard-working comedians.
Do not shoot the native Indians
They have nothing to do with this turmoil
Which is ravaging the nature of this soil.
Do not kill the good aliens
For no reasons, for excuses
Nobody will believe the ruses.
A real leader is not a tyrant
Who can only talk rubbish or rant.
Choosing a great leader is not easy
The voters must not be delusional and crazy
Money can buy privilege and power
But it cannot buy greatness and candor.
Hebert Logerie Wednesday, May 17, 2017