Long Rats Poems
Long Rats Poems. Below are the most popular long Rats by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rats poems by poem length and keyword.
Two rats can have over a million descendants
In eighteen months, talk about prolific
Don't know about all youse guys out there
But this guy finds that quite horrific
You'd produce enough gas for an atomic bomb
If you farted for 6 years and 9 months
Know a guy that could produce enough gas
For an atomic bomb by farting just once
Tigers have striped skin as well as striped fur
Now how damn interesting is that
A Ronald MacDonald once robbed Wendy's
I would guess he got his order fast
Tipping at Iceland is considered an insult
Sounds really civilized to me
The longest flight of a chicken is 13 seconds
It crash-landed and broke a knee
Ribbon worms eat themselves if they can't find food
Now that's pretty desperate to me
Guess they start at the bum and work their way up
Don't think I've ever felt THAT hungry
Bob Hope and Billy Joel were both once boxers
Now I don't mean the doggy type
Chained dogs are 3 times more likely to bite us
Guess they have a reason to gripe
Clocks made before 1660 had only an hour hand
The world didn't have seconds back then
A jiffy is the time it takes for light to travel
One centimeter in a vacuum, I'm overwhelmed
Mahatma Gandhi wrote for advice on diet and exercise
To strongman Charles Atlas, I kid you not
Whoopi Goldberg's real name is Caryn Johnson
Sure for most of us, Whoopi gets the nod
Who said "I’ve watched a lot of baseball on the radio"
Yup! Good old President Gerald Ford
Way back, people threw eggs at the bride and groom
A custom that today would be deplored
Shadows fill the alley, where they lie in wait
To buy and sell sundries of a wicked kind
needles injected, gun shots fired, witnessed in
flashing neon lights
I equate them to sewer rats, crawling 'round
whose sinister stories would make me shudder
counting their number by red cigarette glows
blurred in veils of smoke
Another cheap wine bottle smashed to the ground
Stiletto heels needing to trade for a fix
Money earned turning tricks; spent on ecstasy
eyes in Zombie mode
I should board my window so I cannot see
the bowels of a city, dark and defiled
Such tragedy permeates the air until
street lamps dim at dawn
Pick-A-Title Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas
Title Chosen: A Dark Underbelly
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Posted on July 11th, 2020
I followed milky and mouldy scents,
down cobbled and narrow paths,
only to see it riddled with rats,
feasting on Feta and Camembert,
whilst the wine sipping Uppers prepared to
clash against the cider swigging downers!
The Fromage Frenzy and Curd Craze deli.
across from the Dizzy Duck and the Boastful Bard taverns
had been ransacked with only cracker crumbs on the floor.
All the cheesemongers were hiding in their basements.
All the landlords locked away in their cellars!
Bar stools dripping with Chardonnay and Merlot,
carpets soaked in 'Scrumpy Jack' and 'Strongbow.'
It was utter chaos as the 'cheese shed' raged on...
The goats and the cows watched,
as the town folk gathered on either side.
Anger in their eyes, yelling insults like;
'Cheap cheddar gobblers' and 'stinky Stilton munchers.'
This was not cultural tensions,
nor issues with tariffs, quotas or labelling practises-
this was a war of the social classes!
They were not fighting with fists or weapons,
oh no, no no..
The Downers started squirting stinky cheese sauce,
drenching the Uppers with its reeking stench.
However, when the Uppers started hurling
Storico and Caciocavallo Podolico,
back at the Downers, they simply,
started consuming it with their cider!
Both fractions kept pelting and sprinkling,
until little Joey from the farm,
reminded them the football had started,
so off they plodded to watch the game,
singing and laughing together,
arm in arm, munching on cheese
they had salvaged from their skirmish.
There are sentences that are inaudible
And words that are passively silent
Oh! Words, verbs, innuendoes and pirouettes
We instantly ask incredulous questions.
Their gestures sometimes are understandable
Clever foxes hide behind vices
We comprehend very well why racists
Are intermittently invisible.
Oh! Silence that is when words do not exist
We see rats robbing the store at daylight and the cats
Patiently and intelligently examine the list
Of the remaining victims peacefully and wisely.
Words are often deadly dangerous
Daring the weapons of inequality around the hellish fire
Which is about to consume the desperate city
Where the words are silent and strangled.
Hebert Logerie , September 29, 2013
1/23/24
These cats love to chat without knowing all the facts
Rats still going splat inside traps
In a flash swarms of gnats among the trash
All kinds of bats with wings that flap before they circle back
Another ass ready to light the match atop the grass
So that they can grasp all the cash
They never looked through the looking glass
There was always a scratch
As well as a man in a mask
Alas you'll be caught like a bass
Against such wrath it's difficult to stand a chance
Do you even need to ask?
The man who wanted to burn the world down with gas
Be careful if you stick your neck out like a giraffe
Prices go up but they crash
In the animal kingdom and society is another clash
What is considered a simple task can still lead to back lash
A dangerous world like an avalanche
It's not all by random chance
Realize and imagine that
It's all constant and happens fast
If you sit idle you won't have a chance
And land in last
It's not about being first, just don't fall to the back of the pack
Or you'll get overlapped and an axe to the back
Since nearly everything has a catch
Across such savage lands
Seeing the bigger picture not just at a glance
Time continuing to pass
As I amass
I got no time to rehash
Need to do the dash
Make a splash
Then stash more in a cache
Before it all turns to ash
How to catch the moles, voles and rats?
I am pondering my moves, as the king of the cats.
I am the magnificent, the best, the eager smart king.
They will be amazed at my stamina, stealth, spryness and spring.
I am lying on my couch, enjoying the pondering in all ways.
It is one of those lazy, summer, August fine days.
Which ones to catch first? Do I toy with them too?
I am lying in repose, thinking of catching at least two.
The squirrels and rabbits will be scattering fast.
I am the king of the hunt, all lying around moments are past.
I raise my giant paws up and give a yawn that starts everything.
In a few seconds the wildlife knows why I am the king,
the heat presses down like a drunk cop’s boot,
metal fences shiver in the sticky Florida sun,
concrete walls spit their old secrets at you,
black mildew crawls across everything,
like it's alive and goddamn winning.
men with broken teeth laugh in corners,
playing cards with cigarette ashes and dreams,
the guards walk slow, like they own death,
keys jangling like a bad symphony,
boots scuffing, breaking the silence open.
sweat pools in the cracks of your skin,
rats wiser than the wardens,
paint peels in long strips, like shedding snakes,
you hear screams, sometimes,
but mostly you hear the waiting.
somewhere far off, a dog barks—
but not for you, not for you.
Over the hill past the wizened hollow tree with wild bats
Lives a renowned crazed witch with six notoriously ugly cats
She eats lean meats. Her felines eat their left-over fats.
On Halloween eve they dine on sixty-seven chosen sewer rats.
Sautéing them in fabulous thick gravy, steamed in bubbling vats.
You want to know more? Come let’s have one of my cozy chats.
I know all about the witch and her gloriously gloomy ugly cats.
I hear they all dress in tuxedos, and wear shiny polished spats.
They are crabby and cranky, and shove skeletons down on mats.
I am not afraid to tell you, for I have heard the rumors at the flats.
For years he had thought
that God belonged to a secret society
one he could never be part of,
notwithstanding, he imagined himself a mystic,
In the prime of life, as sometimes happens,
rats began to gnaw at anchor ropes,
he began to drift away from his true self.
He became that most deluded of all beings –
a follower and a seeker.
Fortunately for his sanity,
he became a weaver of words,
a thought painter, an image maker,
a sort of poet.
His work was to be this enactment
upon a Scrabble board
a stage where sacred symbols were wrought
from alphabet salads.
If he were speaking now
he would tell you
that though he picked the letters.
and arranged the words
he is certain sure that any concept of
God-game game he played
always pointed back at himself,
and so, he found his truth again.>center>
Personified evil
I feel repulsed when he is near; I ought to have compassion
for this cripple, his twisted foot and arm
a beggar with scabby skin and eyes as black as looking into
the dark side of the moon.
This is not a person you can be nice to the more you give
the more he hates you and wishes you an early death.
His diversion is to follow funeral processions but no into
the cemetery, no one wants him there.
Why do I hate this person must be a background for me?
Childhood, when I lived in fear of the undead.
After the war in Norway, there was hunger in the land
but I noticed at the gymnasium the children
of the middle classes, who went to be the new suits
a concrete box for trash, unopened parcels of food.
I had to be quick in case the rats took it.
A rat jumped up and tried to catch the food eyes shone
of hatred hated me for being human.
Like the cripple who dislikes humanity, who he blames
for his perpetual hardship.
This dirty little person was hated by his mother denying
she gave birth to this satanic being
I hate and fear him too, four black horses, where he is
the only mourner.