Long Regurgitate Poems
Long Regurgitate Poems. Below are the most popular long Regurgitate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regurgitate poems by poem length and keyword.
The earth opens its hungry gut looking at us
The earth opens its craving gut laughing at us
The heat is twirling meticulously in the dust
And big eyes are popping out of the sky
with an appetite that says do or die
The earth is yearning and munching at its gum
Sweet tooth sweet corn rising from the bottomless pit
And a solemn appetite mingled with a desire that is unfit
The inner core burns with lust and a strange desire
you cannot trust creeps slowly upon us
As the heat burns the outer crust vibrate
and the trees struggle to hold their gravity
and the animals run for safety
I begin my journey looking for food
I pass through village and town chopping down trees
And digging up ground
catapulting houses all around
My search for food takes me round and around
My search for food pulls down cities and towns
Every time you walk upon the earth,
You come in contact with spirits and dirt
Someone had occupied that rigid spot
Someone made that deadly shot
Though the dust remains on the earth,
Their spirit and soul live inside the outer crust
You might weep and mourn their memories,
or build a giant memorial in the sky but the flesh
will never come alive again ,
The earth is where it all began
with the sordid penitence of man
Speaking to mankind’s conscience
The memories of yesterday hang on fallen trees
Holding chunks of earth in its roots
and walking around in water boots
You cannot replace the fleeting time
And hold memories that are divine
It’s you and me that is walking in the middle of the sea
It is you and me that is yearning for victory
The life in you still remains strong,
And the passing of time cannot be framed.
The good or bad that you do,
have their appointments in the sun, wind and the rain
While you celebrate the gift of life many more will have to die
The earth is a reminder that mankind must pay the sacrifice
I walked the earth for a year without shoes
and I could feel the pressure when I step on the ground
The bile is bubbling up in my gut
And the saliva in my mouth tastes bitter
The earth with cracks and holes
and giant size tectonic plates
Are waiting patiently at the gate
Take the narrow road through the village
and cross over the river.
The earth will regurgitate.
No form, no organization, no verse.
A crescendo followed by silence and screams.
A wooden home locked inside of a concrete tome,
With a world collapsing while we keep relapsing
And again the past resurges; what we bury tends not to stay that way,
After all, the piper must have his pay.
A dark closet and we’ve seen fit to rot in it
The Devil in the details told me to be his advocate.
And El Dorado’s gone because a city of gold just wasn’t sustainable
But if it’s attainable then you’re damn right it’s going to be painful.
And death isn’t an option for those of us who feel compelled to keep walkin’
On the sand-- or is it ash? It doesn’t really make a difference while they slash
Their prices by depriving kids of rice and pin open their eyelids
For their twenty hour shifts ‘till they try to plummet themselves off of
Concrete cliffs.
And Macondo is Columbia, unless it’s in the Gulf of Mexico,
but you already knew that, Mr. Critic.
But what are you going to do with it?
Frankenstein was the man, not the monster
The confusion first came when our blame ceased to reclaim
An association between dissociation and our relation
To whatever the truth may have been
‘Cuz it certainly isn’t the truth anymore.
Blank pages in our textbooks and you ask me to memorize it
Regurgitate it and tell you what you want to hear--
My foods teacher says no eating in her class
And sees fit to harass her students with her utter lack
Of discernible knowledge while we cook some Kraft Mac and Cheese.
But who can blame her with the pay she’s getting?
No Telemachus on the television—Nor do we see Stephen
Not while the Situation is breathin’, cuz that’s what’s loved by the station.
Where’s the frustration? The indignation with the ignorant elation
That comes with living in a used-up world?
Dig a treasure map out of the trash and get it unfurled,
You walk to the ‘X’, but it’s been dug up—no wonder it was in there in the first place.
And the esoteric is what they find hysteric ‘cuz they’re all in on the joke
That they find so funny ‘cuz the system is broke.
Politics in work, in life, in marriage, in LIFE,
The wall of separation was torn down it seems, and soon you’ll find them tapping your dreams.
Enjoy watching your people’s nightmares, O Creators.
Tell us it’s what we want.
wrote you down
sing it outloud
the best things in life are free
no thoughts necisary
instant fame
your new level
to sing and strum meaninglessness
not believe it
dont feeli it
plagerism of me
the papparazi writing notes on me
your fame game is sideways
best advice
take what i give you
regurgitate it
exaggerate it
paid for free
instant fame
whats the matter with you
you dont like me
dont like me at all
but thats all you hear about
through everyone else
take it all
page by page
one by one
rip em
out it wasnt my idea
it wasnt mine
he said i could heres the proof
no dotted line
scatter to gather
the resolution
such confused mess in my head
all i got to do left
is regurgitate you
never gonna be myself again
say the things you say
remember you by stealing your shoes
but then you wouldnt get away
round the revolving door of life and death
a slaughter of walking circles through the same door
i giove up
i give up
i cant do it anymore
circles leading you in
leading you out
again and again
i refuse to do it
never again
take off your shoes
better things to do
regurgitate you
say everything you said
say everything they did
again and again
knocking on the door
the endlessness of no survivors
no survivors
everyone dead
what am i supposed to say
regurgitating you
you love me to death
and no one knew
one day
the change
one day
i'll rest
one day when you see the circle of the door
in and out
into differtent slaughters
eart heaven and hell
circles of death
through the same door
and im the only one that knew
i'm the only that knew
but i never met you
so confused by my head
the heart in my chest
the eyes that never see their destiny
arms length for a date
regurgitating you
spit it out
pay the piper again
3 days of crazy
walking through that circle
supposed to be 13 days of hollow
no one knew
everyone went through
three times i saw you
i saw you
the world ended
everybody died
everybody left behind
knocking on deaths door
dont go through that door
dont go through that door
regurgitating you
regurgitating you
i dont know why
i dont know why
no one survived
yet we are here
we are
so
Definitions Continued
Intelligence - Using wisdom, knowledge or understanding to discern intellectually, derive/create, contribute or correct.
Intelligence - "The manner (learned or intuitive) at which an individual conveys information to others"
"Music is lovely, persistent, sane, orderly and refined motion"
"With persistence and sanity, discovery(an impact) is likely to be in the making"
"Love is infinite (prolongs into infinity/brings infinity) whereas hate/greed brings (closer) an end"
"Imagination may come with limits~flaws, but it is the unraveling of truth/s that brings understanding~discovery~knowledge~wisdom"
“Intelligence is the capacity to understand (identify), and derive (create/generate/display) from truths/facts (display truth/fact)”
Intelligence – ability to derive/exhibit/understand something that harnesses truth/appeals universally/predicts events/solves/ blue prints/templates inventions
Intelligence (1)- The "manner" at which something is done. It consist of two processes: "The thought that propels the manner, and the manner that "may" reflect the way the thought is expressed .
manner - learned or intuitive technique or manner of expression/ the derivated manner of expression
Forms of Intelligence : Full Intelligence and Partial Intelligence.
Full Intelligence : Involves the deliberate or intentional reasoning that propels the manner at which the reasoning is expressed. The thought (intentional reasoning propels the manner). The thought initiates the manner in a creatively expressed way.
Partial Intelligence: Uses "Recepto-recreativity" a term I coined meaning retaining of information or steps/mode of doing things (algorithm) without deliberate reasoning. This involves a manner of doing things, here, the manner is exhibited without "necessarily" deep(intentional) thought process.
This is exhibited by quick "accustomation" to information (these may occur in people who quickly accustom to themselves to things easily such as reading 20 novels and narrating each very well) or people who cram information and regurgitate when needed.
(Information above are based on author's observation and are taken from no source)
Form:
Many of things I long for, desired nature
Dwells like the thick, I strive
Perfection, excellence, that is not me
Nor do I desire such of me
For those I surround, wishes none but what I will
Shall fall upon you I hope,
dance with the stars,
Shape with the universe
Pull out of the wicked
Blade with the sword and cut, creator of pain
Father of fate
Touch feel taste sensations
Senses grip a harness
Hold onto what is real
Many of things I unto you, myself the same
Do what happiness compels you to, dive deep
Far if need be, past the shorelines of what is
Travel to what could be
Many of things I await, where to find the awaited?
Time laughs in my face across the road unknown
Chasing the ghostly destination of there. Where?
My thoughts? My goals? Places I wish to be?
No longer will I wait as I wage war against time
Many of things I think, decipher, analyze to set
Shuffle in the mix, showcase in order to cause
Nothing but a reaction of judgement
Let me learn from your teachings of opinion
Another voice, another word travels, caught in the air
A song
Of knowledge and enlightenment
Listen to the wind
Many of things I look at
Love, cities, day, terror, people, events
More detail though of the passionate, complex, intricate
Upcoming, never the past, bring only forth
Seeing is believing pushing truth with experience
I see, I know
I determine for myself
Many of things I give, take, receive
Give insight to those shaded beneath our time
Open the minds locked
With the strength of Cerberus breaking down the wall
I spark, giving tradition to all
All those in celebration, overwhelmed
By the light in which I take flight
With your state of mind mentality
Allowing freedom of discovery
I take with consideration, all aspect I take to reflect
Upon then regurgitate back to the world
Like a sparrow feeding her young
Food for thought
Appetite for ideas
Many of things I distinguish, pry from the wheel
The axle, that holds together the whole
Separate the red from the blue anew, brand of
Independence titled that of which it is
Surely must differentiate from hue of green
Standing alone seeing clearly now
Form:
(continued from PART ONE)
Why I’ve seen him countless times, regurgitate old dog faeces onto fresh bread
And listened to his quiet voice exhorting me to do the same.
This fly was a born teacher.
There can be no greater accolade for a teacher than to be followed by his students.
He used basic good common sense, but spiced-up with a dash of excitement.
The well-known excrement-with-fried-egg, the easy-to-recognize urine-flavoured
Chips in the gutter, and the now commonplace saliva-over-spoon trick,
Are today almost standard delicacies for us all. Yet it was Hector who pioneered them.
He ignored the scorn and catcalls from younger flies, as he disdained a baby’s diaper
In some trash can, and went winging his way up to the second floor of the hospital
To select the juiciest old blood he could find.
No - Hector was independent, he was truly his own fly.
He stuck with pioneering ideas like the then-untested skid techniques
For escaping fly-swatters wielded in kitchens. It was Hector’s brave soul
Which brought standardized fly-patrols into being to catch a greater proportion of
Unsuspecting open-mouthed sleepers at night.
Uncle Hector went where no fly had gone before, and he did it with style.
He often said,“If you can make it on this heap of cat-dung, you can make it anywhere”
And there’s the lesson for us all today, ladies and gentlemen.
Let us not grieve for the loss of such a fine fly, but rather
Celebrate his life of discovery and progress. Let us go forth from this cat-crap
To a brighter future illuminated by the searching curiosity of Uncle Hector’s mind.
Younger generation, you must go forth boldly and find your own rotten cucumbers,
Your own half-eaten porkchops, your own dandruff-laden combs,
And be not afraid to mix them with relish as you choose from the delicacies
Of the knacker’s yard or the remains of a crow hit by a ten-ton truck on the road.
We stand - or hover - now in silence for one minute, as a token of respect -
And as we enjoy the gentle aroma of this cat-crap heap,
Allow the memory of Hector to inspire us.
God bless you all.
A wagon full of them
happened to pass by mine
at dawn
Their voices raised as one
attuned to match the demands
of the current social trends
"Jump on Johnny jump on"
they beckoned invitingly at me
A very different tune to their staple
"Go home Johnny just go back where you came from"
Taken aback as I was, I reckoned
such a chance could come handy
in time
Sure beats the "crawl under that rock
Johnny play dead for now"
"Just while the flights are cancelled
at least"
So I quickly jumped on that bandwagon
without a second thought,
that's what I did
Went along for the ride and pledged
my loyalty to them on that day
Out on some patriotic duty
or so, that's the claim they made
A joint noble cause, I figured
could make a fertile ground
to sow the seed of a much needed
united front
It sure felt good to be included
for a little while
Until their strongman deemed it
the perfect time to gorge my eyes out,
much to my utter dismay
He swore it was proof of dedication
Anything to fit in, I thought to myself
But I soon found out thinking
wasn't allowed either
There was a ready made agenda
to be followed by all of us, in place
Worded just right to fit its purpose
All we had to do was regurgitate it
over and over on demand
Till it turned into our only truth
And to be sure to spread it about
Anyone who disagreed with it
was bound to be a traitor of sorts
It was the way of the order
or the highway
To make the cut all you had to do
was strap on a pair of blinkers
"Rest your sights on the insides of
the glorious tunnel, to reset your view
Then all will be well with you!"
That was our slogan by the way
Rather catchy don't you think?
Unfortunately my conscience
wouldn't have any of it
Being brainwashed somehow
failed to catch its fancy
I soon found myself longing for the old songs
"Crawl under that rock Johnny play dead for now"
"At least until the flights are back on air"
Then it will be "go home Johnny!
just go back where you came from"
Fitting in, for sure carried a price tag
too heavy for my pocket
Form:
I'm sorry...
Love is a thornbush.
Pretty to the sight
yet, in the end;
it's prickly touch
is unimaginable.
With bright red roses -
it's message
seems too fragrant -
vociferous from afar.
Romantics are obsessed with love -
the misanthropes dread it;
it's a kill-joy feeling -
an inner nightmare
of an unconcious
optimistic daydream.
You stutter the word love -
but do you regurgitate beauty?
Like a laughable idea
whose far-sided partner is
an emotional quadroplegic?.
You're clueless and
I'm a jaded wallflower.
Love is a disease -
It's like syphilis -
one never asks for it.
Innocence invades
a loner's muted thoughts
quite quietly.
Love is calculated cancer.
You try to cope with the affliction -
while the misfits around you
watch you hold your head erect
and cackle
in laughable disdain.
The unfortunates are the reality.
Everyone tans in Hell.
No one cannot help what they feel.
We are helpless -
(squirming like worms)
our morals swim like scum;
it gets tossed around
when passion hold you hostage..
Far sided beauty
is one's torture up close;
feeding off one's weakness
like leeches on dormant genocide.
From the inside out -
scars surface.
Emotions are demented -
mongoloid flavored;
unable to heal -
your will is a mutilated carcass.
Rigamortis quietly sets in
unbeknownst to you -
transparent to your and your
befriended corpses.
I'm sorry...
the air is clearer now.
Infatuation gets a second chance -
another shot without a bullet.
Why do we pine for this?
Pining to surrender -
our pride,
our dignity.
When we stand
for our independence
do we will give it all away,
without a price tag?-
Stupidity repeats iitself;
yet we still yearn
for our fictious chimera
to resurface.
In the end;
love isn't so beautiful?
Misquided vagabonds choose to
paint our idyllic pictures -
but it wont stop the torture;
because the suffering we endure
lingers past expiration...
it glides above vowed headstones -
until our consummated
death -
do we part?
It can't -
and for that
I'm sorry once more.
I can't believe I thought that.
In the shadows of my soul the whispers lingered. It murmured and elegantly sat massaging my last ego in the stool of regrets. My being was lied to, stomped at, shot with words anchored with rays of
acidic venoms.
The truth choked me.
It served anguish on
my haunting mind.
It's hypnotic that I once fancied a strangling viper that vapours the juice from my melted eyes into the mountain of torture.
I stumbled, I swayed to life's thorns of abyss and ensnared by love's cruel crumbs of illusion.
The bruises painted on my canvassed face chuckled at every punch till I lost the willingness to see the glory of the full moon in dark clouds.
My eyes sank into the fire.
My eerie turquoise lips screamed out blue lavas.
I was the sulfur who dared not escape the volcano. Those blows made me regurgitate.
Made me lose my sapling smile.
Orchestrated the loss of myself.
I was thorn from my flesh like onions.
My blood, alarmed in pickled beet hues and I gushed like cano cristales, dangling on the verge of a slit through the wrist.
I didn't want to leave my pumpkins
I didn't want to see them watch me either.
It was selfish to dance with such folly.
To roam in that nightmare of a dream.
It was selfish to leave them suffering the most but my eyes failed me.
My voice joined the chorus
My legs? The soil rejected them.
A breezy glance of creamy smile after
every hit. The devil's only laugh.
How do I make it painless?
No one is saving me from this.
The world would plea I endure
They won't not believe, and neither did I.
Time stood still dancing to my whims.
The wind in pretence, flinched.
The night? It barely covered my shame.
I watched the hessdalen lights take flight without crawling on me.
Do I let his grey kicks
take the last accolades
Or should I grab them
myself, taking the glory?
It's bewildering, I thought that I was loved.
I can't believe I thought that taking my breath would make it easier and filter the pain.
For every dig and storm he imprinted on me,
I forgive myself.
Life is much bigger than I imagined it could be,
There is more beyond the horizon of Hope through my Faith.
I am Uniquely made as seen by the different shades of me
With the out -bursting of colors depicting a side that some
May never know - happy and gay, rejoicing, celebrating, funny,
hilarious, witty, caring, loving, appreciative, satisfied.
Strong of character but often self-willed, and usually turn the "other
Cheek" too.
Reminiscing on good things in bygone days and share
Experiences, direct and indirect which propels the renewal of thoughts
of what could still be done,
By using learned knowledge and skills in other ways, I
Create, evolve, develop and initiate whatever God directs me to do.
I cannot imagine how vast a prospect God's Purpose is for me,
But I do remember that Life is much bigger than I imagine it could be!
So, I regurgitate past achievements to Capture the color and mix,
To be a fit in Society's go-getting World!
Emulating the Lord when He asked: "Who do men say that I am"?
I use the gift of penmanship to excavate what got hidden inside of me.
I endeavor to search deep within and skillfully share in philosophy,
Humanity, nature, emphatic for emotional and physical pain.
Look deep into my soul and glimpse what God sees
Simplicity does not mean "Walk All Over Me."
My pen gliding over the page as I write, can tell from images
"Painted" the true quality of me.
It establishes a "blueprint" like in the DNA when mRnA transforms
And transcribes " messages". So like the pens of Poets I opt to portray
The best of me, striving for that Perfect point to be
Released through the "window" of expertise that God loaned me.
God too is engaged in poetry as some Psalms of David show.
Like Reverse Mortgages He loans gifts and talents by beginning from the
first to the last. Thus, his subjects display talents with youth and taper
off with age.
Even switching from skill to skill, the "blueprint" is the same DNA.
What I develop, evolve or initiate, the background is the same!