Long Regurgitated Poems
Long Regurgitated Poems. Below are the most popular long Regurgitated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regurgitated poems by poem length and keyword.
I stared at the wall, it stared back at me.
I was so lonesome longed for a roomie.
And as I despaired, with feelings of dread,
I heard a low moan at foot of my bed.
Wonder of wonders, beheld there a cow,
Afraid was I with sweat wetting my brow.
Quietly stared at the ruminant breed
Chewing cud of regurgitated feed.
Large were its eyes, as marbled limpid pools,
Did it hide wisdom from mystical schools?
As time ticked by I was caught in its thrall,
Couldn't find reason for the mesmeric fall.
And then when I thought my mind was all gone,
I heard the cock crow, and soon it was dawn!
My phantom companion with a low low,
With a nod of its head got up to go.
Before it vanished it pointed a look
At the pile of tomes lying in a nook.
As I reached out for a dust-covered book,
The phantom vanished before I could look.
Shaken and stirred, I dusted the cover
Wondering at what I would discover.
Treasure I found on each and every page,
Food for the soul, wisdom for every age.
A rapture in each line which sets you free,
A splendor in the "feel-and-see-and-be".
A release, as in abandon you whirl,
Immersed as you are in the dervish's twirl.
Now I'm never alone, I've my Roomie,
A mentor, a guide, a friend in Rumi!
The clown juggled his feelings in front of an incredulous crowd
Life is a circus and even a fool’s manna does not fall from heaven
He had balls to impose his mask and mascara onto instant applause
Was not sure though about who was the jester of standing ovations
His delusion was the illusion of reality in preposterous meaning
An existential artist he seemed to be in retro postmodern nostalgia
Intermezzo personified with endless beginnings entombed in a grin
Cut with a razor tattooed on his skin facing an ignorant audience
True to his script he stumbled and fell short and flat of intemperate desire
Gobbled up sand mixed with elephant poo and regurgitated misplaced pride
‘I sold my soul to fake laughter but even the kids are stuck on their phones’
Past his best like a relic he assembled dust of anger and fear for the future
He had turned into a proverbial slurve a slipped metaphor of fading delight
An imposter of joyful exuberance in a tedious world that could not care less
A projection of resentment a nuisance and overdue reminder of innocence lost
He was real to himself though like a hole in a bucket draining trickles of faith
As he gathered oblivious agony and immeasurable shame and contempt
He whipped one last sphere of hope high into the canopy of sad gloom
Hoped that the contorted trapeze artist might catch his final effort to escape
She twisted dangled reached out then crushed into a net suspended in yearning
With the show over ungrateful spectators left the miserable dishonest display
The tent was locked up and the onlookers retreated into self-righteous boredom
As lions horses fleas impalement and con artists took to their cages’ containment
The clown and the acrobat slipped off the road and eloped into a promising night
17th June 2019
I heard about God
In a church full of strangers
Who dutifully regurgitated words
Before enthusiastically adjourning to the bar.
I whispered to God
"Can you hear? Are you real?"
I opened my ears, expecting His reply
But my ears failed, like my memorized prayers.
I reached up to God
Desperate for the touch of His hand.
But it came back empty . . .
As empty, I thought, as my destiny, my future, my purpose.
I shouted at God
"Where is the Father I long for?
The One who doesn't hurt His children;
Who knows what it's like to be in pain, persecuted, alone?"
I surrendered to God.
I was silent, still, open.
He spoke to my heart, saying:
"At last, my child. Distraction is the enemy of relationship. Now we begin."
I walked with God.
Baby steps, falls, bruises.
Some ahead on the road laughed.
"Judgment is the enemy of growth," my Father said.
I shied from God.
"I don't belong here!
"I am not good enough to walk with you."
"And now, you are mine," and He took my place. "Arrogance is the enemy of love."
I trusted in God.
I walked on, striving to improve my gait.
Sometimes I fell behind, caught up . . .
Not seeking to advance beyond the
reach of those who were lost or fallen.
I thanked my God.
For a drop of forgiveness
In a life parched with guilt and shame.
I drank in His goodness, and hoped to overflow to a dehydrated world.
10/25/2015
Each longs to obtain
fifteen minutes of fame.
Pawns in play,
simpleton on display.
Farcical amusement
from slapstick humans.
Spectacles in a petri dish,
slaves to their lavishments.
Analyzed and watched—
spare no expense… at what cost?
A muse for their “entertainment,”
to be the fodder at their "banquet."
Plans to steal, kill, and destroy—
bartering your soul to deploy.
Creating the pandemonium;
whence comes regurgitated solutions?
Governed by the unseen legion,
sheeple blinded by fabricated freedom.
That fifteen minutes of wantingness
now seeks solitude… and will find none.
Most I know sad but true
define themselves by the work they do
out of the workplace they're as simple
as a bump on a stump dimple on a pimple
drop in a bucket wart on a frog
cog in a wheel or log in a bog
who's to blame... yes parents are the means
for their inherited hopeless poor genes
none of my tutors were teachers as such
and with no innate abilities didn't know much
all of which which amounted to nought
and only regurgitated what they'd been taught
never met one who didn't know it all
when in fact they knew nothing at all
and if I were to look in a book I'd learn the same
but follow the leader ('herd' is the word)
was the name of their game
as for me...
who I am determines what I do
not vice versa end of story
but... how about you?
Winter’s body is a car boot sale, a mosaic of the seasons and shifts,
the breezes and breaths of a year’s footsteps, gone.
The battered wheels of a truck, spinning against morning frost, rotate into its eyes.
Berries, dropped by a robin mid-flight, are smushed and stretched to make fingertips.
Leaves colour and curl to form that receding hairline.
Winter is ambidextrous:
can wake in chill, just to later doze in warmth;
is neither gender, with its sex a fresh April daisy and an October mud pie;
has a diary’s dog-eared pages for scabs to pick at.
Puddles that freeze, melt, undulate, act as lungs: expanding. drip. decreasing. drip.
Toddlers’ mittens sewn to jackets decorate Winter’s mouth with a cross-stitched grin.
Winter has stained glass, fired in prayer, for flesh;
regurgitated cud as wrists.
It has clumped silt for a nose, dotted with freckles from sand;
vines that interrupt brick for hips.
Winter is not just winter but the culmination of a year,
with bark as its backbone: a spine that creaks, splinters and
protests against autumnal rheumatism, yet will
slip into a supple Spring bend with the gentle weave of a craftsman’s hand.
Spirals
Smiling so polite
to regurgitated lines that we recite
A serene sea
A tranquil facsimile
That's what you see
That's what I show
all so you don't know
In the mirror I see fire
I see hate
A self-portrait of fear?
Or just the demon getting near
I'm losing my control
Will the savage show?
Through spirals of malcontent
fighting the noise inside my head
I went for a quiet stroll
Never knowing where
My feet may go
Through streets of yesteryear
or into the darkness that I fear
I'm losing my control
Will the savage show?
Through spirals of malcontent
fighting the noise inside my head
When the knives come out
with a smile
Slicing through skin
Making me grin
I'm losing my control
Will the savage show?
Through spirals of malcontent
fighting the noise inside my head
In the mirror I see fire
I see hate
A self-portrait of fear?
Or just the demon
getting near
Ok God hear it is
I spent eons perfecting an animal that cares about nothing I call it a……Cat
Gabriel beams as he places it gently in Gods lap
Could you please remove it
It is making a weird noise
and is constantly nipping me with its claws
Sorry your Lordness
Gabriel lifted the cat from his maker
Before we begin the test
I hope this is better than your last attempts
What was it again….God stroked his head
Yes the Dodo
The duck filled platypus
Oh and let’s not forget the humans
So …., shifting back on her throne…..test 1
Obey your maker
Come here……his finger pointing just beside her feet
The cat drew its eyes and darted off in chase of some flickering light
Okay good start…but let’s not celebrate too soon
Gabriel
Her me Cat sit
she sat transfixed by the cat
as it curled itself into a donut and fell asleep he glanced at Gabriel………very impressive
The cat leapt from its prone position
It jerks in juxtaposition with its grunts
Finally ending its exorcism in a matted tuft of regurgitated fur
Thoughts regurgitated though repugnant,
coil of self loathing tightens its noose,
venal thoughts a fragmented whisper,
to sabotage, undermine, disrupt,
one’s frail ego under siege,
wounded whisper n as barbed wire plume,
internal bleeding one must staunch,
if only gumption triumphed,
vacuous a notion one brazenly floats,
inane virus of the mordant gibe,
its origin welded to an anonymity,
so vast in its remit,
defying bold attempt at confrontation,
acid laden cut deep within,
over trivial and flimsy oversight,
imagined stain, partial blind slip,
transgression not worthy of indictment,
court proceeding deep welt juror,
nodding in consensual conspiracy,
wounded mutter, wounded sibilant sigh,
homespun crime against oneself
I've been served lots of unappetizing things
that simply did not please my palette.
Being force fed with bitter or insincere words
is unappealing presented as a crisp green salad.
I would rather be underfed and malnourished
than to feast on something too briny or cheesy.
I won't feast on a buffet of regurgitated foods,
like dill pickles offered as sour grapes... sleazy.
Nothing has more stench to me than rotten food.
As an example, mold spores inside blue roquefort,
and don't ask me to swallow one bite of sarcasm.
That would take far too much of my time and effort.
I'd spit out a spoon of any soup if in it swims a fly,
or if the spices were added by the hand of a hypocrite.
A warm peach cobbler would make a scrumptious dish
as long as inside there'd not be left on purpose... a pit.