Long Regurgitates Poems
Long Regurgitates Poems. Below are the most popular long Regurgitates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regurgitates poems by poem length and keyword.
A spaceship called Hope... made from the future's grand mist,
is perched upon a launch pad of manic chemicals and loss.
With stun-gun emotion, Mother Earth regurgitates.
5-4-3-2-1
Her metal finger meets the button...
She releases her ballast...
Blast off!
My brain engulfing G forces.
Soon to become a mustard seed
in a speed-of-light garden.
Filled with gravid redheaded planets,
giving birth to fat-headed moons.
The stars are cheering, like starving mad islanders.
Light years have passed.
Ground control has lost contact.
(by choice or by accident).
The rations are depleting,
but I'm serene in a starry tranquility...
I've blown by a million past lives.
Apologized half-heartedly to an alien God.
Who wished me well, pointed toward a giant black hole.
Then disappeared into the vapor trail
of lost potential and cachexic hope.
It's eerily over.
There's no more virgin oxygen.
Only the stale argon of saints and tyrants,
casting shadows of black hallucinations
chanting:
"Little seed...little seed...Didn't you know this was a one-way flight?"
I gaze out a stained-glass window for the last time.
Church bells are ringing from the parched throat of time.
Four golden letters peel from the side of the star-dusted ship.
Satiating the madness of stars...
"Little seed...little seed."
3 of every 4 creatures on earth
Are insects, now you know
Why hordes of damn mosquitoes
Pester and bug us so
They sow their seeds of mayhem
As we sit in the summer sun
Being annoyed by these tiny bugs
Till finally we get up and run
After a house fly eats its food
It regurgitates and eats it once more
Imagine if we re-ate our meat balls
That's something I would abhor
Americans eat 12 billion bananas
Every year, no wonder at times
We get the urge to hang from trees
Or scratch our protruding behinds
Each one of us uses approximately
Fifty sheets of bum wipe
Each and every day of our existence
We're killing our trees, my gripe
Maybe instead, use toilet paper
With a hole right in the centre
We could use it over and over again
Washing up is a disease preventer
In 32 years there are approximately
One billion seconds of time
Each one is so very very precious
Waisting one is a downright crime
The actor was acting up
whilst falling down,
then tumbling
like Jack and Jill,
watering his career
with the director’s tears.
Those tears they turned the reel
into a real mistake
that killed the mistaken idea
that the actor couldn’t act.
Oh, he’d act whilst playing
a wall or packing a wallop.
He could play it straight
after emptying a barrel
of hops. He’d monkey
around, sure enough,
but the reel turned
out real good.
The director sobbed,
as did the leading lady,
sober as a titmouse,
lips trembling,
for she had wined
99 times.
But, that hack was good.
She’d had to admit it,
after she was committed.
Had they committed the bum,
the movie wouldn’t have won
and the Oscar
would have gone to the ‘toon.
The director and leading lady
dry their eyes
as the actor wets his whistle
one more time
to charm the public
with his sublime rhetoric.
He bows
over
and regurgitates
over and over
his subliminal vocation.
The ‘toon’s now sarcastic,
bombastically declares
he should have won.
(No actor is humble)
This fumble will cost him,
and accost him.
The winner wipes his lips
and the sweat from his cheeks,
cheekily rips
up the toon’s script.
“Be real…” he says.
This struggle I have is from within
In my darkest moments I fight to grin
Because I am aware that stigma is true
Mental illness is cruel a burden to you
It’s like a disease that handcuffs minds
Depression confession lost in teal time
It’s like being stuck in tan quicksand
A slow sink in a nightmare with no chance
Looking from the inside I feel trapped
The enemy is me and energy is zapped
Why can’t I be nicer to the child inside
I tell her the truth she regurgitates lies
Lies like we don’t need the peach pill
We can pray it away use diet and will
In a manic panic we can run on treadmill
Frantically romantic we love never kill
I can never escape my cherry challenge
Shame it brings that I have an imbalance
The harder I try the more I seem to sink
Slow sink is worse than a quick ending
I can wake up from this neon nightmare
There is no cure but I am able to share
If I keep hope afloat I can learn to thrive
Slowly sink becomes a way to survive
I am fascinated by space science because it is so divine. I am fascinated by space science because everything it entails is sublime. Human operates machine and machine work for human; human input the information but the machine regurgitates it.
Its AI and automation against human invention, e-commerce and job outsourcing in reverse. If you cannot pay me let me go to those who are willing to hire me, but please don’t use me and then you discard me. You lurk behind the screen saying that you have run out of money and you cannot bring me back to fulfill my dreams.
I don’t join games because I don’t know to play them, I don’t play games because am not good at winning them. I don’t play games because I don’t know the rules and sometimes it leaves you confused. I approach everything in life in a pragmatic and realistic manner.
You place the burden on the commuter saying that it is giving the order; computer is not human and someone must operate it to transfer the information to you, oh what silly deprivation. You are trying to elude reality and not living up to your responsibility, the ship will be at the surface on time and you must give me what is mine.
You have built more than a dozen space ship with words dripping from my lips; you have sent missions to the moon with words burning from my finger tips and vinegar is draining in my lungs; with swollen fingers and broken palm words flow from my heart into the computer gut before dawn, and then you slice it up and serve it for breakfast dinner and lunch and disrespect my painful sacrifice, and you call it AI.
I work day and night and because I don’t know how to fight I continue to stretch myself to fulfill a mandate for the moon. You send me into the space to explore the galaxy and look into the black hole to see where gravity is bold and the space around the corner lit up with billions of stars flickering in the night, oh what a wonderful sight.
Will machine eventually take over human lives after decades of painful sacrifice? Will machine takes over our lives and leave us without a dime? Nights upon nights the human brain toil to fill the machine sitting on the throne but sometimes the gripe is so strong it vomits out on the land and my eyeball spread the words all over the human race and squeeze matter into tiny space. It man against woman and one woman working with computer.
High up, in her downy nest beside her, the drying eggshell rest,
Far away the warblers seek the worms. Far away looms the summer storms,
Like letters send news the newly born. The soldier happy midst nettle thorn,
Reads the letter from peaceful ways. Far from the clatter and din, close affray—
The thickets smeared in a brothers blood sworn to survive the war aflood;
Yet life renews in the quiet wood where sings a sparrow 'neath a leafy hood.
Where rain rivulets dripped from pouring skies, raining down like meteors upon the dragon flies,
The overlapping ringlets atop the welling mere, lessen as the skies grow ever clear,
Letting verging parents search for food, 'neath the fallen leaves and bramble-wood:
Will their eyes delight as home they alight? The stars shudder o’er war as envelopes night,
Silent the moon drifts upon the waving tide. Streaking silver light that truth divide.
What cause can make right the drear of war. The chick, her beak agape, wanting more—
The sparrow regurgitates from some endless core. The dying soldier promises his love evermore;
He clasp the letter, wishes things were better. Rolls peals of thunder from inclement weather—
The grove hides away father, mother, and child. The slake of war wanders forth ever wild.
Nature howls with thunder when she cries. War sees not her tearing eyes—
3 of every 4 creatures on earth
Are insects, now you know
Why hordes of damn mosquitoes
Pester and bug you so
They sow their seeds of mayhem
As we sit in the summer sun
Being annoyed by these tiny bugs
Till finally we get up and run
After a house fly eats its food
It regurgitates and eats it once more
Imagine if we re-ate our meat balls
That's something I would abhor
Americans eat 12 billion bananas
Every year, no wonder at times
We get the urge to hang from trees
Or scratch our protruding behinds
Each one of us uses approximately
Fifty-seven sheets of bum wipe
Each and every day of our existence
We're killing our trees, my gripe
Maybe instead, use toilet paper
With a hole right in the centre
We could use it over and over again
Washing up is a disease preventer
In 32 years there are approximately
One billion seconds of time
Each one of them is so very precious
Waisting one is a downright crime
I've taken on the task of educating you
With these obscure, interesting facts
A service I provide to my P-Soup friends
Love the accolades I keep getting back!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Dawn has broken the thick darkness
To engender the shining morning sun;
I see, calm and nice is the blue sky
Birds of all wings flock and fly freely
Humans on the land breathe fresh air,
Watching birds’ traffic up in the sky.
Animals in the bush grazing at peace,
Bees being very busy making honey.
The sun’s fatigued and is now setting.
She’s missed; the weather’s disturbed.
Like Lucifer, the sea’s rebelling steadily;
Its waters’ color and size are altering.
Waters are involved in a mad blind dance,
Following strong and heavy winds’ music;
Culminating into huge passing mountains
To soon vanish and produce corrupt smell.
In jeopardy fishes and algae are, but birds enjoy.
My stomach regurgitates on seeing the carcasses,
Killing my sense of humanity, to destabilize me;
But soon, tempests will be gone to see the horizon.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Ash - grey chemised
she shifts her shape
as silver flakes float coat
stripped naked places,
sheath curves and angled spaces
Angry glitter tingle stings
thick earth skin with prickly flames
and rumble rise regurgitates
shimmy - shake shudders
in magma's deep thrombosis.
Her feather boa plume
tightens hot cloud chokehold,
acrid smoke flung up in air
without a care, heat exhumes
her arrival, announced fiery flounce -
Hot air blast flicks ash everywhere
Grande dame, her vital force runs hot,
and bold, red and gold- full blooded flow,
feisty fight to escape fate,
inner pulses push a violent urge
to bleed and drape red lava's cape
across green fields, human habitations
Unplacated, rising up, proud impairment
anger virulent, out of hellbent
immolation via pyramidal vent.
She lifts her tiara, red ruby globs,
hurls evidence in defense - great blobs
of royal reign - no abdication!
Throaty roars rend intonation
into screeching supplications -
She knows full well, soon enough,
her phoenix fate infarction
Too late for earth's burst heart
High drama is a living, dying art
Impassioned pleas too late for some,
Earth's burnout buries victims in her wake
High on an island hill,
the boy lay crushed, and still
on temple altar, throat cut, bled out
Hurried offering, did not appease,
nor bring softening release
for angry, ancient mountain
Head caved in by falling blocks
of measured, square cut stone,
the priest grovelled on his knees
Gravel filled their mouths, no space for pleas
No one heard half- whispered final groans
And Earth, once she settled down,
murmured not another sound
Posted 17/08/2018.