Long Slobber Poems
Long Slobber Poems. Below are the most popular long Slobber by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slobber poems by poem length and keyword.
from the tagboard media group.....
the Kelp Seaworthy Report....
Kelp)......... did you know, that Saturday Night Wrestling
returns to the Mid-Town Civic Center
get your tickets now..... we know the people In Dolbane
like there wrestling.. and we gotta line-up
for you!
They negotiated to get his contractual release, and they got it!
he's straight out of Japan, fresh off his
tour as Champion
he came back to the U.S. for one reason,
he's looking for gold, tomorrow night
Main Event Wrestling and Pro- League Sports
unite to give not only the fans, but these men
the opportunity to
set the pace of how things should be.
" Rite Gripp" Stubby Stumps makes his return
as the partner of " Whiney" Izzy Best
they go up against
" the worlds Finest"
Maddog and Bellows, the world tagteam champions.
" Ziggy Mellows and " Proper Time " Midnight Gitty Banex
go head to head in a " taped fist slobber knocker"
only the referees count or a pinfall, or submition can create a winner
"CityBoy" Dingle Dewright goes one on one against
the " Hoedown Hillbilly, get the ring reinforced the HoeDown Hillbilly
had breakfast in bed.
former Tag team Champions
Members Of the Urban Nights ( Hawk Menace and Starboard Eagle)
will meet Japanese Sensations: Koto Rin Tanko and Ensue Daeun
get ready for some high flying hard hitting ring action
In the main Event
" Whizzer " Engul Summers will challenge the former World Champion
Lavish Usain Trisp in what is expected to be a wrestling epic " contenders Goldmine Classic" winner gets a championship bout at venue of his choosing.
rules are simple
best two out of three falls.
first round is submission match ( figure four verses Glanders Clasp) or a pinfall
second round is no Dq
the third round ( if necessary) will be
a stance start- con Ness Te, the ref will restart each decision and the bell keeper, and an outside ref will
tally points to make a winner.
get your tickets and come on down, we got a lot of wrestling for you!
enjoy the preshow with The Pretty Women of Venice Band and chorus>>>
come on down and bring the family with ya!
this has been the Kelp Sea worthy report!
She gazed at the looking glass, but the mirror refused to grant her a preview of what might happen, a clear picture of where she had been and if she existed at all, the spectre of the moment seemed to be disguised from inspection. Coming to terms with having absorbed and condensed too many of society’s norms and demands had seemingly been her duty and the prism of requests on her image of beauty had failed her inner Self. She drooled onto the spitting image of nothingness and the slobber ran down to the frame that upheld phlegm and contempt before it trickled down onto the baseless floor founded on hardcore delusion. Diet pills and dark shades had not relieved her from a succession of errors of reason and emotion and when she had blindfolded herself, the blinkers tore deep into her misrepresentation of surrender and cosmetic denial.
scanned in revulsion
vacant echoes burst the sight –
shards of glass splintered
So many fragments pierced into her eyes, that dry tears covered the pulverized viewing and heart-blood sprayed all over her soul. A point of no return, because if she failed to stem the flow and bandage the wounds, gangrene would set it soon and salving the lacerations would only speed up infection and purulent grime. The wall in front of her blurred out of proportion and there was nothing she could do about it other than retrieving bristles and paint from the storeroom and gloss over the shiny remnants of disrepair. And therefore, she entered into a journey of the unknown, drew rose petals and thorns onto broken canvas. Before she knew it, she decoupaged disintegration and fractures, glued a mosaic of imagination to mirror what should have been there in the first place. Sweat dripped from her forehead and smudged aquarelle shades which reassembled self-worth and confronted demons and abuse. An inner voice shouted, ‘all you need is a mantra to caption the artwork which you truly are.’ That is when she wrote her first poem and became free of doubts, oppression and cynical critique.
blame discredit reproach
failed to appease me in vain –
reflections can change
26th March 2021
I head you but I can't find you my mind is wondering in the dark storm,I am siting in this chair just staring at this big wall it seem like, I am being covered in blood with slobber running down my mouth, people in the room staring with a discussion look on there faces. I once was someone that people look up to me for advice, The voices so loud the looks so cold ,I was a officer of the month to this crummy world, that give me a hand out,God was I so bad trying to make boys into men. I just was being me could you hold me at fault.....you made me who I am please here me, I feel that the qualify of life is slipping me by clearly I do understand The clock is ticking for some of us please, I need compassion,love,a believer that can look at me and say you can still be something in society your child and mostly yourself. The level of silence took a hold of me, living in your head feels like madness, so I sit here in this corner hoping someone can hear me the clock is ticking for me, please save me from myself, I need communication,love,expressions and mostly affection. I once was a man that new what I wanted in life didn't have to ask someone for nothing, because that is who
I was day after day, I wonder in my head clearly, I got so many doctors telling me this and that, but do they ready know me or just looking at me like a peaces of meat. Hours has past siting in her office like what ever, so I felt a cold coming over me and, I fainted bod's running here and there screaming cold blue on the low level, I'm laying here can't say a thing just steering at everybody around me, working hard to save me, part of my brain just wanted to let go, and the part was saying hold on my son God is holding your hand just trust that all things can bed different if you wanted bad enough have faith my son, I never forsaken you, you walk away from me. All things you had before is pass away,wow all of a sudden I came back with a shot to the heart my eye's opening up and, I was in this bed didn't know nothing and wondering how I got here. But what, I do remember is I have a journey coming from the most high, I can say I am free.
LOSER
my parents
taught me to walk and they made me crawl
taught me to talk and they said be quiet
they tormented my mind to slay my imagination
their vociferations of scrawny advice
a fragmentation of a thought hospitalized
getting ready
for a more robust job
to mock my ideals
*
my teachers
taught me to write and they cut off my thoughts
taught me to read and they took away my books
taught me geography and they pointed the enemy
they were radiant
with a vivacious
inconsistent preaching
that curdled with every word
and left me
tired
hungry
cold
*
my leaders
taught me to love my country and they gave me political slogans
taught me history and they didn’t want me a hero
they torture my body to kill my will to live
trashed my humanity to build in me the hate
forced me on my knees to slobber on my head
they put me with criminals to teach me how to kill
they destroyed my files to erase my existence
they spitted me out naked and hopeless
my parents, my teachers, my leaders
a spiteful reminder
that I should squirm
in front of their frying words
and the meaningless guilt grabs me
insipid
achromatic
odorless
still there
pressing
pushing
drowning thoughts
they planned my life and I chose freedom
*
I don’t have old parents
to care for and to cry
over their shrinking bodies
I don’t have roots
shoved around as a leaf in the wind
caressing the ground
but I am part of a tree
I’m a nomad
unwelcomed writer
with tired wrinkled eyes
holding old forgotten songs
of love and hate
waddling to the kitchen
for a hot green tea
I write fossilized verses
the murmur of a thought
a tribulation to the language
common sense and logic
repulsive notions
I drown in verbalism
wasting my soul’s value
atom by atom
while I wait
to grow white wings
but my heart and arms
are in breakable cast
I am a loser
with cardboard ideas
and I project my mobility in a short poem
charged with captive gods
yeah, I’m a loser
and that’s fine with me.
Terminate the wrist. The vile will fill in due time. As a cell to a lip, a cup to the mouth. As the water falls, does the spirit in me. Terrorism is imagination. Terrorism is the memory of a facile elation. As the razor to the chin, groom yourself a chap. As the scent of her lingers, bury it in your snuff.
Turn the camera on. And turn the tiles red. By the time morning comes. A spirit is free, and this body is at rest. A fist to my temple, is not enough, to teach me about loss. A wrench to my strongest instinct, is not enough, to teach me trust. Turn the gears of this ship of a body, to full, it is full of rust.
Keep your mouth shut, in the ears of lovers. If you thought there was ever a chance, that this boy would ode. Ode to it Owe to it. Owned by it. Totalitarian cry for help, on a digital mainframe. Fall on the ear of the deaf. Every tile is exactly the same. But the red in my brain.
Bleed. And watch it breed. A new devil in the darkest of yet to come, of me.
Darling (Part 2)
The eyes part, the sun has given me another day. My lips are dirty of the wine I drank over years toward this haze. Darling Dark, cry for help. Doesn't this feel like the loss of a reptile brain? Darling dark, cry for help. In vain.
Nonetheless. The day is controlled by me I don't have a car, I have scars, and a piano with a pair of teethe. I bear them at the great empty on the ceiling fan. It's sharp clatter, won't send me back to a permanent slumber.
Darling Dark, of this plead. Schizophrenia is my wildest heed, Sure sure, and then some. .
I'll never take heed. I don't have the balls. I've got too much respect. To end thee.
So send a hitman, who kills strangers. I'll give him my piano, and the nails off of my fingers climbing up the walls. Toward that empty, I swore I saw once had a substance like cocaine. It numbs only one thing. Nothing, in me.
Honey to the sticky, of the slumber slobber release. That to beat it at a scarecrow memory. I will end something, call the police.
Form:
He’s judged and condemned to take the saddle, yet, still fighting
without surrender, while we slip the bit between his jaws.
This, and ducking feet in dubble time while lashing
the gear to his back, dodging lightning while riding Thunder.
A saddle placed on a throne and strapped to a rocket.
He fights, he chokes, and rolls his eyes.
Who would give a dollar for his tough ole hide,
go sit on him in the seat of a rocker or hang him over the pea-patch
With the crack of a bullet, he could be gone.
I have trouble waiting for my chance to sling the sweat.
I purch high on the seat, chaps folded back, a nod to pull the rope.
Then out of the gate we fly, the dust, the slobber,
the foaming mouth and ears laid back.
I am screwed to the back of the saddle and
held there by centrifugal force.
Suddenly, the earth and sky are drunken things,
bucked from my senses, jolted to and fro as fence
reel past.
My dreams of being a cowboy fading rapidly
into the choking dust.
Yet, I hang to a flying hearse, the horse called Thunder,
whose hoofs beat drums of doom with boiling smoke.
I’m tossed high in a sickly orbit of sky and earth.
Thunder, still kicking as if to sling his burden to the stars,
plunging ahead, searching for a place to land.
The sky appears to darken around my head,
somewhere between a raven’s wing and the
back of a buzzard. With my shaky hands, I feel
the knots on my head, I fight for breath while spitting
sand, choking on dust and red eyes rolling. I feel hands
on me as they pat my back with hoots and hollows
beyond the limits of my brain. I stand up with
my unsteady feet and stagger. I see Thunder standing
at the other end of his domain.
Then the red bronco whirls in a resounding charge,
rumbling a folly of hoofs in rapid fire.
The final defeat, as I hurl myself over the rail.
Who would give ten dollars for that piece of leather
hanging slightly to the right side. Who, while shopping
for a bargain would settle for a deal.
He opened the window in much practiced silence
If somebody heard there would likely be violence
He’d been here before and endured quite a spat
For when he broke in he encountered a cat
The cat ran him ragged but he never knew
That things would get worse because ‘one cat’… was two
They’d caught him off guard for he’d come unprepared
But now he’s forewarned so those cats should be scared
So pushing the curtains aside he climbed in
His flashlight, for now, was tucked under his chin
He listened for footsteps which might make him run
And switched on his flashlight to seek out some fun
He didn’t want money, nor high value loot
He’d come to give kittens a feel of his boot
And then in his beam there were eyes shining bright
He told them, “You cats won’t defeat me tonight.
“Last time I came I found cats in this house
Who ganged up on me with an overgrown mouse.
This time, it’s different… I’ve brought a big sack
So soon you’ll be gone and you ain’t coming back.”
Raisin said, “Mister, we’re taking you down.”
The man heard, “Meow” and that caused him to frown
“Don’t be mewing at me you dumb little moggie
You’re getting a home that is chilly and soggy.”
Rum flicked a paw in an ‘over there’ motion
The man with the flashlight said, “Quit the commotion.”
But he didn’t know that the ‘dumb little moggie’
Had mewed, “Turn around… meet our dumb massive doggie.”
In a moment of silence the man wasn’t ranting
And that is perhaps how the man heard the panting
A young German Shepherd is still quite a beast
The man just saw teeth that looked ready to feast
Walnut’s tongue lolloped, his mind in a muddle
How can a man, indoors, stand in a puddle
This quivering human was one tragic sight
But Walnut was good… and good dogs don’t bite
So, yes, he was good but the man didn’t know it
And Walnut decided that he shouldn’t show it
He feigned a mad growl and emitted some slobber
And local police got a call… from the robber!
Oh and this "thing" let me explain what it looks like, It doesn't have eyes, It has an open mouth all the time, with rotting yellow sharp crooked teeth, very skinny, like greyish brownish color. It breathes heavily and it's very flexible kinda reminds me of "The Last Exorcism."
I was walking out of my room, and in the hallway I got shoved against the wall.. but there was nothing there. I couldn't breathe and I felt paralyzed. I saw my mother walking to the kitchen passing me, I could tell she didn't noticed me. Then while I was still motionless, I saw this black figure it was fairly large, HUGE I mean, It was very close to me and then it went away and the feeling of being paralyzed went away also. I could move, I could breathe.
I walked into the kitchen, Thats where I found my mother cleaning the floor.
"Mum? Have you ever had the feeling that you couldn't move or breathe sometimes in the house?"
"More times than you think, But there is no such thing as the paranormal world or the "after life."
"I know, but I do not know the logical reason for it."
She was silent then she looked at me and started cleaning again.
I sat down on the couch, Yes I do have a couch in my kitchen, It's a Bosnian thing.
With my arms around my knees. Then I saw the living room from the glare of the window in the kitchen.
And in this glare I saw "The Thing" The description is up there. ^^ He had a small chair in his hands and he was slowly standing up from this weird position. He came closer with the chair and it was almost like my mum saw "The Thing" and she moved out of the way for it. He came around and stood over me with the drool/slobber coming off his rotten yellow teeth.
Then I woke up. It still scares me today. I know this is just my imagination but still, I know this isn't a poem but I still would like to share it with you.
Form:
my humblest apology if you experience addle brained, frazzled, harried, livid with rage akin to bing mad as a hatter gritted teeth syndrome when trying to make head or tails of confusing message, which essentially can be boiled to down to a genuine search for female friendship of the intimate kind.
perhaps the courtship of friendship (maybe something beyond the pulsating phallic pale) will prompt me to sober up and express feelings, ideas and thoughts (other than a desire for sexual intimacy) in a more understandable fashion. essentially (as you so might clearly intimate and interpret), i would like to become at least casually familiar with an attractive gal (per what the nonconformist paradigm of near sighted eyes property of myself deem aesthetically pleasing) and intelligent woman.
mud dea ova electric kool aid acid test
to share bounty of sentiments - n savor warm female body during rest
no requirements nor stipulations imposed on lifelong quest
minding manners to avoid bing a pest
'specially carnal craving bubbles forth noel hung er oppressed
from private "v" age high nah nest.
although a strong desire for physical (read sexual) involvement the primary force (that goads me and takes off in flights of bon mots poetic fancy - frequently irrelevant on most readers), i would also be delighted to share intelligent conversation otherwise known as verbal intercourse.
anyway, i immediately admit as k9 buel
NOT bing snoop doggy dog nor ll j cool,
yet attest 2 a habit 2 slobber drool
just garden, generic variety household fool
who subsists on thin emotional gruel
'thou envisioning a mirage of a jewel
or whatever foodstuffs given a mule
where mutual acceptance doth rule
feigned cheerfulness shown at yule.
Form:
Well..he would practice his trade,
Just like he practiced his life.
Practical! With cold precision,
Never made time for a wife.
He woke precisely at six,
He wore the same suit and tie.
But, mumbled under his breath,
When any neighbors passed by!
He was of the opinion,
That "He" was better than 'Them!"
With his fine, manicured nails,
And a fresh shave and a trim.
Never flustered or flurried,
Never scuttled or scurried,
Caught the shuttle...never hurried!
On the clock...never worried!
At work by nine...precisely!
He meandered down the hall.
His tunnel vision blinded,
He would jump when "Brass" would call!
Went racing down that fast track,
Just to see how fast he'd rise.
He'd slobber down their backsides,
With his eyes stuck on the prize!
He smiled and fetched their papers,
He smiled and wretched their gas.
He smiled and fetched their coffee,
Puckered and kissed their ass!
He thought that would impress them,
He thought the "Brass" would call.
He thought this with precision...
But, was heading for a fall!
Confident of ascension,
He was laid off in the Spring!
He saw his future falter,
No gold watch or diamonded ring!
His ego couldn't take it!
He planned his retribution!
With crafty, cold precision...
He planned their execution!
He arrived at work at nine...
Precisely! With cold desire!
He chained up all the exits,
Lit the whole damn place on fire!
It seemed to ease the tension,
With no pension left to earn.
Saluted and flipped the "Bird!"
Then he stood and watched it "Burn!"
With no one there to witness,
In the end, well...no one knew!
With his cold and crafty smile,
Knew all his dreams just came true!