Long Spurted Poems
Long Spurted Poems. Below are the most popular long Spurted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spurted poems by poem length and keyword.
As he sped down the highway late one night
A beautiful hitch hiker he happened to see
He stopped and did what was right
And picked up this mysterious beauty
She smiled and said her name was Dianne
He introduced himself as Sam
The truth was she was an alien
Hours before her spaceship did land
But when Sam tried to get fresh
She took a bite out out of his flesh
He screamed in pain as blood spurted everywhere
This pretty hitch hiker was now a monster to be feared
In a matter of minutes Sam was dead
Down the highway the hitch hiker now sped
She arrived in the next town about 8:15
Just in time for Halloween
That night she feasted on vampires
And bit off the nose of a witch
But the zombies pushed her in the ditch
And feasted on her till she twitched
It was a lesson to this alien queen
Never visit earth on Halloween....
I fear no more
For death gives forever life
In death, life is known
But without death I’m dead
Death is no death since it bears the life
But to live is death if I fear to die
Life, there is in a cross gently born
In painful patience and meekness
In rugged road to Golgotha
Perfecting redemption of man
Life there is in blood that dripped out of head
Adorned with thorn and thistle,
Hands and legs nailed to the cross
And in water that spurted out of side
Punctured with weapon of the cruel guard
Now He lives and dies no more
That life may be portioned to the living dead
Who lives in His death to death
He lives and works in my mortal body
To rescue my poor soul from the grip of death
The vault is empty
This is my confidence
Shame to death and its sting
He is risen!
Contest name: Easter Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
“When the pen falls silent that once danced to the muse’s command and when the poet’s heart no longer beats with rhyme, we realize that the poet in us is dead. It is a sad truth difficult to reckon.” ~ By Poet
Far from the din of madding crowd,
And away from the bustle of city streets,
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verse ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking notes,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards –
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving bits of broken thoughts
I sallied out for a stunning theme,
And stroked my pen to put it down,
But topics eluded me one by one,
Unable to decide on what to dwell,
I rummaged my memory for apt words,
And dallied round with lofty themes
Yet nothing other than splintered thoughts,
And hackneyed phrases came alive.
I strained hard to give them life,
And labored in vain to make them rhyme,
‘The Blazing Sun’ and ‘the Brilliant Star’,
Both faded out with no trace of glow.
I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount,
To drink from the fountain gushing down,
But hot lava spurted out,
And the wings of fancy burnt outright!
No Muse appeared to enliven me,
Nor my fantasy lingered long,
The words that once flowed like honey
Dried up with no inspiration, coming to nourish.
Staring blank into the scroll in front,
Unable to scribble even a moving thought,
Like a soldier vanquished in war,
I put away my paper and pen.
I greatly lament the death of the poet in me,
And wonder if ever will have a rebirth!
Far from the din of madding crowd,
Away from the bustle of city life
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verses ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking lines,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards –
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving only broken thoughts
Will my Muse be here once again?
Or is it better to leave my thoughts unspoken?
However, I strained hard to give them life,
And labored in vain to make them rhyme,
‘The Blazing Sun’ and ‘Brilliant Stars’,
All faded out with no trace of glow.
I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount,
To drink from the fountain gushing down,
Alas! Only hot lava spurted out,
And the wings of fancy burnt outright!
Sad, my Muse didn’t appear to enliven me,
Nor my fantasy lingered long,
I stared blank into the scroll in front,
Unable to scribble even a moving thought.
Like a soldier vanquished in war,
I put away my pen for the time being,
Hoping my Muse would come down soon,
To inspire and help me script immortal verse!
Jan.4.2023
My Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh
The flashy words he deftly chose to seduce,
and with practice these became florid.
One word he once inadvertently let loose,
that he had kept for long under the lid.
He did this long after she came in his life,
sailing together in time in a fervent way,
until they were hit by the storm of strife,
and she had started to slowly drift away.
His door was open, she did not return,
the last thread of hope he had lost pained.
A simple word then grew in his heart’s urn,
but he had kept it as a captive chained.
His longing for her did not ever wane,
he disliked to see her get hurt and sore,
but unable to bear long the load of pain,
knew not when the captive’s chain he tore.
For her the injury could not be greater,
as his spite spurted the simple word 'hate'.
It was mea culpa, he ruefully realized later,
but belated, for it had sealed their fate.
______________
March 21, 2023
Contest : A Simple Poetry
Sponsored by : John Lawless
it hurts to flail you
on a hill
stood her foot
eyes of chill
hairs of soot
my wicked witch
befalls all
with her *****
and booty call
i was one
to face her gall
and dungeon
of nightly enthrall
she bound me
to ropes
and ecstasy
pills to cope
two whites
does tricks
cure of night
pokes and pricks
my back
whip lashed
attacked
and gashed
the blood
spurted out
every thud
i re-shouted
i cried
candle wax
that fried
wounds max
i cried
she kissed
i defied
her bliss
smitten
more whips
and bitten
with clips
i re-cried
more candle wax
that fried
more wounds max
she eyes
her prize
between thighs
as it rise
i cringe
her rough
fringe
of slough
as she rode
the train
so bold
without refrain
on top
she sang
no stop
from bang
that night
wore on
crying sight
eyes are gone
mindless
of pain
and her bliss
and gain
duet again
she shouted
in vain
as i pouted
when done
hurt and defiled
i was stunned
at how wild
she became
under surface
flailing her game
with purpose
connie pachecho
2/9/17
The Gothic Candle Holder
She was abubble with much excitement.
It was only a few hours until
trick-or-treating. She couldn’t stay still.
Floating, spinning round like a dill
in the living room, made her feel a quite ill.
She parked onto the dark oak mantelshelf
of foliate decoration she was used to.
While she waited on the mantelshelf
feel sound, to
feel like herself, she went over her tricks.
She had more than two tricks.
One called “Pull My Candle”.
When a child did that, blood (to them, OOOHHH!)
spurted out into their eyeballs. Handle
that they couldn’t! 'OOOHHH!'
Some threatened, ‘I know KUNG FU!
Do you?'
The Gothic Candle Holder would laugh
and laugh
until the child, and their parents with no care,
slammed the door on her. They were so square!
‘Yes! Yes! Can’t wait a second now
to do that!’ she ejected, feeling better now.
But this Halloween she never
got to do her clever
scare. Her Gothic Candle Holder grandpa Neaps
gave her a very serious ultimatum: (heaps)
either balance for all of Halloween my heaps
of gold teacups or, move out for keeps.
She chose the first.
On the inside, she was raging! No Halloween trick-or-treating! She almost burst!
A burg in a vale,
Amassed stones and rocks as bulwark,
Assembled stones and rocks as a stack,
Stones and rocks stopping the waters from losing the track.
Waters thrusting behind the concrete rock,
Forcing the stones and rocks to slack.
A slit on a rock transpired,showing a way to break,
Waters dripping through the rock with a crack,
Droplets leaked out of the chink with a knack,
Turning the slit to rift and the rock to wreck,
Moving winds aided the waters to go out of the rack.
Slowly and steadily
Droplets leaped into Water streak,
And the Water streak into a creek with hack,
Waters flowed with fiery speed breaching the barriers with a hefty thwack ,
Stones and rocks were crushed with a great knock,
People shook out of fear when the waters spurted with whack,
And the burg in a vale was flooded and destroyed in vain without any speck,
Like the words in rage from the clefts of lips which are bicker and stark.
I have walked about as far
as I can go before a weariness
threatens to withdraw the pleasure
of the evening light and the easy
mood of the park. The fountain
that had spurted and splashed
all day has withdrawn back
into its nightlong still
and caught a rising moon
in its mirrored skirt.
I sit and close my eyes
and feel the world withdrawing
into somewhere else
as I let go each sound
into a growing quiet.
It's becoming harder to hold
myself here rather than
to float off where
the sounds go and all things
not anchored to a self
find a place in the night.
It would be good to go there
and see each atom
of who I am settle
a stillness stretched across
time and space and there,
become part of what
mirrors light
even if it's for no more
than the length
of an earthly night.
"When God given gift is mistaken as self earned power, people become arrogant and arrogance leads to fall" By Poet.
The crow we see, was once a beautiful bird
Sweet as a lark and white as a swan
The world stood in rapturous glee
As he poured out melodies with such elan
Proud and haughty over his gorgeous form
He reckoned himself to be the crown of creation
To all other birds he was a cynosure of charm
And he feasted on their praises of mad veneration
Presumptuously dwelling on altitudes high
He thought the world was revolving round him
Looking at others with contempt and disdain
He wanted everyone to dance to his whim
At morn when other birds twittered and chirped
And sang devotional lays in praise of God,
The crow refused to sing any song
As he deemed himself to be far above the Lord
God wanted to teach the arrogant bird a lesson
A messenger with warning from Heaven was sent
‘Unless you turn humble and with respect others treat
God’s wrath will fall and you shall lament’
Sneering at this and rebuking the terrestrial envoy,
With haughty arrogance, the crow went his way.
By dusk, he flew down to perch on a tree
Alas, the branch gave way to his utter dismay!
Losing balance, he slid down into a can of tar
Disappointed was he as he emerged all black
But hoped that a dip in water would wash away the dirt
And once more he would be, to his former self back
Soon God’s messenger with ire reappeared in a vision
This time, stark were his words of admonition
‘Henceforth you and your progeny will all be black
Ugly in appearance, scavengers you shall be known!
‘In place of the tuneful melody, you were blessed
Your sound will be sonorous and rough’
Saying this, the apparition vanished out of sight
And the crow knew his life ahead would be tough
He waited impatient for the dawn to break
Before all other birds were up and awake
He decided to try and test his sound
And was startled at what came in the wake
“Caw…. Caw…. Spurted the sound from his beak
Jarring and raucous, harsh and husky!
While other birds laughed over and celebrated his fall
The poor defeated crow was left grouchy and dusky