Long Stomps Poems
Long Stomps Poems. Below are the most popular long Stomps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stomps poems by poem length and keyword.
I am sitting in hovel writing nothing
For the hovel has taken every last drop of energy.
Hey, wait. Is that an ant?
An ant in the winter?
What is she doing?
I get out my magnifying glass of course.
She is wearing a backpack full of something that has a sweet smell.
Pardon me, I say. Can I have a tiny taste of that?
You would take the food out of the mouth of sixty ants? She asks me.
Lucky that I talk ant.
I back away.
Trixie walks over and kicks my hand.
You are horrible! She tells me.
I had forgotten I was supposed to wake her when I got up.
There is nothing more exasperating than an angry muse.
Thought you’d write something without me?
Well, yes, um….. I am stammering now.
We kind of have a little rule.
She whisks away and stomps off.
Out of all the muses in all the imaginations
in all of the universes, I developed a female muse?
Hmmmmmm I have to ponder that.
But not right now.
The ant is doing a tango and her backpack just flew off.
Red Oak menstruates in the heat of summer
Beech and maples stand back from her labor
Moonlight lifts her skirt
Wind drifts through her leaves
She stomps in circles only the owls divine
Piper of voles
She checks the many holes up and down her body
Shivers
An ancient skin crawling with leafhoppers and katydids
Pinches herself of replications
Like a plate glass window shattered from above
She rains green acorns
Thousands of bitter thumbtacks dropped to the forest floor
Seeds claw to their tiny graves
How they cry night and day
During a month of rain sun and the twist of Earth’s belly!
Mother! Mother!
Until
More than enough
For a feast of all the creatures
The remaining settle
Stars
Born from the mud and sky of colliding galaxies
Woman and God.
NO FEAR OF MR EXCESSIVE FORCE PRAWLING THE CITY FOR VIOLENT FEMALE OFFENDERS MEETUPS IN THE MOST NONSUSPECTING PLACES HIS FAVORITE MEXICAN MAN DIE HE PAYS HER FOR PERSONAL FAVORS WITH DRUGS IRONICALLY SENDING HER TO COMMIT HOME INVASIONS WHILE SHE'S AN HABITUAL REPEAT VIOLENT OFFENDER HARD DRUGS MANUFACTURER FRAUD IDENTITY THEFT MR EXCESSIVE FORCE PROVIDES A REVOLING PRISON DOOR FOR ALL HER CRIMES FEEDING HER COCAINE HEROIN AND MARIJUANA FROM POLICE LOCKERS SHE THEN GIVE FALSE STATEMENTS TO FRAME ENTRAP INNOCENT PERSONS BECAUSE SHE'S JEALOUS SHE ACTUALLY HAD RELATIONS WITH MY EX ABUSER HE ATTACKED HIS FAMILY ON CHRISTMAS EVE MAN DIE BRUTALLY BEAT HER OWN CRIPPLED UNDOCUMENTED MOTHER WITH HER CRUTCHES AS HE GATHER MORE FEMALE VIOLENT OFFENDERS FOR HIS TWISTED CAUSE HE STOMPS AND ON THE STREET HE IS LABELED THE SPECKLE PIG MEETING MAN DIE IN SECURE PLACES WHERE HE SHOULD BE PROVIDING SAFETY SECURITY GUARDED BUT HE CAN'T BECAUSE HE IS BUSY WITH CONJUGAL VISITS ON ELEVATTORS HALLWAYS BATHROOMS IN LOCAL BUSINESSES MAN DIE BRAGGS ABOUT HER POWER WITH MR EXCESSIVE FORCE ALLOWING HER TO CONTROL THE LOCAL FEMALE STREET GANG AS QUEEN PIN OVER MORE REPEAT FEMALE VIOLENT OFFENDERS FINALLY GIVING HER A NOTHER EARLY RELEASE FOR GIVING FALSE STATEMENTS AND COMMITING ONGOING HABITUAL REPEAT VIOLENT CRIMES NO FEAR OF YOUR SCUM SPAT SPAT TRULY SAD ABUSE OF POWER HAVING CONJUGAL VISITS ACROSS THE TOWN ON THE ELEVATOR IN LIBRARIES HOSPITALS YMCA TRAIN STATIONS APARTMENT BUILDINGS
GOD BLESS AMERICA
The Roar of the Silent Diamond
The silence stretched like an ocean suspended in veins screams my blood,
a crystal roar that grows from the depths of my blind-hearing ears,
but beyond the red beats of the heart that stomps in burning temples,
there exists a roar vaster than the air—the mystery that hisses shhh eternally.
The diamond of wisdom roars in its silence of living transparent stone,
a voice without voice that breaks eardrums with gentleness of rough velvet,
louder than my own blood that boils in arteries like sweet lava,
this mute roar of the full nothingness reminds me of something forgotten long ago.
Something I lost in the stress of days that flow since birth,
a knowledge swallowed by the weariness of breathing always in the same rhythm,
a secret buried beneath the layers of noise that cover my existence,
and the intense silence becomes a window toward what I have never been.
My blood roars like an underground train through tunnels of bone and flesh,
but the roar of silence is vaster—it's the ocean in which the train swims blind,
this cosmic shhh that rocks me in its arms like a lost child,
calls me back to the beginning where there were no words only pure breath.
The diamond of wisdom doesn't speak—it roars in invisible frequencies,
an explosion of white light that compresses into the zero point of silence,
and I listen with my ears turned inside out toward the interior of my own abyss,
where my blood becomes the echo of silence that births me anew always.
The stress of days since birth covers my memory with thick dust of forgetting,
but this mute roar pierces everything—it's the cold fire that melts the walls,
the mysterious shhh that reminds me I was once part of silence,
before noise before words before me and before world and before everything.
The silence so intense that you become its sound—the vibration without frequency,
your blood is no longer yours—it's just a note in the unseen symphony,
and the roar of the diamond of wisdom washes you of all false memories,
leaves you naked and clean like white paper on which silence writes with star ink.
hello, Paris it's mama dearest
Mama bear pulls into Seattle with a roar
searching the neighborhoods of the poor
You hear me, come out from hiding ... my baby cub
mama has a pocketful of your favorite grub
hello, Paris come out wherever you be
hello, Paris come out wherever you be
There's a warm bed and shower to be had
so come out now, and stop being so mad
At every corner mama roars, stomps her feet
hoping upon a wishing well daughter's eyes meet
hello, Paris it's mama dearest
hello, Paris it's mama dearest
She sings her song over and over, hoping a prayer
is answered by her, and not another naysayer
Fear is born as fruits of her labor rot
but mama keep swimming up river for her baby tot
hello, Paris it's mama dearest
hello, Paris it's mama dearest
On a crescent moon, lost in a crater, daughter sleeps
in a dilapidated room on flea infested bed with a creep
Such fate of what a warm voice does to someone that's cold
her precious gifts and youthful innocence stolen
hello, Paris come out wherever you be
hello, Paris come out wherever you be
connie pachecho
12/30/16
His name is spoken, heard and seen
As part of every goddamn scene
Sweet be a cap on every bottle
It all goes on, without a throttle
A new banknote? Oh, there he is
The Arc of Trump? Well, soon be his
The Center for Performing Arts?
Rename attempt, sans playing parts
Half of White House's gone for good
Big void where once the building stood
Leave stains, not marks, is way to go
Our pride’s absorbing every blow
A golden phone, "Made in US"
Except it's not and what a mess
Cashed in our loyalty like a chip
When crypto fails, abandon ship!
He yells and screams and stomps his feet
So, heads of states are rife with grief
Hey, "pay attention to this matter"
Or chance become a worthless splatter
It's one step forward, two steps back
"Go make a deal or we attack"
The weak and meek don't win no war
Phone calls end war, he’ll stop few more
Vane jester of his own court
Amusing pledges, then abort
It hurts to watch, foresee effect
Entire world's pain in the neck
Forgiving History wouldn't be
No lion shall behave like flea
With vanity's his love affair
Except in bath, it's good nowhere
May 30, 2026
Cackles were heard from down under on a hill far away
fifty little saucy spiders scurry helter skelter out to play
A hefty witch stirs her cauldron next to her Bagoon
snake eyes spoon an evil mush as feet dance around the room
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead
The stars in heaven grow fangs and the moon wears a skirt of thorns
chainsaw demons flee the sky with decapitated scorn
Oh my oh my Halloween frights are here, although the night is young
old smelly garlic garlands have been strung,
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead
She's here to petrify, terrify, horrify and glorify her trade
when they get here they will drink purple blue Kool-aid
Oh Gee Oh Gosh she has lost her pompadour galosh
perhaps its hiding in the pumpkin squash
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead.
The little boy tends to be ornery
Especially when he is a giant
One who hates light and planets
One who grows out of control
Out of sight with a love of tantrums
And when he throws them look out
Bad things happen around the world
When he stomps Tsunamis come
Earthquakes crumble mountains
Finger nails break in beauty parlors
A cry for mommy and a thumb goes in the mouth
Heard around the world in horror
The little boy grows larger by the hour
Then leaves the planet as it grows tiny
He must live in outer space without his toys
More out of control than ever he gets mad
Then scoops up the sun in his little big cup
Covers it with his hand and screams ouch
Tosses the sun in the nearest cosmic ocean
To snuff it out and stuff and because he can
And because he still hates light and planets
And what they stand for
Tantrums are not very nice
But they are a way of life
Seeing a rare flamingo on our favorite beach…so far away from her home
is so special…so magnificent…so wonderful…it deserves a second poem.
When we returned the next morning to take a walk along shore
we found the flamingo in the same place we’d left her the day before.
She once again stood out because of her beautiful pinkish hue…
Just like we left her yesterday she was eating…and I thought…
is that all flamingos do?
But there is something about her eating you notice at first glance…
in order for her to find her food…the flamingo has to dance.
If you watch her closely…the way she rhythmically stomps her feet…
then moves them forwards and backward…you notice this flamingo feels the beat.
And while she’s dancing back and forth…right in the middle of her sway
she places her head under the water to enjoy her freshly churned up buffet.
She must have been quite hungry…because just like the day before
this flamingo kept on dancing and going under to eat some more.
How blessed we were to see this flamingo…
to share in the same space…
to witness not only her beauty but her elegance and grace….
And as we watched how intense she was…how proud…
how expressive…the way she rhythmically stamped her feet…
we thought how this is one of the most wondrous birds we’re ever going to meet…
We enjoyed the moment so much…we know we’ll be back for more…
for how often do we get the chance too see a flamingo
dancing the flamenco
in the water…
so close to shore.
Trump not a Thoughtful Tweeter
By Franklin Price
1/23/2017
Trump, not a thoughtful tweeter
Doesn't filter words to say
Whatever pops into his head
Is coming out that way
When thoughts form words, within his mind,
He thinks his thoughts are the best;
Must publish them on twitter
And put them to the test
When others choose to disagree
With words he has to tweet
Immediately he jumps on them
And stomps them with both feet
It doesn't matter what he says
He always must be right
And others who conflict with him
Must be looking for a fight
His tweets cause disapproval
In his popularity
Not in what he has accomplished
In most all the news we see
How popular would the president be,
If Twitter was now dead?
Would we recognize what he has done,
And not just what he said?