Long Tattling Poems
Long Tattling Poems. Below are the most popular long Tattling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tattling poems by poem length and keyword.
This bowl is no longer mine,
was never so,
Let it go.
well worn before the oath,
A gift that despised the guardian,
Presented freely without a dowry in May.
tainted, and abandoned.
used, and widened by many.
too wide to keep a home.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
insatiable, licentious and libidinous.
The bowl was scorned by many.
ere i fell a wandering,
incorrigible, rebellious, untutored.
a bait on my way, the sorrow on my path.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
Like many seeking for prey, and so was i for a time.
intent concealed,,
desperate for the gift of the semen.
as adulterer urged rebellion by ignorance.
the rage, the rave of ego and bestiality.
deceived the Law for mere gain.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
It is broken cannot be fixed by logic.
this bowl is old, alluring by mascara.
This bowl was used,
i take exception on your list,
This bowl is free available to all.
the next victim can explore.
the bowl is cheap,
forced a dowry to conceal the shame.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
T'was sold for free at Ikoyi with ego,
Who is next?
A thousand many had the bowl,
I played along for a time,
ere this voyage of deceit,
I took a flight from restrain ,
hoping to make a jewel from the Flesh.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
This bowl is addicted to the red zones,
Incurable addiction i recalled,
The friends,
The internet,
The phone,
The TV,
The cinema,
And tattling,
The routines of unending dark flights
Incorrigible,
Venomous.
You may have the bowl if you would.
think no shame on me, I lusted.
This bowl is No longer mine.
Let it go
Once a street bowl,
and always so.
Find the bowl in your homes,
Let's hope the bowl recovers.
but a broken bowl is irreparable by man
Every moment is a potion mixing
in the adjoinisent wave.
Where possibility falls like raindrops,
leaving you with the wonder of knowing;
how things are to be, how it is to behave.
Do you remember a time the warm summer air
gave birth to hatchlings that cloud-bursted
into your makeshift oasis?
By the Sea a Pool or a Pond, River,
Lake or Stream.
Born out of the blue, streaking
and skinny dipping back in, like a fiend.
R-Will-searching for love's Strombolient Cave,
rippled in urging,- execution of means and way.
Bursting anew into a heat seeking ring;
a resurging the repurposing of will
and union and new beginning from that day.
A whispered hint, a sneak peek from one
that has a hard time keeping a secret.
I must say!
Condensation passes from Her dripping maw,
savors, in understanding,
favors our barrage of desires,
with flavors grinning long.
Possibility indeed falls like raindrops,
bursting wet and pure.
Standing at our precipice,
rapping at our gate,
demuir
circumstances courting you in a belly-dance,
around that trial by fire, pregnant with fertility,
forged by the desire of our contemplate, inspired nativity.
Mystery's lungs breathe in perfect timing.
The sigh, heard as an inaudible
bracelet rattle, singing, opining.
Skipping, smirking, teasing and tattling.
Mother Love in Love in the distance you can hear the humming feminine prattle.
Peddling, a dance of pounces onto bare footing,
for riding atop of and settling, saddling.
in happiness's tantric trance.
Gaia roundabout,
Straddling.
Fairied in a Feminine dream.
Ferried by empathy.
Stitching stitchlings into
hand-maidens and hand-maidens
into the fabrics seams.
Seems as if the Familiar lips,
the atmospheres sway of hips; adept
the sensor censer of Holy Smoke equipped
with Angelic Sound, an anonomous kiss,
above Consecrated Ground is not at all
remiss.
I am a Victim,
Lured by mascara, and by a pretext piety
Induced through lust by immoral vermin
I am a Victim
Blindfold through cunnings to fest on a plowed field,
“Whore scammed”, trapped in a net by the conspiracy of a blemished womanhood
I am a Victim,
Decoyed through the bait of an illusion to nurse the wound of another.
Oh! The Desdemona from whose path I avoided avowal
I am a victim,
Of marriage in Freetown, the offer of credit in dowry.
And the sharer chokes hastily by licentious and libidinous overwhelm.
I am a Victim,
Of a venomous revenge of a late marriage,
The brunt, the consequence of many abandoned lovers lurking still to watch my shame.
I am a victim,
Hauled from far off climes to be used, dumped after use
Suspended in the gale to fulfil an ambition.
I am a victim,
Of a clandestine unanimity of an unbroken vow,
Lust feigned for friendship dictates and plotted through covert text, my fall their aim
I am a victim
Of the conspiracy of “Exes” plotted by the bed lure,
Of hasty overturn to conceal the fraud by a blinded jury
I am a victim,
Defrauded, demonized, humiliated and ridiculed.
A bespectacled gargoyle masked the visages in the loss
I am a victim
They couldn't find in this clime, but must take a trip to seek,
and by secret oath through the court, concealed from affinity save one
I am a victim,
Semen sapped by a desperation to escape a stigma of nature,
And a sorrowing reflection of an impostor on my innocent seed
I am a victim
By revenges of many woes, still waited to plow on a stranger’s lap
Whose seed was taken through anger for mere gain,
I am a victim,
Bore the spatter of grim loss to a burying place and have since never ceased
I am a victim
Of this highest ambition in the vanity fair,
Ousted when a sincere investment was well worn by trickery
I am a victim
of their jeer, of a collective calumny of their bed tattling
of the usurping of fatherhood, of their banter and this grim gaunt wearied
I am a victim,
A reflective victim of conscience.
Of a story not fully told
I am the old woman who lives in a shoe
I have so many children telling me what to do
Some are twenty, thirty, forty and fifty too
but to hear them all screaming you'd think they were two
Tattling and fighting, yelling, squawking, all through the night
arguing the same thing over and over until it's daylight
Demanding, exclaiming that they are always right
always blaming the other no matter their plight
Spinning in circles, no resolution to be found
the chaos unfolding just keeps me homebound
Enlarging their problems, keeping others spellbound
They can't seem to focus, it goes round and round
Lying and stealing, and cheating, they all accuse
The one whose accusing always has an excuse
Pointing the finger at others, a tactic they use
Sick of the tantrums, you become a recluse
They can't see the problem, it's all one big game
to see how much more they can milk from the old dame
They all want control of the shoe, it's so lame
Tying the shoelace is driving me insane
Teaching these children, each eyelet has a price
You can't skip one over, it isn't deemed nice
Each hole you lace through is another bill to be paid
to lace through each one means more money must be made
Thoughts can't be gathered, the frenzy causing delays
Old Mother, those children are too old to relate
That they are responsible for divining their own fate
Promises are broken, they can't really correlate
Old woman's not their mother and wants a clean slate
The banshees are furious, they don't want to pay
No understanding without old woman paving the way
the shoe will soon crumble and to dust, it will fade
So come on spoiled brats, scream your lives away
Yell louder this is a cycle that's hard to escape
The shoe is the prison their own minds did create
Stop blaming and pay the house a fair rate
Listen before the old woman gets up and runs away
Kick rocks, she tells them now to pay their own way
They scream louder when she turns the other way
Took her for granted, but she was first not second rate
The years fall to the side as she leaves you to your fate
the vision of youth returning will soon resonate
Old Woman kicks her shoes off without delay
Now a young woman, she turns her back and walks away
Like cooperatives explicitly known
and felt,
most virtuous circle systems
love meaningful ecological theology,
a WinWin reiteratively continuous choice
grows political democratic
tit=tat resilience into multicultural perpetuity,
whether virtuous ego inside
and/or eco-habitat therapeutic outside.
Like implicit competitions,
not not corollaries make most vicious
LoseLose degenerative non-choices toward WinWin,
prejudicial leaning toward
inside ego-economic priority
over outside green theological opportunity,
continues stuck in pathological violent nihilism,
dissonant absence of resilience,
ego-inside rabid
as climate pathological revenge,
for anti-ecological LoseLose reactionary ecopolitical choices
militaristic
growing short-tempered mendaciously rabid
LeftBrain dominant expedience
Secular vicious cycles
pursue wealthy growth
to autonomously achieve fleeting desperate health,
before deficit played-out absence
of further future expiration dates
predicting Earth's pulselessness--
attenuated rootlessness
Sacred virtuous long-rooted recyclers
pursue ecotherapeutic healthy memories
of more nutritiously wealthy forests,
wild undomesticated RightBrain sacred spaces
To cooperatively achieve resiliently balanced
multicultural theology of meaning
ego-green wealth
pursuing ultra-nonviolent Tit health
for ultra-violet Tattling wealth...
Long-term cooperative virtues
absorbing short-term viciousness
EcoTherapy
absorbing EgoRabid Virality
Integrity
absorbing Dementia
Yin
absorbing Yang
Like cooperative cytosine
absorbing autonomous uracil.
Blustering tornadoes of ire
spin from my head,
the blipping computer lost its net, yet again.
Even the background of rosy sundrenched sea
does little to quell the storm which brews
gremlins of an esoteric bent
skid with ease from flat screen~
~to flat screen attacking the saucy skirt of
the satellite dish next…
Soundless talking heads waggle tongues
tuneless dog tails, tattling tirades~
Green around the gills I salmon toward the kitchen.
going for tea but the gremlins get there first.
The microwave is fried black~
leaving me with an empty cup on my knobby knees
searching for the bone-dry kettle.
Ah well, having rounded the last pedal
of the third clover leaf ~’~
I smile, trouble only comes in three’s!
very morning i hear her cycle chains clanging,
changing gears on the curvy corner down the street,
it makes me wonder if she has wavy brown hair,
matching chocolatey eyes full of summer hormones,
i stuff my mouth with pancakes
chewing on the fantasy of us cycling down the beach,
tyres sinking in the sand, dancing in the sunrays,
my blue summer dress flowing like the waves
that caress the seashore &
her yellow hat with mellow tinges of the sun-
i wake early the next morning to see her,
cycling down the street but all i see is
an old mail car rattling & tattling across,
i return home feeling like a yak, buried
somewhere under the piles of fury thoughts on my back,
but i like it this way,
the way the summer girl with her yellow hat
will just pass by my house every morning &
yet again I will just imagine meeting her,
finish my pancakes and nod my head to
the loneliness sitting on the couch.
Cousin big Freda always had intimidated Sue who was a year younger.
Freda was a big part of the reason Sue moved four states away.
Freda thought they had a rivalry; but Sue never did.
Her braggadocio, bullying behaviors were tolerated by the aunts.
Grandma Stella said to “stop tattling” when Sue got knocked down.
Freda was built like a concrete mixer and twice as tough.
Sue stayed away from the family for ten years.
She was a lawyer now, happily married, with two daughters.
Grandma Stella passed, and Sue flew home for the funeral.
She was surprised to not see Freda or any photos of Freda.
Freda had been grandma’s favorite.
Sue finally asked one of her aunts where Freda was.
"Freda got put in prison for killing a guy.
Grandma Stella hid all of her photos, it was like she was never there.”