Long Ululate Poems
Long Ululate Poems. Below are the most popular long Ululate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ululate poems by poem length and keyword.
This generic creek king mortal mwm
(who generally river ears the bay sea gully feels ire ate
asper propensity plundering positive human qualities
tested to the max), bait
ting virtue with rapacious opprobrious
malicious lugubriousness, and hatred create
head via the violent wickedness yawping zealously
oceans of tears that in un date
every nook and cranny of society, wrenching,
whip-sawing, and hammering extirpate
ting, the delicate nuances that anthropological fate
bequeathed to *****sapiens
species and genus undermining great
ness brought forth by artistic, democratic,
and graphic accomplishments with HATE
diluting the virtuous unification treatises
agonizingly tried to insulate
basic rights, whence erosion, corrosion,
and abrasion with goliath gangrenous monstrosities of late
subtract at frightful pace, the very survival of mankind and doth mate
absolute evil that percolates into the body electric,
where bloody fiendish genies prosper upending immunity
fostering broods that deign devious strategies in Nate
to destroy any salient sliver via BuzzFeed ding fifty shades of a gray pate
outwitting tentative grasp upon survival
barely fending off lashing off faux kings who e quate
might with right, and bring out the big guns
which blitzkrieg magazines fire at greased lightening speed rate
this battle whereby competing credos, ethos,
and grand Poobah grinds by force state
mints that all most obey lest Das Capital life will not tolerate
nasty, short and brutish torture engendering wailing ululate
diminish in a vain attempt to escape the maws of madness
where the grim reaper doth patiently wait.
Across the Swiss and Austrian Alps
brutal gusts steadly blow,
calling for heavy snowflakes
dancing as lost butterflies...
falling as summer's lonely stars.
Ginger bread smells good,
honey in tea is superb;
I inhale the steamy swirls that
jackrabbits love to smell.
Kaffe Klatsch is strong
lurching through their nostrils,
making them too hyper.
Northern Italy's wooden shacks
over the wide, frigid vallies...
point to a warmer South
quiet only at evening or night.
Roam as deer on snowy slopes,
stunning is the alpine scenery:
trees as tall as redwoods
ululate louder than hungry wolves...
vulnerable to snowdrifts' attacks.
Watch the skiers having fun,
xelophones making music,
yummy polenta being eaten...
zealous alpinists singing.
Pofadder
Named after a snake that warms itself in tar,Pofadder lies still,mirage shimmering , and a petrol attendant grins, ''Don't blink traveler-you will kiss our eternity''.
Hot dust,no mercy,
Serpent sun coils on the road-
Town blinks, disappears.
Tietiesbaai
The ocean blushes against its rocky chest.Fishermen mend nets and tell naughty tales about how this bay its scandalous name.Waves laugh- for even the sea loves a little mischief.
Waves tease the granite,
Seagulls gossip, tide giggles-
Moon hides her face.
Klein Mier Nommer Een
A dot on the desert's tongue.Nothing here but wind,sand, and the stubborn hum of life. An ant carries a crumb across the gravel- proof that greatness begins small and numbered.
Tiny and marching,
Number One in endless sand-
Dust salutes softly.
Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein
(Spring where two buffaloes were killed with a single shot)
The signboard itself is a novel- a saga of hunters,thirst, and a tongue-twisting laughter. Locals say if you can pronounce it right you've earned your place in the heart of the veldt.
Twobuls,one bullet,
Name as long as a Karoo road-
Echoes laugh in dust.
Lekkersing
A village that hums even in silence.Children clap, women ululate,the veld itself keeps rhythm. They say singing here sweetens the soul faster than the sweetest honey. Joy is the only wealth that never runs out.
Song spills from dry lips,
Sun joins the noon choir-
Thorns bloom in applause.
It falls with grace.
Metallic bawls hail the strength of zinc roofs.
At the mercy of the thatch,
Drops drip from needle points of skeletal
Palm fronds.
Particles of rain descend on thresholds
Among dewed terrains.
The petrichor befriends the atmosphere,
Caressing limpid warmth with floating cold.
Lightning, a white dancing Anaconda, races with speed,
Filling the tenebrous plains with lights of hope.
Troubled skies ululate through the power of thunder.
I always recline on that liquid voice!
Rainmakers cream their palms
And roast fresh leaves of
Epochal petals
Plucked from somnolent trees.
Bubbles, green and full of life, puke,
Filling up the mouths of burning woods.
Grey darkness suggests the pleasant wars of
May through October,
When distant wayward drops
Trickle before the deafening deluge.
I hail the blandishments of July
For the society of fattened yams and the
Worthy tendrils —festooned confetti of ceremonial
Harvests.
Droughts yawn in vain when the attitude of
Wet seasons befriends the skies,
Yielding fecund grimes that grace the soil.
Be the light. We are the light.
We are the light
By Michelle Morris
17/11/2020
In their eyes you may be incomplete
as they seek out the shiny baubles and squeak of shallow vessels and find them not wanting,
despite human nature being peacock taunting.
By their lips they may ululate,
the wars and strife who souls duly break,
but of you they may scorn
for you break the mould by quiet storms.
In their eyes you may be incomplete
for human beings have clay for feet;
we hurt and claw and crash and burn,
slaughter and fight against, and turn.
By their lips they may not celebrate your existence born by fate and choice;
for those who have the highest climb
must do so alone with no solace or voice.
We are the ones: The leaders and saviours of the undeserving masses who would not give us the light of day; but we are the Light and He sees all, and those humans remain very small in comparison to the universe's thrall -
Our crown of thorns transmuted
victoriously to glorious gold;
Our enemies defeated for good
as we claim saved souls.
© Michelle Morris, 2020
Facula, flash fulgorous.
Chime, chorus, sharply in.
Pumice stone, rough and porous?
Blood below the skin.
Mantle of the harpsichord?
Wraps around the core.
Reptile complex, tooth or sword?
Either way it's gore.
Moreover, hellfire. Killing fields.
Floor slaughterhouse, tiled.
Yield or come home on thy shields.
As before, poor. Riled.
Hurricane, thy beginning.
What will seed thee, storm?
Ululate, underpinning.
Lava, keep them warm.
Rush. Volcanic power, crush.
Dragon, heard that thrush?
Crocodile, wildebeest. Such.
Cloud, the rainbow's touch.
Fire in my heart, burn ice cold.
Ashes, fall around.
Trillium flower, poison sold.
Salve healing, thy bound.
Gadarene, black gabion.
Galant, galago.
Gallimaufry? Gallion.
Goetic the grow.
Fulmineous, fumarole?
Not exactly matched.
Ground to powder, golden bowl?
Toll the tallest thatched...
All Things Galore
by Michael R. Burch
(for my grandfathers George Edwin Hurt Sr. and Paul Ray Burch, Sr.)
Grandfather,
now in your gray presence
you are
somehow more near
and remind me that,
once, upon a star,
you taught me
wish
that ululate soft phrase,
that hopeful phrase!
and everywhere above, each hopeful star
gleamed down
and seemed to speak of times before
when you clasped my small glad hand
in your wise paw
and taught me heaven, omen, meteor ...
Keywords/Tags: family, grandfather, grandparents, grandchild, grandson, teacher, mentor, example, guide, guidance, guru, sage, wise man, instructor, model, archetype
I was asked to write about u
With which l became confused
My understanding of what was required
Left me feeling somewhat bemused
A little unclear
And somewhat in doubt
Whether it is the alphabet or “U” words
Or Me (U) I write about
Well, “U” in the alphabet is letter twenty one
In between T and V at the very end
A tight gang called “The Vowels”
Are “U’s” best friends
Ululate ,unasinous ,ucalegon
“U” words just to state a few
What the dickens they mean
I actually haven’t a clue
Lastly, me in this “U” poem
Well , I am not that interesting it’s true
To be quite honest
I’d rather talk about “U”
Terrified innocents, departing indigenous lands
afraid to end with a sad ullagone…
merchandised as cargo.
Once money changes hands…all hope is gone.
They are herded into dinghies on an empty shore
united through a desire, a longing,
dreaming of peace, education and love.
On board each one clings anxiously to ice cold hands
elderly faces stare blankly. Children ululate
Silently one by one they fall overboard
bodies thrash as the cold invades their bones
until silence is the only sound in darkness
Once proud inhabitants, bound in dreams of
a better life away from impoverishment
To end life as ghostly apparitions…
We share a name in our grandmothers’ mouths.
The same blood. The same laughter in our eyes.
Blood flows in our veins,
and ours calls to each other like rain to thirsty soil.
I love you the way dawn loves the earth:
without permission. Without apology.
Your voice is home,
but the door is locked by ussiko
By old laws whispered at family fires:
“Induku ayinamuzi”.
Love between us builds a house with no roof.
We sit at weddings for other people.
Your hand. An inch from mine. White cloth between.
Things do not happen unless meant to.
Yet here we are. Meant and unmeant in the same breath.
I watch you braid your hair.
“Ubuhle bendoda zinkomo zayo”
but all my cattle couldn’t buy us a blessing.
So take this dowry:
love unspoken at funerals, too loud in my chest.
If marriage is commitment
then we’re bound. Just not by rings.
Bound by childhood at night,
by secrets under our mothers’ noses,
by the ache of isililo sangaphakathi.
Go. Marry the man they’ll ululate for.
I’ll clap with the uncles. Swallow my heart.
“Isizukulwane asiboli”
I won’t twist the branch of our tree.
But know this:
When the world is quiet, I still call you My love.
In another life without blood and custom,
I’d spend eternity with you.
In this one, I honor you. But fate’s against me.
“Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu”. You made me human.
Ngiyabonga, even if I can’t be umyeni wakho.