Long Ululating Poems
Long Ululating Poems. Below are the most popular long Ululating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ululating poems by poem length and keyword.
Trial, revile, red reconcile!
Crocodile, vile smile!
Roundabout the rising rile?
Pules? Plop on the pile...
Young at heart, O wildebeest?
Ready to get fleeced?
O for gears as yet ungreased!
Not to say the least!
Ululating frenzied?
O banshee, sing thy song.
Xiphoid, clench! O pens, bleed!
Poison, be ye strong...
Long live the generations?
O nations, rise and fall.
Onward, my creations!
Relations? How they pall.
Sickly sweet in summer heat?
Heather-flower, vine.
If your beat is mossy peat?
Wicked is thy wine.
Kine of sun god, where you fell:
Awful was that spell!
Right next door to halfway hell!
Heaven, who to tell?
Knell, pell-mell! O fate, gel! Full!
Sing in all, brass bull!
Gathering crone, forest, thy wool!
How prophecies pull!
Yellow kings in cities old?
Shades of ancient gold.
Cone, caldera, getting cold?
Enter well the fold...
I'm a flower; I stand tall and primp for the world to see,
As a blooming princess, I incur both acclaim and glory.
Shaking shyly under a whimsical sky in dull tree stumps,
Soft melting snow vacuums up my tumescent clumps.
Eastward, where the eagle's feathers spread for flight,
Glow magnifies, bidding farewell to the fading twilight.
Once the days lengthen, they grow rosier and warmer,
Wintry endless dullness for my darling little charmer.
Paving the way for brighter days and lifting the spirit,
Vivid illumination, glowing embers, ruby, and pure merit.
Vibe shone in dual heat, a starry sky coated in sublime,
As stirring winds sate the slight cold, of ululating time.
Awe-inspiring bliss at the first arrival of spring thrill,
The morphology of the blooms on the saffron daffodil
Ritzily jasmine, eerie whispers ripple across the woods,
Spring, my lover, spills my soul in its pacific moods.
Fields of color bloom with bright joy, in ribald delight.
Narcissus competes with tulips for greater height.
1st place contest winner
Written: February 19, 2023
In Bloom Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Soundlessly ricochet to and fro
hither and yon
roundly bobbing within squarely donned
talking heads of psycho killers,
one pyromaniac burning
down the crowded house
sparking magnificent conflagration
towering inferno emulating
caterwauling, kickstarting, ululating
(think) stray cats on a hot tin roof
nsync with 10,000 maniacs
intense heat and duraflame
long since eroding
weather beaten soul asylum
strip mining away
vestial trace, hence impossible mission
rectifying purposeless existence
imputed to passive self sacrifice
upon cusp of prepubescence
mystified, mummified, modified,
stilled, lulled, andhushed
obsessively grammatically fanatical
oftimes feeble efforts yielded countless
corrective editing measures
subsequently rendering lame
resultant deplorable effort
despite NON GMO gluten
and monosodiumglutimate free
diet of (hooked) worms
limply tethered symbolic constructs
analogous to dangling participles
scraping, plowing, etching...
imperfect triangulated Hollywood squares
across parched stream of consciousness
former luscious cerebral riverbeds
long since bone dry
millennium since onset climate change
courtesy global warming
blowing in the hot torpid wind
sands of time elapsed
accepted biological demise
forever linkedin with his forebears
birth/death repurposed cycle
activated, demonstrated, gifted...
integration, narration, reincarnation...
biochemical, geological, paleontological...
legacy randomly begetting me
epochal, integral, orbital saga
since time immemorial
fifty plus shades of once ashen gray
well muscled athletic human specimen
oblivious corpse good n plenti
petrified, metamorphosed, coalesced
bleached skull and crossbones
grown brittle when blazing sun's
rays generated aforementioned disparate ideas
jangled, rankled, and zapped
in tandem with bared tiger (no lion)
slapdash pell mell, helter
skelter, higglety pigglety...
germane blitzkrieg rained down above
leaving writer, tortured, mortified, and benumbed
without either sense or sensibility
nor pride and prejudice
perusing discombobulated chaotic
kamikaze lobbed muddlesome nonsense.
I knew life in its perfect light,
Without a perfect chance
Of knowing it inside.
Walking a crowded street,
While
Walking an empty life.
Dad pushing the daily sun,
While Mom struggled collecting the stars.
God wanting 10%,
Government 40%,
And my woman 50%—
Me having nothing left.
I saw them roam the streets,
Luggage on heads, pain in hearts,
Frustration on faces, hope in dreams—
Still, no one sees them.
Cars whisked past,
Budgets made and published.
They smile, they try, they fail,
And hearts drain.
But five years come—
They smile, laugh while ululating
The same old chants,
Yet no stone blocking their path
Is moved.
They rush, they tick, they drop the paper.
They pray, they stress, they cry, they die
For just a name
That doesn’t know them,
That will never remember them
Until the five years come again.
At least the church—that 10%—
Drives their prayers to one God.
“Thanks be to the Lord,” they say,
For the gift of life.
But life itself tricks the prayer,
Because not all are favored by life.
Some are rejected, some abandoned, others ignored—
Yet they push with no one’s vision.
Life is like building
Daily broken pieces of the soul,
With no one cleaning your sweat.
But in our sweats and ages, there will be gold—
If “together we can” was the real say.
All eyes would be seeing, while hearts witness,
Letting our knees go down,
Bowing to heaven’s gift.
One gun dropped for another to be,
One tear wiped for another’s to be,
One kiss given for the next to be,
And one life saved for another to be.
If togetherness had become a contagious infection,
Spreading unity and loyalty—
One life would need another
To build another,
To smile,
And to fly in the dive of beauties.
One can’t carry one’s body to the grave.
Even paradise needs another
To pray
And wish you good luck.
Our world must be a home,
A paradise of our own
Before beautifying God’s.
Alone, it’s vast—
But together, it’s the best.
when into scaly claws, sans first
to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout, Missus Shaner,
or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably the majority
of elementary grades didst accord
accredited ancient authenticated creatures bored
(with exception of sixth)
freely exercised diabolical chord
churlish beastial animalistic
zealous yakking, wickedly,
aye (a basket case) deplored
unprintable (epithets) this then
(unprincipled urchin) puny pupil felt lord
did over whacked, sans receiving end,
viz fiendishly gruesome
hellish instructions mean teacher scored.
Assignments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period earlier
in the dawning primate consciousness.
Lesson material kindled justifiable license
in league garnered insignia heft brought pupils
to heal predicated, via warpped weft woven
wonderfully wrought writs welcomed whips
with warranty whenever recalcitrant ruffian
refused respecting reptilian rubric representative
saber rattling, where...
(The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver
of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will
Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do),
which loosely rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons freedom
granted to interpret as one decrepit, hawkish
insignia certified one beaming Eve and/or
stud deed brute soffit.
Education often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to or from Aunt Emma to this Jack,
oh napeswho never wrote back
sheesh, alas and alack.
Nefarious mean linkedin kickstarter jawboning
torturous treatment tolerated, asper imps
of pervert, mutant Ninja Turtles duty bound
antsy youthful yokel yodelers weathering ululating
sing-song quintessential precepts.
adieu:
math a hew
scott harris a gentile Jew
all ways felt like new
kid on the block isolated
in his hermetically sealed queue
pay perm ash shay watched per view
whew
at last in conk clew shun to you
from one primate within the human zoo.
A rhetorical question finds me asking
(to no one in particular) why I recall
the names of grade school teachers
approximately fifty years ago (whose
names listed below), when the need
to retrieve necessary information due
ring examinations (less time ago)
often found me seized with sudden
inability to remember any vital ants
sirs (even including my name), thus
grudgingly handing over blank test paper
analogously surrendering a vital
document gracing terms of defeat
into the scaly claws (zen nay), sans
first to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout,
Missus Shaner, or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably majority of first thru
sixth grade accorded accredited
ancient authenticated creatures.
They freely exercised diabolical
churlish beastial animalistic zeal
us yakking, wickedly unprintable
upon (unprincipled urchin) at
receiving end of fiendishly grue
some hellish instructions. Assign
ments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period
earlier in dawning primate con
sciousness. Lesson material kindled
with justifiable license in league
with garnered insignia. Heft
to bring pupils to heal predicated
via warp and weft woven wonder
fully. Wrought writs welcomed
whips with warranty whenever
recalcitrant ruffian refused
respecting reptilian rubric repre
sentative rattling (The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of
the Screw and Whipping Cords
Will Serve You More Than Ropes
Will Ever Do), which loosely
rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons
freedom granted to interpret
as one decrepit, hawkish insignia
certified one beaming Eve and/
or stud deed brute soffit. Education
often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to and/or from Aunt
Emma. Nefarious mean linkedin
kickstarter jawboning torturous
treatment tolerated, asper imps
of the pervert, mutant Ninja
Turtles duty bound antsy
youthful yokel yodelers
weathering ululating sing-song
and quintessential precepts.
A late March thundershower floats toward me
Like a plucked flower
Handed over on a walk to a lover
With a smile
Down this afternoon path
That breezes past
Spring-born ponds
Erupting
Of Peepers ululating and Chorus Frogs ratcheting
In a wave of Gnawa music.
The surface
Puckers
Diacritic raindrops
Slowly
Softly
Each plop and their purple ripple
Has not enough splash
To generate an echo
From the reedy shore.
The storm not so strong to hide the sun
For long
To move a wind
Or slice the sky with lightning
Rolls by with quiet thunder
Wetting my hair and all the early blossoms.
My spirit lifts while its shadow stoops
Cups the mud.
This gentle stir
Today
Seems to awaken and nudge the air
Just enough
To take His hand
Away
Sets free
The spring Dove
From his fist
Writes its wings in a mist
Changes his mind from Him to Her.
They said that you are blind,
Yet I can see you with my mind,
The piecing through my spine,
To me you are but tote sacrifice,
A jar of an oozing surprise!
They again called you trust,
A trip merely to thrust,
The raging furnace's ole to rust!
You are the thing I love to hate,
And I truly hate to love!
While I have inveighed about you.
You have wounded the side of the sun,
And the heat ululating the end of the cold,
Beating the crust aglet of the gun,
Then, The rising of the mocking moon;
Red may be danger, a dagger of threat,
Today, that same red is the hand of love;
With many hiding under to defile,
The sincerity of her meaning;
The blind gift exchange is here,
The smiling shadows of a fair,
To end the tale of a hallow fair,
All of us are strict beggars,
For if you don’t beg from humanity,
You must beg from the almighty;
So, please lower the shoulders,
Get a gift for me, even if it is a like,
To prove your true show of love!
A Letter to the maladroit Cupid!
~ Tile Tersoo
Beneath the deep blue sea,
the broken hearts of mermaids bleed,
ululating for their love
happiness awaits above.
“Don't be afraid of the abyss
the turtle offers his advice
you cannot help but always miss
swim until your love is found
your legs will then become unbound
until your lover with one kiss,
will fill your life with so much bliss.”
The shark parades with gleeful eyes,
His plans and actions no disguise,
The mermaids swim among the twisted ladders
they are aware of sharks and adders.
The friendly dolphins come to play,
to keep them company they stay,
the mermaids splash and giggle
with happiness, their tails wiggle.
nostalgic silence drowns the night
how dreadful is their lonely plight
the opposite of love is fear
their echoes whisper they are near.
Despite cosmetic surgery to stave
inevitable demise cheating grim reaper
indefatigable measures undertaken
buzzfeeding mortal legacy bajillion
dollar industry remaining eternally
youthful cold comfort knowing eventual
degradation conquers biological aging,
yet open casket bestows approving
nods upon aesthetic corpse denouncing
any telltale evidence rigor mortis stole
once hearty life source attested by
tranquil poise, albeit deathly stillness
former body electric forever quiet
among the mourning crowded house
impossible mission to still flowing tears
emotionally poignant moment onlookers
suddenly ever acutely aware their
demise guaranteed, an inalienable pact
linkedin with birthright, this scribe ponders
figuratively digging unearthing morbid
fascination with afterlife, yet neither
hastening mine demise, neither fearing,
protesting, nor ululating unproductive futile
entreaty against transient fleeting
consciousness, asper one carbon based
entity, who wonders if other creatures
great and small revile, (or perchance
question) authority, vis a vis temporarily
bequeathing forces procreative and
subsequently terminal, maybe other
species less insightful meditating being
gifted with sense and sensibility without
pride nor prejudice to speculate, deliberate,
articulate...regenerative processes that
eventually co opt breathing, functioning,
longing versus pensive postulating post
mortem phenomena, pinging noggin within
noggin of one weatherbeaten, haggard,
cadaverous *****sapien in truth...he
admits being petrified, what...whereat
lapsing millenniums found yours truly
cursed by Gorgons remaining forever
stone cold harboring no recollection
about livingsocial enjoying good n plenti
"FAKE" experiences trumpeting conspiracy
theories – fools like me (rush'n), where
angels fear to tread including collusion
explaining my ill fate.