Long Vomiting Poems
Long Vomiting Poems. Below are the most popular long Vomiting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vomiting poems by poem length and keyword.
Minus adverse side effects
courtesy Ropinirole HCL
couple nights I did try,
albeit yours truly wanted to die,
plus also yearned tubby
among grrrrrreat full dead, no lie,
yes absent asthenia, fatigue,
and/or malaise oh my
nausea, vomiting, somnolence, dizziness,
and asthenic condition,
I woefully did decry
unconsciously kicking,
thrashing, twitching, wife kvetching
downing aforementioned medication
found me awry
beseeching psalm body
e'en the Sultan of Brunei
or sovereign from Abu Dhabi
to administer euthanasia,
I would willingly rectify
to bid good riddance and goodbye
experiencing said unpleasant reactions
listed above, hence death wish
of mine to comply
expressed modus operandi doth underlie
trawling the net whereby, to crucify
rigging (leg giddy met) i.e. legitimate
gofundme site could justify
assisted suicide recycling, reimbursing
repurposing... biodegradable cross -
guaranteeing faithful ethics to fortify
upon me rising masses will deify
an imperfectly square profane guy
skeptic at heart, unsure soul will go skyhigh,
or descend into Dante's inferno,
hmm... methinks hot meal my
olfactory organ doth nasally espy
summat good cooking, therefore aye
got hearty appetite unbearable symptoms
amazingly relieved, that scare did mortify,
now get secular humanist off doggone †
lest he gets cross and promises to nullify
future aery missions...
sidelining death, viz abort... fail... retry
else fans ye will need to pacify,
and posthumous rock star status
martyr on your stained hands
leaving widow whose syrup prize
zing tears unceasingly cry
without spouse to henpeck,
she cannot deny
cuz, body (mine), saintly
nicked peep pulled, tattooed
with apostolic marks
sharp nib she did apply.
New Year's Day, false prophets emerge from champagne bubbles.
Predicting the end of mankind, they may be right this time.
In Red China, it's the year of the green wood snake.
Poised to slither into Taiwanese airspace.
Persia and the red bear are vomiting on the planet again.
Seemingly without a care- eternally hell-bent.
Beneath mountains, elitists have built vast doomsday cities.
Hoarding false status and blood wealth.
Preparing for the end times-the singing of the dove...
They call me crazy for hoarding a few crumbs and caliber.
A futile effort to protect what I love.
Inauguration day is on the star-spangled Horizon.
The newly elected, circled by congressional vipers.
He's been bloodied again and again...but still thrives.
Some call him a patriot, the savior of the republic
Others chant he's the anti-Christ.
The green wood snake and the great red bear
would love to put a claw and fang to his hide.
I can still feel autumn lingering in the clouds and the birds are flying restlessly about, the leaves are still hanging on the tree holding court with the squirrels in dugout boat as they wait patiently on the shore for winter to set in.
It was just yesterday that ambition turned into a clown and start running a marathon around the town wooing passion in the street and gathering what is left of the Christmas fleet.
The moisture is drying out of the air and there is little semblance of hope left over there but they wait patiently for winter to come.
The migration caravan is on the road, marching though country, city state and town. You must take your cue from the happenings around you and prepare for the master is drawing near.
A multitude of them are crossing the bridge with babies on breast, babies in strollers and father carrying children on their shoulder. They band together in groups and rest together when the temperature increased, with blistered feet and courage up their sleeve they were determine to cross over in America.
The journey has life in its feet and something unusual is about to erupt in the street, the cars are running up and down the road picking up and dropping off passengers all around, a strange heat is radiating from the sun and it is scorching the leaves on the tree and forced the birds to migrant out of the town.
when destiny is drawing near it will speak to you in many different ways. observe what is going on around you.
Sweat is streaming down my back and the chirping bird are leaving but the stubborn ones have planted their feet in the ground but they will be severely burnt from their hard headed frown.
What on earth is going on? The earth is vomiting sweet juice on the lawn, and something is forming beyond the hill, and you must sit still and observe it. The heat is fading away and winter is coming my way.
I can feel the cold air blowing in my back and something in the clouds is falling to the ground; in seconds a white world stood around me reminiscing its age-old sin.
Does anything even have a meaning?
What are we fighting for here in this town?
What's changed in a year?
And why does it even bother?
Here I am; welcome to me
A semester behind schedule and skating by on strange ice
Am I actually skilled enough to deserve these grades
Or are my professors having mercy on my attempts?
Whizzing by on technicalities
And vomiting out talent when my heart stops holding me back
Am I going to survive in this capitalist wasteland?
Or die with the dregs forever reaching towards the sun?
Victorian castles shrouded in black against an amber sky
Surround a sleepy dirt road with turquoise trees by the wayside
In comfortable chairs with cast iron bars
Everyone I know and love sits enslaved by their brain's chemistry
No hope, no aspirations
As each slaves away for a slave's pay
How do I convince them to live
When I truly see no reason for them, or me, to do so?
Why fear an eternity of blankness?
More importantly, why fear it coming soon?
Compared to endless eons, billions of years
Why bother struggling for another sixty before it takes me anyway?
I've been dead longer than I've been alive
I'll be dead longer than I'll be alive
How am I to convince my friends to live
When I can't even convince myself?
So again I ask, shouting into the inky blackness of the night
Does anything have a meaning beyond what I attach to it?
Does the world truly end with me?
Because I'm a rather poor playwright for that kind of responsibility.
The river from nowhere flows across the Earth
From every tiny town and hidden hamlet, it comes
To gather the waste of fallen man in countless streams
And carry it across the terrestrial surrendering sphere
The river running from nowhere
Comes voiceless and without song
Acid, ruinous, its life course runs outside of dreams
Silently carrying the waste of sin from its source
It heaves itself up in steaming swells
From the undergrounds of human loss
Vomiting fluids from terror filled wells
Onto the pink flesh of the innocent newborn
And in the clear air of Spring orchards
Stagnant pools form, lying still and hopeless
Cold wetness percolating into the black scared earth
Passing into hell’s icy bottom of death’s eternal void
A woman who lost everything she owns stands there
by the waterfront where the waves beat upon the shore.
The woman-transformed-***** is a prisoner of war
being carried to the foreign land of an enemy general
across the sea; she cries ceaselessly tears in her eyes
for the unbearable sorrow, she barks fiercely in intolerable anger.
In the eyes of the woman who gazes up
the top of heaven from the bottom of the deepest sea.
She sees the last images of her blood-stained husband,
her dear sons and daughters, died in agony.
For her husband, she shared everything she owned;
for her children, she cradled and lulled them in her bosom to raise—
except for one son who was abandoned in the field at the time of his infancy because of an oracular ill omen.
All these sorrows are unwanted bitter memories to recall, crueler than
the cruelest fate for a woman to undergo.
Now, she climbs higher up the mast
to appeal to her deep inner heart’s mortification;
to let others see her transmuted figure, an ugly *****,
her annoying bark reaches to the furthest point of the sea.
Is Amphitrite heard her heartrending cry?
For the ship lists by the billow Poseidon rises,
alas, but then, she loses her balance and falls
to the deck vomiting blood, she ends her pathetic life;
this *****’s resentment tossed by the raging waves,
at the end, was thrown upon the shore and became a standing rock.
The rock beckons the ships that pass the straits to tell her grudge,
but to the heedless seafarers’ ears it sounds like the mere surges
that come and hit the rock. However, at times, it sounds
in their ears, like a ***** barking feebly from her bleeding heart
because of all her puppies are taken away;
that’s why, legend says,
the sailors called this rock “the poor *****’s rock.”
Dialysis
Dialysis
What is that
Let's do some research
Get a few facts
It's a procedure to remove waste products and excess fluid from the blood when the kidneys stop working properly
They have to take your blood out
Clean it put it back in
You experience the chills
And sometimes it leaves you in shock
They need heating blankets and cozy socks
To stay warm
They experience so much with their bodies
They have to be dialysised three times a week
It's exhausting
Overbearing
It's scary
I thought this was worth sharing
Your blood pressure can be lowered
You experience muscle cramps
is physically and emotionally draining, causes complications such as nerve problems, anaemia, bone disease and infection. In addition, an arduous regime of three days a week on dialysis can lead to symptoms including nausea, vomiting, cramps and depression.
Whew Let's have a session
My mom had to go go to dialysis for 4 years
Three times a week
She went through a lot
On a machine
Trying to give it your all
Sometimes she would have to get off of it because her body would cramp
She would cry
Unless you were a dialysis patient.
You wouldn't understand why
I salute ?? each one
Each one i wish I could give a hug
You guys are tough ??
And deserve a lot of love
A chronic kidney disease
That comes with no ease
Getting stuck with needles
Getting blood drawn
In and out
Out and in
It can affect the Skin
Leaving all kinds of bruises
And dark spots
You my diaylsis friends will never be forgot
Let's put our hearts together and hold hands
Make this disease better if we can
How can you get checked
If you feel something is wrong
Do us a favor get checked on
Yes it can affect your urine
Maybe even stop you from having children.
I don't know
The more information I get for you
The more I'll let you know
Dialysis doesn't necessarily mean it's the end
Just pick up where you left off
You can still win
I wrote this tribute in honor of my mother
Who is no longer physically here
Rest in Paradise Beautifully my dear
And to all if you feel like it gets Overbearing
Let's honor dialysis and all that we have lost and those who are still fighting
In honor of my mom
Lets get
Kozy for Karen
Written by Concetta Hardnett
01/12/2025
this world, connected by signals
cell phones, towers impregnated by vibrations
mild colors, flames rising from the hopes
hues stolen by the edges of a heart,
who hears the wind in the trees, the struggle
the need of raindrops, poignant
stroking the last of the moments before
Helene spoke her war with creation
a war that left time off its foundation –
peace, where have you blown to?
are you still in the shadows, remembering
time, before the furious waters, the melting
of a night, a trembling torrent of yesterday’s
drizzling past the laurels, the pines
as trees uprooted,
the wounds of the earth, purged
dirt vomiting up its dinner, the souls
of a quiet September, when hope suffered
and the choice between living and dying meant starving
for the peace that was before
she stomped through the silence, delighting
in leaving a trail of despair, a haunting
on the rivers, on the souls
of a land so shattered and spoiled,
a land that would never again truly know
the serenity of September’s lulling,
a breeze so bashful and blowing away
the memories of a hurricane’s infuriating claim,
cell phones? Silenced by the leftover shame,
wondering who is to blame – who do we blame?
for this struggle that left us feeling insane…
oh, how I wonder – will we ever be the same???
The chick grows to puberty hearing the sound of surfs as a lullaby,
returning waves as rocking cradle, fed by passing clouds and drank
of fogs. He learned: how to fly friend with wind, flow of time following the sun and moon, and direction through stars of constellations. And about the time when flock of birds returns
to this isle after long absence from the isle to avoid harsh and cold winter, the bird, flapping his huge wings, soared higher and higher to the endless deep sky.
After such, time had passed and autumn, again, returns to this isle,
all birds abandon it and flies away as before. And when all the birds left, raging bellows, deep fogs, torrential rain, high wind, thunders and lightening punish this little isle once again, the gigantic bird flies over and lands on this top cliff, then, he sits on the nest where his mother’s burnt bones still remain. He cries sorrowfully vomiting blood, while gathering and holding mother’s remains in his wide breast.
During the circle of days and nights, when the bird sees rays come from peeking sun between crevices of thickened cloud, he soars high to reach the sun, pecks a piece and brings it back to the nest and
covers mother’s remains with it.
He repeats this act as long as the sun is in the sky. After so much folds of sun-ray, he goes back and forth restlessly watching radiance floating atop of pathetic mother. When the weather turns worse as before, the bird covers mother with his broad breast.
After so much of those stormy weathers and occasional sunshine
pile up, spring approaches to this isle, and when such time comes, waters return to tranquility that of calm of primitive day. And in this absolute stillness, moon rises to die everything from sky to sea, to the color of dark-blue. And in this dark-blue stillness, the son-bird carries mother bird, which is resurrected as dark shadow on his back and flies away to the moon, to the sky, to the farthest dark-blue sea.
After the son-bird has flown away carrying mother bird on his back, though heap of suns became highest mountain, heap of moons became deepest sea, it was so told, these birds having once flown away never return to this little islet.
I hunger for truth
Yearn for upright living
But I didn't make a sound
At what "The Giving Tree" was giving
I took that fruit and ran
Demanding what was rightfully mine
I cared nothing for pomp and circumstance
In the presence of the Divine
Other countries grew mysteries
Unbelievable tales of idols and worship
But civilized humanity grew
A "BOMB" that cast off the antiquated War Ship
From that moment, forward
When no lightening bolt came from Heaven
Our harlot nation
Kneaded and rolled ALLLL available leaven
We are vomiting our rolls
At the pearly gates of doctrine and belief
Demanding God to send His angels
For our healing and relief
The flood gates of Heaven...open
And water is pouring forth to cleanse
Purity's Fire is coming
To restore man's "Holy" lens
Just as Our Savior had to wait
For the emptiness of fleshly desire
So our corruption must be full
Before we experience the purifying fire
I have heard the screams of man
In the realm unseen...horrible to hear
But as LOVE humbles our PRide
Humanity will come to REVERE
..............The King of King and Lord of Lords.................as Godly FEAR, chasing mercy
Order Restored...........but, forever changed
Written by Trudy Schrader on 11/26/2020
Note: There is a reason for everything I say, and do in this poem. I want it to wonky to the professional, stupid to those who want to be entertained, but a warning for those who care about LOVE's story.