Long Wheezing Poems
Long Wheezing Poems. Below are the most popular long Wheezing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wheezing poems by poem length and keyword.
Chaos and riots
Epidemics and wars
Confusion like tornado hurricane
Confinement, speechless, quiet, calm, rest and unspoken words
However people are drowned in the sounds of nature
Rattle of the rain
Whizzing of the wind
Rustling of the leaves
Wheedling of the birds
Chirping of the crickets
Echoing in the caves, jungles and mountains
Roaring of the sea
Murmuring of the stream
Buzzing of the bees
Hissing of the snake
Quacking of the ducks
Mooing of the cows
Woofing of the dogs
Groaning of the sick
Wheezing of the lungs
Humming of a lullaby
Grumbling of the oldies
Mourning of the dead
Sighing of the loser
Applause of the winner
Any other voices may be drowned
During this political, economic and epidemic crisis
Stay speechless ,calm and cool
As the ushering in of the Chinese New Year
Looking forward to a better year
Only melodies but no blasting or booming
Maybe some sounds buried in the wind
That's the voice of your heart
Stop violation, politicking, trafficking and hegemony
As the world
Is a part of everybody's legacy in a will
Although all along the world is speechless and unspoken
We must correct this inequality
Of Britain reaching breaking point,
Wheezing out gestures of Apollinaire identity,
The philosophy has invited everyone to comment.
Leave so quickly and make everything changes
Surpasses restraint and go beyond belief,
Taking the giant step of ideas into new leverages,
Charging right past all the intricate grief.
A new beginning for change we shall have,
Britain breaking the beam of light
And the soul searching answer the nation gave,
Stretches out the day and the night.
But there is no end in sight for the blind,
Only marginalize the few who serve,
To stop the danger lurking before and behind,
They will find more skeletons are kept in reserve.
From laughter belies the facts of the heart,
It is a view held so strong in the north,
A very unfriendly place like some apparent Art,
With strange urge to break away into a different path.
While rambling like a vagabond in a seraphic poetic submersion, in a remote region, witnessed the most captivated sight ever,
a sleeping valley rippled in wild blooms, as sparkling in mystical celestial beam, in the mesas of the clouds, the Dzukou Valley,
a remote dale at the border of Nagaland and Manipur,
in the untrodden tableland of India's Northeast!
The picturesque landscape was ringing with the
once in a lifetime scene of emerald shades of hillocks
paving the way for azure mountaintops,
luminous flowers waving in the winds amongst the tall grasses!
The vale was tweeting and twirling amidst the virgin vegetations enriched with the spectacular sights of verdant forests,
exquisite flora and fauna,
serpentine streams, myriads of panoramic pink
and white wild blooms that dot
the vast caldera of the valley and its' verdant meadows,
alongside the meandering rivers of Dzukou and Japfu,
appeared as the absolute paragon of serenity and tranquility!
Surrounded by the whispering platonic hills,
with numerous colorful flying creatures,
the valley seemed as smuggled over
the dewdrops' fragrant feral fruits,
Oak and Rhododendron forests are a feast to the eyes!
Half way up and any signs of tracks disappear,
and one is just left with wheezing enigmatic bamboo thickets!
Botanists' delight, trackers' paradise, seraph's psyche,
rovers' riddle, is reclining placidly ,
the untrodden earth's lulling lullaby,
in the abode of the divine Lily's
anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
a rich biodiversity hotspots
of endemic species, the Dzoku Valley;
an uninhabited unsullied phosphorus valley
Note:
The Dzüko Valley is located at the borders of the states of Nagaland and Manipur in Northeast India. The valley is known for its extremely rich biodiversity, seasonal flowers and flora & fauna. It is situated at an altitude of 2452 m above sea level.
© Silpika Kalita
In the cages at the zoo they crowded around each other
A million milling from father to brother
All speaking in a babel a million languages
From clicks and keyboard clacks to switches and bandages
A group is seen on a higher levee
They understand all, the interpreters you see
While some lower below compiles the dictionary
That translates to what is used by the assembly
A little farther around a table three Gs sit
they’re a python a Ci and Jav a’ Script
Sadly they discuss an end to their spec-ial woes
And thus the weird discussion goes
We hear the Ci talking first wheezing (he’s old)
What do you think makes girls so cold
To us our relationships’ are no success
And that’s the principal source of distress
Well as for me a girl who can’t commit
(Python interjects) I can’t have here cos she’s a git
And by the way Ci you need to have some class
There are some social functions you should pass
(An argument ensues)
Well I’m not the one who treats them like objects
That’s why they hate you, the Ci interjects.
And Jav a’ Script forget all the hype
You really need to settle on a type
Jav retorts, You’re the ones behaving slack
When they leave you simply call them back
Console them too if they cry
Be prepared to catch them if they try
Ah yes the man who always rejects
The promises he promised, (Python interjects)
(A lull in the storm, they begin to examine others)
Assembly’s got to make himself understood
Most of what he says goes under the hood
Swift’s got to slow down and not dart around
and Vue needs to react to their sound
There’s a theory I’d like to test
Says Python (although it’s half in jest)
If we work together as a unit
Then maybe we’ll be able to git one init?
And have mocha babies like Sinon no thanks
I’d rather throw myself on the express
Outside the cage the label reads
An endangered species with special feeds
Only pizza and soda strictly junk
For the whacky programmers inside this hunk
Sorry to say but you may regret it
Cause only programmers will read this and get it
Once I was starling voice at dawn,
A flock of chimed echoes on my tongue,
Wheezing whistles on choralled lawn,
Each verse a mimic so sweetly sung.
Now I’m a lyrebird lost in the brush,
Framing my solos in shadowed boughs,
With heart unfolding in trembling rush,
A lonesome lilting with hidden vows.
With cheeslets and flummox in my beak,
I sift the flock’s bright feathers from my core,
Icarus maps afresh a path unique,
A broken wing that yearns to soar.
There’s no rewind on a mimic’s mind,
No true home in borrowed refrains,
Yet in these feathers a quiet find,
A voice that’s raised beyond the chains.
.
Father always said we would be the first ones off if a ship sunk
I was eager to pitch myself over the side this time, to take a dunk
My mother was prissy about it, screaming, scared out of norm.
She did not realize how resilient we rats are in face of storm.
The waters were rough, the ridiculously flimsy sail boat was pitching.
We were all huddled together, sixteen relatives, many of them ing.
My Auntie Norma was running around giving everyone cheddar cheese.
I heard lots of coughing, and wheezing, and my Grandpa gave a sneeze.
On the count of forty-three, we will all dive into the water
Said my father, my hero. Yes, I am his absolute most favorite daughter.
Why wait? I asked pitching myself over the side, falling into ice.
Holy Mother Canole This water was rough, and not very nice!
I traveled downstream swiftly, trying to grab onto a stick.
I finally found a rock, but it gave me a bit of a nick and a kick.
I thumped my head on a boulder, and thought I was done.
I woke up in the morning, an almost drowned rat in the sun.
Fifteen of us rats had made it that day. We found each other, not so far away.
We sat and reminisced, built a fire and sang a song in memory of my brother.
Fifteen rats surviving that storm, was a miracle right? So we yelled Hey Hey Hey!
Suddenly loud screaming of joy came. It was my brother. Great day!
Any night endless, in countless shop doorways.
Down on their uppers, and satanic. strange places.
Spluttering, sneezing, coughing and wheezing,
In old cardboard boxes, rest weather worn faces
Catnapping for hours, gleans little cold comfort.
It's quicker with liquor, in brown paper bags.
A pawnshop's shopwindow, bears witness to sorrow,
Where all is exchanged, for the price of some fags.
Wearing second hand garments, from salvation counters,
No hope without dope, they suffer in silence.
A world where surviving, regrets to forget.
Downtrodden, despised, more often with violence.
The homeless seek shelter, a bed for the night.
Too few, for too many, for too many, too late.
Indifferent to hardship, they just melt away,
Swallowed up by the night-times, irreversible fate.
5/ 23/ 2017.
Deathsnake coiling, squeezing.
Heavy soul wheezing.
Conforming for conjoining.
A trick or two sets the mood.
Teasing and pleasing.
For a quickened f-_-ening.
In distillery of proofs.
In massage of noose.
Native tongued nativity.
Masochism helix form.
Homing sense reaching.
To carry me the way home?
The distance sends a beacon.
An Emmissary.
A Prostitute of Heaven.
This sphere bounces carelessly.
Joy acting aloof.
In ignorant ecstacy.
In distillery of proofs.
In massage of noose.
Native tongued nativity.
Such a cold frivolity.
The mind does fear it.
An idiosyncrasy.
The closer you are near it.
Makes no nevermind.
Obsequious of spirit.
I say to self, this is sick?
Unscrupulousness.
With a shiver and a twitch.
Lightness now of solid form.
In it's foundation.
It's proving grounds, now shine, honed.
Ethereal warrior
Of understanding?
Trial by fires reborn?
Do I mean my prayers?
What is the endpoint.
My desires be not undone.
Do I deceive even me?
Synchronized, alone.
As I think myself clever.
Errors of grandeur to the bone.
Errors to the throne.
Touched in such a wicked way.
That no-one would ever know.
I feel not deranged.
I feel that I want to change.
Bridge me that comforting path.
Please, so I may know.
I'll suffer not wrath, but home.
They don’t give a monkeys
You’ve read what they’ve said
These flunkeys are off their head
Braggadocio pinocchio junkies
Baz cronies nutter baloney utter
Phoney show ponies in the gutter
Stutter one more flutter then splutter
Aussies like a knife through butter
The death of a nation..us all pining for Bazball’s fine dining/opining alright whining degustation;
Amuse bouche (louche with a bag of douche);
Golly gosh Hogwash
Humpty Dumpty Numpty
Total scrotal Tosh
To start (brain fart);
Fish have another swish
Trumpet Bazball strumpet crumpet
Dish of death wish Gibberish
To cleanse the palette (God dammit);
Far too mellow sickly sweet lemoncello
Take a mallet to the Bazball planet (grief aperitif & digestif)
Entree (naysay it's okay.. the way we play come what may every bloody day);
Ruddy veteran fuddy duddy buddies bash
Splash of rash & brash
Off stump chump slump rump
Dash..lash then crash
Flash Balderdash hash
Desert ( just desserts)
Teasing wheezing ego pleasing Trollop
Dollop of Codswallop
With a twist of narcissist mist (you get the gist)
Cheese board (traditions ignored)
Aussie gloat aged goat
Camembert despair
Double header immature cheddar
Out fought and out thought Roquefort
(served with they're crackers and in a bit of a pickle)
Petit Fours (flaws encores & guffaws);
Scoop of NincomPOOP
Tasty bit of hasty bullshi*
Peacocks big bolloc*s
Tripe as ripe as our Gripe
You don’t get a coffee because like Test cricket they can’t do it for toffee
I must say that in my four score years I've done it all and seen it all,
But in the autumn of my life, noxious noises drive me up the wall!
I like the soothing sound of most music and birds trilling in the trees,
But, Lord, spare me the wheezing of those bagpipes, if you please!
I like the sound of thunder and the rain falling softly on my roof,
But I could strangle the neighbor for letting his mutt yap and woof!
I can tolerate classical music until the prima donna Madame Zaria,
Begins to belt out her raucous contralto in an intolerable aria!
A most trying nuisance and I suppose one of my biggest gripes,
Are kids with boom boxes and their jalopies with those roaring pipes!
I don't mind the occasional rumbling of a train or the screaming jets,
But when dining I suffer acid reflux hearing inane cell phone vignettes!
I've got a bone to pick with the inventor of the wailing saxaphone!
That and the squeaking of a clarinet are more than I can condone!
I like western musical harmony sung by "The Sons Of The Pioneers."
But spare me those "She Done Me Wrong Songs" - they aggravate my ears!
Why can't folks keep their cats inside so they aren't yowling on my lawn,
And a hex on the dude revving his Harley Davidson waking me at dawn!
I reckon before I blow a gasket or worse yet lose my poise,
I'd better rush out and buy some ear plugs to stifle that noxious noise!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved