Long Whelps Poems
Long Whelps Poems. Below are the most popular long Whelps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whelps poems by poem length and keyword.
See the sneering of the student,
I think she's angry at the rodent.
She finds it hard to see the kitten,
Overshadowed by her shiny mittens,
Who is that standing near the truck?
I think she'd like to run a muck
.
She is but an exciting student,
Yet scared as she sits upon the foment
So set and yes she screams help,
As the rodent rats run whelps and yelps.
Racing wiggles in out of alley
Leaping out trashcans stinking, smelly.
So set and yes she screams help,
As the rodent rats run whelps and yelps.
She’s so sneering still the student,
I think she's scared of the rodent
1/24/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
~DAMAGED~
TAUNTING OF YOUR SADIST WHISPERS, ECHO IN MY HEAD
CONSTANTLY REMINDING ME, OF YOUR DESECRATION INFUSED
MY SELF~ESTEEM RENDERED UNTO ME, IN RATIONS FOR OBEDIENCE
NUMBLY, I ENVISIONED A CHANGE...THAT WOULD NEVER COME
WHELPS 'PON MY SOUL, DEEPER THAN THOSE MY SKIN
YOUR MANIACAL BARRAGES, VIRTIGUOUSLY PERVADE MY SLUMBER
FOR WANT OF MY TEARS, YOU...CAUSED MY RETREAT OF LIFE'S LIVING
THOUGH I STILL TRY TO CLEAVE, FOR WANT OF AN ENDING MORE ELATIVE
FOR ALL TREASURE OF TH' EARTH, I WOULD NOT SUFFER YE 'GAIN
I USED TO BELIEVE TH' PAST, WOULD NOT DETERMINE MY TOMORROWS
BUT JADED I'VE BECOME, MY TRUST NOW OPPRESSED IN CONTEMPT
FOR THAT WHICH DIDN'T KILL ME, YOU...MADE ME HUNGER
BELITTLED N' BROKEN, I NOW STAND ALONE...
MY EMPATHY FOR YOUR NEXT PREY, I OFFER AS SACRIFICE FOR YOUR DEMISE
WHEN YOU FIND YOURSELF, AMONGST TH' DEMONS OF YOUR IMPIETY...
FOR AS LONG AS I'M ALLOWED, I WILL SMILE INTO YOUR EYES...
...DAMAGED
©~AZAZA~'09
When very young, no more than a lad,
mom spanked my hand when I was bad.
Tommy don't meddle, son don't do that,
then on my bottom was placed a love spat.
I could not climb to reach things high,
from where I stood they touched the sky.
I dared never venture to play with fire,
for this would surely bring mother's ire.
Boys don't fuss, boys please don't fight,
you've both been taught this isn't right.
Don't play on the couch, get off the bed,
when we persisted our fannies became red.
As older I grew along came the switch,
this tool of the devil could make me twitch.
Upon my legs red whelps were bared,
to a headstrong boy from a mom who cared.
A mother who at times slept on the floor,
who worried and waited to open the door.
A mother who always gave us what she had,
one who influenced my life when I was a lad.
On this mothers day although she's not here,
in these simple lines I still feel that she's near.
At eighty hard years her life's work was done,
now at ease with Jesus, her victory's been won.
Life entangled in the cobweb of frustration
looks for the escaping pathway of dissociation.
Time to listen to the dulcet call from within,
the enticing echo of music from the soul’s violin.
Reform the constitution of the captive mind,
let the strained strings of sensual duress unwind.
Discover the hidden cavern someone made for you,
the abode of hope so long out of your view.
In there you enter with the new attribute imbued,
the chimera of possessive lioness of fortitude,
nurturing the ebullient whelps of the infant dreams,
the meaning of life from the ruins you’ll redeem.
July 9, 2019
January 5, 2020
Contest : Strand Select 4, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
nature thrives on bestrewn oddness.
earth is tame in its fresh safeness.
the same for the rest of the world.
yellow, black, and white are all furled.
The geese there on guavas feed.
Cows may swallow the grass and weed
ripe cornflowers peep from the rows
Whelps and brats on each other's paws
From the loud roar of the flood tide
A swell choir of birds bourns each sighed.
High-pitched sparrows nod while they sing.
As crows with coal-eyes play pied string
calm and cool waters of the bay
clear and blue in the light of day.
but when darkness begins to fall.
it is the root sea's soothing call.
Written: March 30, 2022
Kelps Seaworthy: WELCOME FANS: IT'S BEEN A LONG WEEK AND A LONGER WEEKEND HERE AT PRO WRESTLING SUPERSTARS.
WE HAVE SOME EXCITING NEWS FOR THOSE OF
YOU WHO HAVEN'T HAD ACCESS TO OUR ONLINE NEWS.
AS YOU KNOW T" THE BIG SKY" WAS TO TAKE ON
"kETTLER " IN A tEXAS rOADhOUSE MATCH.
WELL ON HIS WAY TO THAT MATCH "{ THE BIG SKY" WAS DENIED A TITLE BOUT AGAINST THE wORLD cHAMPION BY THE CHAMPIONSHIP COMMITTEE. iNSTEAD
THE COMMITTEE AWARDED THE BOUT TO " KETTLER".
WELL IN mONTREAL qUEBEC cANADA, kETTLER TOOK ON THE wORLD cHAMPION, WHELPS COLBRAN. DURING THE BOUT THE bIG SKY INTERFERED AND CAUSED COLBRAN TO LOSE THE MATCH AND THE WORLD TITLE.
MAKING " KETTLER " THE NEW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION.
WELL WHEN IT CAME TIME FOR THE TEXAS ROAD HOUSE BOUT KETTLER WOULD BE DEFENDING THE GOLD AGAINST THE BIGSKY.
THE MATCH WHERE THE RULES WERE CLEAR, FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE, NO DQ, COUNT OUTS COULD FORCES A TITLE CHANGE, AND BEST TWO OUT OF THREE FALLS.
IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG." THE BIG SKY" WON THE TITLE, PINNING " KETTLER" WITHIN THREE MINUTES OF HIS SUBMISSION WIN, TO WIN THE WORLD TITLE AT 14:13. THE NEW CHAMPION," THE BIG SKY"
Court hiss sea hove The Irish Times,
this hum mere ruck can bloke
kin esse spy climb mitt till impact
desiccation ravaging with choke
hold thee aim rilled isle,
which haint ok key doke
cuz won hoot rook froom sun
whelps like heretic burned at stoke!
- - - - - - - - - -
More to the point (meaning jaw
ken minus **** faux
hackney poetic strung bow
Willy Wonka barely understandable
twanged and twinged) accent
hen reed how, accomplishment
in garnering alarming
news-worthy ailment
while this Unit Aryan ensconced
within beef hoar tee four comfortably
numb burred battlement,
here at Highland Manor,
I pay (if totally tubularly pennies rolled)
approximately equaling bedazzlement
17,500 viz copper cent,
per month gratuity clement,
sans Grosse and Quade
associates co-management
offered rental assistance congruent
(predicated on social security disability)
to occupy one bedroom
apartment kept air
conditioned 60°Fahrenheit
perfect for concupiscent
activity, albeit unfortunately marriage
shot thru with celibacy
suppressed sexless existence
more difficult to control
than catching a tiger by the tail,
hence this damned delinquent dependent
Dickensian dada cooly cruising thru
cyberspace espying embodiment,
how measurable heating up
Gaia, i.e. Mother Earth (she) evinces
no illusory figment, and just by a fluke,
the spontaneous Google search,
keyed revealed tumy mine eyes,
wretched webpage showed
stark rising temperature gradient
Dublin, Ireland experiencing
worst drought since
records began 168 years ago
where Irish Water (utility)
warned Dublin would run out of water
in 70 days, a “worst-case scenario”
necessitating hyper-efficient
protocols immediately inherent.
the hidden truths the silent truths
you come to bury me but i just may bury you
the burden carries me further by every step
the pain i suffered has carried me so close to hell
you better carefully measure the methods you be using against me
and if they're excessive toward my demise then i wish you success
nothing to reminisce but only my regrets as i counter them with subliminal messages
stung by the whelps that com from bull netals
i can see the mountains from miles the countrysides full of nothing but rebels
as a catalyst to catapults the counter measure to balance the force of the battlefront, tragedies and triumphs, and principalities and the power's force
and frankly yes that's a mouthful like a sea of troubles so far at this point we are incompatible, a branch snaps cracks feel the power shift ,a shallow heart feels the shadow's kiss, from where the war was raged from here to Shiloh to the cornfields
In those far days, stars had stilts, shafts
that pierced every eye with a legendary knowledge.
There were celestial dragons
that roamed the daylight clouds,
actual myths glittered in the sunlight
as they shape-shifted through a gleaming creation.
Olympus could be found in every nest. Nirvana
explored in nightly rain puddles. Heaven was a word
for the ordinary and mundane.
Then a thing darker than the darkest of shadows,
cast its vast leathery wings over the minds
of these lesser gods and their magical beasts.
Conflicts arose in every land, fairies fled
to the timeless flowering fields of Arcadia.
Blood oaths were sworn and few there were
that would arbitrate for peace.
To this day, starlight walks elsewhere,
and we the ill-bred whelps of fear,
must travel with no thaumaturgic succor
or wit to discern
this wonderful macrocosm of us.
Growing up in Podunk Missouri,
meant that we had the freedom to roam.
Up and down rivers and wooded hills,
those places that we called home.
Picked berries, peaches, plums, and cherries,
and at least the ones that didn’t fill our bellies.
Mom would turn them into some mighty fine,
pies, cookies, canned juices and jellies.
Morel mushrooms in the frying pan,
could find them after a soft spring rain.
Serve with fried Catfish rolled in cornmeal,
and tomatoes, ‘taters, and onions.
Rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, and possums,
our blue tick was ready and able.
With the help of a marksman’s keen eyes,
it was easy to fill the supper table.
We built hideouts from leaves, weeds, and twigs,
out beneath a weeping willow’s green.
We laid with our backs against soft grass ,
wishing on each falling star we’d seen.
The screeches and hoots of a night owl,
watching us capture fireflies in jars.
The call of goatsuckers and whippoorwills,
filled our summer nights beneath the stars.
Wildflowers covered all the ditches,
that ran down our dusty gravel road.
Wood-post fences cradled new-born calves,
or protected crops that had just been sowed.
Some nights we ate around a campfire,
had no white tablecloth with frilly lace.
Beggar’s lice clinging tight to our jeans,
and red mosquito whelps on our face.
Soles of shoeless feet tough as leathe,r
as up and down those hills we would climb.
Moving deeper into life’s adventure,
we tried to outrun the passing time.
Those joyous years there in the woodlands,
before the future took us away.
Left me with many fond memories,
of that happy childhood yesterday.