"loafs" poems - Hello Poetry

Deception feeds on ignorance in every lane, Missiles are wrong symphonies in Ukraine. The world won't rise with the cries of a thousand, Corruption sneaks into the bones in Thailand. Humans and bodies are wars' cheapest lance, The riots take back stolen rights in France. Starvation is stronger than the dignity of men, Begging for food is integrity, in Yemen. Moms paid, with their children, the fees. Souls taken, are countless in greece. There, living in an empty land is the plan, Women, children and men, murdered, for power, in Sudan. "Spending eternity in peace, is a ban", Told the people, between Armenia and Azerbaijan. Depravity spreading in man like Ameba, A losing game of change played in Cuba. Billions of harassment cases, you bet, Are, will be reserved in god's eyes in Egypt. Buried her father, brother and, desire of existence, dear Haya, She, and millions another, in fenced Libya. In the name of religion, crimes covered, disgracefully, Chastity thrown, in land of churches, the Vatican City. Shattered wood under a phloem, Are the confused inhabitants of oriental Jerusalem. Too many sects, invading the minds, anon, Conflicts will split the one entity of Lebanon. Washing souls with lies of worship, is a key Says the elected president of Turkey. To be served, pure blood awaits in the line. It rains glory and sacrifice upon Palestine. To regain true reality, they had to wham, Under snow, through fog, numbed rain, in Vietnam. Lost a thousands of years worth of legacy, Guns are the rulers in Damascus city.

0

Jun 29, 2019

Jun 29, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC

EslamDabank

Countries and Loafs

Deception feeds on ignorance in every lane, Missiles are wrong symphonies in Ukraine. The world won't rise with the cries of a thousand, Corruption sneaks into the bones in Thailand. Humans and bodies are wars' cheapest lance, The riots take back stolen rights in France. Starvation is stronger than the dignity of men, Begging for food is integrity, in Yemen. Moms paid, with their children, the fees. Souls taken, are countless in greece. There, living in an empty land is the plan, Women, children and men, murdered, for power, in Sudan. "Spending eternity in peace, is a ban", Told the people, between Armenia and Azerbaijan. Depravity spreading in man like Ameba, A losing game of change played in Cuba. Billions of harassment cases, you bet, Are, will be reserved in god's eyes in Egypt. Buried her father, brother and, desire of existence, dear Haya, She, and millions another, in fenced Libya. In the name of religion, crimes covered, disgracefully, Chastity thrown, in land of churches, the Vatican City. Shattered wood under a phloem, Are the confused inhabitants of oriental Jerusalem. Too many sects, invading the minds, anon, Conflicts will split the one entity of Lebanon. Washing souls with lies of worship, is a key Says the elected president of Turkey. To be served, pure blood awaits in the line. It rains glory and sacrifice upon Palestine. To regain true reality, they had to wham, Under snow, through fog, numbed rain, in Vietnam. Lost a thousands of years worth of legacy, Guns are the rulers in Damascus city.

35

God loafs around heaven, without a shape but He would like to smoke His cigar or bite His fingernails and so forth. God owns heaven but He craves the earth, the earth with its little sleepy caves, its bird resting at the kitchen window, even its murders lined up like broken chairs, even its writers digging into their souls with jackhammers, even its hucksters selling their animals for gold, even its babies sniffing for their music, the farm house, white as a bone, sitting in the lap of its corn, even the statue holding up its widowed life, but most of all He envies the bodies, He who has no body. The eyes, opening and shutting like keyholes and never forgetting, recording by thousands, the skull with its brains like eels-- the tablet of the world-- the bones and their joints that build and break for any trick, the genitals, the ballast of the eternal, and the heart, of course, that swallows the tides and spits them out cleansed. He does not envy the soul so much. He is all soul but He would like to house it in a body and come down and give it a bath now and then.

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2.5k

Anne Sexton

The Earth

God loafs around heaven, without a shape but He would like to smoke His cigar or bite His fingernails and so forth. God owns heaven but He craves the earth, the earth with its little sleepy caves, its bird resting at the kitchen window, even its murders lined up like broken chairs, even its writers digging into their souls with jackhammers, even its hucksters selling their animals for gold, even its babies sniffing for their music, the farm house, white as a bone, sitting in the lap of its corn, even the statue holding up its widowed life, but most of all He envies the bodies, He who has no body. The eyes, opening and shutting like keyholes and never forgetting, recording by thousands, the skull with its brains like eels-- the tablet of the world-- the bones and their joints that build and break for any trick, the genitals, the ballast of the eternal, and the heart, of course, that swallows the tides and spits them out cleansed. He does not envy the soul so much. He is all soul but He would like to house it in a body and come down and give it a bath now and then.

37

why can’t I go back? to simpler times four stanza rhymes limes and minds intertwined its become unkind joy declined plagued by lack of bread I said bread loafs hold the fishes flakey cakes baked flat pita meat and cheese **** gluten free diabetes self-imposed undiagnosed just following my nose the bird says “it always knows” back when cereal wasn’t genetically engineered something to be feared not for a child to be reared mirrored in the exterior fake tans dot the land useless hands clandestine hidden gridiron lockdown drowning clowning seeking peace from beastly yeast creased forehead brow disjointed appointed anointed one undone no guns sunshine fabrication

0

Jun 6, 2014

Jun 6, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC

s-lyman-temple

maybe unfinished..or...

why can’t I go back? to simpler times four stanza rhymes limes and minds intertwined its become unkind joy declined plagued by lack of bread I said bread loafs hold the fishes flakey cakes baked flat pita meat and cheese **** gluten free diabetes self-imposed undiagnosed just following my nose the bird says “it always knows” back when cereal wasn’t genetically engineered something to be feared not for a child to be reared mirrored in the exterior fake tans dot the land useless hands clandestine hidden gridiron lockdown drowning clowning seeking peace from beastly yeast creased forehead brow disjointed appointed anointed one undone no guns sunshine fabrication

34

Your presence is like Midas touch a bit too much, we, smile at the sight-of each others blush nah, not but we butt-heads over bread over loafs over who gives better head instead of which heart is gripped by the solid gold clutch

0

Jan 20, 2013

Jan 20, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC

timothy-brown

Ghost (2)

Your presence is like Midas touch a bit too much, we, smile at the sight-of each others blush nah, not but we butt-heads over bread over loafs over who gives better head instead of which heart is gripped by the solid gold clutch

10

*talking to ritchie (a scaffolder on the Whitechapel project of the cross-rail) and his girlfriend nicholle, the smurf who i told about gargamel... while almost begged the sri lankans to buy a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of diet pepsi, past the allowance for the shop's opening hours and catching the last bus from chasing the cross... me and ritchie got talking randomly... hugged and shook hands by the end of the encounter, i don't know why; ritchie was a scaffolder... i told him i was once a roofer... i don't know why i have a healthy affiliation with scaffolders; nicholle the chihuahua walking in front of us reminded us of drug testing on the building site, i said a day off, she said a day without pay and randomised crap like curtains... now i remember why i didn't join the crew with girlfriends, i'd be in a mental asylum by now, should they exist, otherwise with the failure of community care projects... maybe that's why women look amazing in ***** but cats look better in real life; i'm not even trying to be sexist, it's just too much reality.* i have only a few words for her: why won't she touch me? why am i to resolve my objections like this, ah, i see, because they are objections to that subjections that are of man succumbing to woman and the ordeal of chore; that are, man objectifies woman with all that *********** while woman makes countless subjects from him to appease her, while the world around sees no appeasement... indeed in the crusader's song to later show, as a psychosis (elevation of soul via the body's non-existence, a funny atheism) i'll show you a levitated stone, that doesn't require stones or loafs of bread for proof of alchemy; cup my hands in tears to capture tears like rainwater... make my eyes a convent.... i say a convent not a covenant! da pacem domine - and i see the mother nuns ushering the flock into carcass of obedience, a volume of body as tall as the pyramids; why are we the defending? what pleading would craft an altar if not to compare idle prayer crafted as a larger spectacle to allow marriage in its eyes permitted... when i'm the sparrow of sorrow i sound like my mother, because of you, it's what i see that's to come that makes me disbelieve the magic of the advert, and embrace the advent of the saints in petulant prayer.

0

Mar 28, 2016

Mar 28, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

the hooded knight

*talking to ritchie (a scaffolder on the Whitechapel project of the cross-rail) and his girlfriend nicholle, the smurf who i told about gargamel... while almost begged the sri lankans to buy a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of diet pepsi, past the allowance for the shop's opening hours and catching the last bus from chasing the cross... me and ritchie got talking randomly... hugged and shook hands by the end of the encounter, i don't know why; ritchie was a scaffolder... i told him i was once a roofer... i don't know why i have a healthy affiliation with scaffolders; nicholle the chihuahua walking in front of us reminded us of drug testing on the building site, i said a day off, she said a day without pay and randomised crap like curtains... now i remember why i didn't join the crew with girlfriends, i'd be in a mental asylum by now, should they exist, otherwise with the failure of community care projects... maybe that's why women look amazing in ***** but cats look better in real life; i'm not even trying to be sexist, it's just too much reality.* i have only a few words for her: why won't she touch me? why am i to resolve my objections like this, ah, i see, because they are objections to that subjections that are of man succumbing to woman and the ordeal of chore; that are, man objectifies woman with all that *********** while woman makes countless subjects from him to appease her, while the world around sees no appeasement... indeed in the crusader's song to later show, as a psychosis (elevation of soul via the body's non-existence, a funny atheism) i'll show you a levitated stone, that doesn't require stones or loafs of bread for proof of alchemy; cup my hands in tears to capture tears like rainwater... make my eyes a convent.... i say a convent not a covenant! da pacem domine - and i see the mother nuns ushering the flock into carcass of obedience, a volume of body as tall as the pyramids; why are we the defending? what pleading would craft an altar if not to compare idle prayer crafted as a larger spectacle to allow marriage in its eyes permitted... when i'm the sparrow of sorrow i sound like my mother, because of you, it's what i see that's to come that makes me disbelieve the magic of the advert, and embrace the advent of the saints in petulant prayer.

45

Oh the men that make their way Sitting around in lapping bays How a wish is whispered naked in the corner bar Never heard from someone close but always from someone afar A listless night of effort is remembered fondly Worlds torn to pieces just because the sight of another temptation missing So the story goes from soul to soul like fish peeking from their fishy bowl Scattering for a thought into publishment to share a pain that can only be felt within Experience tempts the senses to reveal and spit and *** and bleed onto the page scanned and verified and blotted by high ink and Misinterpreted But still tried as if a jury full of fledging turtles tempting the God's to bring the wisdown unseen but known by clowns with twisted frowns, and analyzed by sizes with flashy prizes and excavated by the mindless & ****** vacated and ripped to shreds but still seemingly in love in bed So the bearer of the bad appears in blue Shifting from side to side from the news Knee deep in his own birthed and electric disease A breath of air touches the ears of the virgins The attempting takers Eyes that gaze up skirts and oh how I remember how it hurt, how it hurt With the water entrenched with the back and forth touch within but still no sight of a friendly boat But oh the loafs, the hot bread manics, underlying a temper furious hot ferocity, fast and fast and fast until they met themselves, seeing themselves sweating, panting, exhaling and finally feeling what it feels like to expel the spell they were cursed with and are now forced to live with Through it all if one doesn't have a ball They'll turn out to be just another victim with a gripped dulled saw With a wasted mother's gift, a wasted torn ticket, a pocket of wasted rockets, Their grandly sad and oh so deserved Epic fall

0

Mar 28, 2011

Mar 28, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC

ashby-brown

Which One Do You Fight For?

Oh the men that make their way Sitting around in lapping bays How a wish is whispered naked in the corner bar Never heard from someone close but always from someone afar A listless night of effort is remembered fondly Worlds torn to pieces just because the sight of another temptation missing So the story goes from soul to soul like fish peeking from their fishy bowl Scattering for a thought into publishment to share a pain that can only be felt within Experience tempts the senses to reveal and spit and *** and bleed onto the page scanned and verified and blotted by high ink and Misinterpreted But still tried as if a jury full of fledging turtles tempting the God's to bring the wisdown unseen but known by clowns with twisted frowns, and analyzed by sizes with flashy prizes and excavated by the mindless & ****** vacated and ripped to shreds but still seemingly in love in bed So the bearer of the bad appears in blue Shifting from side to side from the news Knee deep in his own birthed and electric disease A breath of air touches the ears of the virgins The attempting takers Eyes that gaze up skirts and oh how I remember how it hurt, how it hurt With the water entrenched with the back and forth touch within but still no sight of a friendly boat But oh the loafs, the hot bread manics, underlying a temper furious hot ferocity, fast and fast and fast until they met themselves, seeing themselves sweating, panting, exhaling and finally feeling what it feels like to expel the spell they were cursed with and are now forced to live with Through it all if one doesn't have a ball They'll turn out to be just another victim with a gripped dulled saw With a wasted mother's gift, a wasted torn ticket, a pocket of wasted rockets, Their grandly sad and oh so deserved Epic fall

23

Every day on the thruways you can see the surprise in dozens of bundles, of differing size some thin and narrow, or thick and piled high doggy deposits from owners despised Big logs, big logs, big bad logs Nobody could tell whose woofer's it was the smell was horrific, dog food the cause ya couldn't say much as master offend It wasn't their dog, they all like to pretend Somebody said "I'd like to catch one leaving the loafs on the turf in the sun" accosting the ******* with chastising care "pick up the crap your dog just left there" Big logs, big logs, big bad logs Big logs, big logs

0

May 20, 2018

May 20, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC

TemporalFugue

Big logs, big logs, big bad logs (Sorry Jimmy Dean)

Every day on the thruways you can see the surprise in dozens of bundles, of differing size some thin and narrow, or thick and piled high doggy deposits from owners despised Big logs, big logs, big bad logs Nobody could tell whose woofer's it was the smell was horrific, dog food the cause ya couldn't say much as master offend It wasn't their dog, they all like to pretend Somebody said "I'd like to catch one leaving the loafs on the turf in the sun" accosting the ******* with chastising care "pick up the crap your dog just left there" Big logs, big logs, big bad logs Big logs, big logs

15

Your voice is the roundtable I choose to sit in. Eating loafs of bread, Warm and hot. Your breath is a heartbeat Echoing mine, Without a single sound. Don't leave me, The trees whisper. They need you, also. Don't leave me, They whisper. I am absent Without you.

0

Mar 28, 2019

Mar 28, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC

Written-In-Water

Longing

Your voice is the roundtable I choose to sit in. Eating loafs of bread, Warm and hot. Your breath is a heartbeat Echoing mine, Without a single sound. Don't leave me, The trees whisper. They need you, also. Don't leave me, They whisper. I am absent Without you.

14

Knock... knock... And I open the door. What are all these masks for? The night is fought by candles and lanterns carved from vegetables in my front porch. Loafs of pumpkin and spice must reach the roads end, the perfect bait! A spider on a web over a face, pale olive completion with hollow screws, a surgeon holding a plastic saw and a brace where dripping blood was reproduced. All huge eyes and brightened teeth, hands extended in gluttonous cheers begging for candy and all sorts of treats. A cold gulf of air freed through the frame on queue I unfold my dark heavy cape unleashing a flash bellow a bony square chin curated with rice powder and gin. With blood thirst in my ruby stare petting my hissing black cat with the lowest voice I can set I tower over them and declare: "Your costumes were bought! You cannot contain your glee! Take some paste for your tooth that is all that it is worth here." Before they could **** in their pants I turn the door shut and echoed two laughs. Well done Simba! Let's turn off the fans check their picture and wait for their parents.

0

Oct 28, 2019

Oct 28, 2019 at 9:12 AM UTC

chris-yellow

Halloween Grinch

Knock... knock... And I open the door. What are all these masks for? The night is fought by candles and lanterns carved from vegetables in my front porch. Loafs of pumpkin and spice must reach the roads end, the perfect bait! A spider on a web over a face, pale olive completion with hollow screws, a surgeon holding a plastic saw and a brace where dripping blood was reproduced. All huge eyes and brightened teeth, hands extended in gluttonous cheers begging for candy and all sorts of treats. A cold gulf of air freed through the frame on queue I unfold my dark heavy cape unleashing a flash bellow a bony square chin curated with rice powder and gin. With blood thirst in my ruby stare petting my hissing black cat with the lowest voice I can set I tower over them and declare: "Your costumes were bought! You cannot contain your glee! Take some paste for your tooth that is all that it is worth here." Before they could **** in their pants I turn the door shut and echoed two laughs. Well done Simba! Let's turn off the fans check their picture and wait for their parents.

33

She does not perorate to him, fear fills her mind & croor why?...it is unknown but everytime their eyes meet her child skips a brum beat, her paunch gets overwrought in his presence, her soul longs for his aid, her child longs for his amiability, her oculus longs for his oculus to domineerin' hers, her frame longs for his predilection, her hand longs for his...but winter rests long & stubbornly between them she serenades for him but he evades her serenades she falls on her knees & weeps & ensecure herself like a tranchula does. Weeks feel like months somber is her new lust partner, her life companion & their child is the one that loafs in her ******* tucked away, unpoisonous. Her child is what keeps the muted predecessor alive & what made her so stonewall & untrustin' bourgeois to emancipate her & her child...the muted predecessor & her child have been indignant to many times & she isn't contingentin' never more, mother grows enervated & distended from the correlations she went through & the many bourgeois her child has met & adored deeply & who it has played with & now predecessor & progeny are aghast to amity & entrust anyone they meet...

0

Nov 21, 2018

Nov 21, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC

Girl_in_black531

Her child

She does not perorate to him, fear fills her mind & croor why?...it is unknown but everytime their eyes meet her child skips a brum beat, her paunch gets overwrought in his presence, her soul longs for his aid, her child longs for his amiability, her oculus longs for his oculus to domineerin' hers, her frame longs for his predilection, her hand longs for his...but winter rests long & stubbornly between them she serenades for him but he evades her serenades she falls on her knees & weeps & ensecure herself like a tranchula does. Weeks feel like months somber is her new lust partner, her life companion & their child is the one that loafs in her ******* tucked away, unpoisonous. Her child is what keeps the muted predecessor alive & what made her so stonewall & untrustin' bourgeois to emancipate her & her child...the muted predecessor & her child have been indignant to many times & she isn't contingentin' never more, mother grows enervated & distended from the correlations she went through & the many bourgeois her child has met & adored deeply & who it has played with & now predecessor & progeny are aghast to amity & entrust anyone they meet...

2