Evil Summer Poems | Evil Poems About Summer
These Evil Summer poems are examples of Evil poems about Summer. These are the best examples of Evil Summer poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.
The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.
"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.
The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.
Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?
Copyright © Chris Boskovski
Every man, woman and child really admires
\The men and women fighting the bushfires
Some deliberately lit, the worst of all sins
The fires roar fiercely in the strong winds
Hundreds of square miles have burnt to the ground
Poor people watching their houses burning down
Just to see it on television is a terrible shock
Gone are farms, houses, buildings and stock
Feel sorry for these people, nothing at all left
Over sixty poor buggers have burnt to death
For weeks us Aussies have suffered dreadful weather
Stinkin' bushfires will bring people closer together
Loosing everything you own must be incredibly rough
The country people will survive, they are terribly tough
Why would anyone want to cause so much pain?
Bastards who lit these fires have no bloody brains
Bushfires are terrible, what an awful way to die
Not much we can do really, but to wonder why
Burnt out cars with poor buggers stuck inside
Couldn't beat the flames, had nowhere to hide
Everyone will be praying, of that there`s no doubt
Hopefully soon, all them damn fires will be out
As I write this, even worse than I`d feared
Whole Victorian towns have simply disappeared
With the winds howling the fires move faster
How can the lord let this happen, a natural disaster?
Mother Nature has dealt out one hell of a hand
Fires in two states and floods in Queensland
Only thing I can offer, not much that is true
To all you poor buggers, my thoughts are with you
I can`t remember anything worse in all my years
Nobody will look, without shedding some tears
Not much we can do to help ease the pain
Guess I`ll pray to God, send down some rain
I think tonight, everyone will be saying their prayers
Hoping the fires are out, that none of them flares
Copyright © Stanley Billing
Madrid it is a hot and sad place.
Filled once with music and pretty women
now filled with bombs blasting on street corners
and old women hovering over their dead husbands.
Madrid was once a place of love and culture.
Love was full through every hotel lobby
to every small cafe, love was all around.
Now, nothing but abandoded buildings
inhabited by rats and broken dreams.
The hotel lobbies once home to rich folk in tuxedos
drinking expensive champagne and dancing,
now filled with young boys bleeding from bullet wounds
and burn't to the bone.
Madrid once a home to life
now a home to death and war.
Fellow Spaniard fighting fellow Spaniard
in a Civil War between life and greed.
Life was all good and well
till 1937 came around.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski