Long Anguished Poems
Long Anguished Poems. Below are the most popular long Anguished by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anguished poems by poem length and keyword.
The fork pitch you use to stab
All your friends with in the back
Is as sharp and torturous
As actions your so notorious
For displaying with two faced grins
Evil lurks under your skin
That is crawling with bad schemes
Followed by heartbreak it seems
Not one day or week goes by
That your dark and evil eyes
Hide a plan for one of us
To get thrown under the bus
And crushed by the heavy weight
Of your big nastiness slate
That cant be pulled off in time
Your a gooey piece of slime
That attaches to those who
Always tried to help you through
The tough times that you were facing
Instead of thanks you are now gracing
All of us with the sad essence
Whenever you show your pressence
Trying to ditch and escape
Is no use when you just drape
A lasso around our group
And each lie tightens the loop
So we just try to defend
One another till the end
When we are finally set free
From this anguished misery
That you've given to us all
Your an insect that should crawl
Under a rock we can crush you
Giving us a happy rush to
Release all the years of hurt
As your smashed into the dirt
Almost Gone Forever
I thought she was secure inside her cage,
as I departed from the shelter and
was walking the short block back to my car,
when all at once the door flung wide and she
jumped to the sidewalk, scampering away!
I rain so quickly, but she disappeared
right near the curb into a storm drain there;
my heart was broken...suddenly, she's gone.
Some passersby had heard my anguished sobs,
as helplessness took hold with no way out.
Quick on my knees, I vainly called her name
not even knowing how far down she was.
Poor thing was orphaned, never had a home,
and I had fallen for her big green eyes
and soft, full fur of charcoal gray and white,
well-patterned...such a lovely tabby cat.
A firehouse was right across the street,
and suddenly two men were at my side.
They quickly knelt to lift the iron grate;
one laying on his stomach pulled her out.
So much had happened in so short a time...
I found a dear, sweet kitty to bring home,
then lost her in a storm drain down the street...
a fireman rescued her...and my sad heart.
March 6, 2019
Contest: Down A Storm Drain - Gone Forever
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Fiction For Contest
From the North, they came in wooden longboats,
to the monastery of Lindisfarne. A Kingdom of Northern Brine
to plunder the church and steal its gold.
The priests had their blood splattered too ill-equipped to fight
as they were fragile and old.
A marriage was taking place at the time of the raid,
between a Noble Knight and his bride. There was no place
to run no place to hide, no one to give them aid.
The Vikings brought death and a horrifying day, they
caused a wailing that chilled to the bone. The stench from
the dead danced on the wind where the bodies lay, as misery
and torment were never alone.
A battle axe in a Vikings hands brought fear to the priests
and their church, they spared none, splattered their blood
onto the stone floor, set fire to the door.
The Knight stood alone as his death came toward him,
as he faced the axe in mail-covered skin and never retreated
as his death rushed in.
He died...his blood-soaked blade lay across his chest, and his
honor held through his anguished cry of pride.
Within the burning walls of the church's death knell
lay his bride, next to her Knight where her body fell.
This was the day when two worlds would collide
and sent shockwaves through the Kingdom land-wide.
II.
She didn’t wake up until the next day,
at first she didn’t quite knew where she was,
through bleary she saw her husband there,
he said,”I wasn’t sure you’d make it, my love.
I didn’t know if my prayers were enough.”
Half-fuzzy, she mumbled,”Where’s the baby?”
Mark’s face went slack, he looked down to his feet.
“Our son…he…he…he did not make it out,
the doctors say he had already died—”
He didn’t get the chance to speak anymore,
Mark was cut-off by Maureen’s anguished cries,
he just shed tears, and stayed there by her side.
For the next day she was nothing but numb,
spoke so little you’d mistake her for dumb.
The first sound she made came during check-out,
the same junkie woman stood at the desk,
filling out forms besides a thuggish man,
the kind who had seen one more than one arrest,
she struggled to sign her name there at rest.
Hearing annoyed grumbles from the damn thug,
Maureen realized then the girl was on drugs!
“Jesus Christ, Chrissie, how long does it take
to sign some damn forms and give up this brat?”
She scribbled her name, lumbered towards the door,
something in Maureen broke when she saw that,
she just screamed out like a hurt wildcat.
The screech took all of the room by surprise,
the junkie couple just hurried outside.
Mark had to fill out the discharge for her,
she was too shattered to think, only wept.
They wheeled her out and he retrieved the car,
out of the large parking lot then they crept,
Maureen in pure agony with each breath.
In the coming days she would entertain
disturbing thoughts that crept into her brain.
Thoughts of anger towards the useless woman,
a drug user, and yet her babe had lived,
and then as if it were nothing at all
to another that child she did give,
the next high her only lasting motive.
A damn crack-baby allowed to be born,
while her wanted son she now had to mourn…
CONTINUES IN PART III.
I hear America crying, the varied cries I hear,
Those of families, each one crying theirs as it should be, tired and poor,
The Dreamer crying hers as she prays for a path to citizenship,
The autoworker crying his as he struggles to find a job, or is fired from one,
The nurse crying what belongs to her in the hospital bed, as her patient breathes his last,
The veteran crying as he sits on his bench, looking for a place to sleep,
The teachers crying in their cars, in the morning, or at noon intermission, or at sundown,
The mournful crying of the incarcerated, of the wrongly accused, longing to be free,
Each crying what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day – at night the party of young addicts,
Unwanted, broken,
Crying through clenched mouths their anguished despairing songs.
Impatient winds shriek loud with anguished cries,
Sunlight giving way to dark tempest’s gain.
Silver light streaking across darkened skies,
Squalls blowing against door and window pain.
Sunlight giving way to dark tempest’s gain,
Driven rain splashes into flooded pools.
Squalls blowing against door and window pain,
Gail tossed trees bend beneath the weather’s rule.
Driven rain splashes into flooded pools,
Chill hail clattering from storm tormented skies.
Gail tossed trees bend beneath the weather’s rule,
Impatient winds shriek loud with anguished cries.
Adapted from my Sonnet 'The Storm', 08/12/16
Barry Stebbings
12/10/2019
PART 1 of quaternion
austere
confused
in disarray
desolate
by a crisp wind
&chill rain
which
ravage
the fields
&mountainside
as
tranquillity
leaves
the scene
&
leisure arrives
in silence & splendour
to the
enlightened
an aspect of grace
reluctant
to leave
an eccentric pastime
remains&
fluctuates
rearrange the garden
by pass
the time
a necessary task
of the season
duty bound
a routine awaited
by
the stricken
en pause
so to say
what to do
anguished
challenged
to divisive actions
in the clear
chilly dawn
braving
the elements
at daybreak
unconventional
yet composed
day-by-day
contemplating
the desolate scene
a reminder
of life
awaiting
the fresh vigour
of spring
like wind chimes
the tenebrous fate
of society's downtrodden
h
a
n
g
s
on a slender thread
threatening to snap,
tugged
even tighter
by the elephantine weight
of their woes.
sad, though...
it's sad we don't listen to
their anguished c r i e s
like we attentively do
the mellisonant tunes
of wind chimes.
how come?
Submitted for...
Simile Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Hilo Poet
Date written: 08/07/2022
I turn my head, and there she is once more
in her disheveled, worn, and tattered dress,
one pew behind me near the exit door-
she sits head bowed- an image of distress.
Two weeks now on a Sunday, she is there-
the same pew in the church, the same old clothes.
She shows forlornness that makes me aware
her life is sadly filled with countless woes.
This time, she lifts her head and looks at me,
as tears swell in her eyes and down her cheek.
My heart is broken by the hurt I see
within her wanting eyes so dark and meek.
I gaze into her face and see her fears.
With a slight twinkle in her sullen eyes
and tiny smile, she wipes her falling tears
away; but still, I hear the painful cries
that echo from her heart so silently-
her weakened body, anguished mind, and soul.
I wonder what in life could possibly
have caused her to now suffer such a toll.
And I surmise that homeless she must be.
But still, some faith has brought her to this spot
where healing strength from God might possibly
renew her spirit- when her life cannot.
The mass soon ends, and I arise and turn-
so now, in front of her, I sadly stand.
She grasps my hand and says, “God Bless, you earn
His blessings- for a heart that understands."
November 16, 2014
My silhouettes of loneliness.
They tremble, they shake, they flicker.
The air becomes denser, thicker
With the heavy emptiness that you left behind.
Now my most cherished solace is found
In the memories of days past.
As my eyes wander towards the vast horizon.
And slowly, oh so slowly sail my angered yearning for you on a cloudy balloon,
That soon floats peacefully towards the starry sky.
And,
The shadows wane a little in the darkness.
Then remembering your smile, makes
My yearning grow like a forest densley carpeted with autumn leaves.
My first breath of happiness!
The joy of remembering you,
Made me find my crumpled, wounded self,
Hidden within this ruined castle of despair
That myself had layered brick by brick around me.
My ego helpless, tries escaping.
Into light and out from the claws of the shadows.
Bravely clutching into every thinnest strand
Of hopes and dreams we wove together.
Desperately wanting to see you one last time.
You joyful, anguished pain of mine!
Fog, please be lifted,
and let me see what lays ahead.
Will these burdensome wrongdoings forgive myself?
Or no exception of redemption given,
Just like everyone else.
Not divine enough to be able to touch the ethereal bliss,
And yet, not sinful enough to be encased within the horrors of the underworld.
Thus, forgotten, once again,
rewinding, whining, crying,
Into this endless purgatory
Of the eternal circle of life and death.
Completely unreasonably complaining,
Because, you left...
©?Besa Dede