Long Assassin Poems
Long Assassin Poems. Below are the most popular long Assassin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Assassin poems by poem length and keyword.
Cherokee chamber,
where a pow wow stampeedes preconceptions of inheritence,
from Her beaded neck charms of chance & chains of change
glisten from opulent offerings of roots, corn & lavender ablaze
on an alter of unworked stone mantled with skins strong beasts knew,
She is a " Stomp Dance " Queen with an owl as a friend and a spider as assassin,
with rattlesnake ribbons around Her wrists and prayers in Her braids thick with traditions,
the walls of Her teepee painted with the pigments of buffalo blood & sunflower pollen,
portraying a history hewn from customs known to Spirits and men alike,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen speaks for Her People and sings from the stars,
I found this Tribe, not in Appalacia nor on a prarrie stage but in the smoke of ceremony,
the Cherokee Princess has rattlesnake teeth tied to Her thigh & turtle shells upon Her hips,
She played the rabbit on the scene, then the wolf, if you know what I mean,
celebrated by the warriors as a tomahawk maker,
praised by the medicine men for Her Visions,
and feared by the Elders because of wrath that may follow Her steps,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen is a Princess, She is a Cherokee with a song Her own -
J.A.B.
Corktail music.
It's all happening before Hunter choose
to become an assassin too
Before the magic pot was shot down.
the knight was guiding the pot,
complete silence.
in the middle of the isolated island until all we heard was
...
,[ .... "was the London hot-spike" ]>the movement was real
Everything was happening right inside the pot
All along...
Superhuman colours
Jazz movement was just a story
everything was right But not perfect.
it's was just half giraffe cold soul movement
Those colours we're not fully charged
Separated in different directions.
Perhaps the egg was not ready to dance
stolen before its hatch.
same heartbeat
as for the jazz-beat
It finally exists .
The star is born.
The chosen, completely charged.
Once it appear
Everyone forgets about their worries
The name is happiness
Yearly - for a spell - I come calling,
not unexpected.
But there are times my travel may be slow.
On such rare occasions when I’m late,
you’ll look and see the mountains’ crowns
remain uncovered,
and in the valley, meadow grasses
dance with gentle breezes,
reveling in verdancy prolonged.
Other times, I roll across the prairie bellowing.
Assassin of startled vegetation,
I wield a force God-given,
and even dry terrain, where soil is sand,
might feel the touch of my icy hand.
And though I be unwelcome,
I’m certain there’s a moment
you look out on a pristine field
where I have softly laid my eider down
or to a street now silenced
that strangely gleams in peaceful white.
Or maybe you gaze up at stately mountains’
lovely snow-capped crowns,
and in that tranquil moment,
you are awed.
For John Freeman's "the Pictures of winter Poetry Contest"
You came from Jamaica
a lowly migrant climbing
into my window sending
me threats terrifying
terrorizing my children
shooting in my home
for my American poetry
devastating you held on
to my abusive ex husband
your gunman my hitman
killed at my feet just in
the nick of time I fled for
my very life domestic violence
survivor how dare you arrive
the anniversary of of the
murder of Rasta yago
Andrew seeking my new
poems my new husband
hissing at my window assault
rifle pointed at my window
severe traumatic events
hurricanes I sit still writing I
am Gwendolyn Brooks
I am Maya Angelo I am me
I matter take your knee off
my neck you cannot extort
my American poetry extort
my identity nor extort my life
and inherit my death I thank
God every single day for
Charlie Crist the attorney
general offices for helping
my family relocate after
your violent attempt on my
life your Jamaican gang Henry
I survived your saint James
massacre as I still write
God loves me no matter your
threats bullying home invasions
hacking cyber bullying ransomeware
stop threatening my life stop
bullying you are a my assassin
a twisted terrorist in a skirt
leaving blood everywhere
I Am American
That night, in a strange place
I was like a fly
Circling a street light
Reeling…Reeling!
I felt so alone
Fear wrenched my throat
Couldn’t predict
When I would be charred to death
I had heard,
In the cover of dark
Everyone was a robber
Or a masked assassin!
Without a roof over my head
I was like a mole
Smoked out of its hole
And exposed to blaring light
Had it been my own town
Where I knew
Every nook and cranny
Like the lines of my palm
I wouldn’t have minded
Being so helplessly stranded
Or left in the night
At a distance….
I saw the faint silhouette of hills
Like dreadful dinosaurs crouching
Also the outlines of buildings
Reminding one of the medieval haunted castles
Stray dogs, mangy
Were raiding the trash bins.
I don’t know why then
I enjoyed their company
I could hear the falling hooves
Of cattle, led to the slaughterhouse,
And the lash of whips falling on them,
Echoing the shrieking of a banshee!
Saw an auto lying upside down
Fallen unwary in a pothole
A line of tanker lorries
Seen halted by the roadside,
Like the bogies of a goods train
And their drivers went home,
To sleep with their mates
Behind the cover, I saw
Two figures leaning;
A man and a woman
Night owls at a mating serenade!
I closed my eyes,
Covering them with my palm
In that unearthly hour
An eerie fear gripped me.
Tension was building inside,
Like a balloon being bloated with air
And how my mind longed
To slither out of that hole
To curl up in the warmth of my home
Far… far away!
A doctor ordained to bring people from death to life
Turning into an assassin sending them from life to death
Lopsided was his brain, a sure psychopath
Dr. Harold Shipman committed crime after crime in stealth
None suspected him of his evil designs
And he continued his sinister escapade for long.
Did violence rage in his heart as a youth?
Or did his ego and wickedness subdue him lifelong?
He decimated not just one or two but many
Were they his opponents, no one knows
Sadly they were all elderly women,
Who were never his adversaries, one has to suppose..
Was he ruled by some uncontrollable impulses?
Or as a child did something tear him apart?
Were they crimes done in cold blood?
Or the offshoot of a dark malice hidden away in his heart
As a child seeing his mother’s suffering and death
From painful cancer and being under morphine
He must have thought that death was more covetable than being in pain
Whose suffering had dealt a death blow to him in his teen
Were his killings an act of recompense or was he a sadist,
Deriving pleasure out of his heinous acts- still a shrouded mystery
Before much investigation could be done about his psyche
He hanged himself, becoming part of history
Intriguing is the working of human brain
None can think of Shipman without some trace of pain
August.21.2022
`~ Placed Sixth~
Dr. Harold Shipman Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Joe Maverick
This dark hole
This cold space
This task I must fulfill
To find, to hunt and kill
Disappear without a trace
This cold hole
This dark space
My mind breaks a little with each spent round
My heart beats to a cold, empty sound
Life taken without a trace
Cold hole, dark place
This is where I am
This is what I am
No saving grace
Dark hole, cold space
Living off the land
The earth, the mud, the dank
Chilling embrace
This dark soul, this cold face
Cold eyes reflect the glow
Of death in the killers face
Assassin, agent, soldier, Unknown?
No one will ever know
The cost of my sacrifice
I am the dark hole, I am the cold space.
The gentle buzzing sound echoed memories of a fading childhood
When she and her cousin had whispered secrets at the mosque
About undying love and first kisses before being stung by a bee
‘Honey, don’t worry they make nectar and ambrosia is sweet’
She had just begun to wear a veil to protect her from luring eyes
But passion and adventure were stronger than foreclosing fabric
Fatima widened her crimson lips to a smile larger than persimmon
Teased dimples on olive skin into a conspicuous feast of desire
Almond eyes shone like candle light signals in flickering delight
Mustafa was mesmerized and knelt down to show his respect
Then held out his hands and touched the hem of her garment
‘Nothing will keep us apart as long as hummingbirds chirp and
The eagle in my heart pumps around life meaning and peace’
The two children took a piece of metal and made a blood pact
‘Now we are bound in promise for eternity and infinite joy
Maybe our parents will arrange our marriage sealed by a dove’
Now the fizzing in the sky turned into a shadow of fore-bearing
Grew loud and too uncomfortable for their young souls to neglect
‘Let it be a falcon with his talons bringing pride stealth and vigour
His beak will seal our connection with a pick of mellow salvation’
Impermanence beckoned however when the minaret collapsed
Their young lives dissembled into a surreal mirage of illusion
The hawk was a steel groomed assassin and bore a serial number
Doomed she lay in the rubble catching the dome of the masjid
And she was not prostrated in prayer but slain by the drone
Mustafa gathered her dissected remains and vowed retribution
Mopped up her blood with the veil of lost innocence and revenge
Today he drives a Toyota Land Cruiser through the streets of Aleppo
Gun barrel on top next to a black flag with white prophecy inscribed
The seal of misguided religion will not bring Fatima back into live
But he is a victim and dreams that one of the virgins in waiting is her
14th October 2019
Writing Challenge, October, 2019 -Bird-
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
____________________________
Another night of shelling another night in hell
To lie in stench filled trenches watching bodies swell
Seeing the grimace of death engraved on ones so young
From Utopia they were born, now I'm in among
I can't think how ludicrous it is to await the next
Seeing futures disappear, oh! how it leaves me vexed
Trenches, bolt holes and craters, filling with rotting flesh
Barbed wire like human snares, now a crimsoned mesh
My eyes in tears now close as I hear the dying cry
Whilst a solitary shot sounds out, invisible through the sky
This silent assassin awaits their unsuspecting foe
For through a lapse in theatre, another life will slow
The evening I dreaded is upon us, this is no fireworks display
It's another sign of man, and their self destruction play
Many hours ahead now await in this shell shattered surround
How many of us will still be standing, or swallowed by the ground
The above is all I can remember from those days from a war torn past
I'm so fortunate to recall so little, whilst many colleagues cast
I've lived a life of years, so many more than them
What or who decided to chose from these heroic fighting men
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php
The woods hissed and sn*ggered but weren't without their charms
A ghostly silloette in the distance like a girl without her arms
A floating figure, lifted as if hung down from yarn, puppet like
Blocked out some light as the moon rose into sudden night
A puddle, suprized by the kick of life it was given
Dived over the crimson clothing of a passer by
Not batting an eye the shadow glides an leaps in wind
Approaching a tree supporting a corpse beneath its limbs
The breeze's secretive so it seems the bodies breathin' sings
Arrived. A cloak hides its features, a bag opens, it reaches in
Still speachless in the shower, yet no wet words to greet us
Though now a mouths visible behind work of an expert seemstress
Wild weather beats the woodland creatures deep undercover
All but two inhabitants, the hooded one.. & one other
Our second stood, furred thickly, big teeth in a brown jaw
Having difficulty reading, vision blurred by the downpour
Lit by light the town brought, a poster was just clear enough
''Assassin Wanted! If you catch the killer, fear you should
For finding this foe will bring, not tears, but blood
And a reward of 10 g's for anyone, police.. even Robin Hood'
The final statement sent shivers up his spine, an how then?
The King hated Robin, and the Queen signed the announcement
Heart poundin' at the thought of ten big ones he couldn't wait for
The character reread the paper, rapid fast.. just to make sure
Sure enough the word was good, but the woods weren't silent
A twig broke, someone close quitely worked beside him
The tree sustaining the message had been blocking them from view
The otherside was a hooded person, white stockings an gloves on too
The hood moved......and the disguise unravelled
It was Red Riding Hood picking mushrooms the size of apples
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