Long Axe Poems
Long Axe Poems. Below are the most popular long Axe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Axe poems by poem length and keyword.
You're nothing
You're a disgrace
You've been dishonored
You've been unmasked
For the villain
That you are.
You know not
What true love is
You know not
The meaning of family.
All you know is yourself
Self-centered and egotistic
Who deserves the spotlight
Shine upon him
Thinking the world
Revolves just for you.
I hate to burst your bubble
Of your twisted perfect reality
But the world revolves around nobody
Not even for a scumbag like you.
The spotlight shines upon all
It doesn't play favorites
Your not the star of the show
Your just a stage hand playing pretrend.
You talk amongst your blood
But don't praise your offspring
You dont' spare time
To fix what is broken
You let it all go to ruin.
Your heinous crimes
Can never be forgiven
The lies you spout
Tried to warp my mind
But no more lies
I'm through with you.
You put yourself before others
You think highly of yourself
You care not for emotions
Not know what they are
Your like a robot
Without an empathy chip.
You've hurt many people
Your road is crumbling
Burning bridges behind you
Poisoning the family tree
With your sickening presence.
No more, I say!
I take the axe of change
Chopping the rot
Right off the tree
Drench it with fresh rain
To bring it back to life.
You're a waste of space
You're a disgrace to the family
You're a disappointment
You're a lazy bum
You have no respect
You have no morals.
I shout from the depths of my soul
I shout for the world to know
The courageous roar of a dragon
Planting her feet deep in the dirt
To announce her right to say
"YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME!"
Be gone, foul demon!
Return to hell from which you came
Away you go from my sight
I wish to never see your face again!
You're a burden
You're a parasite
You're a moocher
You're a sloth
You're a liar!
Ye who dare to bring our family shame
Try to bring ruin to our name
I cast you out of my life!
Your no longer my father
The father I knew
Died a long time ago!
Replaced by a lout
Replaced by a bum
Replaced by an imposter
Replaced by a Jackass!
You mean nothing to me!
You're an embarassment
You're not my father
I've lost all respect for you!
Away with you now
Get the hell out of here
I don't wish to see you
I don't want you in my life
You mean nothing to me
YOU ARE NOTHING!
If you stick your neck out for a friend, you’re likely to lose your head.
A friend is a potential enemy in disguise as a loving wife just before vowing ties.
Friends are of all kinds but the kind you want them to be.
A friend you use is a friend you abuse and who has no use of you.
The friend you call upon in need is always in greater need.
If you give a friend an helping-hand, make sure you take it back as soon as you can.
If you trust your friend with your girl, you’re the biggest dope in the world.
When friends meet, they always talk about beating meat.
If you take a friend to dine, make sure he leaves his horse behind.
The friend with daughters is the kind you wished sported blinkers.
A friend who works in banks, we always drop in - in person - to say thanks.
The friend’s wife even if she’s a bad cook is no chinook to hook.
If friends go on vacation with their wives, they always know who connives.
Friends who live close-up always end-up in the lock-up.
A friend with an axe to grind always uses it on some friend’s uterine.
A friendly father is one who takes a lasting interest in his daughter’s girl friends.
A friend who loans you some dough is always knocking on your door.
Only a friend who walks his dog picks the hour your wife goes out for a jog.
A friend at your beck and call must be wondering why you don’t him enthrall.
A friend by any other name is a still a friend you can put to shame.
A friend is someone you can entrust your shame with, but never your fame.
Keep your distance from the friend who shouts in your face for it’s a downright disgrace he spits in your face.
Friends who work for rival companies tend to share daily work memories.
Friends who work in different embassies are thick as thieves.
The greatest friends are those married couples with very large families who realize far too late they are/were really homo-sexuals.
Friends who give one another too many presents ought to look for friends who only give presents.
The best friends are those who need no psycho-analysts for they can see each other without waiting for appointments.
Childhood friends always end-up wishing their friends on other friends.
A friend of a friend always turns up for a spend or a lend.
Long lost friends who meet to go out for the night leave behind wives happy, whallop-py and tight.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Everyday, I wake up wondering if the moon will shine or the stars will find a clear path to explore the other side of the universe. Every day, I wake up wondering if the sun will raise, and the moon will continue to walk by your side.
They sit up all night with an axe and a bible by their side and gun pointing to the east figuring out the next step to deceive the beast. A toxic feeling is going around and it makes me want to vomit on the ground.
Just as you think everything is going well, someone around the corner wants to drag you down in hell and suddenly the lights start growing dim and a strange energy surrounds the place. It built up an uncomfortable feeling in my chest and leaves me gasping for breath.
It circulates my entire body and it left me scrambling for an hour; if I had a better pair of shoe and enough money for the ride, I would walk out at this very moment without looking to the left or the right.
Every day I get up with a positive feelings, with new cells bursting in my anonymity and the forces of nature guiding me and the universe watching over me.
I am organized and ready to go but there is always something unpleasant to barge in the middle of the show, it is not a nice feelings it is painful and revealing and sometimes challenging .I have no control over what is happening around me some people are known for creating controversy and it leaves them hanging upside down in the pot.
See them sitting over there, fighting for that big dirty golden chair, the speechless ones, the quiet one, and big mouth one with voices thundering beneath the roof and big foot shaking the ground without a penny or a crown. You who are fighting for the chair will be left cold empty and bare, the sun will burn your behind and water will flood your cemetery until you do what is right.
It’s like you are waiting for that special song to sing but something
is always changing the rhythm and sometimes you don’t know whose song to sing, and the music keeps playing without a sound and it keeps dragging you towards the unknown.
I have had days like this when, I just feel like moving to another place to breath fresh air, to meet new people and write new music. Germany, France, Italy or Switzerland would be fun but I don’t know how to use a gun so I will stick to Asia because the journey is longer and it is safer.
And ignoble prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth
*****sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
Mr. President, Mr. Vice President, Americans, and the world:
In the crucible of revolution, our forefathers etched their pledge—
a bold testament inscribed not solely in ink,
but in the quiet, relentless pulse of divine dependence.
It is as if the ink itself carried whispers
of a celestial covenant,
affirming divine Providence
into the very marrow of liberty.
Yet, as time past,
present battles won,
and future problems solved,
liberty's nation absolved themselves
from any responsibility
to the Providence from whose
sovereign ties
freed them from foreign foes.
And man's purpose became his own.
Hear this
If our purpose is in just us,
we will find we have lost ourselves,
encased in the cells of just-ice.
For if our forefathers found it requisite
to declare our nation's independence by
recognizing their dependence on the
"Laws of Nature and Nature's God"
beyond the limits of
mankind's powerful facade,
facading the source of
our country's origin,
our homeland's dominion,
foraging a jurisdiction of humanity alone,
thereby ascending mortality's throne
above the divine --
making mankind superior to the
"Supreme judge of the world,"
a position our forefather's forbade
"appealing... [In] rectitude...of [their] intentions"
to a God they believed in,
a declaration sovereignty -
bowed in solemnity,
proclaiming “with a firm reliance on the
protection of divine Providence,"
a dependence on a God they
entrusted their dependence to.
Who are we to say any different?
What difference does it make
if we believe in God or ourselves?
As the good word says,
"Shall the axe boast itself against him
that heweth therewith? or shall the saw
magnify itself against him that shaketh it?
As if the rod should shake itself against
them that lift it up, or as if the staff
should lift up itself, as if it were no wood."
For Godhood is to create,
and man was created by God.
And should man boast himself beyond
Him who spawned ages beyond ages,
he shall find himself his brother's pawn,
despondent, disheartened and disappointed,
foraging for the framework
of freedom our forefathers foraged,
overwhelmed by the damage
of a fallen nation who failed
to hear the caution within
the clarion calls of its creator.
This is a warning
from neighbor to neighbor.
Lizzie Borden Took an Axe
By Elton Camp
Family love often will subside
When there’s property to divide
Old Andy Borden’s second wife
Came to be a cause of much strife
He allowed his two daughters no say
When he began to give money away
To his second wife’s Abby’s own kin
With them, his generosity did begin
“For you to do like that is so lame.
On the estate Abby has no claim.”
Anger filled daughters one and two
Only the youngest knew what to do
When on a trip her sister was away,
Her crafty plan Lizzie put into play.
Ugly old Abby was at home alone
Her husband was on business gone
Bridget, the Borden’s Irish maid,
Feeling sick, in her room had laid
“Now’s my chance,” Lizzie thought
Unawares, her stepmother she caught
While she was making up the bed,
Lizzie swung an axe to her head.
Alongside the bed she did sprawl
Making not a cry or a move at all
When home to nap her father came
Then she proceeded to do the same,
Quickly removed her bloody dress
Cleaned from herself any red mess
Police,“Where can Mrs. Borden be?
We very much need her to see.”
Then came a shout, all to astound.
Come up here, look what we found.
Lizzie tried to conceal a happy smile
At the two bloody murders ever so vile
To loss of inheritance she put a stop
When into death her parents did drop
The evidence proved extremely strong
That Lizzie herself had done the wrong
She cried, “Oh jury, you must see me free.
Surely you have to believe it wasn’t me.”
To think any woman might be so evil
In that distant day was too unbelievable
Less than two hours did the jury deliberate
Before making their decision as to her fate
“We find pretty Lizzie did nothing wrong.
So open the jailhouse and send her home.
It would take some libelous and stupid fool
To accuse a young teacher of Sunday school.”
It was obvious that Lizzie had much to gain
If to continue alive Mrs. Abby did not remain
Both motive and opportunity, clearly she had
But a gentle woman could do nothing that bad
But the township’s people were not deceived
The jury’s hasty verdict they never believed
In derision, it only took them a very short time
To compose and then chant a mocking rhyme
“Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.”
3
Pay attention!
Important chicken poetry coming up,
though no binary fantasies shall deconstruct
into raucous biddy enjambment.
4
Grandfatber always kicked Grandmother's chickens away
while he sat whittling under the Oak,
Those ruddy, Cherokee cheeks sweating even in the shade
as sweltering Carolina summers and bifocaled
old women melted him away in his seventies;
(Nothing heard by telephone,
cackling when he put the speaker to his mouth
or laid down to rest from the planting or harvesting,
On the flowered sofa
fussing with him to take off this boots,
putting The Liberty News under his feet);
But watching was Grandma's joy,
Haystack Calhoun and the Nature Boy,
wrestling on Saturday night
on the Philco black and white,
jumping up and jumping down
fists flying with each takedown;
Her fussing when he kicked her chickens--
He was a man of the Land not of the Leghorn;
Course he still cut off their heads for
Sunday dinners
with a whistle of his axe,
quick and clean;
So much better than Grandmother's
Flung blood and feathers,
The live body's flight
After wringing its neck.
(You really
Must take chickens seriously.)
5
Jesus,
my brother and I hated that rooster!
Mean!
I'll give you Mean!
Why that Leghorn from hell,
with the perfidious, featherless rear,
That wily old bastard,
laid for us kids from under the porch
flying at us spurs first
when we snuck out to play.
You had to admire his fierce
Protecting his brood
or just plain crazed for children's blood
maybe.
Therefore, I must insist
That you take chickens seriously.
6
The greatest chicken lit will not be televised,
but written by neurotic poultry
flirting with free verse
or thrown helplessly into concrete idioms,
wallowing in dirt-poor sentience;
Dissertations
on the identity crises of Rhode Island Reds
and the propensity of White Leghorns
to transfer insecurities of undifferentiated
consciousness
as violence enacted on certain small children
will be written but will probably not help chicken poetry endure.
7
Yet,
I pledge allegiance to the celebration of chicken poetry,
And the underappreciated poultry for which it stands,
One species, flightless but enduring,
With free range and corn for all.
The shield riders heading over the Dunlaven bridge,
They ride as swift as the wind,
already their weapons were ready,
they did glint, not, in the deepening shadow.
Ride to your fate Valkyrie,
shield maidens of the red,
shield riders of the city,
bring glory to your mighty Alahsar.
Four hundred and fifty Valkyrie,
they stream forth from golden gates,
turning to the left and right,
three hundred onto Badicha.
three hundred to Dunlaven bridge,
the final stroke from Alahsar,
death is streaming forth,
hateful screams fill the air.
One hundred and fifty shield riders,
they leave the four hundred and fifty,
heading for the Raven bridge,
Speed is now of the essence.
The hundred and fifty, they head to the right,
onto the plain of Badicha,
Alahsar's forces, taken by surprise there,
To glory or death.
Shield riders, three hundred,
they stream across Dunlaven bridge,
so close this bridge to the walls of Alahsar,
Go, fiery warriors.
Across the river, they stream,
the waters coming through a large culvert in the wall,
cool, refreshing waters, from the great white mountain,
ride on Valkyrie.
In the final stage,
the battle rages on,
dark forces never seem to reduce,
They die and yet their numbers seem to be the same.
What sorcery is this?
Bodies so tightly packed,
hardly room to move sword or spear, or axe,
the strength soon to lessen more.
The ground is being given once more,
stride by stride ground seems to be given,
the struggle for life is truly on,
the posture seems to be more of defencive.
Is this a lure for the enemy?
could it be that strength is truly depleting?
only time shall tell,
the posture changes from moment to moment.
One hundred and fifty shield riders,
they smash into the flank of the enemy,
swords and spears striking home,
HALT!
the retreat stops,
a final push,
the Arlagh's are halted,
"Walk In The Light!"
the dark man cries as the dice is rolled.
"Walk In The Light!"
the battle cry is taken up.
Now, my lords and ladies,
it is time for our tale to take a rest,
I must lubricate my throat,
we shall return to Alahsar soon.
We shall then see the outcome of the battle,
the bloody rain of Badicha's plain,
raise your horns to Alahsar's glory,
the song of Alahsar, the glory of a dream.
To Be Continued.
"Do what you have to do the lame police officer
Uttered to the abusive man standing beside me
"Speak to your JP she said to the man who has abused me. I still cannot get over the shock of the abusive man
Standing with axe, you come here to use me
And do everything to confuse me, you twist my body
In the gate and try to break my hands before the heartless crowd but heavens stood by at the cry of mercy , no one came to rescue me, instead they stand and stare visciously at me as if they too were going to attack and murder me.They leaned on the wall and looked as if they were going to start a brawl.It started
Early in tbe morning when I sat quietly inside meditating
And the devil was outside shaking, he leaped at me with a angry swing, with angry eyes jumping out of the socket
I could see hate moving around and his expressions
Jumping on his face like a clown.He shouted at me with the Devils spin and I tried desperatly to get away from him but he slammed my body in the iron gate
And sware to chop off my head when he come again
Abusive men give birth to abusive children
And those children become a nusiance in the city
Men with nasty mouth ,men that is cursing out loud
Men with tainted faces growling like elephant underneath their breath while their faith hangs in the balance
and they canot agree with anyone
There is a big network around the town,
and I dont know where they are grounded;
politicians pulling strings
And police men doing aerobics in thr gym
Dancing to the tune of their thiughtless rythm
My heart is playing a sad tune while my spirit dances
Around the moon, it makes my spirit break and cause my mind to shake and in the middle of it all I still stand tall holding my head high.
Here I am in the night wondering where I am going to spend the next moon, I have been waiting for many days for this mystry to break
To want to leave the city without delay
But the more I plead the more they make me absorb my own misery
No tears is left in my eyes and no tear is left to dry.
And the man that is walking around with his sin
Will cause the whole world to grin.
The night is standing like giant above me and the moon is dancing around me.
The music is playing and and the flawless donkey is braying ,
And here I am still waiting for you at the big gate.
I want to believe
In that enormous green tree
Appearing here, alive in the spring
Foliage, decorating its thing
Bark firm and strong
I sit under, pondering life’s wrongs
Its shade, cools me
While I sip summertime tea
Watch and wonder
Afternoon storms arrive, declaring thunder
Wet
I do not get
Umbrella branches
Protecting me as the heavenly water dances
When the shower calls it quits
Ending the daily tantrum fit
I endure our sloppy, muddy setting
Enjoying an arbor relationship consecrated wedding
That will never break
No matter the stake
Calendar date flips
My tree starts to strip
One leaf at a time
I start to whine
Why? Why?
Are you starting to die?
Winds start booing
Chiming, ‘how are you doing?’
Then emerges a star
A friend from afar
Guide me my northern light
I ask this visiting galactic bright
Glowing in the dark
Proclaiming a hark
“You want me to cut down my tree,
Bring it in the house, for all the see
Dressed up, displayed ever so nice
My darling paid the ultimate price
But now is the center of attention
Did I mention?”
I thought about this suggestion
Decided saving money, due to a planted shrubbery recession
Axe I handled
Feeling wax on my candle
Going the festive way
My tree will have one last say
Planned the attack
Took only one whack
Out went my back
Sending my love to the ground
Hearing the deathly earth bound
Sound
Music occupied the air
During scheduled holiday affairs
Creating memories my tree and I will share
Until one morning
Without any warning
A stranger put packages under my tree
Glittering with glee
Realizing what was done
We started to have fun
Throwing wrapping paper around
Cherishing the merchandise we have found
Days later new year joined the party
Everyone stayed upbeat, not sorry
I stared out the window
And what do you know
Another tree ready to grow
And bloom
Wanting my companionship soon
Humming our favorite, seasonal tunes
Greetings to you all
I exclaim, dragging my spruce honey down the hall