Long Backhand Poems
Long Backhand Poems. Below are the most popular long Backhand by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Backhand poems by poem length and keyword.
"LUX VITAE LUX"
Here you stamp
your mark of
approval or not
We meet at the point
where a Father
is the judge of what is good
and what is not.
And we try so hard
to avoid heart contact
over all the plundering words said
light and dark
yet we open minds
that chance by our trials
to believe in something bigger -
Ours
in hours
kangaroo courts
turn triggers
forgiveness
bleeds kindness
that empowers
never forgotten
never left behind
key burns the open backhand
for Heart’s gate
the golden thread
gifted you
through eye of needle
labyrinthine
smyth sewn into
the fabric of you
You,
of all people
I will bring through
with me
to the other side
Evensong -
though you don't believe,
I did all along
(ladyLabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm-scm
"Agnus Dei"/Samuel Barber
https://youtu.be/AiuC_CaObbI
lux vitae lux / latin. translation.
The Apple of His Eyes
reflected in the pond, the fruit
held precious in the lady’s hand.
polished by mistake; the loot
gathered with a serpentine backhand.
the limbs of oz took hold, as
the man held out his unwise hand.
the cleaved, in juicy bite pizazz,
forsook their love, served up bland.
reflected in the mirror, the duo’s tears
shattered their perfect life, untouched.
day after day, the wrinkles rage; fears
of losing one another; their hearts’ clutched.
discovery of their nakedness, a shock.
they tried to cover up with leaves of fig;
not good enough. Like a bomb, time’s ticktock.
God slaughtered, clothed them with a sacrifice, not a sprig.
apple looked so luscious, and to have knowledge
seemed so precious; Adam and Eve drew a curtain
between themselves and the Creator (his foreknowledge).
Every other fruit, not denied; with a bite death was certain.
Indeed, their eyes were opened, to shame, shamelessly.
Terror of the darkness, made their pupils expand.
But they couldn’t take paradise back. Carelessly
they acted recklessly, now all generations in bad land.
Oh, but the LOVE of GOD, all seeds are the apple
of His eyes. We don’t understand the suffering.
Whys in abundance, feeling sorry for ourselves chapel.
All along a plan - of scourge, betrayal, and crucified buffering.
To justify, to mediate, to keep us from the Father’s wrath,
the Son of Man, descended from heaven; a babe in flesh.
Look at the bronze snake on the tree, the sign, His path.
Healing symbolized, realized by the final sacrifice thresh.
I’m tempted to backhand the ones who call
us sixty-somethings old or elderly.
How dare they use such terms describing me?
Infuriating! Boy, do they have gall!
It’s fine to be solicitous and hold
the door—to be polite, but not for fear
that I’m about to croak and Death lurks near
to claim another oldster for his fold.
Now, whippersnappers, I was once like you,
misusing terms of age, as did my peers.
Our ignorance caused us to be unkind!
The elderly are ninety-somethings who
have been on Medicare for thirty years.
You would do well to keep that fact in mind!
February 23, 2018, entered in Robert Haigh's Make Me Laugh Contest
I guess she wasn’t good enough for that little man.
When my parents were having words,
my father would give my mother the back of his hand.
But it’s not with her husband my mother wanted to fight.
She knew, he was listening to his mother
who always thought she was right?
I guess she wasn’t good enough for that little man.
But I don’t know, backhanding my mother
may not have been part of my grandmother plan.
But what happen the next time,
made me my mother’s number one fan.
Now I was too young to witness this.
My mother told me about its years later.
She even showed me the clipping from the newspaper.
She was ironing his shirts for work one day
and they were having words their same old way.
He turned to backhand her like he would usually do.
But she grabbed his hand before he could follow through.
She... Ironed a wrinkle on his shoulder
and another one on his chest,
manage to get his mid-section as he hollered and professed.
He tried to get away, but stumbled and fell.
It’s a good thing he found religion, because he sure caught hell.
The police were called, and a newspaper reporter made it there too.
She explained to them both, in defending herself.
She did what a woman in her position had to do.
I had to kick his behined and his ego too!
oh, and he’s going to need some help removing my shoe.
I changed my husband’s attitude with an iron,
He is not a man! No husband of mine!
And that’s why I put my foot where the sun doesn’t shine.
Icebergs floated all around me –
frozen is no place to safely flee.
I fell down on an ice crystal,
then I heard you whistle
and felt myself turn towards bold
so I could leave this place so cold.
So many crevices and cracks.
Frigid ice coated my back.
A glacier's huge backhand
flew my memories to slush land.
As my shivers began to shake,
I felt my knees tremble and quake.
Love never knows its hold on tomorrow.
Days are not warm braced against sorrow.
Your repeat, sleety emotion
will not ease glacial commotion.
Frozen mist cannot reinstall
a flaming, toasty love recall.
I bear your gifts so numb fraught
they will ever stay iceberg caught.
For the Haven’s advancement,
the Elite may extend a courteous backhand,
or a fist wrapped with opinion
that some may mistake for abuse.
Dante’s girl fell from her steeple
head first into a cauldron of pride,
now her feeble corpse twitches
trying to vomit the blackest pitch grey.
Stains her soldier’s dress blues
duty has him answer the bench’s call.
Gaveled verdicts now deleted,
appeals one site’s ambitions.
Often found in a library,
their little boy plays with
his toy box full of straw men
and overused emoticons.
Each breath billows the forge,
black smoke void of The Father,
they beat a gift’s beauty into a weapon,
the cutting edge of the Deceiver’s con.
Spending all our money, on anything that kills
F.D.A.'s approving more pretty poison pills
Politicians ponder, plot with the living dead
Mass media moguls, are feeding on my head
Countries run by Stooges, most everywhere you go
All these Uncle Scrooges, who just want mo' and mo'
Polar ice caps melting, the lakes are drying up
There's oil by the gallons, common sense by the cup
With prices going up, and incomes going down
Not many can afford, a night out on the town
Cuz the "whored" is hungry, they're dining on our screams
Dripping wet with champagne covered caviar dreams
Interest rates fluctuate, determined by the FED
And how can we believe, what some Simple Simon said
When Donkey's on the left, bite Dumbo's on the right
They hate when we agree, just love it when we fight
Ol' Gram and Gramps got rooked, "checkmate" to inflation
Their benefits got cooked, COLA's on vacation
They bought and bartered schools, A.I.'s the big romance
Backhand these chartered fools, and give our kids a chance
"The Match"
Time falls like a traitor
it smiles at you through mirrors
you see all faces surrounding you
other than your own
each a voice imprinted in your memories
a part of the Word's words,
remonstrations tumbling
through your voiceless throat,
they respond hitting the walls
leaving hollow hieroglyphs
promises that slip,
some self-righteous Umpire
calls the serve landing out of bounds
and doesn’t hesitate to record a fault;
through the backhand grip
your own thoughts
are ghost written volleys
that skim without hesitation
over the net
bouncing towards
the inexperienced experienced
their hearts,
hands, eyes, and lips
the memories are lost in unplugged sockets
still,
they take they’re hit
you smash it back
full hilt;
you think you are electric
time falls like a traitor
and everyone
in their own mind
one way or another
thinks they’re in the game
a winner,
even loser’s think
they’re winners in the end,
they take their hit;
love-all
just the same
and you are lit.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
And suddenly, 50 was here, all the music got
louder, all the drivers for younger. My hair
was on a farewell tour, visiting the sink and the
shower more than my head. The kids got older,
some didn't grow up, but they were older, and
living on their own, visiting when lives allowed.
Then 60 snuck in the back door, kids had kids and
the house was louder, the cars were smaller,
driving themselves, and I lived in a neighborhood
populated by dumped wives, all gossipy and lonely.
Their husbands gone to younger women, or to the
grave too soon, who knew, I didn't care to listen.
70 turned the corner and caught me across the
puss with a backhand when I looked in the
mirror and saw an older person looking back.
Everything got louder with my new hearing aids,
driving became harder, too much going on. I stay
home more often, alone, reading the obits to
find friends I had lost and I wonder,
who will miss ME when I go?
Lost in desolation
My mind became a prison map location
It was so very stark
When I couldn't see the light beyond the dark
I'd stumble around until I fell
And hit my head so hard it would swell
And as I was looking at the stars
I could feel the pain of every one of my scars
Like a plague I gave in to depression
And in truth I want to have a heartfelt confession
That my heart has been hurt
And I just wanted somewhere to divert
But instead my soul became bitter
And I became a quitter
Trying to find peace in being alone
When I really just wanted time to atone
But it's hard when you lose the love of your life
And your social life becomes a platform of strife
Every time I got knocked down I forced myself to stand
Bloodied I'd smile every time life gave me the backhand
I became so tired of talking to myself
That I put myself on a shelf
Where nobody could ever reach me
Creating a prison from which I may never be free
But when you look me in the eyes
You'll see a weary soul with no more lies
All I need is a chance
To show I'm ready to dance
And escape my mind that's a prison map location
So I'm no longer lost in desolation