Long Backhanded Poems
Long Backhanded Poems. Below are the most popular long Backhanded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Backhanded poems by poem length and keyword.
The opalescence of the early morning light flows over everything
It touches over ever leaf, every tree, every exposed part of her skin
She stares at the sky as the dawn breaks
It shines brighter and brighter
The dew illuminated with the power of the sun
Everything around buzzes with the recharge of a new day
Everything but her
Volatile thoughts burrow through every cell
Leaving her empty filled only with the brisk sweet air
White knuckle grip on the rusty swing slowly creaking in the breeze
Time stops for a moment as the birds go quiet and the squirrels hold their breath
The silence was deafening so she screams
She screams out every breath she has ever taken-
She screams with every ounce of strength left in her-
She screams out all the sorrows, all the pains, all the contradictions
Gasping relieved from the build of feminine rage
She sobs out the anguish of unrealistic self expectation
She sobs in quiet determination to feel better or at all
She sobs to release the leash wrapped around her heart which keeps her tied to poise
Sighing she breathes deep even breathes of the fresh morning air
In and out
In and out
She breathes in the peaceful calm of the perfect morning
She breathes in self reflection of her beauty
She breathes in lost ideals of enoughness
She breathes out the snide backhanded comments
She breathes out the monstrous detrimental molds that she’ll never fit into
She breathes out the self hatred and regret and loathing
Stilling she looks around for the first time since she laid down and clung hopelessly to the swing
She smiles taking in the pink and purple watercolor sky
She smiles noticing the slight breeze ruffling the viridian leaves
She smiles as the the electric light beams which zap through the tree branches-
They dance around the ground and all over her body in waves
For the first time in a long time she remembers herself
She remembers herself more than just a woman
She remembers herself more than just a sister or a daughter
She remembers herself more than just a friend or a lover
She remembers herself below the depression and angst
She remembers herself as a person internally whole
She had forgotten her inevitable strength
She vows to never forget herself again
Standing in the warmth of the spring sun-
She laughs
"Dream Bug"
Hour glass
rainbows sparkling
crystal grainy rapids
sliding intrepidly through life’s fingers
their coloured sands speak in tones
they are obtuse and vapid
like snowflakes they fall
confetti on my hands
Writing you
between there
and here again
a feckless court jester
fearless sometimes
walking handstands
painting portraits
in pedantic rhyme
then a page stained,
you're thumb-licked and turning
metaphors gliding ghosting
a snail trail planchette
words miss spelled
they are moulting
like white feathers from cooing doves
we are back in grades of one
singled out on school parade
while the band plays on
we are all caught
like grounded gefilte fish in class
when the saints
go marching in
we’re stopped
for covert mingling
In the office a Nosferatu principal
ignores the grief
behind his two spectacles
two sets of hands are requested straight
knuckles down and held out
the bamboo cane
coaxed no passing
secrets out,
automata face
scream time put on delay
the clock to midnight
on his crypt's wall, hidden
strikes still a braille mind
doesn't once drop the ball
it smiles ruthfully
dialling up the forbidden
chemistry of tears,
a juxtoposition
from the internal well
My opal sky suspended
heaving dreams falling slow mo
through foggy clouds
are breathed in like lavender rain
antiseptic are all
our polished stories
rehearsed repetitively
then delayed and side courted
tennis left hand
lucid inarticulate
backhanded
Love all
candy hearted
is a fresh game
pulled swiftly
from a side pocket
refuting singing flutes
whistling and caressed
by a tongue flirtatiously wetting lips
a regular, pulsating change of pitch
a romantic vibrato
recalled
he calls me
a witch
Scent of a woman
once je t'adore
now her true essence leaking
their personalities mirror switched
bloodied and cut
pieces of peace
stolen by a foolish matador
she’s holding open the exit door
Dream Bug
walks across a
marked and sullied page
lines bleeding right
Melting
dissolved
to the far corner
lid sealed
in a glass jar
left-brained
Dream Bug
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
What a fella what a lovely fella happened their way
What a generous fella to kindly offer all these gifts and his services for free
He was of the mind to give them some of his grub
But he waited until it got rank and mouldy first
He then offered them a sip of his tea
But thought it best to spit in it first
He was generous with his backhanded compliments
never missed a beat in his dance of deceit
his two faced stance well maintained to entice the flies to his web
Bothered to put on a show to appear likeable and relatable too, what a gent
As he knit picked at their lives and put a spin on every word they uttered
he meant to gently pump them up for intel for reasons known only to himself
A mission that sadly bounced hard and flopped
For that last bit I blame who ever created the character of James Bond
Has the likes of him curtain twitching and meddling for dear life
Convinced every foreign woman wants to get their mits on them, I mean resounding yuck please!
His exotic fare he elaborately served on a bed of fake pleasantly, seasoned with a dash of bogus laughter
He seemed appalled that they could be handed a chance at anything at all
before he got to take at least ten more chances that he doesn't even need
God forbid anyone else aside from him gets any upliftment
Joy should start and end only with him and his kin
and compassion should only ever be pointed his way
He enjoys his loot only when others stay beneath him, and thrives when disparity amounts
There is a hole where this man's soul ought to be
And that's if it was ever there in the first place
Maybe all he ever had is this humongous gaping emptiness
that he has to fill at all odds because its eating him alive
It seems it can only ever be filled by him generously spreading misery and contempt
He tries to fill it with greed and a haughty demeanour
Little does he know it will never suffice
Somethings no amount of wealth can ever buy
Maybe he never got enough hugs as a child
I mean one might be born into abject poverty
but it never stops their parents from raising loving compassionate children, one hug at a time
Sometimes that's all a soul needs to thrive
What a fella, poor fella with a stone for a heart
and pockets weighed down by gold
Form:
good morning
good night
i walked the shadows of hidden meadows until there was a sign to the right,
you were bathing in the light, then it all fell flat
good morning
good night
ride along and sing a song with vague attempts of interpretation,
a transatlantic whirlpool of twisting and turning emotion,
good morning
good night
i'm sorry that karma took a small hit,
but it wasn't my intention
good morning
good night
perhaps this connection is a singularly demented projection upon failing stars
whose shine still glitter but with shadows of fear
good morning
good night
smiling involuntarily is a beautiful thing I'm sure,
especially at matters of such insignificance,
good morning
good night
one strides a rhythmic cadence as the little one jaunts with such carefree joy
and big picture indifference
good morning
good night
it's memory prevention week so I'm setting traps to bring the backhanded troll
to justice, it's a pretty penny to forgive and forget, my inheritance a bitter
serenity absorbing youthful anxiety
good morning
good night
stars cluster unaware of our constant stare, some have the look of shame,
masking hatred, they're twinkling smiling faces protecting the ones to blame
good morning
good night
nothing takes aim at the gaps and empty spaces that go on and on, and then
even after that they go beyond, not so much as a truth or dare of importance,
more or less an allowance, an embrace
good morning
good night
of course there's courage but it's arrogance that gets the job done, with a split
personality the lion awaits a cautious blend
good morning
goodnight
the truth of the matter preys pretend and colors splatter in a failed attempt to
matter, one way is the same all day, baring stops an road blocks along the way
good morning
good night
the hours played sleepless depravation, no breeze, no oscillation, a simple man I
am not, from where I've come a curious lot
good morning
good night
after all has been said and nothing has been done, there is the missing, and the
knowledge and the truth, but in the end we'll start over again
good morning
good night
Form:
wishing he had sung his prayers last night
from both ends to the middle
fell to the ground in adoration
tore a wake through the ink stains
but not from satisfaction
plastic Jesus hold my head
a round of applause for once
or even just a soft murmur
from those in your employ
parked way out in Kokomo
my interrogator professor Zworykin
said quietly we want information
I knew I was up **** creek
without an assault rifle
with various blunt objects
aimed at what was left of my head
initiations with disfigurement
so have a melodic answer he encouraged
yah well the Third Reich fell from bad music
I spat like a backwards vampire
the swelling is an obstacle
I added for evidence I mean emphasis
the King of the Scarabs was neither mollified
nor inclined to use less aftershave
a great rectum of a situation
which is a poem in itself
I got in a few imaginary hits
before he called in the hockey franchise
with their many novel effects and manifestations
such as hugely distended penises
not at all like the computer club
fart gigglers and Balaam anointed
who sang as they worked
that's how we laugh the day away
in the merry merry Land of Oz
always a help to morale in the trenches
to use a dirty semaphore
for the male power hug
cracking walnuts with hydraulics
the Scarab King was a backhanded guy
strung out on endless platitudes
this is a spit shine day men
do your regimentation proud
they wavered then cheered then wavered
when the going got tough
and it seemed to often
for your present narrator
they allocate security personnel
in my case a comic endorphin gigolo
the hand of a spell upon his brow
good lord not another eccentric botanist
bedecked with the fabled Trinkets of Mouthgate
traffic fines double in poet zone
former servant of the hypno-avatar
with his blemish free goats
and his tunnel vision paparazzi
hI I'm Joe Product family friend
half con half circus half fury
screaming on the rack
my one line in the play
whatever will I do now
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
RufePal kept muttering "jv" team as it looked
around the room,
hoping to find someone underage to mentor to.
Michael blurted, "you and your precious
America! You are so gullible and trusting.
Penney started singing, "Scotty doesn't know, Scotty doesn't know oh...so don't tell Scotty."
Shut, the, fuuuu, up!
Do you think Bill Gates bought all that farmland,
after visiting China and performing fell...because
he wanted to rub elbows with you dirt farmers !
Gus complained, "i'm not a dirt farmer,
I am an old gum collector."
The gang nodded and murmured, looking one
to another in testimony and agreement.
"I know how to work a hoe, sure,
but I am more a collector of hoes than anything, philosophically.",
chimed Silky.
"I collect damned New Age Church souls
that do not care to notice the obvious difference
in Dogma between the Original Eclipsed Church
and this imposed heretical one." added Vatican2Priest.
"Penney's eyes lit up and this time she pulled...
"Enough, you simpleton MAGATS",
she hissed, "I'm not a MAGA, I hate America just like you!, she began to trick(her specialty)...
"Silence", she matched Penny's objection
and also her Va. Gina Monologue Kung Fu.
As she drug it out slowly like the movie Alien.
Whoopies unneeded I.U.D. was actually an I.E.D.
"In 3 minutes this place and all of you are gonna
go sky high to meet your Lord in the Air !"
Penney got confirmation by snickering, "3 minutes?
I could do... nevermind !"
She began to pack a suitcase slowly after making herself a sandwich, taking the things she thought were pretty.
When she had made her way to the front door, she adjusted the blinds and feng shui of the room.
The others followed, mainly because she was
a good shopper and a beautiful prostitute.
Michael couldn't even speak, he was so angry
at RufePal not bringing the gun and now
Whoopie sets the bomb for 'leave
at your convenience' !
She it them backhanded Whoopie and took t
he explosive from her with a handkerchief
and began to run after them...
Form:
Vampires and Mosquitos, they’re both out for blood each in their own way, one sucks the life out of you and the other just wants a taste
But when it pertains to love there is a big difference between the two, you my love were like the vampire but a little like the mosquito too
You swooped in unknowingly and you hurt me in subtle ways, claiming that it was all an accident knowing that I would stay
Just a nip here and there just enough to quinch your thirst, you didn’t care about my feelings just as long as you got your worth
And after I had been nipped at in places that were hard to see, the wound would be forgotten just an afterthought wrapped up in a backhanded apology
And your spittle it would consume into my skin, and collate with the others that you had tasted mingling together telling a story of where your lips had been
Just like the mosquito after your bite you saunter away, and leave me with the reminder that you had your taste
But in other ways you’re much darker and more ravenous it does seem, the way that you can suck the soul right out of me when you press your lips against me
You want to feed on me, you thirst for my love that flows within, and you have no thought of my needs you have shown me this time and again
As long as you are sated and you’re bloodthirsty no more, than you walk away as always leaving my corpse there on the hard, cold floor
Only returning when the darkness settles in, you come calling upon me like the chill that responds to your skin
There you search my lifeless eyes just begging for one last taste, awaiting my awakening whereas you have sealed my fate
I don’t wish to be anything like you I am not out for blood, I don’t wish for just a nip or a taste here and there I want eternal love.
And I quote "You're so well spoken; I loved your story" end quote
I hear that once about every other week at the current rate
But what I really wanted to say in response was: oh, you mean for a black person?
Or do you imply that my particular vernacular, and painted linguistics shocked your ears
Because your prefrontal cortex judged my baggy clothes, durag, and tattoos would talk like every tv show that needs a black thug…I’m sorry I meant to say African American
It's 2024 and for some reason any person of color still needs permission to better themselves
Last time I checked wanting more was normal not privilege
But I guess your watch has arms that hang opinions not people so it's ok because it's not the same
So just because the shadow is smaller it isn't as dark
That was some of my flooding thoughts that was closed by the dam of a simple: thank you
But what I really wanted to say came in the form of a question
What did you like about what I said,
Awkward pauses rush in and flood silence because it never gets a chance to speak
Awkward pauses that communicate they really just wanted to pay their dues in the form of a backhanded small talk compliment
Awkward pauses I'm way to familiar with so I recline in the anxiety yelling in the microphone
They desperately reach for words running away
Trying to pick up their dignity with a well what I meant to say,
I reply with that's ok and walk into another Thursday
Life goes on and unforgiveness repeats so forgive me if I choose to look out for myself and simply skip the small talk
I have big dreams and I’m trying to be in the atmosphere of those matching that impossible energy
p.s. pay attention with your heart not your ears please…
Dreams frolic
in the basket of the mind.
Like Easter eggs on Sunday grass,
pastel hands for slowing time.
A misty- trusting face,
just beyond the frosted glass.
A spirit mare with fiery mane
that licked the heart with lips aflame...
then backhanded
your naive face into the fangs
of loneliness refrain.
In place of friendly smiles
were sirens with hollowed hearts, void of any grace.
The leather souled elders taught you the art of
kneading hope then weaving scars.
Turning a room of bitter spirits into angels
taming the bucking flanks of moody stars.
The golden mouthed flutist
whispers of a long- forgotten dream,
when ice cream trucks and noon church bells
flowed into the soul like rose petals on the wind...
When streams of angels waltzed with innocents....
upon a stage of gilded rosaries.
Now, everything is forever lost.
The flesh-the bone- the burlap- the silky sweet.
The heavy metal of our youth
minced into the thinning cloth of age.
Most every soul is gifted to the silversmith,
who forges halos and shimmering wings...
while a few are hung upon the tusk of
the icy, gray slag heap.
They looked at me with doubt
The light had long gone out
I was long past my prime
Ripples in a pond subside over time
"That's him?", an onlooker thought it odd
"Yes" his brother said, "I swear to God!"
A girl said "I don't see it, but it must be there"
Their doubts didn't faze me, I really didn't care
"It's all a fraud," said a sad man staring
I laughed inwardly, I was past caring
A colleague thought I was magnetic, explained it by a pheromone
He thought I didn't wash; I just gave a groan.
Then a woman said angrily that I must be kept down
A backhanded compliment, but I'd rather not drown
A young man told his friends that I had a "dog face"
He didn't feel I belonged in his land, his place.
For many years, I hadn't slept through the night
But one day, I got up, feeling alright.
Put a bike helmet on my bald head
Got on my Trek, like a 70's retread.
Cycled out of the city, into green lands
Blood rushed to my face, heard musical bands
Light came from somewhere, buried inside
Perhaps its last stand, before it expired and died
A few people caught sight, gasped with surprise
We were all feeling good, there were stars in their eyes
They gave me a smile, a smile from the heart
Like a sudden symphony, like a work of art.
Should we believe in illusion, should we stick to the fact?
Should we get to the real, or fall for an act?
Whatever was true, I'm old now and worn
But in a smile, in enthusiasm, it's always reborn
Smiles are cheap, I think there's no harm
Life is short, why not add myth, no cause for alarm.