Long Badge Poems
Long Badge Poems. Below are the most popular long Badge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Badge poems by poem length and keyword.
We're in the midst of trump times and
We need to understand
That that individual in the White House
Is not a righteous man
He's all about division, discord
And disarray
And when a domestic terror act occurred
He did not have much to say
White nationalists staged a rally to keep
A confederate statue in place
No regard and no respect for any other
Ethnicity nor any other race
A group of anti- protesters were in a
Peaceful march as well
Until a nationalist in a car mowed them down
Causing utter hell
We're in trump times the country's
Moral barometer has done a reverse
We're in trump times trust and believe
It can only get worse
Threats against the North Koreans
Who are launching potential weapons to kill
Instead of using diplomacy
Trump wants to assert his will
On the precipice of what could
Possibly become world war 3
What should we do?
What are our spiritual strategies?
One, we would do well to accept
The invitation from Christ our Savior
To worship, witness and walk
With a Christlike behavior
We need God to remind us
That we are not alone
And never ever forget that its He
Who sits on the throne
God is in charge He's still in control
Hopefully He'll work on presidents
Trump and Kim Jong Un souls
Two, we need gather together in
Remembrance of He
Jesus the Christ who died
To give us the victory
To eat of the bread and drink of the wine
Remnants of His body and blood
To examine our own hearts
And acknowledge His unconditional love
To stay in touch with reality
To remember our past and our pain
Of the slavery that is still on American
A badge of shame
Let us never forget
what has come to pass
Let us never forget Jesus
and the love for us He has
For when we remember we reestablish
All truths and how they came to be
And no tweet will erase nor change
The true reality
Trump talks about fake news
But free press will prevail
As only free press stops a nation from
Becoming a dictatorship from hell
Spiritual strategies for trump times
We need to realize
We need to stay united
And keep our eyes on the prize
Let us never forget the blood
That was shredded and the sacrifice
Let us never forget that for our sins
Jesus gave His life
Let us look past skin color
And ignore race
Let us remember God
Who gave us His infinite
Mercy and Grace
I.
When Sullivan ‘Reno’ Richards rode into
the small, northern Utah town of Stillman,
he’d been unemployed going on three months
since he’d left his job as a hired gunhand.
He’d turned in his badge to the agency
when his brother Samuel had been killed,
and after settling things with his family,
he’d rode off to put to work his skills.
Reno would see that real justice was done,
he’d find the bastards who had done the deed,
and though his family looked down on it,
Reno was good at making bad folks bleed.
His father had disowned him for this fact,
Samuel had been his favorite child,
the man had expanded dad’ baking empire
way out west in the great desert wilds.
Dad had no respect for a ‘mere gun-hand,’
and wouldn't speak to Reno to this day,
but Samuel had not shared these beliefs,
and nothing ill of his brother did-say.
For that understanding, Reno now rode,
to the only hotel in this small town,
he’d sworn to his family that he would
put poor Samuel’s killers in the ground.
When settled in he went down to the bar,
ordered whiskey and took the sounds in,
listening for gossip that could be a clue,
when a young stumpet walked right up to him.
She said,”Hello, my name is Meredith,
and I can tell from the look of your eyes
that you must be one of Samuel’s kin,
you should know I was to be his wife.”
Reno looked at this woman in great surprise,
he had not heard Samuel planned to wed,
so he said to her,”I am his brother,
I came as soon as I heard he was dead.
“I’m here to take care of his affairs,
though I fear it might take me a while,
I understand he held the mortgages
of half the ranches within fifty miles.”
She smiled,”I’m glad somebody came out
to take care of the things left behind.
If you would like, I can take you out to
the grave where my poor Samuel lies.”
He nodded solemnly, and they walked to
a plot laying behind the town’s small church,
the dirt was still fresh, the stone not yet done,
there’d been no time to finish the work.
Reno asked then,”How did it happen?”
Meredith frowned, and then told hit the truth:
“Bandits bushwhacked him, in the back-country,
They took everything, even his shoes.”
Reno just nodded, took down his broad hat,
said,”I hope that the sherriff is on it.
My brother and I sometimes disagreed,
but he did nothing deserving of this…”
Written: April 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama
*******************
When cruelty becomes a badge of honor
empathy transforms into an act of defiance
while the evildoers are celebrated!
The resonance of your words
Your words echo as a sharp blade
revealing the possum
shameful crawl
dragging through sacred remnants
they cut through the fragile chambers
of my vulnerable existence.
A rustle of grass
in the Cimmerian pre-dawn.
Watching you drown in your denial
Now, a landscape of sorrow
once vibrant with the hues of joy
has faded into mere shadows
Shades of happiness did thrive
I stand frozen, bleary-eyed
trying to bear sense of
eerie glow of empty eyes
I am a witness to the casualty
of an all-night bender
Your gaze, a weapon
cold and unyielding
left my spirit in ruins
forever haunted
by the ghost of what once was
The dreams you stole
That left me stranded
broken in body and soul
Amidst the unfolding horrors —
border violence, displacements,
police brutality, genocidal oppression —
Remember this: Cruelty is the point
Cruelty is not humorous nor edgy
Cruelty is not justifiable
Cruelty corrodes the sense of self
Cruelty for cruelty's sake
a repulsive and vile toxic waste
What started as casual banter
quickly turned into a serious dialogue
banter quickly grew into a colloquy.
I walk a path of despair
a subdued plea
where cruelty reigns
Some find joy in the suffering of others—
the essence of schadenfreude
Do we embody barbarism
when we think
we have the right to be cruel
And ignore the agreements we made?
The casualties were unintended
Yearning for a healing touch
for the grace to set me free
Yet the scars remain
a stark reminder
of the cruelty
that has etched its haunting mark.
Your malice roars like a storm
within my spirit,
leaving me shattered
and utterly out of control
I am a victim
The cost of your design
and now I seek peace
In my life
Humans possess the capacity
for empathy and reason,
yet systems of violence.
They are crafted to dominate
subjugate
dehumanize and oppress
Cruelty is always at the core
It feels as if we are consumed
by cruelty in our thoughts
defending the indefensible.
You Rode Into My Town
Gunned all The Lonely Deputies Down
Blew-Up The Bank Of Trust, In Our Face …
Where, There Was Hope … Is Now Empty Space …
… Now, I Gotta Chase You ! …
Outlaw !
Armed and Dangerous
Outlaw !
Jesse James, Would Be Jealous
… of You – Outlaw !
You’re Outrageous …
… and You’re An Outlaw ! …
Stealing Hearts, Like They Was Gold
… Silver Bullets, Are The Lies, You Told
Just A Masked-Man, Running Away …
No Longing-Arms, Can Make You Stay
… This Is Where You Pay (Now) ! …
Outlaw !
# 1 On Our Wanted List …
Outlaw !
They Told Me You Never Miss ! …
Outlaw !
… In A Duel, or A Quick Kiss …
… You’re An Outlaw !
Rustlin’ Cows and Cheating at Cards
Done Knocked Down, Many A Weak and Off-Guard
I Will Chase You Long and Hard
To Show You, How It Feels To Be Scarred …
… My Personal Reward ! …
Outlaw !
$ 10,000.00 Reward
Outlaw !
A Dollar, For Each Broken Heart
Outlaw !
… Better Get A Head-Start …
Outlaw !
Chorus:
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / That’s What All Outlaws Sing!
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / Then, This is Just A Real Bad Dream!
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / Stop! … Then, Where’s Her Dadgum Ring? …
Outlaw …
You Avoid Honor, Like A Hangman’s Noose
Out There, Wild and Still Running Loose
Wanted Posters, Up On Every Wall
When They Look At It … Tears Just Fall …
… You’re A Real Quick-Draw ! …
Outlaw !
Look At That Brim …
Outlaw !
Cocked-Low, Like A Trigger-Rim …
Outlaw !
… Yeah, That’s Him ! …
… It’s The Outlaw ! …
This is Showdown For Nerves-On-Edge
No More Hide-Outs; Not Another Hedge
No More Ladies, Lying On A Ledge
No More Lies, Or A Broken Pledge …
… See This Badge !!! …
Outlaw !
I Shoot Straight From A Curve-Hip …
Outlaw !
You Won’t Get To Give Me The Slip …
Outlaw !
You’re Gonna Get Wild-Whipped …
Outlaw !
Chorus:
Girl, I Know You’re Hurtin’ / But He Was Only Flirtin’
Luv, Stop Your Crying / Break Free From His Lying
Hon, I’m Doing You A Favor / He Ain’t Never Gonna Put No Ring On Your Finger …
He’s An Outlaw !
(Part One of Two)
Metamorphosis: a word for butterflies,
Said the science textbook in school,
Positive transformations connoted her young soul.
Age brought in a new realisation,
Life, a one-way road with two destinies,
The darker one a metamorphosis too.
The endlessly bleak days,
Dwindling success,
Slipping confidence,
Broken dreams,
The road to change now a narrow old bridge,
Fragile and frail to support her lofty dreams,
Permanency etched in this new route,
Metamorphosis it was; not a passing phase.
Yet, butterflies her eyes chose to see,
Bright pupils midst tear streaked face,
Light shone on the narrow bridge,
Carefully she lugged her weight.
The caterpillar crawled, awkward and slow,
The bridge creaked, threatening to break,
Yet held on to this struggle everyday,
Patiently trudging to the light ahead.
Metamorphosis, still a double-edged sword,
All her struggles could tip her either way,
Yet, she chose the route with pain,
Trying to metaphorse yet again.
She knew it was a story of win or die,
A second dark metamorphosis she wouldn't survive,
Yet this turnaround she chose,
To gloomy life, she refused to bend.
Cocoon she became, the saddest soul alive,
Tears became her appetite,
Broken she was in a thousand pieces,
Her delicate spirit a ruined mess.
The pain made her numb and weak,
Shallow breaths and fiery cheeks,
She closed her eyes, her bright pupils gleaming,
She felt her soul float, she felt existence cease.
But, most of all she felt her eyes open,
Her lips curved a natural smile.
Wings she bore as beautiful and delicate as her spirit,
Her body she felt, weightless and symmetric,
Effortlessly, she flew upwards,
Gliding through the wind, peaceful and sound.
Embodiment she now was, of beauty and success and all things gold.
Bleak fluorescent rooms a thing of the past,
The bridge her metamorphosis, the pain her badge of honour,
She knew it was her destiny, sweet success and enchanting beauty,
She wasn't made for this toil and grub.
Yet, that was her life, the struggles and the pain.
She was now, an angelic dream,
A lover's ballad, a sailor's home.
She was a child's wish, a fairy tale,
A land of exotic fruits, a colourful maze.
She was a drug, an elixir of life,
An ecstatic dream, a virgin queen.
She exists as immortal bliss,
Her scent seaming all earthly souls.
We've a third string coach running the team
who can't even remember his own play book
so a batch of amateurs
are running the show
from the bench
from the trenches
of their minds
Its a play book mirroring
Alice in wonderland
where everything is viewed
through a kleidoscopic -myopic
upside down opaque lens..
where predators are entitled to
a lifetime of get out of jail free passes
then given a badge of martyrdom
when they finally run out of lucky gas-
its a land with a Rio Grande autobahn
where illegals blitz through an open border
and its leaders put its own citizens on lockdown
where honest Abe has been shot in the head... again
by far-far- leftists dregs
who lecture the working man about global warming
while poking holes in the ozone in their private jets
Its a land where black people matter
but matter somewhat less if they dwell in the cities...
if they slaughter themselves over drugs and turf...
if they happen to go against the current-are conservative..
Its a Land where blacks are ferried
to a rabbit hole called planned parenthood,,
who(despite the name) ironically kills a half a million black babies a year....
black wombs are rivaling the gas chambers of Auschwitz and Treblinka
its a land with no rules except for its own citizens
who pay the bills for the lazy-for the illegal
for the ungrateful for the criminal...
and for all of their honest efforts
or for having a differing opinion
or simply being heterosexual
and being of white skin
despite their best efforts
to accommodate
to be empathetic
accepting....
sympathetic,
are constantly branded
racists-
homophobic
xenophobic...
a genuine all around
globo phobic menace..
Yes indeed...Its an upside down land
that's been stamped systemically racist
infested with white supremacists
even though a black man
was elected president
and ran the country for eight years
even though people of color have
the highest standard of living than in most
if not all countries
Why then if this country is so racist and hopelessly bigoted
do people of color flock to the border by the millions to get in.
If I were a person of color, I would avoid this so called
house of white supremacy horrors like the plague
and roll the dice on another color of velvet ...
people....welcome to Joe in Wonderland
I was dreading my return to work. There would be a multitude of questions
especially by that sod, Riley. He and I had never gotten along; he was too weird. Death was desolating but an untimely death at the hands of a murderer seemed somehow a tiny bit worse.
I realized with a heartfelt pang that I had mourned until my eyes could not mourn any more. They were so raw already, the damage might be irreparable.
As a kind of glorious consolation Monday was a placid day. The sun was out,
the birds were singing, it felt like the first day of spring; although spring was a
few weeks away. There was a peaceful solitude when I arrived at the office.
The only car in the giant parking lot belonged to my boss, Howard. It was his old red Volvo, a monster car that we had always laughed about when we
were dating. Howard was the best kind of boss, smart, open-minded, friendly,
helpful, a great listener. As a date he had been a dud though.
I like wild boys - bad boys, not nice guys. I have no idea why, but if my adrenaline is not racing, you are not the one for me. Howard’s innocence made him seem dull to me. Yes, I think that was it. He was so quick to flush, inexperienced, I did not want him to know my wild side. I thought
it might jeopardize my job.
I would not mind having a few seconds alone with Howard
this morning. Dull was something I could do after this last week of hell. I raced up the concrete steps. When I reached the glass door my badge did not work. Dhram! I thought maintenance had fixed that.
Howard was in his office alone. I spoke to him briefly, as I could see he was not in a conversational mood, which was odd for him. His eyes were red, so I left. Sometimes work is not the best place to unleash a bunch of grief. When I reached my desk all of my things were gone. Cleared off.
I looked up and saw a giant picture of me and my boyfriend
Spider, on the other side of the room. What the ….? Irritated, I walked over there to get a closer look. Spider had been nothing but trouble lately.
A bright light surrounded me as I approached the painting. An angel was standing in the middle of it. You have said goodbye to Howard now. It is time, she said gently. I nodded. Ready now to take on a new endeavor; my real life. This one had never been what I was looking for anyway.
If Trump wins...rest in peace - Mother of Freedom
Post mortem courtesy
Doctor Demento yielded
Lady Liberty lies slain...
videre licet knocked senseless
from brutal blows upon her crown
simultaneously shouldering existential crisis
triggered nervous breakdown
though rendered mute
sound of silence doth expound.
Forsooth impeachment hearings
rendered him immune
to chastisement, insurrection
he did foment, blithely
skirting impairment appertain
blood on hands of
self important president,
though alcohol he doth abstain,
nonetheless permanent drunken stupor
doth wax and wain
finger of guilt
damaging democracy points
to him as chief villain
groomed since... time immemorial
atavistic primate brain
bathed (courtesy Frederick Christ Trump)
buzzfeeding chosen favored heir
go for broke – as a red badge of courage
bankrupt countless times
and pulled out all stops,
viz unbridled thundering,
espousing philosophy gain
amass wealth, unscrupulous
if necessary where,
might equals right cold play'n
deadly serious game (Life) train
sight squarely and/or roundly
scattered lovely bones
amidst tombstones testimony
incidental secondary fallout main
part and parcel, where legerdemain,
plus art of the deal linkedin
with immeasurable gloating
ego necessary to gain
con fetter writ oligarchy plain
successfully cheating, hocking,
milking, quaffing, and trending,
yielding dynastic rule
trumpeting eternal and carnal
stormy Daniels reign
vaping with wealthy
zealotry (think vain)
at electorate expense
tampering koolaid acid test
courtesy illegals sown GMO grain
colluding when/where possible,
never losing sight regarding
selfish mission to attain
obligatory ideal tyranny
rampantly running roughshod,
no need to explain
writing sleight underhanded profane
antithetical, critical, heretical quatrain
badgering, belittling, besmirching,
bilking, boasting, bragging with disdain
flagrantly flaunting, fleecing,
regarding purported B.S. degree
in economics he did attain
matriculating Wharton School of law,
hmm... methinks he paid
hireling from Ukraine
forever flirting, flouting, and flunking
even basic geography questions
case in point being
where is Drury Lane
additionally, he ain't
no literati familiar
storied quasi fiction Citizen Kane.
She wore a dress in the color sin
and walked with thunder's grace,
a shadow lit from deep within,
with fire upon her face.
She left the party close to one,
her heels in hand, alone,
they say she whispered to the moon—
“Tonight, I’m heading home.”
But morning came, and she did not.
The chapel bells were grim.
A crimson streak, a silver spot,
the trail grew cold and dim.
They found a heel beside the drain,
an earring near the stairs,
a smear of blood the size of rain,
and whispers in the prayers.
The papers roared: “A girl in red!
A poet may be linked!”
His verses read like hearts gone dead,
his alibis all blinked.
He wrote of girls who vanished fast,
of lips and death and sky,
and Rosalie was not the last
to haunt his lullaby.
Detective Maren took the lead,
a woman sharp and slow.
She followed every crimson thread
the town was scared to know.
She found the Poet’s secret book,
with names in ink and dread,
and there—the line he never took:
"…and then she bled and bled.”
He never made it to the court,
he jumped before the trial.
They found his boots, a final thought—
a carving on the tile:
"Remember me, I told the tale
the world refused to see.
But stories shift like autumn gales—
the killer isn’t me."
Six months from then, a letter came,
no name, no scent, no fold.
Just blood-red ink and ghostly claim,
a secret left untold:
“You followed every thread I wove,
each clue I laid with care.
But who first whispered from above?
And why was I found there?"
Maren sat still, her coffee cold,
her hands began to shake.
The story cracked. The pieces told
a truth she did not fake—
The heel? She found it in the drain.
The earring? She alone.
Each breadcrumb laid with quiet pain
by hands as cold as stone.
For Maren was the girl in red,
reborn with borrowed face.
She’d killed her past and called it dead—
then stalked it like a case.
The Poet wasn’t pure nor clean,
but guilt was not the thread.
She needed someone to be seen,
so she became the dead.
The missing girls? Her mirrored pasts,
the selves she left behind.
And Maren walked the line she cast,
rewriting in her mind.
So if you pass Saint Cecilia’s hand
when fog begins to climb,
don’t trust the badge, don’t trust the land—
some ghosts commit no crime.
It’s skin deep evident,
being black is an inherent crime
It doesn’t matter whether we
peacefully
stand our ground,
or be siren subservient —
Hands in the air,
knees bent
We get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
In the back of our mind,
fear is a pride looter
Epidermal evidence suggests,
probable cause is
five fingers of uniform blue grave danger
A click gavel falls trigger quick,
siren verdict be: 1st degree fatal anger
It’s just another casket open-and-shut case,
the latest obituary picture
bearing eyewitness of Breonna Taylor’s face
Like chalk on a blackboard,
we get erased ...
so rap sheet easily
Four-by-for centuries,
our coffin pleas
have been iron fetter ignored
The only asphalt sound
silently heard
are the yellow tape trace words:
“I can’t breathe,”
with our George Floyd face
in the paved dirt
Epidermal evidence historically reveal:
We always got shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Skin color hatred smoking barrel explode
on a trigger reload
Being black was our genetic crime
Wanting the good life
on the whiter side
of the picket fence
Made former slave cotton-picking sense
Our emancipated thoughts
were escaped equality sought
But votes auction bought,
forced us to tragically be
paddy wagon pellet caught
And when suffrage hope died,
it was our fault —
Runaway tears shed for naught!
Morgue blame sent:
Usual suspect motives be
dreams non-violent
Desiring to be integrated legally
into American society
was our heinous offense
No need for more epidermal evidence
It’s just another cell open-and-shut case,
the latest unarmed picture
bearing eyewitness of Jacob Blake’s face
We repeatedly
get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Seems the lawlessness of the land says:
The badge can be
judge, jury
and executioner
Ain’t it blatant epidermal evident,
being black is an egregious, breathable offense
Of which there is no self-defense
We get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Perpetrator exit wombs inflicted on
menace to society ghetto we
Aborted justice is our
perforated epidermal eulogy
Being black is a natural-born crime,
evidentiary,
an umbilical sin
It’ll get you pandemic shot seven times,
by a sick, sick six-shooter