Long Banned Poems
Long Banned Poems. Below are the most popular long Banned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banned poems by poem length and keyword.
Body obsession
Naked, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror
and asked are you sure this is you?
I’m a fat man with breasts and a big stomach but legs
thin as twigs on the almond tree.
I have diabetes, but that is no excuse, somehow
I eat too much
90% of my food intake is vegetables, not potatoes
no rice or bread, no beer most of the time, so how
could it come to this when what I like is banned?
I like whisky mixed with cold water before bedtime
and now I wait for the health brigade to tell me
Whisky is fattening, bad for the liver and the heart
I will not believe you; too many lies have been told.
I’m body shaming myself. Pathetic!!!
Native American collage
Traditional tribals that followed Sioux religion,
Had spiritual beliefs
performed controversial dance ceremonies,
Waken- the great spirit
was one universal source,
Mother Earth birthed all
animals, plants and humans,
Black Elk sheltered all,
The sacred hoop said unity,
Circles symbolised oneness,
Invisible Great spirit was Sioux God,
Thunderbird powerful spirit of sky,
Underwater spirits that controlled all commons,
Humans wanted to communicate,
Shamanic practices
to interpret dreams and trances,
Performed rituals for vision,
With visions and dreams
they could talk to spirits,
Native Americans
far more believed in,
Death and rebirth,
Curiosity on afterlife
a human's breath,
Native American collage,
Is all that's holy and mysterious !!
Written Sept 4th, 2015
For contest by Frank Herrara
Interesting to note that American govt. Banned their practises in 1800, still we are trying to solve this puzzle of life and afterlife- through now called science.
Form:
Love is never wrong for someone like me.
It’s a feeling that I have to set it free.
It’s ever too unfair if you’ll say it’s banned.
I deserve to be happy in this I called land.
Love chooses no gender.
Set free and stop being so pretender.
It’s never wrong to fall over again.
As long as I know love and that’s what is then.
Not a saint for you to judge me
Not a holy one to stab me incredibly.
Love has no restrictions…
Don’t ever try to listen to dictations.
Bisexually in love with different sexes.
Heart is fragile broken in to pieces.
Just a strong man with a peculiar feel.
Say true things that are not ever sealed.
Covid Christmas © 2020
by Bob Moore
T’was a month before Christmas, And all through the town,
People wore masks which covered their frown.
The frown had begun, way back in the spring,
When a global pandemic had changed everything.
They called it corona, But unlike the beer,
It didn’t bring good times, it didn’t bring cheer.
Contagious and deadly, this virus spread fast,
Like a wildfire that starts, when fuelled by gas.
Airplanes were grounded, travel was banned.
Borders were closed, across air, sea and land.
As the world entered lockdown, to flatten the curve
The economy halted, and folks lost their verve.
From March to July, we rode the first wave,
People stayed home, they tried to behave.
When summer emerged, the lockdown was lifted.
But away from the caution, many folks drifted.
Now it’s November, and cases are spiking,
Wave two has arrived, much to our disliking.
Frontline workers, doctors and nurses,
Try to save people, from riding in hearses
Bob Moore
At Cubby's, the neon hums/
A beacon in the night/
A place for solace/
But now a source of plight/
I stood there, a truth on my lips, unplanned/
Asked the clerk to be kind, to lend a gentler hand/
But shadows lingered/
Where light should've been/
Through masks of smiles, deceit crept in/
Their whispers turned to chains/
Forged in lies/
A verdict handed down/
Under cold, accusing skies/
I wore the blame they skillfully wove/
Falsehoods cloaked me in stories/
They strove/
Banned from the aisles/
Where I once stood/
Falsely accused, misunderstood/
No one to believe me, no.ear to hear/
The loneliness sharp/
The injustice clear/
At Cubby's, the neon hums/
As it always will/
But it's glow feels colder/
The world now still/
total fiction
I heard the words repeated on the news
so sick of them that my mind rebelled...
"Doge's plan and Trump commands
the Constitution should be banned.
Hell to that Chief! There's no relief
Breaking news only heightened the blues.
I don't want to hear anymore.
By seven P.M. I lost count of the trips
I'd made, walking fast, past my kitchen,
refusing to turn on the light to see
a day's worth of dirty dishes
that wish I'd make them sparkling clean.
They're staring with a look of contempt at me.
I knew what I'd find...
coffee grinds stuck to the filter
Raisin bran flakes
caked along the edge of a bowl
a saucer with a bunch of crusts
cut off of a sandwich from lunch.
I'll get to them later....
The excuse I used on myself
when the sink is a refuse of clutter.
I've become a recluse
and no one will see them anyway
and the old cliché of...
Tomorrow's another day.
By eight thirty I was bored
a time when food comes to mind
Hunger would not be ignored
A frozen dinner of mac and cheese
"Geeze" said my stomach
when it saw it coming...
"Oh PLEASE, don't do this to me"
Ok, ok...
chocolate ice cream
sounds better anyway
By ten, guilt pointed accusing fingers
lingering and wagging before my face.
Stop it!" I actually said aloud
"I'll get to them later,
first thing in the morning. You'll see."
My new mantra was repeated.
I decided to go to bed. My usual stunt,
but culpability was on the hunt
haunting and taunting inside my head
Two steps over the kitchen threshold
and my conscience took control
when I smelled the leftover fish.
The thought of facing each greasy dish
would not be on my to-do list come morning.
I knew my mouth was puckered in a pout
No doubt my yawns were angry at me
and my sudden notion of conviction...
a vow of benediction, it seems I'd taken
awakened me to the need for sanitation.
Liquid was pouring from two spouts
Hot water in the sink
and a 'clink' of glass on glass
Pinot Noir flowed from a decanter
I raised my stem and toasted the dishes
"Here's to wishes that don't come true."
Resident Refugees…
Uprooted, abandoned and displaced;
scattered about in their own homeland—
Irrespective of gender, cultural or race,
the pursuit of happiness seems banned.
These are the ever-present invisible souls
whose living shadows flicker everywhere:
street corners, sidewalks, flag poles;
ignored as if they are not even there.
Not honored to be a vagabond or hobo;
nor a migrant in pursuit of the dream.
Each day of survival is a revolving skid row;
in the land of opportunity, life can be so mean.
As the sun shines from sea to sea in the land of the free,
homelessness is like being an un-caged nomadic refugee.
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
I used to get my haircut, at the local RSL
Gunther was the Barber, he knew my hair real well
for 20 years he cut it, short back and sides or trim
whenever my hair got too long, I went round to him
The RSL grew bigger, not the special place we knew
with a big hotel as part of it, dress regulations too
no more for the working man, with blue tee shirt and thongs
or even the old Digger, didn’t feel like he belonged
It was now a money maker, not the place it had been when
you’d always meet someone you knew, a place for working men
They still had darts and pool of course, if you wanted a game
but smoking banned, and count your beers, it just wasn’t the same
now Gunther’s place was not as busy, as once it would have been
they pushed his shop outside the doors, the entrance hardly seen
one day he said he’d had enough, it was time for him to go
another nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know
to find another Barber, now that was quite a chore
these places they all had “Hairdresser”, written on their door
the women all talked kids and shops, and clothes that they’d seen there
no sport, no racing, no latest tips, unless they were in your hair
never had a woman cut my hair, or a man with streaks in his
and the very first that did, I thought she took the pizz
when she said, I don’t have a cutthroat, so I can’t shave your neck
maybe your wife can do it, when you get home, like ‘eck
as if I’d let my loving wife, get that close to my throat
with a cutthroat razor, I’m not a silly goat
I don’t think she would let it slip, she still loves me, although,
it would be the last nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know.
In broad day light
In plain sight
The rain has fallen
And evaporated free
Speech over night
Riotous murder
Blame the simpletons
Protect the perpetrators
Who’ve political value
Kill the prisoner
Who shouted a view
Don’t write a thought
Or they’ll come for you
Two
Shrinking in fear
Of the new two tear
Five years to endure
But hopefully, not one
Minute more
Meanwhile thousands
Might die, but no will
To keep the score
We’re expendable
No longer dependable
They’ll lie until the election
Change their truth
Change their direction
Five more years to bear
The psychopaths will share
The spoils and the loot
Put us under the jack boot.
For now, they’ve banned fun
But our time will come.
David Cox 09/11/24
I’ve spent all my life getting into trouble,
When there’s one it’s always me,
I’m the kid ADHD,
As for punishment, I’m not really bothered,
I’ve been stuck in that moment forever,
And every attempt to change me,
always ends in failure.
I’ve been in trouble all my life,
they're always trying to put me right,
they can discipline,
but it won’t change a flipping thing,
cus when I’m being rude to you,
I’ll continue,
but discipline,
oh it won’t change a flipping thing.
Recently I found my poem had been stolen,
it was on a poor-no site,
I wondered who goes there for reading,
and so I filmed my write,
to share with you on Facebook,
cus I knew you’d want to have a look,
thought it was funny as luck,
but Facebook, oh Facebook banned me.
They're banning me for three long days,
trying to change how I behave,
oh discipline,
it wont change a flipping thing,
a poem about a man called Peter,
he was a peanust eater,
but for discipline,
Oh it won’t change a flipping thing.
*Aerosmith I dont want to miss a thing parody