Long Battering Poems
Long Battering Poems. Below are the most popular long Battering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Battering poems by poem length and keyword.
Stop harassing me with your hate
Stop flaying me with your frustrations
Stop inking me with your insecurities
Stop cutting me with your cruelty
Stop lacerating me with your lies
Stop searing me with your satire
Stop abusing me with your anger
Stop battering me with your brutality
Stop degrading me with your derision
Please….
Just leave me alone
Leave me alone
Let me love
Let me laugh
Let me survive in a world
Where sympathy is sterile
Where joy is jaded
Where happiness is haphazard
Where fantasy is fleeting
Where contentment is capricious
Leave me alone
To bear these burdens
Let me live
Eileen Manassian
For all victims of abuse
Holding back...
I'm holding back
AFRAID
My feelings dammed up
but the torrent pounds against the dam
I'm holding back
passion's turbulent flow gains momentum
holding....back
I'm tired of holding back
you agitate the waters
you play with the currents
you wreck havoc with my feelings
you make me froth and foam
I'm holding back...
The dam loosens
a crack appears
water seeps through
another and another
a rumbling sound
the dam can't hold
the desire for you
rains down from the heavens
A deluge
the river swells
churning, churning, churning
I'm trying to hold back...
keep emotions in check
battering ram against the damn dam
it shakes
with the throbbing weight
of pent up need
thundering sounds
the dam gives way
water bursts past the remains of restraint
an unstoppable force
redemptive release
I flood your soul
You flood my soul
and we are free
Eileen Manassian
An expedition back into the dark jungle,
a rain forest shrouded in the haze of history,
brought about by hidden enterprises.
Lost and Found
Mandy
Battle weary am I, war warn.
To shreds has my heart been, torn.
From my middle Daughter, only scorn.
Mouthing hateful words, my soul doth morn.
My heart laden heavy by the icy coldness
from adolescent, peer mimicry, its boldness.
Living with fear of love lost, of lost intimacy.
I feel I have no more, as a father, legitimacy.
My heart, my soul tortured by all the pain.
Echoing off the barren, jagged walls, of my terrain.
Monsoons battering these walls, with heavy rain
saturating every synaptic cleft of my shattered brain
with the death of my tears, as they become lost
in the quagmire of life, what a disastrous cost.
Does it come from her head, I might have a chance.
From her heart, it will destroy this parent’s dance.
All this dread, drenches the trenches in my head.
Does all of this mean, to her, in her mind, I am dead.
It seems, as her parent, her father, I have lost any chance.
The price I have to pay for standing up, taking a stance.
All the lies culminate with the loss of belief.
Deceptions, con games, from them no relief.
Lost faith, loss of trust only offer one, grief.
Respite from all of this heart ache is so brief.
These hateful, mean spirited words resonate
disrespect, rebellion, verbal abuse that state,
this war I wage, with such rage, will go on and on
until a light comes on, on a new day it will dawn.
B. J. “A” 2
May 8th, 1998
Epilog
Twenty three years have slipped by.
The Daughter, once the apple of my eye,
I no longer hear from or get to see.
Phobias, anxieties, that is all she be.
Revisited, Revised
November 1st, 2021
As I gaze out upon the blue ocean,
from my perch, on the cliff above .
The incoming storm, hovers close by,
I am watching battering waves, smash
the rugged coastline shore below.
The blue waves blend with the distant blue sky.
The once sapphire ocean now becomes steel blue
As the storm rolls in, the ocean, ever changing hues.
The waves smash, blend and churn creating
Cauldrons of undertows merging with rips
Battering with a powerful gale force.
As lightning zig- zags across the deepened sky
I head for shelter from the incoming rain
Knowing I will return again to look at ocean blue.
Francine's contest- blue on blue on blue
Phyl the ocean
thanks Francine
How pretty this placid sea
appears to everyone's eyes
in the quietest morning,
not a single sail challenging
the surf of waves rambling;
do I hear a scream
of desperation arising
from the bluest depth?
How somber is to stare
at the deserted sea
that has lost its harmony;
the only noise is the shrill
of the hungry seagulls
swooping down and searching
for salmons and mackerels!
Who has ever confided
his secrets to a taciturn sea
willing to listen and keep them
in its deepest cave of dwelling corals?
Who has ever asked to reveal
them to an enamored, bright-eyed girl?
I dare not ask why all the sailing boats
went missing after the misty sunrise,
are they waiting for the fog to dissipate
and return to the battering shore
overlooked by the unceremonious lighthouse
with a solemn glare suspecting that all freshmen
who set out to catch lots of fish, are lost at sea?
I'll wait until dusk hoping to catch
the flamboyant return of every sailboat
in unchartered waters that have brought
either glory or defeat to each fisherman
fighting off the wild waves that predicted a squall.
During the liturgy, Guido the bearded priest,
lifts the golden chalice while the altar boys
ring the altar bell and repeat an Amen
that confirms the dire fate of the twenty
fishermen who had gone missing since sunrise.
The deserted sea has lost its harmony,
how loud was the joyful song of the fishermen
leaving their home at the first gleams
of the peaceful dawn giving them the fortitude
to earn their living with rough hands and be grateful.
The moonlit path in the chill of October
is transformed by the thickness
of shadows rising and not dissipating
the creepy fog that induces fear.
Everything disappears from sight...
while the whitest full moon
glides and shines brilliantly,
and its brightness reaches
the depths of a magnificent universe.
All the feeble firs and birches
seem gigantic fathoms taking on
a human form and begin
to oscillate blown hard
by the ocean's hissing wind,
which stirs up foamy waves
battering against the huge
rocks that protect the sandy shore.
Owls and crickets have flown
to a safer grove less than a mile away,
and whirring their wings faster,
they too vanish trough the thickening
fog hoping to find calm there,
unless a hurricane is coming soon.
The moonlit path in the chill of October
illuminates a wilderness succumbed
to fog and tempestuous winds
coming from the doomed bay
that hours ago was frequented
by herons and ivory gulls.
If you speak will it not offend me
for I am as fragile as a crisp leaf
blowing on a silenced wind,
lost in the darkness of closed eyes.
If you look too long upon my visage
you touch the edges of aggression
battering my frail psyche
triggering conditioned reflexes.
If you hold the door open
you crush me with chauvinism
deny me my right to control
the access and egress of my soul.
If we should meet on either side
of a non-existent door
would we look at each other
without speaking
…… and wonder
….WHY?
John G. Lawless
©5/2/2021
There was no rancour in the brain, or canker,
no legions, in fact this brain could be re-used,
the heart had been torn apart but looked perfect,
what had caused this terrible damage - what do you expect?
Had it received a constant battering from others,
by having palpitations and too many lovers?
just a red pump indeed, without blood delivery
to the brain, none of the organs would survive.
He placed the heart to one side, the right -
it had spent it's life on the left, so bereft,
how could it be punctured with no mark,
and lived a life, a dead cert for being hurt.
Did you hear about the Greek necrophiliac?
George Fucacarcous, might have been infectious.
I’m sick of the noise
I’m sick of the noise
Despair has me ill
I’m sick of the noise
Life has me confused
I’m on edge, I’m in lose
I ill and detained
I’m ill and I’m drained
I’m sick of myself
I’ve recently given up
Music is medicine for the soul
The birds of the air
Angels from heaven
Share
Come play wit me
In harmony
The songs of the wind
Each and every heart beats
The flow is sweet
We can’t retreat
Language and feelings of negativity
The storms of the life challenges complexity
Come pray wit me
In harmony
The sonnet of the tornadic scene
Battering eyes hurting vessels
Un learnt lessons
The birds of the air
Angels from heaven
Share
Come play wit me
In harmony
The songs of the wind
Each and every heart beats
The flow is sweet
Come unto me
And receive the beauty of ….
Music is medicine for the soul
Now I’m sweet fully complete
Delivered and whole
Music is medicine for my soul
3/17/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Adventurous mariners have sailed the seas for centuries past.
Their fortunes, their very lives upon God's mercies were cast.
Alone and miniscule upon the vast expanses of the sea,
God's protection from the raging waves was their fervent plea.
The shrieking winds roil the seas into billowing waves,
That have, alas, doomed many souls to watery graves.
There to await Gabriel's beckoning, triumphal call,
And shed the tattered remnants of their sepulchral pall.
When stormy seas make reaching port seem so slim,
Even the most courageous crew will put their trust in Him.
With His steadfast hands upon the wheel, overseeing navigation,
From the perils of the sea, He will be their sole salvation.
Ah, to view a glorious sunset on an occasional sea serene.
Only the Master Artist can depict such a splendid scene!
But with the merest breeze the whitecaps begin to form.
Could this be the precursor of another dreadful storm?
'Tis truly awe-inspiring hearing the rolling breakers roar,
As they rush from afar, battering the tranquil shore.
Tho' foolish man endeavors to control things by decree,
Only He Who rules over all, can calm the restless sea!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)