Long Benumbed Poems
Long Benumbed Poems. Below are the most popular long Benumbed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Benumbed poems by poem length and keyword.
Hope and
Hold the dream
Or you will die fast
Life is the name of-
struggling frantic procession, chaotic crowd,
lunatic tsunami of the ocean, scream on the
broken coast, scorching sunlight, ghostly
thunderstorm, corpse lines for covid-19,
war face of country to country, scenery of poverty,
where you can lose yourself unanimously
So, hold the dream fast or you will die easily
Life is the name of-
winter shawl of father, prayer-mat of mother,
morning tea time of spouse, child’s undue demands,
beautiful dawn of dewdrops, songs of flying birds,
autumnal sun, Buddhist full-moon, love at first sight,
elopement flight, honeymoon night, smiles in bridal bower,
where you can lose yourself without a true life’s fair
So, hold the dream fast or your will die with vanity care
Life is the name of-
a poetry, mixed up poetry morning, sipping tea through
the gap of poet’s eyeglass, benumbed body of the newspaper
on the corridor’s table, banded together bathing of ducks,
velvet touching of blooming flower, reddish sky canvas of twilight,
lights of the evening lamp, prayer of crickets in deserted room,
where you can lose yourself in self-indulgence dome
So, hold the dream fast or your will die without wisdom
They say, "poet lives in future, the reader in present and critic in past"
I say, "live in truth with hope, hold the dream and care the dream fast"
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
09/11/2022
The hours have been driving me,
I almost miss the exit ramp,
I wake, I sleep.
This kind of waking and sleeping
is controlled by a ghost in my head.
Now I am eyes on the corners
where the flickering sky
swings between trees,
my feet juggling over
the low flying road,
hands winding and unwinding
on a tugging wheel.
This country road I know well, but the
fading day wants to paint me out
of a map it has redrawn.
The hours have gone,
they are melting back to Florida
to sleep with the manatee.
I am left here
grinding through the gears
swinging in a hammock of
slow and fast moments.
The driveway dives out
of a side-show hedgerow.
Car-parts shake themselves into silence.
Benumbed bones lag behind my heart.
I step out of the car
crunching on my own limbs.
The engine ticks in a white-hot daze.
Windows watch me curiously
as my stranger self
enters a place it calls home.
Benumbed Jane!
"he'd never give a plain Jane like you a second's thought"
(but hellishly reign his godly wife)
O Jane!
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
Crucify your benumbed senses
Resurrect your eloquent vehement
Why she choose to be the godly wife?
Why he choose to be the beastful husband?
Let's not brawl and yawp
Let's not cuddlerape and strangled with a scarf
In unwieldy guilts and sins of the battlefields of the Great Marriage
Give up now
Or
Surrender to salvation
You are not owing to “Beauty and the Beast” - A French Fairy Tale
Time has no time
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
O Jane!
Smashed great structures blazing ,smoking,
And trembling, hot blocks lie about all around;
Hues, cries and groans fill in with the air rising
To merciless heights far above ; yet the sound
Reaches not the intended distant deaf border
Every new morn is just the same- -uncertain, vile,
Chaotic and full of bloody tears driving toward
Strange crash ,while the most dead spirit is guile;
The body continues to feel, the benumbed, hard
Senses refusing to settle down or yield to order
The victuals, bread and the twisted needs rife,
Lying on the ground, just beside the broken doll,
Speak of the tragic story of an ironic end of life!
Why smite ,kill and for what gain is such brawl?
The boundless bounty of Nature is put to plunder
Death and destruction as in a rare painted horror
Or a nightmare on a tensely disturbed,tired night;
Endless anxiety and abysmal ,deep agony, sorer
Than any malady eclipsing survival with might!
Ages pass yet Man still cherishes life asunder !
From the Decalogue to the loud statuting frame
Ethical and humane rights in words sound high
And aye claim the voice of love in every endgame;
Win or lose, one must not leave the other to cry
Sans sympathy,the aim of life is after all a blunder.
Continued from Part 1
The trees, they hang in time and space around me –
trees, which in time before had swayed,
so gently tugged by ocean breezes,
trees, which in time before were lightly lit
with emerald tinted leaves,
trees, which in time before had reached to space above
with twisted tangled fingers,
grasping fingers,
fingers drenched with golden tears
shed by the Mighty Eye.
The trees, they hang in space and time,
benumbed and frozen motionless around me
chilled with rooted premonitions of the void,
their branches clutching darkness
and their leaves foreboding doom.
The muted winds begin to whisper tales
of many frightened things,
which, with mournful apprehension
have hunkered down behind the haze
and ceased their joyful play.
And all the while dank shadows gaily dance
a dismal dance,
for their time is soon to come.
The fitful shore lies suddenly still.
Unfeeling stones and hollow shells,
are paused a little,
stalled,
and dropped haphazardly,
midst their mindless random journey,
now abandoned by the sea,
for fickle waves have slipped away
to greet a falling prey.
And as the Mighty Eye droops lower,
laminated molten lips
are pursed and pucker higher,
sucking in the sky.
Within a trice the Mighty Eye
submits and squints, distended red,
perhaps tormented by fantastic thoughts
of imminent demise,
or else of being lashed beneath a lid
of distant faithless waves.
And as her dying flash dissolves,
two lurid lips arise,
three lusty lips -
a thousand parted limpid lips
which asudden,
though with little haste,
consume the Mighty Eye.
EPILOGUE
The trees are now but lurking shades
amongst the murky shadows.
Relentless fog slips slowly by -
her floating tongues drip silence
as they slink like snakes in stealth nearby.
The lacerated faithless lips have once again returned
to kiss the vacant vapid shores
in a brief eclipse of time.
END
Form:
When yesterday left, today I'm a little right.
This is a tad bereft, yet full with almight.
Misconceptions or misinterpretations, either way it's confusion.
Dreaming of incarnations, incantations snarled in the illusion.
Mass produced catholics, should be forgotten inside their cathedral.
Discovered some of the relics, Ancient talisman are unbelievable.
Go forth into the tomb,
Open the sarcophagus, let the rancid stench consume.
Gathering up all that is charmed,
Born inside the depleted afterbirth.
This does not meant to be alarmed,
However it's been full of its worth.
Die another time, live in today.
Write another rhyme, lines lined word play.
Shaman type, opening the 3rd eye.
Extracted and ripe, breathe in to see thru the lie.
Contradiction is a great way to open minds,
Salvation is not a problem unless you are left in it`s binds.
Bells chime and chime, before you can get away with it.
In time covered in lime, and I'm chalk full of grit.
Ready to go to the next, yes I've been there before.
Sometimes just a little vexed, benumbed to the core of my lore.
And as always plum rotten to the core.
“Let me rant and let me ramble, you’re looking at a lunatic in shambles.”
~' Let me be' by The Mighty Mighty BossTones
Do you ever feel hot, palms sweating?
your hands and feet burning
your heart benumbed
and yet, you feel a chill
running through your body.
When you look back and
see mostly an uneventful life
and see only a foreboding haze ahead?
When all the religions and the scriptures
all the philosophical treaties
and all the political maneuvering,
The social and moral proprieties
that you adhered to all your life
now seems to appear nothing but a farce.
All the passions and the obsessions
the ideals and the ambitions of your life
they all come roaring back
like the waves of the sea at high tide
and then quietly recede
leaving behind
a troubled and cynical soul in shambles.
~04/09/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge 'S' words
~Sponsor: Constance La France
*Image of Pendulum by Pixabay.
Of Fatalism
'Tis past the eleventh hour,
As time ...,
Here in the bunker,
I walked away from the Atomic Clock whose pendulum terminated its sway,
Walked I, away from expressionless gazes of our hereafter,
Longings tethered to massive cement deterrents laden with steel rods that point every which way,
It encompasses us, hanging as fitting sheaths insulating our newly acquisitions -- swords of Damocles,
Each of us has someone whom we treasured still up there,
That would justify the emptiness I see,
They're benumbed by internal seething pain,
Tormented by their incapacities to help,
Haunted by incessant wailings,
And then, of course, the little ones,
Oh, my sweet Jesus!
What have I done, what have I done,
There were protection elements everywhere,
They were set up at every point,
Outside, beyond the perimeter,
Ubiquitously, near primary targets,
However, also, everywhere,
... was uncompromising resistance,
After the inevitable played out,
They, too, joined the vacant masses,
I guess that is how good old warriors just fade away,
A newly carped floor in the War Room where lies my rejected arguments,
it is under the dismissive course of action,
and that's shoved neath disappointing occurrences involving hypothetical possibilities,
How do I overcome these unforgivable mistakes and missed opportunities?
[He sees two-armed guards at their post]
He mumbles, "Coward!
Well, Mr. Speech Writer, since your first debate"
There is the disoriented,
the miss-connect,
the heartbroken
the lonely
and me,
I'm the one left holding a piece of thread,
Gentlemen,
Let them in,
for it is time for us to begin,
... Year One.
2022 August 08
On a bleak-cold icy day,
When everything was white and grey,
When frost benumbed my hands,
I stumbled on a frozen lake,
That was tumulted with life and sand.
I put a step forward,
And then I sunk down,
To drink the exilir of happiness,
Abandoning my barbed crown.
Time tangled in ice lattice,
And I walked through the aisle of memories,
Of warmth and cold ,
Of basking in the sun,
In the freezing winters,
Of late december.
Of cold winds,
And Christmas lights,
Of carolings and bribes.
But now I am trammeled,
In a suburban house,
No one knocking at the door,
No one strutting around.
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I came seeking a child that was born a king.
I have strayed, beguiled from my undertaking.
It was a binary star that I chose to follow,
one path leading straight to Him,
but I sought the brighter glow
and became a wondering pilgrim.
My star led me here through circuitous routes,
through pleasurable meanderings
and gratuitous pursuits,
crossing mellowed valleys and honeyed springs.
I have smelled the flower of travellers-joy
and tasted the heady fruits of the vine.
I have eaten and drank till I felt cloy;
sought fun-loving company, avoiding the saturnine.
Questing warmth in the arms of more than one woman,
hypnotized by the charms of their fair sex;
tasting only their sweetness, like a persimmon,
sensing not the puckering in their vortex.
My eyes have feasted on many a sunrise,
and, again, they drank in the satiny sunset.
I have allowed my mind to fantasize,
benumbed by the beauty of that distant vignette.
Life has been a sweet potion to swallow,
but time is running out, I must reach my goal,
pursue the star fast losing its halo
and find the King, I must save my soul.
I’m here now, where is this child?
all I found was a Man Crucified.