Long Blade Poems
Long Blade Poems. Below are the most popular long Blade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blade poems by poem length and keyword.
I behold the rose in bloom, and I cry,
I weep and I wail, then I sigh.
As the night draws in, my painful thoughts begin to wake,
I retreat into my mind and with fear I do shake.
Your clammy hand on my neck, your touch just like lead,
I close my eyes so you will go, you bury further in my bed.
I know I’m worthless, but please do not hurt,
And I try not to scream as you begin to insert.
The deed almost done, your sneer of disgust,
Your toes curl as we prepare for the final thrust.
You roar with delight, I exhale with relief,
My virginity now taken by a wretched old thief.
The memory still haunts, and the damage goes on,
I unravel the silk cloth that my knife lays upon.
Slowly but surely destruction is on its way,
I fear for my soul, but my body must pay.
Anticipation takes hold, and the blade does its work,
I press firmly down, blood appears with a jerk.
Is this the pleasure I've longed to have?
And a voice deep within screams "YES! ONE MORE JAB".
I am so frail, my young flesh so weak,
I can not go on, for my virginity he did seek.
The cold steel blade tattoos my white maiden flesh,
And the untouched skin becomes like wheat for the thresh.
I must abate, I must restrain,
This is the only way I mask the pain.
My eyes glaze over, my body feels weightless,
Each stroke is a prayer, and every cut a caress.
The guests have arrived, my relief has been fleeting,
He stands there staring, my heart is beating.
He looks at me inquisitively, mouth gaping,
And my mother knows not that her brother likes raping.
His gaze upon me, I'm his gift to unwrap,
He would rip me open and toss me like scrap.
I wish he would vanish and leave me in peace,
But his lust won’t be sated, and on me he would feast.
My legs are so withered, and my wheelchair’s a cage,
I wish that man in the Skoda didn’t have road rage.
I guess I should be grateful I can’t feel a thing,
But my mind is alive and every inch of him stings.
He gives me a present and pretends to be nice,
But don’t be fooled, it comes at a price.
He wheels me outside for a fresh of breath air,
When no one is watching he sniffs at my hair.
I wish I could lash out with my thin spastic legs,
But they are as useful as ice-cube clothes pegs.
I hope my diary doesn’t land in the wrong hands,
And if you’re reading this now then I’ve suck-cummed to his plans.
- Anonce
Thanks to you all
Thanks to those who come to
poetrysoup.com, practise poems,
write, read and share poems
and comment on others
Thanks to those who read my
writings, do comments, follow
me, avoid my poems, block
and ban me from their list
Thanks to you all
I’ve no eternity here, all of me
from least to chest, best to edge,
sharpen blade of new paddy leaves
jeopardize my torn nib of ink
in the field of writings graph
Maybe I couldn’t write any word
for beauty and stunning young girl
in comprehension, in passion and
in my fashionable heart
Maybe I couldn’t write charming note
of flower’s petals, striking fragrance,
in my perpetuity lake of quills
Maybe I couldn’t draw the sexy body of
rose, lotus, tulip, sunflower, orchid,
lily, daffodil… etc in my vulnerable
reef of poetic expression
Maybe I couldn’t draw the colors magic
of rainbow in my infatuated fallen
soaked feathers with November rain
Maybe I couldn’t inscribe the nature
the cosmos, the solar system, the ocean,
the black hole, the space, the sky, the stars,
the planets, the galaxies, the meteors, the
gravitational power…etc in my slumbering
wings of writings
Maybe I couldn’t plant the meditational
tree into the pure heart of words, I couldn’t
select the seeds of immortality in my
ascetic madness and magma script
Maybe I couldn’t greet the autonomy flying
of Cockatiels, Parakeets, Canaries, Finches,
African Grey Parrots, Budgerigars, Cockatoos,
Conures, Macaws, Poicephalus…etc in my
unintelligible incarcerated language
Maybe I couldn’t hail the abode for Labrador,
Bulldog, German, Poodle, Beagle… etc and
Maine Coon, Egyptian Mau, American Bobtail,
Ragdoll…etc in my materialistic
harvesting terminology
Maybe I couldn’t sleep with power of poems,
dream to be a finest classic or modern poet
in my kingdom of pen, paper, ink, writing
table-chair and lamp
Notwithstanding all these, I thanks to those
who come here at least one time daily,
erratically and read, write, share own
thoughts and comment frankly
Thanks to you all a lot. Thanks and love you
all. From me always ready the rose without
thorns and love for you all, although you bleed
my heart by thorns stinging
-November 14, 2018 Chattogram
////
DEDICATED TO POETRYSOUP.COM and ALL POETS-POETESSES OF THIS ESTEEMED LITERARY SITE
I’m tired.
When I say that,
people ask me,
“How much sleep did you get?”
They tell me,
“Go to bed earlier then!”
I joke and say that I try,
or I lie and say about 6 hours.
But in reality,
I barely get 3,
if I’m lucky.
I’m physically tired,
but when I say “I’m tired”,
I don’t mean it in that way.
I mean I’m exhausted.
I don’t want to get up in the morning.
I want to sleep, but I can’t.
I have no motivation.
I have to fake my smile.
I have to hide my tears,
from the voices in my head.
I have to force myself to work,
so I don’t fail.
When people ask how I am doing,
I tell them “I’m fine!”
and give them the brightest smile I can muster.
I joke about my sadness,
as a way to cope.
I have no motivation.
I have no real happiness.
I play a part,
like my life is a show.
I put on a performance,
for the people to enjoy.
I play the dumb friend,
so I can keep being the “funny” one.
I smile at everyone, and treat everyone nicely,
so I can stay the people pleaser I have always been.
It’s tiring.
It’s ing exhausting.
I have no one to talk to.
I feel nothing.
I feel empty.
There is nothing in my heart.
I care so deeply,
but it hurts when I’m just used.
People like me because I’m kind,
but they don’t know how I really feel.
When someone likes me,
and I don’t reciprocate those feelings,
I pretend, and date them, so I don’t break their heart.
I know they may find out,
but I don’t want people hurt because of my actions.
I’ve hurt people though,
and I hold on to the guilt like a lifeline.
I take it out on myself.
As I drag the blade, and watch the red flow,
it feels so good, and it makes me forget,
for even just a moment,
the mental torment.
I’m so drained,
that I feel as though I’m just…
Numb.
Numb to the happiness.
Numb to the sadness.
Numb to the anger.
“Numb” to the pain.
I want to feel better,
but I don’t know how.
I have lost the one person,
who gave me the motivation.
I have no one.
I’m alone.
I write these poems,
to hopefully feel something.
Though it never works,
it’s the only thing I can do.
Only way I can talk,
only way I can let out the pain.
I need help,
to stop feeling this drained.
But I can’t get help,
and I never ask,
because I will always just be a burden
with my problems, and my thoughts.
I’ll always feel tired,
and nothing will ever change that,
no matter how hard I try.
The Tiger General
Hobbes
The Tiger general strode onto the field of battle,
Tail flowing eloquently as he walked.
And then he turned to his men and began to speak,
They fell instantly silent as he talked.
The general led his men with a strong presence and iron resolve,
They fell into line at a quick command.
When they marched he always took the head,
And lead his men across the fields of sand.
His men followed him with love, respect and admiration.
His feats were the stuff that make up great tales.
Each fur who followed him took every order to a tee.
And when it comes to plans he never fails.
The tiger knew this battle was different then the last,
He felt the tides turn on the winds of change.
He knew that something horrible was about to happen.
He didn't know about the scope or range.
It was in the thick of the combat that he found it out,
and his face changed to one of hidden pain.
But he never showed his men a shred of doubt,
And each passing feeling he would detain.
He started loosing men at an alarming rate,
And he drew his blade and rallied the boys.
But the enemy had an advantage so large,
It made the master steel look like toys.
The guns were blaring left and right as the tiger stood his ground,
Never surrender he yelled to his men.
And nobody saw that he had shed a few tears
For brothers he would never see again.
The general never backed down and stood his ground,
He screamed that he would fight ''til his last breath.
And he fought with burning desire and passion,
He brought many a Soldier to their death.
And when it came time the tiger knew a showdown would occur,
As the two leader met amidst the fight.
The wolf opposite him unsheathed his own katana,
A true battle that would be quite a sight.
Each great leader was gifted with amazing skill,
They fought each other with tremendous guile.
And the further they got the more the tiger thought,
Soon enough the wolf will show his true style.
The battle went back and forth in a clash of sparks,
And then the wolf took out the tigers feet.
The cheater finally showed his true stripes and colours,
And brought the tiger general to defeat.
The tiger general's men rallied on to win the battle,
And even through death he drove them forward.
His men will always remember him as a friend and a brother,
And a man who truly lived by the sword.
10/10/2019
I tried to write today, but I couldn’t manage it.
You see, there’s a speck of dirt stuck to the paper.
I tried not to let it get to me, but to no avail,
And had already begun trying to get it off.
Scratching at it was no use, I couldn’t get under the thing.
And washing a paper would defeat the purpose.
It seemed impossible to pry off.
I can’t live with it in my sight, yet can’t throw it away.
I’ll have to take my mind off it somehow,
So I can rest easy tonight.
Just the thought of it will haunt me.
Tomorrow I can write again.
10/11/2019
I got another piece of paper today,
And had managed to get the speck out of my head,
Just long enough to get some thoughts out.
But something else is bothering me.
Now that I think about it, I can’t stop myself.
All the abnormalities of the patterns on the wall,
The crumbs on the desk,
Even the nearly invisible creases in this paper.
I need to get out a bit more,
There’s no way I can function like this.
I can talk more when I’ve dealt with this,
But for now this is all I can think about.
10/12/2019
I couldn’t go to sleep last night.
I had turned on the fan in my room,
But its spinning motion had fascinated me.
The quink motion blurs it together,
But if you focus on a single blade, following it,
It starts to become clear.
After a while I decided to get up.
There was nothing to do, but anything was better
Then staring at the cursed fan.
I found a rubber wall stick toy, molded into the shape of a dragon.
My brother probably got it from a teacher.
After spending the rest of the night trying to keep the wings apart,
I passed out.
10/13/2019
I can’t stay in this house,
The abundance of dust has only become more clear.
My brain won’t rest and I’m seeing things I haven’t before.
The edges of my nails that are begging to be cut,
The imperfections in the palms of my hands,
The papers not all in a straight pile,
The lines of my handwriting inhabiting them,
The dust scattered over the tables,
And the finger marks breaking the unity.
My head is spinning
And I can’t make it stop.
Round and round the ceiling goes.
10/14/2019
Ah, the beauty of sleep medicine.
I finally had a good night’s rest,
And I think I have an idea on what to write about.
Until next time, Journal.
And please, deal with the erase marks,
I need a break.
-Connor Lotts
What happened?
I bolt awake, the heat of the fire
Still burning in my brain.
Oh, it was just a dream.
Or was it? I look at my skin,
Realize it’s black and bloody all at once
Cracked, peeling.
I sniff,
The whisper of smoke still in my nose,
My hair.
A tear rolls down my pitted cheek
As I remember, like I always do,
After I wake up.
Reliving that night.
The last thing I remember,
I was
Home, entwined in your arms
(your fingers were entwined, too, in the hair I’m stroking now).
The heat between our bodies
So strong, that I pushed you away;
I regret it now.
(I just wanted a little space.)
Because the heat then became suffocating, consuming,
As you rolled over and said
this wasn’t the same anymore.
I couldn’t breathe.
Soon, I was sweating,
100 degrees and climbing,
as you got up and packed your things
then left the room.
The slam of the front door
Was the catalyst.
My heart was the match,
And I the fuel....
I exploded from the inside out-
The flame ripped me open,
My skin started to blacken and smoulder.
Stop drop and roll?
They never taught us what to do
In a human inferno.
In desperation, I laid there on the bed
You and I shared
My tears nothing
but puffs of smoke
as they fell uselessly upon my skin.
The tears I’m crying now
In the hospital bed
Remembering
Are no more productive...
But my dear friend sitting next to me
Who pulled me out of the flames
Is there to dry them
And to console me
Telling me I still look beautiful
the wounds will heal
And that you aren’t worth them anyway.
I now know what I have to do
once I can leave this place.
Months later,
My burns have closed, now only scars remain.
I walk up the street to the house you and I once shared,
Now only a pile of rubble.
Picking my way through the charred remains of our bedroom,
A curtain scrap there, a chunk of headboard there,
A stray blackened sock,
I stop, and kneel down in the ashes.
I begin to sift through the ashes, the memories, with my finger,
Both erasing the past,
And bringing it to life all at once,
Until I have found it.
A blade of grass.
One.
Standing tall, strong,
And unapologetically green.
In the middle of the ashes,
With the ruins of our life together all around me,
I delicately clean the area around the blade of grass
with my finger, and
I smile.
The interrogation threatens to shudder like an earthquake
A long index of accusations spread out among the atmosphere like a blazing forest fire
Satisfaction, the officer and venomous umbrage, the criminal
Self-appreciation, the quiescent defense attorney with no right to be there
Misery, the boisterous dauntless prosecutor
The months of the annual calendar, the jury
Pain, the almighty judge
It’s a court case already divested from the defendant
Why should it not
Bother, why bother
Its past the millionth time in 216 divided by the jury
Satisfaction has seen countless rewards of capturing umbrage
Satisfaction has felt the boundless benevolence of glory
And foaming at the mouth, glowering with muffled respected fury
Sits umbrage, staring out blurred vision
Victimized in his own apperception
What’s the cost, the damage total; what has befell, befell reality
The anathema of fate or rather the favored affliction of fortune’s fool
Within a realm of possibility it may perceive to be both
A pebble laced with a thread thrown into grass only miles away
To be reeled right back in like a helpless fish on a line
The audacity, the audacity; oh just hush
Silence is golden and this silence is benevolent
Joy was once prevalent in the company of such disgrace umbrage reigned
Together they were serenity, a mixed graceful period of harmony
Such a song sung by dual owls in the presence of the lightened darkness of night
(sigh) …I can’t do this anymore
Make a world, create a story peacefully
Creating a plot circulating, tip-toeing around the issues placing bait in front of my eyes for me to take
What is wrong with me, my life
One word, a sharp enough blade to stab in the ankle to slaughter Achilles
In this case, me
The poet’s banishment, scourge creating a series of nine lashes
Still runs deep, refuses cessation
Proceeds to feed on every ounce of merriment to permeate through the cracks
Melancholy has produced to invade back in
What’s the cause this time for it to attack
A few simple words, reflection, swift defiance
the bruises upon the right appendage whispering, begging for more scars
FOR WHAT? ! ? ! ? ! ? !
Forget it….it’s nothing
Satisfaction has pardoned me, set me free
Umbrage, my twin has taken over me
To another bridge, we sit and sulk over a failed attempt at flight
Cause we willingly defy the right to say goodnight
6.
Arlaghs, once more ready to advance,
this could be their final chance,
to turn, for them, the battle fought,
to destroy the mortal, they had sought.
yet now, know this would not be.
mortals would this day be free,
from the darkness across the plain,
blood was shed away, by tears of pain.
The Dark Man helped upon his feet,
this battle scene is now complete,
Turvehr, he is now by his side,
now, there is no place to hide,
Dark Man helped on back of friend,
now he'll fight until the end,
Arlagh's see the Dark Man near,
once again, their Dark hearts no fear,
One final push, once more into the fray,
tears are falling, human's calling,
as the fight runs too its end,
at Alahsar, that fateful day.
The Tigress, tears fall from her eyes,
she softly says her last goodbyes,
for she knows, at the end of this day,
the Dark Man shall have passed away.
Every eye shall have a tear,
the Arlagh's shaking now with fear,
"Walk In The Light,"
final cry, the Dark Man's call,
repeated now by one and all.
Forward for the final time,
Blood does flow, life's sweetest wine,
Utamol, now in final storm,
slashing, hacking, stabbing home.
Arlagh, now hanging his head,
His fate is written, on blade so red,
still, creatures of night battle on,
as they hear Death's mighty horn.
Life is gone, within battle's storm,
yet still, the Arlaghs battle on,
it is the only way they know,
death facing the foe, the way they must go.
The Tigress, fighting on with such skill,
her sword is thirsty for the kill,
her dance is the dance of Death,
those facing her, take their last breath.
Anger burns deep in her soul,
destroying the dark, her only goal,
She does all a warrior can,
she stays near to her Dark man.
The mists of time can't take away,
the horror felt upon this day,
at this time there is no glorious sight,
Arlagh's dispatched to their land of night.
battle over now, all mortals cheer,
except for the one crying sorrow's tear,
no more shall they be together,
Dark Man's dead body sits on Turvehr.
Cheers of victory are slowly muted,
agony of the heart, is better suited,
mortals fall upon their knees,
the Joy within their hearts, does freeze.
Many times the saviour of this dreamland,
he has made his final stand,
the tears of all begin to fall,
the Carynx has blown, one last, mighty call.
To Be Continued..........
A Determined Devil -
As I lay another cedar beam plumb for our home
smoke plumes, serpentine and sulphuric, interrupts the sunshine,
I look below the ridge, Eve standing silent
with weapon in hand,
a woman so grand,
panic has no rest in her person, fear has no finger on her pulse,
I move like lightning, to war by my Lady's side,
Valley vandels have come, scortching field fruit,
searing insidious signs into our peach and apples trees,
incarnate, the Devil disheveled with a defunct posse of three
approaches me, hailing not from a city of Angels but from a ghetto of ghouls,
mean and ugly like ignorance injured by the ivory tusks of innocence,
a madman desperate for the destruction of Divinity,
unskillful and wishful for lies to come alive,
he's a scribbler scribe, a dribbler riddler
a stereotype simpleton, frontin' and gruntin'
fallin short of the great gangsta idol,
just a stereotypical imbecile, a pencil with no lead,
burpin chicken feathers claimin them to be the silk quill of Angels,
I turn to Eve now
with eyes saying now is the time for demise,
briefly, before I strike steel across the throat of Hell itself
our first promise to each other repeats in my memory,
"I forever fight for you"
as her brown eyes convince me of loyalty, love royal,
she rips her blade through his groin
as I open a river across the throat of this terrible thug...
Raising A Tribe -
Eve, this land is already populated by persons whom seem like us,
although different too, like seasons in soul,
divergent in their dreams for dynasty,
they have dialects from a depth of Dawn
that awoke long before we arrived to thrive here,
customs peculiar as shapes to stones,
Father never spoke of these klans
who strive to survive outside the mercy of His guarded Garden,
competitive as clouds in a shrunken sky,
I met a merchant, a servant to trade,
he told of banners and blood, laws and legacies
cultures savage and cities of crime,
gleamed from telling stories of wealth and wonder,
said they worship their Gods more ways than gold folds,
consider what we have encountered Luv,
will our children slay or be slain, war or work
love or get lost in conquest,
you, as a Woman of God's glorious gambit
have a harvest of futurity's face in the balance,
will you deliver the destiny of our union into this drama...
Justin A. Bordner...J.A.B. 2021
(note: The site restrictions don't allow long epic poems, so I have split this into 6 segments, each should run straight on from the previous one.)
THE EYE OF THE SEA
Or
The Rime of the Ancient Kubla Kahn on the Road to Mandalay
There washed ashore a devil’s whore
Who claimed he’d never been paid,
Near dead from Sin, or weatherin’
Yet feared to loose his blade.
We did our best to ease his rest,
But our experts all were vexed:
The Old Wives College exhausted their knowledge;
The doctors cursed their texts.
Wracked with pain his life had waned
His eyes were growing dim,
His final words were barely heard:
Everything looked grim.
With chicken pills we cured his chills,
For strength we gave him broth,
His brow was mopped, his temperature watched,
We swaddled him in sailcloth.
Then from afar with strengthened heart
As if ‘twere heaven’s game
His mien changed, he had regained
The pilot to his flame.
In heartened mood we gave him food,
And bade his tale be told;
And so he spoke for the price of a toke
And a butcher’s bag of gold.
“ ‘Twas in the port of Herringford,
Where all the cows lie down,
A skipper talked, he claimed he sought
A crew of great renown.
The wind was high in a sunless sky,
The waves were barreling in,
And word got round of men to be found
That night at The Mortal’s inn.
At eight o’clock the bolts were shot
And all were locked within,
With muttered words of rumours heard
And lubricant of Gin.
The Captain coughed and glanced around
For conversations shed,
With laser gaze and aged malaise,
In a darkened voice he said:
‘Into the storm at the crack of dawn
We sail on the morning tide,
Let no man here betray his fear,
His passion or his pride!’
The aim of the endeavour was legend’ry treasure,
The fabled crystal ship of the Prince,
Lost years before off the Straits of Nepal,
And famously quested for since.
Our boat, ‘The Eye,’ was a Barquentine,
Just a quarter league in length,
She sailed as sweet as a sackful of eight,
With grace and speed and strength.
Twelve good men without pretence
Agreed to the journey ahead,
But the cheery tales of places sailed
Belied their inner dread.
The crew we got were a hardy lot,
Experienced one and all,
But none were fools and caution ruled
When it came to signing aboard.
Continued on The Eye of the Sea part 2