Long Blood and guts Poems
Long Blood and guts Poems. Below are the most popular long Blood and guts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blood and guts poems by poem length and keyword.
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
A poem by John Nesbitt © 22.11.2013
I was eighteen years old and wanting to fight
I found what I looked for, in bars late at night
I took on the big guys, the small ones as well
They were all tough, as far as I could tell
-
As a jobless young man, proud of my country
I joined up with the army and trained how not to be
They told me I’d fight to keep us all free
So that we’d never have to bend the knee
They trained me in weapons, unarmed combat too
The use of explosives and what they could do
And how to take cover behind rocks and trees
They taught me to find bombs and those I E D’s
-
So step up to the plate boys, start waving the flag
We’ll be all draped with medals when it’s all in the bag
Think of the glory, this conflict will bring
A few months away, then we can all sing
-
On my very first mission, I was told to unwind
I took lead position, when searching for mines
The blast threw me up twenty feet in the air
I couldn’t feel my feet for they were no longer there
My right arm was shattered my left fingers gone
I once had two ears but now only one
I thought I was dying, I couldn’t hear a thing
I wasn’t thinking of the medals or being dressed up with bling
-
Now all I can do is sit here on the floor
and wonder what it all had been for
my comrades call around from time to time
I can see their discomfort when they’re thinking of mine
They wouldn’t trade places, no matter what for
They each have their memories, of that terrible war
My fighting days over, no more blood and guts
So I’ll settle right down in my terrible rut
-
I stepped up to the plate boys and I waved the flag
But I’m not draped in medals and it’s not in the bag
I thought of the glory the conflict would bring
No legs, no fingers and in no mood to sing
-
Things soon will be over in Afghanistan
Talks are on-going with the Taliban
We struggled against them for thirteen hard years
But all we produced was billions of tears
Fathers lost sons and Mothers lost child
business got rich, there were deals on the side
Where’s the next country they’ll start a new war
Persia?
Korea?
Let’s hope….. it’s…. not ….yours
The duality of a man?
the inner beast of the outer man,
aeons ago were quite unplanned,
the spirit surfer entered a beast,
took control and enjoyed the feast,
when it killed some beast of prey,
many friends of the surfer type,
enraptured with their planet flights ,
by thought they travelled through,
in an instant they were due,
on Mars they'd spend a night,
doing things that spirits do,
taking over bodies, right,
spring into a body a Mastadon ,
to hump a female or fight was wrong?
To alter the path of the beast they drew,
Alligator or Kangaroo,
possession, was too strong?
On Earth they entered many beasts,
some with feathers, with tails, 4 feet,
stayed till it died at least,
and changed it's evelution,
though alters matter see it change,
the picture in you brain arrange,
the power of thought,
escapes the few,
old ways were, of this they knew,
creation this was brought,
a doubt will get you ought,
the narrow minded too,:}
the animal host has the instinct to kill,
anger bypasses, the spirit chilled,
blood and guts sumarrily spilled,
beast reflex is in action,
no spirit satisfaction,
this horror it aint willed,
the duality of a man?
Don Johnson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=77BDitquiZU
Read Edgar Cayce on the origins of man…
Possibly it explains why man is a predator, a murderer.
Given his animal body inhabitedv by a dubious controller spirit form,
Which is stronger during anger or passion, spirit or beast???
Re: The Spirit Animal combination.
The predator animal some humans descend from in the body type will kill in passion or anger or for fun?
The spirit in the body tries to stop this happening as it the spirit knows it will have to return to a lower worse level in little Hell Earth, to suffer for the spirit weakness in controlling the animal lust in the adopted beast, man. So the strong moral spirit subjugates the
normal tempered beast with some difficulty, but the caged beast waits to pounce on its prey.
Hence a possible murderer waits his chance to overpower the weakling spirit, to do his instinct thing of the animal world quite naturally?
Don Johnson
Darkness Where Now Poe And Raven Reside,
(Part Two)
Song over, Poe told demon band to leave
And then pointed to the now empty stage
Wretched souls, look as thy lost spirit grieves
I present this new contest- all the rage
Blood and gore will flame your dark desires
Giving some respite from thy crying pleas
In dire conflict, comes death and fire
No weak romance, on love, birds and the bees
Suddenly cast there a hero alive!
In scant armor and flesh soaked in red blood
How this mere mortal had fought to survive
His legs covered in fresh, battlefield mud
Slow to rise, but so defiantly proud
His eyes gleaming with courage Heaven sent
Then yet another crash so very loud
From lightning, its power blasted and spent.
From that flash came a monstrous beast so great
With power from fangs and dagger-like claws
Dragon of massive scale, thick armor plate
Able to spew fire from massive jaws
At first glance it sighted the hero there
Bellowing out with its accursed breath
From thy flesh my claws will now rip and tear
Until that mortal body meets thy death.
Alas! Thy foul breath has no greater foe
Its effects are horrendous unto me...
Yet there is more than even you beast know-
Stronger are roots from my ancestral tree
Send forth thy evil, hottest flaming blast
As my great shield in its glory holds true
Thy fate, thy end has now came at long last
This brighter new dawn, shall be your end too!
Master Poe laughed with his booming voice
Stepping back, giving their battle more room
Announcing this is my gift, my first choice
Entertaining you, pleasure seeing sweet doom
This hero, with mercy I gave his shield
And his scant armor to give him a chance
Battling to the death, neither can yield
Here comes blood and guts, no feeble romance!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-30-2019
Dark Rhymes, ( As Raven And Poe Both Survive Below )
Part Two... Part Three to be written soon.
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Total # Words:306
‘Hey stomach,’ says anus,
‘Would you cut the crap.’
“It’s not me,’ stomach says;
‘I won’t take the wrap.
It’s what they’re eating,
So blame teeth and mouth.
I’m innocent,’ says stomach,
‘For that filth down south.’
Brain has a good laugh
At organ expenses,
By prodding infighting
Over false offenses.
‘Are you kidding me,
You two dumb kidneys.
Always a teamed pair
For a fight that’s not fair!’
Roared livid liver
Who was hardly pleased,
That they blamed him
For the smelly feces.
‘Oh stop it now, liver
Just sit there and filter.
We said no such thing;
Don’t get out of kilter.’
‘Tee-he-he,’ laughs brain.
My plan’s working well,
To keep each organ
At odds over a smell,
That they have no power
To change or repair,
And since they can’t think
They’ll stay unaware.’
Hands and mouth kept
Eating junk by the hour.
Having been brainwashed,
They blindly devour.
Long ago brain trained eyes
To focus on the news,
Now it was time for all
Parts, to pay ‘their’ dues.
Bones pipe up, and say,
‘Something doesn’t feel right,
Hey muscles loosen up;
Why do you squeeze so tight?’
Muscles answer and say,
‘Colon and intestines
Are the guilty squeezers,
Causing congestion.
I’m just doing my part
At the request of the brain.’
‘But muscles,’ says bones,
‘It’s causing me pain.’
And after a while
Brain has all body parts,
At odds with themselves;
Over endless bad farts.
Organs, blood, and guts
Could not get along;
They once did their jobs
Keeping the body strong.
But brain has the answer,
‘Let’s vote on what to do.
Either I run the show,
Or you deal with bad poo!’
Yes, brain got them quibbling
And each held a grudge.
All based on false info
That made brain, ‘King Judge’.
So each part gave in
To that sneaky design,
And waited for orders
From brain to assign.
But brain was a liar
And steered organs wrong.
The body collapsed;
It didn’t take long.
Just like brain, most statesmen,
Fool us like we’re tarts.
Let’s not die for their lies,
But stay whole, not apart.
‘Get the motor running head out on the highway looking for adventure’
Well it is only the council road with potholes but Oliver races his pushbike
Walkman headphones sound ‘Born to be wild’ or Attention Deficit Disorder
But there is no doubt in the bikers’ mind that winter is recycling fast time
Orange banana saddle ape hanger handle bars and Che Guevara bandana
Another day for many revolutions as the wheels keep turning in tandem
He abhors bicycle clips as Oliver needs torn jeans to be one of the gang
No leather jacket so the hand me down brown corduroy one takes its place
Pedals turning downhill at full speed hard breaks and sharp swerve to the left
Another 360 degree circle wonderful skid marks adorn his pride and the road
It was easy today because morning dew and pink purple petals greased the path
For once the corroded chain has not come off after that creaking gear change
Countenance smirks on his face because has done it again and he feels so much
More achievement than if he was doing his homework left pathetically languorous
At home where his goody two shoes brother calculates tangents and radius
Oliver is an action boy full of mettle and metal and his scent is lubricant oil
‘Take the world in a love embrace and explode into space’ and dear emotions
Run high almost octane fuelled while his well-behaved sisters play octaves
From Amadeus on Bechstein or Steinway pined to bored ebony and ivory keys
Oliver hammers down wildly as the way forward beckons driven by freedom
He is oblivious to fragrances blossoms and bloom and the sweet scent of nature
Could not care less about chirping birds and the warm temperature resides only
In his teenage blood and guts as he rides through a pile of litter in which rusty
Debris mingles with pneumatic tyres and a very loose spring punctures the air
16th March 2019
Spring Is In the Air contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
When Long Shadows Leave Place Of Their Hidden Abode
When long shadows leave place of their hidden abode
of courageous hearts and great brave tales are told
for within man's savagery lurks souls worth saving
despite enormity of man's misbehaving!
Where heart dearest of desires and world's darkness meets
Are oft found fields of deep love or ashen defeats!
When shadows are victorious and gaily leave
epic the sorrows of those left to sadly grieve
as neither lights from bright sun nor glittering stars
can absolve evilest deeds or such bitter scars
For deep within broken hearts, life shattering dreams
Oft remains dark hate that fails to ones soul redeem!
Where shadows in dancing groups and glory retreat
rests dark scavengers to bow at victories feet
as clamorous dens echoes their ravenous feasts
innocent children go to sleep fearing such beasts
Can it be that all mankind has such beasts within
Born inward hidden as punishment for its sins!
Robert J. Lindley, 8-03-2018
Rhyme
Note- Woke today my muse raced into the house. With vicious voice, asked me this- are you a man or a mouse?
I coolly replied, How dare you ask such foolish nonsense of me
I the old poet ancient but still dreaming and master of my own house..
Then she smiled and commanded, write today and make deep and dark
add in horror and maybe buckets of blood and guts
again show me the soul, that first sent poetry's true spark
for too oft lately I've thought you off and a bit nuts
I coolly replied, have a seat, watch this old poets pen ink now fly
measure the results against the contempt you too oft keep
notice my calm and the fact I did not ask you- the why
as I birth these dark verses and do not dare bore you to sleep!
Warm Heart Warm Hands
Evening fell with blizzard snow along the lake
It had turned to a thick smooth sheet of ice
Shades of gray black set in with the twilight
Ghost images of swirling snow
Changing forms and shapes over the frozen surface
Vanished and came to life again as I approached
I have been lost for hours walking aimlessly in the shadows
Of tall pines and blinding drifts
To emerge from there to here, no hope in sight
Then, through the obstructing snow, danger approached
A large gray wolf moved with conviction in my direction
In erratic movements left and right it stalked
Trying to hide between each snowflake to attack
Sizing me up as a meal or snack
The beast launched itself at me
Hysterical red eyes, dagger large fierce teeth
Demon growls exploded from deep within the beast
Sounding from a long history of savage lineage
To intimidate and frighten me
As it lunged full force to seize my neck
The long gun was at the ready
Fingers nearly frozen to the trigger
I fired the death shot to the brain
The sound roared through the valley
Quickly, I drew my hunting knife
Slit its belly clean open
Plunged both my frozen hands into the beast
To feel the hot wet flesh and organs of the creature
Blood and heart stopped pulsing but served their purpose
I could feel tingling in my fingers, so
Frost bite had been averted
I stayed the night side by side with the animal
Warm heart warm hands till morn
Sun burnt open on a new day
And with it this spectacle
Blood and guts
Some surreal survival
As I wrapped my bloodied hands in the green scarf
Marched in the direction of a glow
Coming over a snow covered landscape
Altered by the drifts
Still lost with a long way to go
Competition is good; but not really,
because sometimes it can get downright
silly--like people betting on two homeless
people fighting over food, betting
on one, while the other gets booed.
Like two countries fighting for peace,
they fight over and it's never complete.
They take rest for a time, and then it starts again;
to such a war, there is no end.
Competition in sports, well that's
okay. Balls, equipment, a book of rules--
let's play. But competition beyond
the sports arena is wrong. Making war
like a sport means people being dead, homes
destroyed, and children being gone.
It creates starvation poverty and broken hearts;
there's no win, from the very start. Blood and guts,
people in pain, and lives that will never be
the same. Why should medals be given? This
war has no end to it. Then, if that's the case, it's
better to quit.
Why can't we all just get along, share food
and love and keep growing on? Why do we build
walls to protect us from each other? Is it
not true that the blood makes us all sisters
and brothers?
Competition is good when playing games. But
competition and war are not the same. The day will
come when it will be sports or war. I just don't
understand what we are waiting for? One is fun;
the other is death. One creates happiness; the
other leaves nobody left.
They like their news delivered intravenously
Nonstop drip of
horrific images pumped straight to the cortex
Ophthalmologically dosed every hour
Raw footage unedited,
fatal tragic scenes
unfiltered
on the television screen
Traumatized survivors giving ghastly, weeping accounts
Macabre absorption byway of visual osmosis
sends them into an euphoric stupor
Bad news junkie getting their daily fix,
strung out wi-fi broadcast junkie
needing another viral hit
Crashes of any kind —
automobile, train or plane
Flesh and metal wreckage
emitting twisted howls of pain and suffering
Shootings flares of societal fireworks:
gang bang related ... code blue police incidents;
chance encounters ill-fated ... sleeper cells blazing discontent
Breaking news carnage is a bonus viewing perk
Bad news is like an addiction,
some gotta have their daily fix
Bad news junkies
need another calm-the-nerves hit
So plunge the telecast syringe
into the veins of the eyeball
Orange Clockwork over time will desensitize
Blood and guts , bullets and tears
splattered and spilled on the sidewalk
Death and violence is so very news normalized
Bad news junkie
love getting their morning mayhem wake up stim
And when getting cranked seeing the evening disasters,
they nod to their self: it’s better you than them