Long Bloodies Poems
Long Bloodies Poems. Below are the most popular long Bloodies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bloodies poems by poem length and keyword.
bruises & cigarette burns
a world full of violence
seen with youthful eyes
near the beginning of a life
learning the ropes &
watching how the abuser
gets away with the abuse
learning how the abuser
bent on self-destruction &
the destruction of others
finds their way around a life of
subtle self-hatred, where finding any peace
means finding another to harm &
the cycle is passed on,
the addiction is multiplied---
cast out like a dirty rag
by those around them, by a society that calls itself
civilized, cast out by those that
raised them, they follow by
casting out their own,
after beating them within an inch of their life &
into the state system
like parent, like child
a new way of functioning is discovered
where getting the wrong card drawn
becomes the clear impetus for
survival of the fittest &
learning to hold your own is not only
required, it is something to take pleasure in,
because this way of stepping on others
to crush them like ants,
though it bloodies the knuckles,
it asserts power in the hands of the rejected
it asserts power in the hands of a real human being
who has already been deemed a bottom feeder,
whose chance to rise up is stifled or made frustrating
at every junction possible &
that first infringement upon the complacent calm of the
rest of us,
brings with it a penalty that is irrelevant,
as to be confined within walls will only breed more anger
it will only cause the need for an assertion of the power
over others through violence
to be that much more important
both inside & when we spit them out
again.
Steps on mud, a stalking thread,
Red strings wind through dying groves
Where life needs time, to find footing,
Red strings halt hands in greed which hold
The axe of ignorance, the axe which bleeds
A people in flight from homes bulldozed
For one brute mine more, to feed empire
Which jangles keys, which confines in loaned
Dependence made, our trough withheld
By bloated old speculators whose cold
Lies obscure serfdom; worded as freedom,
And the east wind is chided,
For fetishism, advert slogans uphold
Impotence among them who create,
They are given consumerist mirrors,
As leeches of mankind are weighed in gold;
And as burns away our way of life,
All bonds formed in toil shared,
The market-canker births hedonism
The imperial axe bloodies us, brothers of old
But hold tight onto the strong strands
Of crimson in the heartlands,
Seize imagination, seize thought
Beyond nettle laden garlands
And thorn crown of parlay,
Rip with the iron of hardship
All parasites, them whose is the whip,
Can’t be pleaded with, can’t be controlled.
suddenly the beauty fades
and the masquerade becomes a crimson deluge
somewhere out of nowhere, incoherence reveals her uglier side
the stone soup of badly timed revelation is pure poison
the rocks thrown at my routine dream bloodies the strength of the center and blockades the solidity of my little world
suddenly enough is a microorganism growing impatient via the knowledge within the maturation
i become a victim of your black confetti surprise party
i want you to taste the bloody black jello of my misery
however you get the flavor of my personal version of icy cold detachment
all the ladders are now worn and badly damage
all the attics are infested and offend with the stench of incompleteness and indecisiveness
suddenly my brain goes in circles in endless speeds like a defiant spinning top
i wish i could give my own brain a hassan chop
maybe then all sense within me will finally come together
however my journey will still never really have a true blue definition
January freezes my blood
Crack the ice and split my skin
February bloodies my romance
Let go and watch the rose pedals spin
March colors my envy
I never discovered a four leaf clover
April drenches my eyes
Suicide fog begins to haze over
May plants my flowers
White daisies for upward pushin'
June reconstructs my smile
Thank God razor blades got no cushion
July incinerates my everything
Nothing belongs to me
August annihilates my sunlight
In this blackness I cannot see
September collapses my sanity
Rubble and smithereens left to decay
October perfects my malice
The Devil's come out to play
November thanks my misfortune
Leaves and bullets descend as I ask it
December shovels my snow
To make way for the burial of my casket
(Post war in Sri Lanka, connecting the North and South of Batticaloa road, the bridge was constructed to replace the old Kalladi Bridge that was built by the British 70 years ago.)
In sounds of heavy weapons
And shot notices vibrated
Gods and Brahmas
Gradually praised
Heart of the Kalladi Bridge broken
Re- built bridge is too ling
Lumpish fishes
In fear of shot noises
Then they died my buddies
Rivers and lagoons
Overflowed with bloodies
The bridge built whereby,
Fishes without buddies
Narrow road widens,
While the hearts being parochial
Serpents compete,
While the human beings vanished
Though it could to join,
Having built a bridge
Lost the tune
In a broken and cataclysmic heart of song
Udaya R. Tennakoon
What will happen when the moon blocks the sun?
Will humanity come as one
Or will nature take it’s course?
Will we all stand as equals,
Or will one nation triumph under God?
What will happen after the hour strikes?
Maybe the world will witness and
be a part of war, sickness, and poverty.
Or perhaps the world will be under one love.
What will happen in that final hour?
Will the world be in it’s final suffrage,
With billions of lives wiped away from it’s sin?
Or maybe the kings will wise up,
And bring disaster to an end.
What will happen when the moon bloodies the sun?
Tell me what is true.
Is this natural phenomenon the sign of the last days,
Or am I thinking in a foolish craze?
everyday bloodies the banks
washing away the good soil
fewer flowers and shoots of grass
pushing everything
decades back...
trapped on a shrinking cay
everything loved or lusted has died or blown away,,,
remember the picnics,
plaid sleeves covering bloated arms
a blitz of children
cheap drink
burnt meat(nobody complained)
quiet crushing music
drunks nibbling away
the night
brawling till morning
dictating when the sun should arise
its all gone now
except for the waves that play with the mind
sirens fill in the holes
their songs... like fat dripping into a dying fire
across the creek there's a party
that goes on... forever
With bone dry eyes she studies
The shattered crystal at her feet
Seeing each tiny fragment
As a lost day in her wasted life.
She never meant to be here,
Expected implosion rather than explosion,
But sometimes things don't go as planned
and tripping through broken glass
is all there is.
A broom she thinks,
But sweeping would be symbolic
and she cannot--
Will not be erased
Falling to her knees,
She bloodies her fingers
in an attempt to place the pieces
but her dreams are too badly broken
and glue only blends with the tears
She doesn't know she's cried.