Long Blown up Poems
Long Blown up Poems. Below are the most popular long Blown up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blown up poems by poem length and keyword.
They once cheer-led the working class,
until they were useful no more,
now they call all of them ‘racist,’
to be hated and deplored.
Ignoring that it’s wholly sane
to fear losing a scarce job
to an illegal immigrant,
to be well and truly robbed.
But all of this was done before,
it’s a cold and brutal fact,
the left created old Jim Crow,
bigot votes feathered their hats,
until they decided dark folks were good,
and handouts their votes did net,
one day they will be cast off too,
there’s nothing left within the left.
They once championed free speech,
now they’re singing a different tune,
if they don’t like what you’ve to say
then they just try to censor you.
And if you still keep talking,
they send out PC-hate brigades
to mob your home, get you fired,
take everything you love away.
If you mention the rule-of-law
all you’ll hear is their laughter,
associate with one of their foes,
they’ll throw you to a prosecutor.
If they find no crime they make one up,
it’s the tactic that they like best,
no cares for justice or the truth,
there’s nothing left within the left.
If you should dare to worship,
try to live by those beliefs,
they’ll say you are ‘intolerant,’
that you conscience is ‘bigotry.’
And yet should any one of them
break a single P.C. law,
they’re ostracized and cast right out,
without a single moment of thought.
When you point out that they have just
chosen a different, unproven faith,
they cry “Fascist!” or just stand there
with a blank look on their face.
Unless, of course, you join Islam,
then they cry,”Don’t even jest!”
Up ’till the day they get blown up…
there’s nothing left within the left.
They still cling to socialism,
though it fails and devastates,
they’d rather rule a ruin then
admit they have made a mistake.
They push us towards a civil war,
if we are not already their,
and the shocking thing about it
is that they do not seem to care.
Power is all they’ve left to crave,
they jones for it like and addict,
if they break lives in its pursuit
then they are just fine with it.
No love of freedom still remains,
morals and principals bereft,
the walkaway folks have it right,
there’s nothing left within the left.
Except maybe death…
The Vietnam War was on the news when I was in high school
The ones who got sent over to be fodder were from poor counties
Sons of congressmen and senators were not drafted
But other men were readily plucked up and sent over
To morbidly hot jungles full of mosquitos and the enemy
More got blown up or killed than came home intact
If they went over as an officer, they were killed by their own men
Usually in eight minutes
Why? Because if there is no officer to lead, you do not have to fight
Many of these young men were not fighters, they did not want to be soldiers
They had been involuntarily drafted, with little training
If they lasted one year, they could return. Most did not make it.
Great transitional resolutions,
effective resilient communications,
like all communal, valid systems,
like all communions, vital paradigms,
grow robust as fueled by compassion
And grow frail
disrupted
blown up
as fueled by competitive aggression,
the narcotic nastiness of self-criminalizing narcissism,
internal externalizing anti-democratic terrorism.
Negative nutrition
is non-positive communication,
not non-violent transubstantiation,
not not absence of sustainable remuneration.
Negative, like absent zero, is distractingly difficult
to even dissonantly talk about
or through,
much less back and forth in a resilient way
Our almost total lack of nutritional resonant flow
despite our most compassionate positive communication
original intention
to communicate more happy democratic constitutional principles
of power for dynamically evolving wellness,
mutual well-being,
dynamic we-consciousness,
healthy co-passionate wealth.
Positive communication, resiliently predicted,
requires absence of negative miscommunication, dissonant
As perfect love
invites the absence of self-punishing sin
As compassionate goals
compel absence of narcissism,
absence of fear about claustrophobic ego-futures,
absence of reactive anger about past competitive egocentric wounds,
partially self-inflicted,
Absence of self-forgiveness for being LeftBrain dominant
human,
longing for great transitionally co-operating resolutions.
The end of everything
The master of the old tank ship that resembled a schooner
sat fretting in his cabin; for twenty years he had been
the master of the ship, a friendship between the animate
and the inanimate had developed.
During the war years, the ship delivered high-octane plane
fuel from the USA to Britain, with him on the bridge in storms
and calm; they had seen ships blown up by torpedoes both
on the starboard side and the portside, it was as the ship and
he breathed in unison.
For five years, they had traversed across the Atlantic except for
a few times when she was in dry dock for maintenance and
when everyone had gone ashore, he stayed onboard, keeping
her company.
So many faces, too many to remember, had crossed her decks
no one stayed long, she had no comfort to offer, narrow cabins
the shower units were connected to the cold sea; didn’t they
see she had kept them alive?
It was over now she had been sold as scrap, he, homeless.
Once the king had given him medals, he and the ship had
been extolled in the papers that said she was a lucky ship
and him they called a great seaman.
Soon enough, he would go to the mystic island were sailors
and Nirvana’s Ocean cleanses the memories of the departed.
I am pulled apart by my crazed emotions
Half blown up and backwards
My desperation and depression is tied in a knot
And there is only one working hand left
Indignation took the other one years ago
I am frustrated now because I can no longer clap for you
My mood is foul
I revel in the stench of mediocrity
I feel notoriously lopsided and naked
Exposed, anxious, a laughing stock.
I have to say this now....
I hate all of you!
Which side should I share?
No side at all. I will keep myself to myself.
I am in a foul mood, angry and saddened.
Yes, you put me here. I take no blame for
my attitude, my feelings or my persona.
Look at yourself closely, oh, masses
You show me magazines
To prove my neck is too thick for my small head.
You are thorns, mongrel dogs, baddies.
I hate all of you. Every single last one.
You know who you are.
Bang!!! My sirens howled, and my thoughts dissolved,
As the iron whistles dropped from the blue,
And my guns were all broke, in that thick musty smoke,
As I entered the cave that was you.
And the artillery, the tanks, the missiles of love,
The torpedoes from the deep dark blue sea,
And whole planets of want in the cosmos of now
All directed their orbit toward me.
You had blown up my world, stealing my breath,
Became my air tank to survive,
And you made me feel every feeling I feel,
You’d made me feel more than alive.
You see, you’re the ultimate weapon of total wipe out,
After knocking me onto the floor,
You picked me up and loved me hard,
You’re the bombshell that walked through my door.
On the Rock River he was a lifeguard,
Saved 70 plus lives, which made him proud, happy too
Later in life he was divorced, even shot, life is hard
Then Alzheimer's got him, no way to rescue.
He saved lives before he learned to lead them
He was governor, president, now it’s all a blur
How many of our youth remember Ronald Reagan
Alzheimer’s of a generation can also occur.
Sending Marines into Lebanon was his biggest mistake
240 blown up by explosives in a truck
Responsibility's risk is in what you can break
There was nowhere else to pass the buck.
Reagan heart was in the right place
of good reforms he did plenty
He did his best, but if only he knew
In the fog only hindsight is 20/20.
Watch the rock and rollers
With their bellies and their wigs,
Playing songs performed at
Oh-so-many early gigs.
The keyboards and guitars still sound
Real good, though maybe slower
Yet their voices simply cannot reach
The high range or the lower.
Blown-up photos from the past,
Not meaning to, are mocking
Their current selves who do their best
To do their roll and rocking.
The audience, all old as well,
Belt out, with zeal and passion,
The lyrics they remember
From when tie-dye was in fashion.
The music bubbles in my blood;
I watch and I’m transported,
But find it sad attempts to bring
The past to life are thwarted.
*Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction
The ones they don't want,
the ones no longer needed...
are stuffed by senders, inside pretty balloons.
Blown up, then sold at half price to the breeze.
Their paths zigzagging crazily.
Some are found impaled on fences.
Others are bound for the holy grate.
Some are never found.
Others float gently back onto the concrete lap of the sender.
Asking through rubber lips and broken teeth,
"Was it all just a lavender lesson or just a black accident"?
In silence the senders perch,
replace all eyes with the eulogy of blackbirds.
Preparing another balloon to send them off ...again.
I guess that is their answer.
Alone with my thoughts pensive up on the rooftop
I am finally unequivocally at peace with it all
You’ll find a letter on the desktop
It’s all been said we need to finally move on
Deep down we both know old feelings are gone
And it’s much too late and futile now to be analytical
Seems so clear today from as high as on a mountain top
Rational feelings dissolving all dark thoughts so cynical
Take heed unless you want to find your stuff at the local pawnshop
There’s no need to get emotional and call the Pentagon
With blown-up doomsday stories of Babylon or Armageddon
We did our best there’s really nothing diabolical fanatical or tragical
AP: Honorable Mention 2020