Long Bludgeoned Poems
Long Bludgeoned Poems. Below are the most popular long Bludgeoned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bludgeoned poems by poem length and keyword.
somewhere sunflowers catch a Van Gogh glow
nature's fragile stems
that pull us up
that spill their light
like heroism
to break the growling crumbs of earth
somewhere people die, bludgeoned by circumstance
by life altering chaos
from a tyrant's malice
that strays like poison gas
to sever their resolve
somewhere folks rebuke science
to strip a health direction
claims of stifling freedom
flashing banners of entitlement
that risk collective safety
somewhere freedom's script
breaks its rigid capsule
for a people reclaiming dignity
to fight the beastly brute
the truest code of conduct
towering
like sunflower fields in far off places
Poem composed April 15, 2022
*Image of The 27 Club by Wiki.
Enclosed Rhyme Sonnet: The 27 Club
A painted desert from a simple stone,
Act sans, singer storms, own closeted world,
Head o'er heels life strung noose tied to be whirled,
A dispersal sorts of the world well known.
Up versus downscale, winner takes it all,
a marginal few knew, a world of shock,
cycle bludgeoned to a paradox,
'tis headlines for papers always printed small.
Number two is "new," seven "beginnings."
struggles one's outreach midst angels that call,
sorry wrong number as one lost cause fall,
home runs to strikeouts, no extra innings,
Twenty-seven club, dying to get in,
If membership's denied, just keep smilin'.
2022 August 27
*3rd Place*
the 27 club
~~Anthony Biaanco: Judged 2022 September 27
Charlotte was never really enamoured with her mother.
So, when the news that she had been bludgeoned 17 times with a baseball bat didn't really faze her.
Charlotte was never enamoured with her father.
So, when the news that he had fallen 20 stories from his high rise flat still in his wheelchair didn't really faze her.
Charlotte was never really enamoured with her brother.
So, when the news that he had been run over 23 times by his own car, didn’t really faze her.
Charlotte was never really enamoured with her sister.
So, when the news came through that she had been electrocuted in her bath, it didn’t really faze her.
Charlotte was really fazed when she found out her parents had left all their money to the local cat sanctuary.
Charlotte actually liked cats.
Charlotte was never really enamoured with the cat sanctuary owner.
So, the news that she had been tortured to death didn’t really faze her.
Charlotte definitely wasn't enamoured by the Judge, who jailed her for a hundred years, calling her the devil incarnate.
This fazed her profoundly.
Charlotte escaped from jail six months later.
The Judge was slightly stunned when the gavel hit his head.
Ninety-nine hits later, one for every year she would have served, Charlotte reminded the Judge, smashing his head to a pulp.
This didn’t really faze Charlotte.
Charlotte is still at large, and after an intensive police search state wide, is still on the run.
Charlotte will be back at some stage, I’m sure.
People seem enamoured by her.
Voices bottled up, far away…out of reach
I still hear them, echoing in my brain
I try not to believe the fear—the disdain
So long I have avoided their gaze,
But here they are again, at a distance—
All ablaze!
I toughened my shell that night,
From the amplified words drenched in my hands
I cried so many tears for no words came
Unionized by grief and frustration,
How could I ever embrace such abandon?
I thought I could recognize by the fruits
As they were right before my eyes
But within their very cores,
Tears blur the rotten cries
The very words and deeds unspoken—untold
The very truth you tamper and mold
As fists clench—as confused youth look on!
He fashioned you with gold!
I hear gleeful harsh warnings—poetry—of the collateral damage of my brothers
Running up and down the streets—rampant to get at others
I try to see the beauty in every single shade
But now, all I can do is pray
Voices bottled up, far away…out of reach
I still hear them, echoing in my brain
I try not to believe the fear—the distain
So long I have avoided their gaze,
But here they are again, at a distance—
All ablaze!
All I can do I can do is pray
All I must do is pray
As the fumes of the anger light up today
Destroying all trapped inside
Splitting the atoms of our faith
I promise you will fall!!!
How gleeful you all are!
I promise the unity is all a dream
Nothing’s like it seems
Inside, I feel blood boiling, but I cringe
Refusing to add to the chaos
My voice box bludgeoned by their fears
Replaced with stranger’s tears
Too long have I avoided my gaze
In the mirror showing nothing but the hardened
Unable to recognize the rot within
I stay…I pray
Until true words heal and answers free
And the rest I leave in the hands that see
Here they are again
Within me, around me
Surrounding me
Frozen—cold… unfeeling, BOLD.
He fashioned us with gold
He fashioned us with gold
No words can describe what you do to me
You inject in me some sort of venom-like sweetness
Mind and body erase
Making room for feeling and admiration
On my side of thought, you merely despise me
You leave me in melancholy wonder
Melting me like a candle, I become so low
And burn all the more!
Because this wax in me is lathered in your substance
Sometimes I wonder if you are made of venom at all
Sometimes I bring myself to believe. . .
That you are sweet. . .
And you want me to enjoy it
Why I suffer so profusely I cannot tell
Why I allow myself to believe
That I may love you
Only toughens my doubt of a shell
Perhaps I never loved you
Or perhaps I do more and more everyday
And the shell grows all the more fragile
I am low as can be in this room
This dreary, candlelit fantasy involving you
I age in a young body
Trapped in ancient pain
Wrapped in insipid, typical emotion
Bludgeoned with irrefutable doubt
Your very few words burn me
Melting me into nothing. . .
But when I am finally blown out
I have no choice but to harden
Sometimes I return tall
Other times I remain small
I wonder which one you prefer
PORTRAIT OF MURDER
How can one human being
Take another one’s life,
Now they are dead,
Seconds ago they were alive!
Bludgeoned to death,
With a hammer or crowbar,
Body dumped in a river
By a waterfall, quite far,
Suffocated and Strangled
With an old electric cord and
Plastic bag by the roadside,
Help, murder she cried,
But,there was nowhere to hide!
I so wish I was able to invent,
Something that could prevent,
These insensible crimes,
These blood thirsty killers,
(I think I’ve watched too many,
TV thrillers).
Or otherwise,
Throw these inhumane monsters
To animals in a zoo,
The animals won’t starve, for there
Are certainly more than a few!
Please come quick said a frantic
Voice on the nine one, one phone
Wants to kill me, has already shown
Me the knife,
Hurry, Hurry he’s about to take my life,
Then the line goes dead,
Did he cut off her head……………….
If someone killed my sister, wife or brother,
Or perhaps my daughter son or mother,
I would seek these people or person out,
Without a shadow of a doubt,
They would have to pay,
In kind, as the Old Testament does say,
And Eye for an Eye, and a
Tooth for a tooth,
And this I swear would be the
Absolute truth!
Of course if I caught him,
I could let him loose,
As he was a reputed killer,
The crowds would have ready
His noose!
Murderers, Rapists, Paedophiles
And the like, have a black soul,
They are evil,
And only create chaos and upheaval.
Recently a friend’s mother
Was strangled for a wristwatch,
I am angry
Disgusted and sad, hope I never
Hear of another!
Dim Sum Dong sat at the WEF subversion of free Countries event at Davos, Switzerland and daydreamed about prostitutes home in China and the
organ harvesting and concentration -re-education
camps and thought, these things like re-education
do take concentration,
"the more you know...star/rainbow".
Speaking of idiots,
he began to think about his Godchild,
Guiseppe John Wang Chung, or
"Gus Ferenski" for short.
A mixture of his father's names,
a 49 year old Thai Ladyboy named Jack Thomas
and Chuck Shroomer. It was Dim Sum Dongs responsibility to see that the beast, I mean Gus,
was raised in the traditions of-
Country betray-ment and all of the juices and trappings, heretoforthenafterenceforth.
He snapped out of his daydream screaming,
"I ain't no punk abeatch !",
only to find the traffickers at Davos
all staring at him, embarrassing snafu
or was it called ragu?
He forgot for a second while wondering
about the answer,
that everybody had their arms folded,
some with hands on their hips with one leg farther extended
out further out extended further than the
other leg wanting an explanation for his outburst, like you would find in a "Hamburger Helper" commercial,
But no one was saying "oh Mom", here.
He needed a distraction, fast! The only thing he could
think of was pointing to
a random victim bastard and yelling, "anti vaxxer!"
The crowd at Davos
bludgeoned the woman to death and everything
was as it ought to be, again,
taking their seats to listen to the next fellow traitor.
John Kerry...
So much has been left
in ruins by last night's storm -
shredded leaves,
amputated branches,
proud, ancient trees toppled,
uprooted and ripped
from their height.
The sad remains
of a bird’s nest laying
clumped in broken
egg shells, new life
now no more than strands
of gooey lint.
The mind winces
at the waste,
the loss of order, beauty
bludgeoned to a pulp.
This is the dark side
of creation, the endless
cycle of destruction
and rebirth. Reason stalls
before the fact.
Just think, massive stars
were blown apart
for the stuff to make
you and me - consciousness
was born out of the womb
of a cosmic catastrophe.
It's hard, stationary,
transfixed in place
weather-worn,
badgered by reactive innuendo
a sculpted image of someone's admiration
some hardened forgotten
deluded memory
recorded in a complicated untruthful history
focused on one failure or one accomplishment
with purpose, intent
long-forgotten unforgivable
now unfavorable,
a remnant of time passed
graffiti stained and bludgeoned change
for what we reactively assume
it once or still represents
distasteful to some
a triggered interpretation
honored by the presence of others
seeing it differently today,
the monuments of our unworthy ancestors
the indignation of our self-righteous predecessors
and the enlightened indulgent imagery
of who we are becoming today
in the future
hope is yet be written
how will our children,
and our children's children
see us?
Take a seat,
reflect,
plan,
imagine seeing who you are
see where you're going
acknowledge where you have been
and how you got here
where
will you be
today
and tomorrow?
Death by Turtle
(An Eagles Snack Kills Aeschylus)
With light along the quiet beach receding
Sun and sand sink on obfuscated facts
Great tragedian figures don't live forever in the past
Along the shore where Sicilian eagles lift their wings
To drop turtles from on high to crack a shell wide open
Where Aeschylus walks by
Turtles can not fly
They fall on strangers or someone famous
Perhaps a bald man who writes Greek tragedy
Just another rock according to a hungry eagle
The day goes south and sour for poor Aeschylus
Mundane walks should be as simple as a thought
Without objects falling from the sky on him
How strange is fate, a tragic twist, a comedy
Death by turtle is never kind or even great
But sure is quick
An eagles snack kills poor Aeschylus
The turtle survived but walks with a limp
Slower than usual and was never taken in for questioning
Poor thing lives with sad memories
We think the eagle quit the hard shell industry
Too many injuries
*Authors note: This happens to be a historical fact. Aeschylus was bludgeoned to death by a turtle dropped from on high by an eagle.