Long Bones Poems
Long Bones Poems. Below are the most popular long Bones by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bones poems by poem length and keyword.
He silently came into the basement. He had an evil plan, to set hell's fire lose, to melt
the skin from the bones of this mortal man.
Spontaneously he burst into flames, with screams of agony, "Lucy where are you? For the
Love of God, won't you please help me?"
Satan watched as he burned. His flesh fell like melting wax. Now how, he thought, should
he dispose, cover his devilish tracks?
Up in the attic undisturbed there was an old clothes chest,the perfect place, the devil
thought, to lay the bones to rest
Lucy, still unknowing, tired of waiting for her guest. She smiled at her reflection in the
mirror, and retired to get some rest.
Midnight feasts are such delights, but not if you're alone. She lay in bed and wondered
why her beau had never phoned.
Forget him, she decided. Plenty more for me to meet, and under the glare of full moon,
Lucy went to sleep.
Years passed by as Lucy still enticed and lured her prey, as Satan came each full moon and
in the basement he would slay,
Until one summer, Lucy met a lady who was most charming. The lady asked if Lucy would like
go walking through her garden.
Her arrogance and self esteem led Lucy to believe, this Lady was an asset, should she want
to mix with society's cream.
They wandered through the garden, came upon a strange mistly haze. Through the fog
appeared an intriguing garden maze.
"Shall we go in?" the Lady asked, "I know it would be fun. I have tried this maze a
thousand times, and not once have I won."
Lucy being as she was, felt sure that she could win, and without any hesitation, she
willingly went in.
The Lady watched as Lucy began the complicated maze. She smiled to herself fully aware
that Satan lay in wait.
When finally in the middle, the winners circled 'round. Satan laughed to see just what
victim he had found.
"My my, it's you dear Lucy, and a secret I must tell. See that Lady who enticed you in,
once made a deal as well."
Lucy filled with terror, as she knew her fate was met. Strange how she never once
regretted this satanic deal 'till yet.
Claim the Skies Back
Eastern Alleppo, weighed down like a ghetto
Destroyed like Navaho
By the unfathomably destructive deeds
of a single generation
Distorted venerations based on misinterpretations
Perpetuate these continuingly heinous altercations
Contriving unjustifiable infiltrations
Forcing unnecessary segregations of nation upon nation
While so many of us sit stationed for the crossing
Watching only through the Looking Glass
Preferring to allow farce to form the basis
Of this invonceivable truth
Providing it suits the brutes with enough power
To silence anyone who refutes them
Intrusive sights hover,
Among infusions of inimitable horror,
As though love itself had lost it’s lover
Trialled by the error
Of these broken Universal Laws
Like festering sores that take the form
Of an infection that can only be born by war
And yet we continue to ignore them
The grand in their grandiose dellusions,
Growing madder, climbing their ladders of greed and corruption
Laughing at Luncheons
While the artillery breaks the bones of the innocent in the background
A perilous sound is emerging from the earth
A merciless grumbling from the depths,
Like a curse
That we have placed upon ourselves
The Iron-clad shelves of humanity are beginning to crumble
Rare and perfect life-forms are dying in the jungles
While the forests and the mountains weep pristine tears
Collective existence now quivers in monumental fear
The sound of this harrowing show
Is a continuous unsyncopated stroke
Of the lowest of all possible notes
Upon the bow of a weeping cello
Gallilleo would bellow,
Crying for the folley and the futile misfortunes of man
As we stand now as a race
With pitchforks in our hands
Babies are born everyday
Eyes painted wide, with not much to say
Just basic needs and intimate love
Simplicity, for they know not of
But time surely passes
And questions are formed
The enemy’s kisses pierce like a thorn
Innocence, we were all
Innocent
Before we were taught
Before we knew
Before we ever walked our way through
We were, innocent
Looked to our parents, looked to our friends
Bonds sealed with kisses we thought would never end
Shame in our smiles
Guilt in our bones
Masks painted on us with light undertones
Rejection invades and stings at one's core
Society kills what we were made for
Innocence, we were all
Innocent
Before we were taught
Before we knew
Before we could ever walk our way through
We were innocent
Before the walls and cement were there
Before the sorrow in the air
Before the heartbreaks
Before the fears
Before we ever cried a tear
We were innocent.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written 4-2-12
Its almost vexing,
Trying to curse oneself and make it official.
Never had been a day,
When a bird didnt lose a feather,
The dust in the air, took a vacation
The odd newspaper boy woke up late,
An old lady thought about grandchildren,
Even though she didnt have any...
The harp of the human heart
Is made up of infinite strings,
That is played by the tentacles
Originating from
The robust, goblin like,
Gooey thing called brain.
Sometimes its hard to perceive:
Beauty Barbados-ing, such appalling art
Of the inside .
Is that all?
Skin
Flesh
Bones.
Is that all?
Life wears sunglasses
And 'The Devil Wears Prada'..!
From sunshine,
Till the poisoned neon:
Death of a stranger,
And the death of a loved one,
Is there a difference?
Or there is none,
After one's own.
Underneath it all…
No, not clothe-less—not naked…
Skinless…we’re traveling DEEP within…
Imagine your skull cut…split right in the middle,
Opening up to reveal your AMAZING brain,
As the rest of your body unfolds…
The fancy clothes…the hair…the young or old,
Bones exposed…organs revealed…
The pupils of your eyes growing and receding,
As you look upon yourself…
You don’t know him or her yet…
The blood is spilling freely and you welcome the sensation that you are now experiencing
The heart is rapidly THUMPING from the sudden exposure
Your lungs feel the air on top of it,
The air that it works with every day—suddenly, it is foreign to it…
Teeth chattering, it is raining now…
The water is COLD as hell on Mt. Everest
Mt. Everest is bare…snow-less, compared to your cold, exposed body…
And no oxygen is needed to survive…
The reveling waves of your mind are forming all of these feelings…
You stand there,
Without a blink or blemish,
Staring at you…
There is no thought that you cannot decipher in those inner features…
Your brain is projecting a film in the clouds above you,
As your skull and skinless neck turn upwards toward the heavens!
The fat of your present has melted into the ice…
The guts are not needed for this ride…
No glasses needed either,
No jewelry…no tampons…no knives or guns…
Your eyes only glue themselves subconsciously towards the awe-full projection before you…
Now…NOW you are being introduced to yourself!
Your defensive Alzheimer’s disease is giving you a rest…
You are faced with the pictures of your PAST…
The ugliness…the PAIN—
The excruciating TRUTH that your memory withholds from the rest of the world…
Some even know your secrets…
But they can’t feel it the way YOU feel it—they never will…
The happiness…the comfort…the BEAUTY…
You see it all unfold in a movie,
Sound effects reverberating all around you,
The organs twitching—almost, with a mind of their own, embarrassed…
Make me smile and feel as if I am the only one.
Turn around and leave me bitter and forsaken.
Hold me close and kiss my lips, make me feel falsely safe.
Run to her, with my taste on your lips and listen as my heart chafes.
"No woman has ever treated me better", is what you say.
If that is true, what leads your heart, body and soul astray?
Love me, leave me, lie to me, and think that I don't know.
All you are doing is making my disdain for you crescendo.
Use me, abuse me, tear me down and try to hide what you do.
For I will bide my time, foolish man, you have not the slightest clue.
Its a nice night for a stroll, crepuscular sky, with a repleted moon.
Hand in hand, we saunter through the path to your impending doom.
I lean up and gently brush my lips upon yours smelling her again.
Smiling, envisioning how you just walked into the lion's den.
My body trembles and starts to shake, you think its because I'm cold.
No, baby its because you're going to get your recompense fourfold.
My skin melts away and fur is now where creamy flesh once resided.
Bones shift, teeth grow a blood lust ensues and your fate has been decided.
My teeth gnash into your body and soon you will be forever changed.
This is your fate, now not only our DNA but part of our souls are exchanged.
If you're strong enough to survive the bite, you'll become loup-garou like us.
You will be pack, no more lies, and cheating and no more mistrusts.
For treating me like I was your play thing, this is your punishment.
People like you have souls that are black and malignant.
As I lay in bed at night, I think of the things in my life,
The places I wish I was,
The persons arms I wish to be held in.
My mind is restless and my body has turned cold, my eyes are glazed with the dreams I
wanted to live,
My vision of life has been blurred, illusions of a door opened to love slammed in my face,
Bitter yet sweet tears roll down my battered cheek, an empty minded fool lays awake
waiting for peace.
Standing on a sheet of ice, laying on a bed of nails, I’m wrapped In flesh, have broken bones.
A discarded soul of an undead child,
My eyes turn to a haze of blood red.
My skin a funny blue,
My dreams were severed by the wings,
That’s why I never flew.
Form:
falling rain, droplet by droplet
pane pain pane
sipping on leaves
fall falling
failing to see
leaves livestock
lumbering, conceited
between the pages
their veins throbbing
as a moppet scribbles
over their bones
with primary colors
heavy-fisted, fat crayons
that melt
into the whirligig
cheek flames
and bright eyes
follow the track
jump into the raked
leaves piled high
aww, rains leaking
inside…pane…pain
child leaves it all behind
the grown kid rounds
Louisiana, not impressed
until Autumn leaves
remind and reminisce
stopping the automobile
in real time…real smooth
New Orleans beckons
but the scenic view
having said, howdy-do
is left behind with the pain
of slippery rain
Why is the Grim Reaper so skinny?
It’s because he is rushed off his feet
When so many people are passing away
He can’t take the time off to eat
So please spare a thought for the Reaper
Help him out till he gets a bit stronger
Do the poor fellow a favour
And try, if you can, to live longer
If he could just rest for a while
Put his feet up and eat some home cooking
He could get some flesh back on his bones
And he’d end up a bit better looking
So please spare a thought for the Reaper
If you’re thinking ‘bout dying, please wait
Oh ! Please spare a thought for the Reaper
‘cause, he’s got far too much on his plate
Unadulterated emotional anguish linkedin...
Regarding inconsolable screaming infant
christened Matthew Scott Harris woke
eureka insight about said newborn self,
experiences ultra sensitivity courtesy
loud noises and/or sleep disruption.
I purportedly cried mine
trademark noisy hullabaloo
no matter pallor turned
fifty plus shades of blue
nonstop nary a clue
lovely writhing baby bones
pitiful sight Matthew
eventually, invariably, and ostensibly
slumped into fatigue he brew
utter exhaustion and drew
round the clock few
till helplessness that no hue
man parental unit knew
not remedy only
parental frustration didst ensue,
nein body but mother coaxed xanadu
quickly instinctually, and
dotingly attempted to construe
why "mama's boy" solely
wanted her, she knew
not why, I only permitted
maternal acquiescence to quell grew
absolute zero clue
scant hours earlier yesterday
November 26th, 2019
inexplicable insight shone through
after decades long mystery adieu
reckon unlikely circumcised as Jew,
albeit Unitarian in
later years voluntarily withdrew
attendance basically, I now eschew
contemplative, introspective, and meditative
hodgepodge transcendental spirit chew
wool awareness keenly, profoundly,
and unexpectedly piqued
clear out of the blue
courtesy oppressive wallop true
red hot volcanic rage, a violent brew
within walls of b44 deathstill milieu
expressed in most recent previous poem,
previous poem titled Even if yours truly
could repeat every grade...
where I maintain hermitage milieu
experiencing violent ready to slew
myself and/or spouse, but... whew
blinding, deafening, frothing...
heaving, jackknifing lacerating
as iterated to you
Fred Flintstone's catchphrase,
he hightailed jabbering yabadabadoo
lest his fate witness him
serving as cannibal stew
unbearable, unmanageable, untenable...
eventually subsided without
limp or lifeless body ignoble deed
yours truly did eschew.