Long Carnage Poems
Long Carnage Poems. Below are the most popular long Carnage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carnage poems by poem length and keyword.
Wulf and Eadwacer
ancient Anglo-Saxon poem
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My clan's curs pursue him like crippled game;
they'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
Wulf's on one island; we're on another.
His island's a fortress, fastened by fens. (fastened=secured)
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
My heart pursued Wulf like a panting hound,
but whenever it rained—how I wept!—
the boldest cur grasped me in his paws:
good feelings for him, but for me loathsome!
Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your seldom-comings
have left me famished, deprived of real meat.
Have you heard, Eadwacer? Watchdog!
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods!
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.
for my daughter, Lily Belle
Having crawled through a crack in my third-story window,
I drift, this night, to a familiar place
in search of age in a more youthful face,
far from cathemeral carnage below;
Though adrift, I drift unlike a drifter drifts, but drift as snow:
weightless in winter, like holiday lace.
I travel ‘til sunrise; day’s first rays erase
the darkness behind me I made myself know;
And then, in a meadow where Lilies grow,
I land and wrap myself in love’s embrace.
I am thankful then, now, for all my daughter’s grace,
for loving the father who once let her go.
11/14/2018
Churning ominous dust, an angry sky pounded it's fists that ferocious afternoon.
Draping a charcoal blanket, brooding air suddenly darkened all brightness.
Threatening winds whipped thrashes on boulders and branches,
Spinning madly around, dizzy in it's vortex,
a tornado descended from funnel clouds.
Destruction everywhere, in vengeful rage
trembling trees uprooted, blown far away.
Rainsoaked birds fluttered, hurled at an insane trail
in malefic power and speed, Earth was decimated.
A wild pirouette storm, dancing and swirling
in turbulence of downpour, at last is calmed.
A carnage of broken pieces
in shattered shards of shrapnel...
But after a haze of hangover,
spreads again a bijoux night of fairy tales,
hiding behind those stars we count.
A new day again drips from the sun.
In a soft rustle of morning breeze
leaves again dance in little spirals.
13th June 2020
Sponsor Kai Michael Neumann
Contest Name Spiral
I feel a choir of raw throats shouting hoarse warnings and then quieting,
Leaving a nervous stillness trembling on the lips of the morning,
Or riding the scrolling text at the bottom of the TV screen.
Something is wrong.
There is a restlessness seeping like mist from the lesions
Of the carnage yet to come, a slow decay,
As if all of life waits with bated breath for the moment
When the finger tightens on the trigger of imminent chaos.
And yet, good people go about their lives,
Whispering prayers in quiet corners, helpless,
Angry, or for some, a numb indifference,
Yet somewhere, hidden in the voids behind their minds,
A shadow stirs from its sleep,
Preparing to rise from the bed of silence. Elsewhere,
Across a nation, more and more cries remain trapped
In the throats of the fallen.
Something is wrong.
I feel the weight of the veil of a starless night,
A veil cast over thoughts, a curtain of anxiety,
And in my mind, a melancholic song drenched in shared human fear.
A faint light slips through the cracks of a broken soul,
Casting shadows in the mental alleys, an eternal dance of hope and fear.
Looking around, I see eyes laden with endless questions,
Reflecting the past and the unknown future, a kaleidoscope of doubts
Interwoven with every silent step, every blink of frozen life.
This persistent unease, an invisible specter,
Haunts my consciousness, a reminder of what might be.
A silent call, where the heart dances in agony,
An elusive respite in the tumult of thoughts.
I wonder if this feeling, this sense that something is wrong,
Could be the silent cry of a profound reality,
Whispering to me from the shadows of existence.
In the flow of my consciousness, I wander endlessly,
Searching metaphors and magical visions,
Hoping to find an answer in the labyrinth of the soul,
For I am bound to this song of unease, waiting for dawn to bring clarity
And to heal this crack in the fabric of life, a sign that perhaps, one day, all will be well.
In the mystical twilight of my thoughts, shadows and light
Weave a ballet of ethereal whispers, each movement a living metaphor,
As dreams and fears converge in the silent depths of being,
Revealing secrets hidden in the vestiges of night, awaiting the promise of dawn.
I smell the coppery, sweet scent of blood
where a soldier died, his face in the mud.
I mourn the soldier's death.
War is a putrid, expanding abyss
where a day's food and water feels like bliss.
I mourn the soldier's death.
I fight a war that I know can't be won,
for amidst this carnage, I am but one.
I mourn the soldier's death.
God has forsaken and abandoned me,
silently ignoring my anguished plea.
I mourn the soldier's death.
A child soldier's life is stripped of all fun,
afraid the killing will never be done.
I mourn the soldier's death.
My mind is numb; I cannot shed a tear,
there is nothing left inside me but fear.
I mourn the soldier's death.
I wish I had wings to soar through the sky,
I'd leave in a heartbeat if I could fly.
I mourn the soldier's death.
My future looks murky; nothing is clear,
I will be lucky to survive out here.
I mourn the soldier's death.
Guns?guns kill people?
guns do kill people
it is not mental illness?
it is not video games
?it is not a million other things
it is simply this
?a gun is a weapon?
a weapon designed to kill people?
that is what guns do
the more they can kill
the merrier
guns love killing people
that is the buddha nature of guns
guns don’t care
?they do as they are told
?if you pull the trigger
?they will kill the victim
that is what guns do?
that is why?
in a civilized society?
military assault weapons
?are locked up
yet in America?
the land of the free?
home of the brave?e
and lots of gunshots
Everyone and his cousin
?must have their gun
you know to blow away
Bambi the deer
and government agents
if it weren’t for guns
we’d still be British subjects
if only the Jews had guns
the holocaust would
never have happened
guns for everyone?
cries the NRA?
that’s the solution
an armed society
is a polite society
everyone must pack heat
The president?
and his supporters
?deny the obvious
guns kill people?
that’s all they do
?it is a gun thing?
you would not understand
Mr. President?
you can take your words?
your empty platitudes
?your empty promises
your empty prayers
and empty thoughts
about the victims
straight to hell? and back
where with any luck
?Satan will use you
?as target practice
note: this may be too political and in your face but I don't care. I have had enough of this nonsense. We must stop the carnage in our streets! That’s my two cents worth and I am sticking to my guns pun very much intended.
The neighbors gazed at the sky with the nighttime stars.
There is plenty to see while they’re living on Mars.
Since the planet is dry with a thin atmosphere,
so much can be seen because the sky is so clear.
The colony has been peaceful and serene here.
However, concerns about earth clutched them in fear.
The colonists viewed as they sat on their front porch,
their home earth shining brightly like a blue-green torch.
From one hundred million kilometers away,
nations have begun to fight each other today.
One night, they were watching as the earth burned with red.
An atomic war began with millions feared dead.
The blinking light Morse code box relayed a message.
It described a global war with massive carnage.
“Detonations obliterate Australia.
Explosions decimate Cape Town, South Africa.
London, Paris, and Los Angeles are all gone.”
This made all speculate of what was going on.
“Are my parents, brothers, and sisters still alive?
From what happened, will civilization survive?
I have not written to my brother as of late
because there’s a five dollar first class postage rate.”
The new circumstances perpetuated fright.
The luggage store in town stayed open late that night.
The decision to leave was made amongst themselves.
By the dawn, the luggage disappeared from the shelves.
Based on "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury
We write so much...
So many cutting words,
so many surgical verses,
So much poetry of carnage!
Writings that look equal to
scalpels...they cut us
with millimeter precision...
Bloodletting untied.
You write so much...
so many pudding words
so many are delicacies
so many are ambrosia...
These we ate with nutrient
pleasure...
So many other words
are liqueur,
distilled,
aged...
these we drink with
almost lust...!
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to Kill and Plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
NOTE: The biblical book of Revelation says that Jesus will murder children himself for their mother's sins, in the letters to the Churches. But he won't stop there, according to the writer of Revelation, because after all the earth's creatures have sung the praises of God, a third of them will be destroyed in acts of bloody carnage, along with a third of human beings. That's trillions of animals and billions of people. I can't believe the compassionate Jesus of the gospels, who had table fellowship with prostitutes and refused to stone an adulteress, is going to suddenly start murdering their children and become the greatest serial murderer of all time. And how can the man who taught us to put aside religious differences to practice compassion in the Parable of the Good Samaritan not follow his own advice? Jesus reserved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, so wouldn't he have to live up to his own teaching?
Another Day Another Shooting
another day in paradise
?just another day in America
?land of the free?
Home of the brave
and guns?lots
lots of gunshots
?more guns for all
?cries the NRA
'yes another day?
another gun battle
?another white man?
who just wants to kill
the President
sends his condolences
?Thanks the law enforcement
?for an incredible job well done
?It was horrible
Hate has no place?
in our country?
and we will take of it
?and do what ever we can do
condolences
?nothing but false words
?empty words
?lots of things to do
It is mental illness problem?
but he fails
to mention? the words
gun at all
?not at all
and tomorrow
will be another day of carnage
and tomorrow
another day of sorrow
and tomorrow
another of empty prayers
tomorrow
?never ending sadness
but he at least finally said
?hate has no role in our country
?nothing but prime BS?
in my humble opinion
he did not mention
?white supremacy
?his rhetoric had nothing
?nothing to do
about this at all
and so tomorrow
?I will turn on the TV
?and we see?
nothing been done
at all
and the dead
?will remain dead
?the guns will fire again
?nothing will be done
welcome to America
?land of the free?
home of the brave
and gunshots
lots of gunshots
note: this may be too political and in your face but I don't care. I have had enough of this nonsense. We must stop the carnage in our streets!