Long Casings Poems
Long Casings Poems. Below are the most popular long Casings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Casings poems by poem length and keyword.
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Click the back button if ur ears r still virgins
I'll make blood drip down ur face
Throwing hands and invading ur space
I go to war like Scarface
Shell casings dropping like dimes
I told you too many times
Don't test me at anytime!
I will set ur ass in the grass
I'm all up in ur face like SMASH!
I might let u get up
Give u a chance to man up
If ur ready to fight The Champ just step Up!
Like Cassius Clay, I'm light on my feet
Bareknuckled and knocking u on ur seat
Talking trash put my fists on repeat
Spit out like rhyme sellers
I feel like it needs a hook to make any dollars
Gangsta Rap like Tupac
Investing in ass whoopings like it's a new stock
Don't let this pretty face make u think u can beat me
I will teach u to respect me and want to be me
Be careful where u r poking
I'm always laughing and joking
Come at me wrong and I'll leave ur ass smoking
Ask this guy on the floor choking....
I'll take ur lady and walk out of sight
Stepping over bodies leaving this fight
Leaving only one to tell the tall tale of that night
Poetic justice is what will be served in that fight
Words lift ur imagination to heights of insanity
Ending this the right way would cement my destiny
But there is no right way to end violence by way of fantasy...
I live like a butterfly tangled in the gales of a tornado
I live by struggling to see what lies ahead,
By squinting my eyes to clear my vision
And by trying not to suffocate with the powerful winds!
I live, though, in solo, refusing consistently to hold on to arms
Being handed out to me as symbols of refuge
Promising to protect me against the tornado
As, though made of glass casings, living while holding on to them,
Shall fill me with the warmth and the protection that I seek!
Pray, why should I hold on to these arms
Symbolical they may be, of temporary refuge
But, they are also strong,
Having the capacity to crush me into a bloody mess
Within seconds of having me in their grip!
Arms, laden with the hues of sins,
Shall only corrupt my purity
And have me, swimming like them,
In seas filled with mundane filth!
Pray, arms do reach out to me, as if freshly sprouted
From the soils, creeping up to me, like magic beans' vines,
But I, adamant on keeping my aim bent on seeing the truth of life,
Refuse to let them drag me down
Why, I have been gifted with wings
Am I to use these to keep on flying, and fighting with the winds
As such is what my maker wishes me to do!
Escaping my fate by gripping on to treacherous arms
Would only cause me to have a conscience dripping with envy,
Enviously eyeing those basking in purity
Ardently yearning to have their notion of reality!
Why, never shall I let myself be dragged down
By all that which try to stop me from fluttering my weak wings
This world and its enjoyers are not worth it!
I live for brighter days despite this one's woeful absence of sun
Memories are being shot at me; bullets from a machine gun
Words keep rising out of me; a tidal wave, to swallow tomorrow's dawn
They are the shield protecting me; as if a doe looking after two fawn
I'm just a well mixed blend of fearless passion
Born from the forge that my life did so fashion
If I could build a stairway of infinite steps; to touch just one of the nights stars
Perhaps in the way it could burn; would cauterize gaping wounds forming new scars
I'm just standing in one place, letting myself listen to hear how it all sounds
But what my ears see are brass casings; collecting in mass uncountable pounds
With bags under his weary hazel eyes,
no rest, no sleep, watching the line.
A mound of dirt cluttered with casings,
machine gun on mount, at the ready.
Smoke overhead the sun barely pokes through,
battlefield stays dark, night and day too.
Vultures circle above, barren death marked earth,
unable to feast, no stomach to girth.
Body caked in dirt, empty belly churns,
tattered battle dress uniform, showing powder burns.
I'm a view, such a poor sight,
thousand yard stare, this is my plight.
Tired, hungry, thirsty, senses, my current enemy,
avoiding passing bullets, falling shrapnel near me.
Maintain my position, duty, honor, sworn oath,
if enemy approaches, kill, maim, or both.
Weapon is loaded, and ready to go,
its kept me safe, this I know.
I'll die before, giving up this ground,
this plot of dirt, it's my mound.
My relief will come, don't know when,
I'll do what it takes, until then.
If I die today defending this spot,
this mound of dirt, this barren plot.
Lord knows I did all i could,
my life sacrificed..as, good warrior would.
Live or die, two actions I see,
already accepted, its Gods choice..not me.
It’s Okay
by Odin
Roark
Many see labeled
folds and creases
Across forehead and
brow
As problems
unresolved
As thinking lines
Perhaps when one
sleeps
Furrowed wrinkles
stay left behind
The hoe of worry
Takes its earned
respite
While the world’s
hope of harvest
Gathers rest in
darkness
How tenuous
This short-lived
slumber
Where battlegrounds
Become buried
beneath peaceful
seeding
Where life’s
nourishing fields
Find shelter from
evil’s eruptive
invasions
Where headlines of
contracted
mind-waste
About to carry
primed destruction
Strapped to their
chests
Still breathe
Where children
making bullets
Find time to gather
casings
Gently pressing
blood stained soil
Into their playhouse
planters
Believing vines will
grow into
Escape routes to
sunshine and heaven
Where beyond
inevitability
Leaves still flutter
Upon limbs still
expanding
Engulfing trees
still becoming
Before smashed
atom-waves
Incinerate life to
ashes
Where when you awake
A bewildered world
asks
Why thinking lines
now smile
And your tearful
heart
Surviving not by
breathing alone
Whispers its
prescient wisdom
“It’s okay to listen
and hear silence
To be at peace
To be happy…
If only in your
dreams”
Green peas and all kinds of beans
are split open to release their seeds,
like those peas in a green pod,
that mother cooked in a huge pot!
One of my dad's friends who wore a veteran's brooch,
would shamelessly cheat to get a delicious split-pea soup;
mom didn't know he was a cheater, and surely would have hit him
with the wooden dough roller when he peaked with a grim!
And mom slowly stirred the vegetable soup,
she used to say, " The longer it cooks, the better it tastes! '
And my mouth was drooling to taste those soft peas...
that I took out of the seeds' casings without miscue!
Mother rushed in the kitchen with a roar of an enraged lion,
" That idiot is playing no fair game! He is a menace to all!
And he passes glasses of brandy to get everybody drunk! "
" He wants to win no matter what the cost...oh, clever maven! "
The split-pea soup steams like a hot volcano erupting,
the cover of the pot blows off, " What a mess on my stove! " mom screams...
" It's all his fault that I am in this state! " she continues yelling...
" I still hear his big mouth mocking...wait 'till I have finished cooking these peas! "
Entered in Nathan's Laccese contest, " Two peas in a pod "
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Prince Oldenburg Seaside Park, Old Gagra, Abkhazia
Palm trees, cypresses, flower beds with roses
Surround the alleys covered with red gravel.
The sculpture of Medea in the pond is covered with green mould
And Cupid shot his stone arrow two hundred years ago
Wavy parrots fly from one tree to another.
Silence, the sound of waves can be heard. Not a soul around.
Now is the time of ceasefire.
You have to walk carefully here -
The alleys are littered with spent casings
It’s easy to stumble upon them if you don’t take a notice
The heat is unbearable, I could do with a beer.
After walking some distance, I hear the sounds of pop music.
The path leads me to a clearing.
There is a kiosk - two local lads selling drinks and snacks.
I buy a bottle of cold beer, they smile at me.
I ask them if they have any cassettes with local music.
Can you play me your local musicians, do you have some of their music? –
Yes, they do, the guys nod.
They change the cassette, and Samba Pa Ti of Santana plays on.
Thanks, I really appreciate this, have a good day..
I go out onto the pier — no one is there. Boats rock on the waves.
Maybe this is what a ceasefire should look like in this place.
The fighters have run out of ammunition, and it's time to go home,
Turn on the football and fall asleep in the armchair
At the most exciting moment of the game,
When the ball flies into the goal
From a free kick in the extra time.
We came upon a clearing
In the scattering of the town
Bomb damage as scenery
In this place called Caen
The village square we reach
Shell casings pepper the ground
Blood and spillage flows
War is all around
In the distance we hear
That the enemy are retreating
The losses our heroes
In this theatre of beating
The local school
Which had seen the worst
A tribute exists
Of the fallen first
In the debris there stands
His weapon of war
Upon it sits
The helmet he wore
This patriot
Of the land of the free
The Stars and Stripes
He will no longer see
As we continued our quest
To free Europe and beyond
So many solitary helmets
Will unify our bond
.
Some say he's a prophet
others swear he's the son of God
Some say he was just a man on a good mission
still others say he never existed at all.
I think he was the original hippie
a supreme giver -who taught takers
how to give without motive
how to love without condition
to ask for forgiveness after sin.
Jesus would have stowed away on slave ships
salving hope and snapping chains.
He'd have blocked the ovens of Auschwitz
volunteered at no-kill animal shelters
and food pantries.
He would've made manna out of bullet casings...
arrested again, again and again
bashed upside the head and bleeding.
Weaving a giant peace sign and rosary
draping them over the Pentagon, Kremlin
and the Forbidden City-
He may have shared a wineskin, a bowl of Mexican gold
then lie down under tie-dyed sky and dream in colors bold.
Or he would have been the only sober one
getting everyone safely back to home.
The ammunition greased casings pepper skull and cross lovely bones,
lightening speedily deals mortal blow persons unaware,
the final minutes/seconds of lives leased
shorn of existence, and akin to sheared sheep, this case
targeted ambushed ewe mon souls permanently fleeced
instantaneously cut short sealed mortality fate upon Avast group ceased
to exist as happy go lucky men, women and/or children
from most fearsome beast.
Instantaneous re: within the blink and/or flickr survive
er eyed, and former gallivanting live
capitalone progressive pinterest ting human con hive
ving to collide with hulu hooping unwittingly accompanying jive
vin track hewed by quick draw mcgraw holster
sending dead riders to final resting place.
Ribald exhortations and allegiance gifted who usher bereave
ment, where demise of existence experiences a field day,
whence microbes gorge viz Philabundance, while next of kin grieve
incalculable loss forsaken, whence emptiness doles bleakness
upon grim outlook that doth leave tears, brought per spilt blood and sweat
tallying cost, no miracle whipped lifeless ones can survivors retrieve.
Mortal kombat rues unfathomable payless Priceline Bourse
induces adrenaline to course thru melee,
where iron maidens sprint non selfie ish
lee to safer outlook, where moments of pain force
besiege collective asylum seekers indulge gorse
faux Joyus fancyfeast er vanityfair, whence sorrow loosed like a wild horse
diehard fanatic (attired inconspicuously like
dishabille schlepper of an outlier) source
index finger clutch released high-powered voluminous ammunition
murderous mass homicidal rates get worse.
Netzero escape those unfairly killed ceaselessly year after year
undeclared warfare,
whereby killer coolly unleashes fusillade veer
ring out the barrel to tear
whole community fabric, blithely empty lethal munitions truckload to spare.