Long Castration Poems
Long Castration Poems. Below are the most popular long Castration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Castration poems by poem length and keyword.
The Vanished Lineage
(Remembering eighteen million African enslaved by Arabs)
The sand remembers eighteen million footsteps in the heat,
Yet where are all the children of their weary, broken feet?
We trace the line to Europe, and to the Western shore,
But looking toward the desert, the descendants are no more.
A millennium of silence spans the ancient, trading hand,
From the seventh to the twentieth, across the burning land.
The trans-Saharan highway, the Nile’s deep, winding bed,
The Indian Ocean waterways that carried out the dead.
We cry aloud for justice, and the West must pay its debt,
But what of Arab brothers? Have we chosen to forget?
An empire built on raiding, on tribute and on blade,
A brilliant, cruel destruction in the shadows that they made.
The West desired the young men to till the heavy loam,
But the Eastern masters wanted the women for the home.
Three sisters for each brother, in the harems of the East,
To serve the hidden palaces where masters came to feast.
And for the captured brothers, the blade was cold and deep,
A legacy of castration that ensured they could not keep
The bloodline of their fathers, nor sow a future seed
A high and fatal torment born of ownership and greed.
They guarded rooms as eunuchs, they faded in the stone,
And so they left no children to claim what was their own.
No millions now to gather, no voices left to rise,
To ask for reparations beneath the desert skies.
Yet language holds the echo, Swahili on the coast,
A blend of mixed inheritance where sorrow is the host.
A sensitive and layered past that time cannot erase,
The missing generations of a stolen, vanished race.
The question what we seek, that lingers ist
The issue of reparation by the West and a twist
Will they return? Do they exist??
Where are they to the least, I do insist???
I suddenly became aware
(although rooted motive not clear)
avoiding self castration ere
yours truly back during
forty three plus summers ago
(do the math and figure out what year)
long haired pencil necked geek
applied dull razor
to remove, (albeit temporarily) hair
covering these skinny legs.
The missus asked me
(hitherto known as her bozo)
just mere moments ago
to craft humorous poem to glow
nsync with the shiny nose of Rudolph
keeping syncopated metrical flow
thus methought to crow
about being equally as foolish
streaking naked outside at five below
so without further here I go
rattling off gibberish as common Joe
King cole, a merry old soul...
dirt poor, hence without any dough
to embellish endeavor as literary pro,
who also sought to catch eye of Mister Perdue
(yea him of agribusiness fame)
to sacrifice self for New Year's barbecue.
Yours truly repurposed courtesy rigged
easy to assemble cannibalistic spit
with large fig leaf covering puny naughty bit
meekly (née willingly) surrendered
matter of fact, I paid with bitcoin chit
recognized latest currency
ever since legal tender easily susceptible
and oftimes confused as counterfeit
money forged, smelted, and hammered
linkedin with pendulum that swung within pit.
Thus analogous to
Five Chinese brothers immune
yours truly constituted more'n one secret boon
such fiery flames (hot enough
to melt like molten rock)
could harm not a hair
of one *****sapien baboon
matter fact simian in question could become swell
think hot air balloon
allowing, enabling and providing me quick escape
national anthem playing as most popular tune,
a capella, I simultaneous croon
as hot embers snap, pop, and crackle
token human crisply cooking
taking place at high noon
despite the most ferocious typhoon,
no worry, I defy being drowned
survival skills inherited sophisticated protozoan
symbiotic eukaryotes since time immemorial
livingsocial within tight quarters
with not mushroom
to maneuver - oh... hold on,
cuz I will be done lame
reasonable rhyme really soon
ah... just about done
getting cooked the color maroon.
the end nears with Jesus and witches
let us hope there are no more glitches
little baby wears a mask in the manger
conceived socially distant without danger
no Golgotha crowd but liked tweeted clips
zoom calls for blurring out the Lords hips
immaculate censorship under lockdown
Amazon send the Saviour a virtual crown
due to panic buying there is no shortfall
of hygienic wipes for disinfecting our wall
by divine fortune rusty nails are also on offer
only the blood of Christ is scarce to proffer
Netflix shows reruns of a sound-bitten tale
a broker insists Christmas must be for sale
Wall Street continues with arms as a treasure
delivers lost lives and legs for good measure
conspiracy theorists say the Messiah was real
Wikileaks concurs but is brought to heel
by purveyors of halos spiked rosaries and zeal
as smoke cries for free ashes for dispersal
on graves boneyards and rotten rehearsal
a cat pees on the tree and needs to be spayed
Sigmund Freud calls for complex castration
of subconscious death wishes and propagation
in need for seeds to be neutered for creation
reality caves in and we must remove the stone
together we’re united Sisyphus is never alone
video calls remind us that the virus lives on
crosses borders without passports to and from
no visa required no customs only free trade
for hypocrisy bigotry Egos not easily slayed
what I would give for rewinding the legend
and attend carol singing and school’s pageant
in person not be stuck with oversized meals
walk freely to food banks attempting to heal
falsity ingratitude injustice entitlement schism
the infant itself may not be above criticism
but glitter and presents wrapped in blindness
are no substitute for love and true kindness
compassion does not require an opulent mall
no masses no pining nor spruce ever so tall
It’s time for reflection faith reason emotion
not notional piety and once yearly devotion
for Christ’s sake let’s stop moaning and start
to share from a warm and good-natured heart
24th December 2020
It was a time of change for the islanders
a time of letting go
a time of ending things
a time of confusion
a time of saying no
a time when love died
It was a time of change for the islanders
a time of broken traditions
a time of knowing shame
a time of hidden faces
a time of broken families
a time when love died
It was a time of change for the islanders
a time of their truths
a time of influences
a time of the outsiders
a time to be one of them
a time when love truly died
The missionaries and their true mission ...
Hewahewa was King Kamehameha's high priest or prime minister-like.
Hewahewa embraced the new faith and convinced the King to destroy
the Heiaus', or Hawaiian temples, of their gods and goddesses and so
it was done and, of all the Heiaus, the King feared Waha Ula Heiau in Kalapana, which is my mom's village of the present time. Waha Ula Heiau is
Madame Pele's temple. Waha means mouth, and Ula is red, which means
this was the only Heiau where human sacrifices were made. The form of
ancient Hawaiian execution was a single thrust club of one's head, hence
'red mouth.' The King's fear was for naught. He ordered the scared warriors who carried out the execution/sacrifices to destroy the last temple. Having completed their mission with fear gripping them the more, as many still hold to the old beliefs, as night fell upon their return to the King's village on the opposite side of the island, they ran helter-skelter, with their torches going out, hundreds of the King's warriors perished in the sulfur pots. Tales of the Night Marchers that some may actually have heard, continue to make their rounds at many campfires.
The missionaries and their true mission ...
... in later years, their descendants, somewhat ashamed that the missionaries profited from the seemingly 'castration' of the Hawaiian people, have given away many of their ill-gotten gains through philanthropic donations. Mom's maiden/family last name carries her name within the context -- Pele. The villagers of Kalapana whose family were high priest and priestesses of Waha Ula Heiau, carries Pele's name.
living in this flagitious society life becomes numb
yet we extrapolate irrespective reality till we become dumb
mental break downs and frivolous exercises of intellectual contempt
permeates a paradigmatic volition of unparsimonious content
we are axiomatic in our subjective minds as we conceptualize truths
but preconceived notions poison and impede the capacity of our fruits
berayed by the thick insulating cover of vitriolic and obligatory words
you can see with more than our eyes and hear more than whats heard
virtue and value will hurt you in battle
as expression and intention fight for domain
necessity and certainty like humans and cattle
like pride and despair both going insane
miraculous recoveries and extravagant claims
cognitive faculties misfiring as the mind refuses to aim
lost in translation as we wander our brains
a mental castration of parabolic restrains
feelings, opinions and emotions all subjective and chained
like a broken track on a bridge made for a 4,000 ton train
we refuse to abide by the laws in our hearts
as we accept solipsism in whole and in part
judgmental determinist with a maniacal skill
to violate logic and ignore the freewill
you recapitulate hate and promulgate lies
like maggots on a carcass embedded by flies
you are dead in your thoughts and dead in your walk
Trace the outline of your body with a forensic white chalk
to be dead in your mind is to be dead inside time
and if life is subjective theres no reason or rhyme
Cat
looks to you for a steady feed
the occasional scratch
vague companionship
nothing more-nothing less.
You're not his friend, you're his pet.
The times you're at your pinnacle
are the times he's somewhat less...
When you're deep into your blueness,
he becomes quite oblivious.
Cat
marks territory on your cherry wood headboard
leaves masterpieces in the litter box
doesn't care about your plush carpet
or that he's busted your heart
Cat
holds grudges because of:
the castration
the declawing
the confinement
the prisoner's mash...
Out in the hard world of the vagabond
you've made cat
the heavy
underdog
We may have found a time
in human maturation
when our history of depression
becomes unveiled mutual suppression
of healthy impressions,
We may be coming upon a time
of opportunities for climate ministrations
to reverse spiritual dehydration
of ego-souls
and our co-habitating eco-soils
for healthy safety.
There may come a space
on Earth's revolutions
when natural LeftBrain
abstract deductions
listen with less WholeEarth violence
resistance
secularizing dissonance
to Earth's ancient RightBrain inductions,
invocations,
win/win invitations,
When physical
personal
political
economic knowledge
follows EarthMother's original teachings
metaphysically multicultural,
interdependent
eco-political wisdom
Indigenously rebecoming
our return to Here with Now,
3DSpace with 2Dipolar Times
EgoSoul within becoming healthy EcoSystemic
anti-racist
pro-Green EarthJustice,
rebecoming NonViolent CoEmpathic UnDuality
verbal/non-verbal confluence
LeftBrain ironic coincidental Space
with RightBrain iconic co-operative Time
May be coming upon this 20/20 SpaceTime
in humane win/win playtime
of bicameral maturation,
nutrition,
communication,
win/win administration
Is better than
win/lose health and safety values
for masturbation
Is better than
total lose/lose patriarchal castration.
We may have found a
Once Upon Our EarthTime
in human eco/ego-political
Right/Left
Yin/Yang maturation
when our history of depression
becomes unveiled mutual suppression/repression
of healthy ecological
and safer theological impressions.
"Taking away my cell phone would be as painful as being neutered."
~ by poet
Twenty years ago, no one would have predicted
that to cell phones, the world would become addicted.
We text instead of calling, though we have the choice.
I barely remember the sound of my child's voice!
Often, I forget where I've left my darn phone.
Without a text notification, I feel very much alone.
It's part of my anatomy that I should have neutered,
a simple surgical procedure that should be tutored.
Remove it from my hand with a scapel or a knife.
Can I survive without it? It's instrumental to my life!
Cutting it off would be an act of painful castration.
Maybe a lobotomy instead of neutering amputation?
I won't promise that if it's done, it would be a cure.
If it's no longer attached to me, how will I endure
not being able to keep in touch with my best friend,
and how long does it take for neutered scars to mend?
I was staring out my window last night
Thinking of something fun to write
Something cool So I don't sound like a fool
We all know how kids can be cruel
To be accepted is the number #1 rule
I started to write about the climate
And how protests turn into a riot
Personal info is no longer private
Then there's Hollywood sickness They can't deny it
The other way is where they look
Innocence is what they took
The core of our existence has been shook
People missing out on a sunset
All for the internet
That's everybody mindset
On a serious note
I'm gasping for air I'm starting to choke
The man has his fingers around my throat
Big brother is watching there is no hope
Get me a rope!
Cant forget about drug distribution
With no solution to the plastic pollution
That's my conclusion
Bullied kids filled with anger and hate
With shootings in every state
That's enough to make you shiver and shake
No turning back it's way too late
The future generation is full of snowflakes
Make no mistakes
They will do whatever it takes
To rid the world of all it's hates
Pump the brakes
We're going to fast
Moving towards a head on crash
Open mouth insert foot
There's no such thing as half way crooks
That's trump
I'm stumped
There's a bridge I jumped
I'm fallin
I Broke both my legs now and I'm crawlin
Billionaires and they're little friends
That's the trend it's not pretend
No prosecution if you have money to spend
What kind of message is that supposed to send
Castration is what I recommend
Father of nine
Online
Messaging young girls for a good time
That's a crime
That can damage a family for a very long time
Teens on the world stage
Displaying rage
Just like a dangerous animal trapped in a cage
They are traumatized at a very young age
Their future is bleak
It's time to turn up the heat
And hit the streets
And scream and yell! At everyone they meet!
Seven days a freaking week!
Planes falling out of the skies
They don't know why
I think I'll pass, I don't wanna die!
We can't deny
That the media lies
Opiate epidemic is on the rise
No surprise that it's Ruining lives
The Earth is sad I can hear it's cries
Well that turned out to not be fun at all
I need some psychiatric help who can I call!
You bought me as your loving pet; well trained and tamed,
From a cattle-fair; I was two; handsome; zestful;
You did not like cats and dogs as they turned nuisance -
I heard you saying to my owner when questioned...
You, further, wished your pet to work for you with love,
Carry you safe, far and wide, as a chauffeur does,
Guard your house, like a watchman, with whistle-like cries,
Entertain your wife, children and friends when needed...
For a few weeks you had fed me so benignly,
With silage, roughage, grains, oil seeds and rich fodders,
To find a friend in you first, I felt so happy;
Why this love of yours, like waning moon, diminished...?
To your single bullock-cart you tied me neck-tight,
Walked me to the carpenter who had made yolks,
I never imagined that this wooden sculptor
And the cart would become my constant task-masters...!
Running recklessly carrying you to joy rides,
Working tirelessly in your forest-like grain-fields,
Your ration to me got shrunk to bran and water,
As though to keep my breath within my skeleton...!
Castration quashed my creative reproduction,
Nails of my iron shoes pieced my flesh and bone,
Nose-rope shut down my sense of smell absolutely,
Lashes of your whip tore open my skin and veins...
I had collapsed, often, drained-off my energy!
You thrashed me; never thought of feeding or quenching,
Your pet turned skin and bone; reaching the brink of grave.
Will you find a butcher now, to cash on my death...?
I'll obey; because I still have some love for you;
I shall sacrifice myself; yet, with a warning;
Younger breeds are mot so kind; they might hit you back;
You might kick-the-bucket; if you so ill-treat them...!
26 June 2022
Personification- Pets Talking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France