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.
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!
When someone gives me a penny for my thoughts
They end up putting their two cents in
Because by then they are actually caught
Deep in the intense, immense conversation
How would you handle my situation?
Better be firm when you stand tall
Or you will surely fall
(Too weak to defeat the devastation)
Look at you how
You’re lying on the ground
Feeling like a sissy now
(After your castration)
The road I tread is a hard walk with the dead
Full of potholes in the dark
And a smoke-ring as a halo on my head
If you think you can see like me
And you think you can suck up a long journey
Then live in my world and try to endure
A living hell on this wicked/beautiful earth
Maybe, just maybe
If you get lucky
You will eventually
See the wicked world through one eye
And a beautiful life through the other
At the same time
Side-by-side at the nasal line
And that I say is the only way
But why would anybody want to try
To live my life
Want to feel my pain?
How much you think you can take?
I couldn’t give it to you
Even if I wanted to
So don’t bother because you can’t relate
Don’t ever speak out against me in a debate
I will verbally leave you trashed
Probably crapping in your pants
Don’t get me going because once I get started
Missiles will be flowing in your ears and blowing
Down at the little man getting bombarded
A feeble mind now feeling retarded
-- And before you crap your pants, you farted –
My words will lobotomize
Synthesize a tone
That’s set to hypnotize
And place you in a zone
So prepare to set your bones on the grindstone
If you dare to go where I roam
Because in my world you’re a long way from home
-- Experience the terror, walk in these shoes alone –
Do battle with a deadly disease
Alone with no wife because she’s a cheat
Now you looking like a freak (so you think)
And you don’t sound normal whenever you speak
(You only have half a tongue and no damn teeth!)
You wear a hard scar for all to see
A hook of a mark that will now have to be
Accepted and respected and sported proudly
Expect to get rejected when you’re fishing in the sea
Because remember you look like a freak (so you think)
And you don’t sound normal whenever you speak
-Boz-
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.
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
Just a short story of the joys of living with a cat, a kelpie, a labrador.
Sometimes they play in a peaceful house, sometimes it’s like a war.
Like this morning, the red dog played tug of war all over the yard out the back.
For an hour both dogs pushed and pulled, stopped, sort of retired but then they’d both attack.
This was fun and joyous and lively, entertaining playing in harmony, peace, love and bliss.
Nothing could go wrong, nothing, as long as the cat wasn’t there, nothing could go amiss.
Well, you see this is where it got tricky, tricky when the kelpie decided to go in the house.
Inside where the cat was sleeping beside her kittens, sleeping like a mouse.
The red dog made it as far as the kitchen, that’s when play war became something so real.
From nowhere, a once quiet cat became psycho, attacking the dog like he was a meal.
The dog had no idea the cat had learnt to fly so fast, using razor sharp talons as wings.
The cat held on using all four feet, clawing at his back, legs, belly and, well, other things.
Shocked and dismayed, I jumped, I flew to calm this crazy, insane, deranged situation.
I grabbed the cat with both hands saving the dog from imminent castration.
Talons once meant for the dog now bore down into each of my tender fingers.
I screamed a scream not heard since the battlefields screams on Flanders.
The cat, I taught her to fly again, fly straight, like a dart, across the room into a wall.
I stood there, hands and arms covered in blood, the aftermath after the brawl.
After I’d stemmed the flow, washed and bathed and patched my many wounds up.
I staggered outside, my back was buggered too, to see the kelpie playing again, like a pup.
Oh man, not a scratch on you, so I hobbled back inside, hobbling and holding my head.
There asleep, purring peacefully not sore at all, were the kittens and their mum, upon my bed.
Did they learn a lesson not to go near each other, to keep a look out, to always keep a distance?
Nope, not a thing, it’s me that learnt though, not to get involved for my own existence.
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
Tell us of folks with conscience clear on terror; of trusted neo
terrorists that oust teams, terrorizing thousands... near, far, and wide
May it marinate in their minds; peace and equality are as grated rind
with scent of pure zing... unlike vexed souls, bent on terrorism
Just last night, amid day light, before photographer's sky, right in
spring's warmth... such unforgiving moment of sudden fright
Thunderous wondrous sounds of bombs whirred, then cease, and
just like that came sight of flight 8430, blown to fallen pieces of debris
I saw red, white, and blue of American airlines's plane, meshed with chaos
just as those blown to smithereens during 9ll... Still I'll fly. Why shouldn't I?
In this land of plenty, we won't share cowardice with tyrants of immorality;
not on their watch! freedom bell has rung for everyone free of contentions
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (... they knew not...)
Flight 8430 felt Coup DE main... not of You, Great God of earth, sky, and dew
I shan't forget humongous, booming sounds of invisible bombs that flew and
flung sudden terror so near, i hastened with thoughts of Islam and coercion
Of intimidation, degradation, castration; of trepidation, and mutilation
that moved me to see martyrdom in terrorism as ignoble affiliations
I'm due like you to sit snug and breathe with ease here and now, without
quest; will I survive or will I have time to utter one final goodbye
Night's stream of consciousness was dream, dear God, but Your world need You...
only You; by power of Your might, turn terror to unadulterated thanksgiving; so
As we ponder canvas of sky with eyes beyond clouds; we'll grace life with
courage; for we shall over come with hope, with aims, and with our dreams.
*
Our prez is now Donald J Trump
Who has promised to clean out the sump
Well he's certainly no wussy
When groping a pussy
What more to expect from a gump?
In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence
Said some things that embrace little sense,
"Global warming's a myth"
But's now taking the fifth
In attempting to straddle the fence
We all recall general Flynn
Put in charge of security spin
A trained atomiser
No more Trump's advisor -
His deal with the devil's his sin
The billionaire Betsy Devos
Making plans for a school albatross
Hating free education
Backs private castration
And kids will be bearing her Cross.
The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions
Ignoring his racist obsessions
He seemingly cares
More for foreign affairs
While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions.
Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon
Develops the Great Again Canon:
The Goldman Sachs Bankster
Turned yellow rag gangster
Flings crap from the New Order cannon
Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt
"Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."
(His work as denier
Keeps profits much higher)
"... If everything dies, well, just screw it"
The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis
Awaken the death apparatus
With boundless expense
For a doomsday defence -
Armageddon administered gratis
The magnates no longer need lobby
Or fight regulations thought snobby -
Now set in the saddle
They're herding the cattle
And pulling the strings as a hobby
Now the Don can start wielding the axes
Truncating the tariffs and taxes
The Mafia boss
Is dismissing the dross
And poverty's pain as it waxes
How lovely, isn't
It, to have an 'off' switch, shotty wiring
And all,
And a presence lined up to ****?
They are always there
To cauterize the wounds of emotional castration
Without desire to examine
The blood pattern forensics,
Chalking the splatter up
To an affinity towards Jackson Polluck.
Tears are to the meek
As injury is to the bold,
Chastity is to pureness
As promiscuity is to curiosity.
And what
Supplemented activity relates to the character
Defect of an over-eager search for validation?
How surreal a menagerie constructed from
Syringes full of sunshine.
Currency crusted by blood in place of worth,
Hopeful scribbles of the pale and placid carrying
Small flecks of over packed bags under the eye
Can seem when sunlight filters through rose colored lenses;
How frighteningly apparent
Connect-the-dot freckles and
Spasms of the left cheek and
Teddy bear smiles and
Xylophone ribs and
Bits of skin ghosted from lips become
When refracted by a Narcissus pond—
How I m p o r t a n t,
How appropriate these sentiments:
Perfect companions for the rolled-up-carpet's journey
Of finding permanence along river bottom
Set into the silt and framed with waving algae:
A'voir, piggyback consistencies,
Meet oblivion in shreds
Blown out the back end of the skull
In the instant chapped lip worshiper meets collarbone shrine.
Such ready to leech services are no longer
A necessity
In the four hours of chemically enhanced rawness
Stuffed with bile and bruise and suck and lie
Hollowed of meaning,
Save for the proverbial cholesterol of hope clogged in pores.
But I awake in numbness,
Cold and invalid,
With my head pressed on Doubt's chest
And my fingers knotting in its own
Begging to be warm again.