Long Chaff Poems
Long Chaff Poems. Below are the most popular long Chaff by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chaff poems by poem length and keyword.
Open Letter to you,
MY LOVELY HATE SPEECH
I hate my speech today, yesterday and the day dust rises.
I was there opening my eyes carelessly, smiling like an idiot
I was gazing shamelessly, walking like an idler without course
Little did I notice my vehicle lose direction; little did I notice my head bleeding
I was just there; the settled dust rising, tables turning, grenades and bullets are now apples
Little did I know the power in my lovely hate speech.
What pride did we get after slaughtering fellow Kenyans like goats,
What are the stuttering rifles rattling about, are humans turning game,
What are the grenades doing in civilian pockets, are they keys
Why are the churches burning, you cannot tell me tis the holy ghost fire,
What has that neighbour done, why is that policeman lying there,
Why is no body answering me, am I alone, or are you wondering too
Should I assess the power in my lovely hate speech, am concerned.
My love speech I hate you, my hate speech I love you
Both speeches are one, are the same, of same taste, I hate my passion for you
I love my fellow politician, i love his dirge during my friend’s burial
You bleeding mammoth my friend, I like your corrupt tummy
You scavenger of your own carcass, I like your greed for power
You megalomaniac virus of a beloved country, we love you, let us be
Little do we know death will let you release us, How uncertain are we of you.
My eyes are full of your ocean, the palace you exhume immorality
My ears are preoccupied with your desert, the desert devoid of trust, and the just
My nostrils have your pungent infamy, your callous greed, your everything
My mind can’t decipher the thought of your sanity, your policies and you
You make me lose taste, you make me look like you, you make me you
I am youthful to the economy, i am youthful to the wise, am not youthful to your “youth”
Little do i know death will let you release me, How uncertain am i of you.
Am talking about you, what have i said about me? What?
I hope I know the promise in my Kenyan Anthem
I hope I have a plan of getting rid of the chaff, the you
I hope am not you, i hope you don’t like seeing me wise
I hope your son is listening, the son that wants my very own daughter
I hope am the government, the government of me, for me and by me
I hope i know peace, the peace am preaching, the peace you hate. I hope.
Yours Kenyan,
Mzee Emmanuel Mwau.
In magical verses weave your fated heart's request,
With metaphors holding the shy choir of light abreast,
When hearts corroded by hatred in barrenness rest,
And chains of thought whip gently the gentle flight's zest.
If you are to regain control once more,
When friends of yesteryear were but a lore,
Whose drab garments through time emphatically wore,
But forgiveness you've secreted from its core.
And if in hope you can stand upright,
Not raising armor before the liar’s project slight,
When rage whispers edicts as if to indict,
Melt it in calm, with spirit bright.
Show the world whole your portrait fair,
No masks, no regret, laid bare,
And if you dream of deep breaks in despair,
May you not become in others' lives a dismal seer.
When eternity throws its cold shadow in your corner's crease,
You should gaze with eyes that do not buckle under time’s caprice.
Every living moment in time's palm surely will not cease,
On the heart's scale, they demand to be released.
If you can listen when the truth is spoken,
Alien and shifted in a world that's been broken,
And to persist through the common lies outspoken,
To find faith beneath the frothy spray's token.
If you dare face decay’s embrace without dread,
Avoiding the gilded pleasure's feigned spread,
And in autumn whispers feel your stern fall ahead,
In the poverty of a sky that once display had fed.
Risk carrying on the die heavy, precious pearls,
Wager all that you've got for a fleeting twirl,
And then, whoever you are, learn not to hurl hopes like chaff,
Your failures become a path leading to something more sacred, more daft.
Endure, in a feeble body, remorse and persistence,
Wearing a smile as a shield, melting the tormenting ice of existence.
Cherish the moment that remains in unending instance,
With a soul lined in armor's silent resistance.
If you can fill the silences in empty spaces,
When shattered times speak with yesterday's faces,
Replenish them with fresh sparks among the disgraces,
Then you will build from seconds, unbroken traces.
And the Earth shall through you be magnified,
And all that writhes in its infinite tide,
And in this great shaken, you'll uncover as scribed,
That you're a whole man, not just a soul that's been pried,
Not part of the herd whose times have dried,
But master of the strength from your own dream derived.
Historically accurate, narrative poem
25 June, 1876 - Valley of the Little Bighorn
Nothing stirs this June night, not a summer’s breeze or a breath of life. All is eerily quiet, and on yonder hillside, shroud of darkness and death descended, lay ten score men and more, naked, mutilated and dead, strewn grotesquely white among their horses slain, as bulwarks of flesh against the Sioux in vain. Stench of death everywhere, the din of battle no longer there, said to have sounded like snapping threads in the tearing of a blanket, albeit their frenzied volleys found mostly air.
Swept away like chaff by a vengeful Gall, from Finley Ridge to Calhoun Hill, the men of Companies C and L were first to die, then next to fall was Company I. Further down the ridge on a death pocked hill, gathered around their commander in a desperate band, remnants of E and F with a Fugitive few were the last of the soldiers to stand. Mortally wounded, bullet through breast, a brevet or coffin had been his request. Down upon knees begging no quarter, revolver still firing the latter he receives. As the death blow falls, so also falls Son of the Morning Star.
From out of the smoke dust and din, only one from the Command emerges to return home again. Look! Up on the hill there is a stirring, amongst the shadows and gun smoke yet lingering, a solitary figure to life still clinging, is struggling to reach the river refreshing to bathe his wounds and ease the pain inflicted by humans gone insane. But of the day on that hillside far, of the carnage and death he did see, of the smoke and the hell and of a fallen star he would no-one ever tell, for he was Keogh’s mount, the valiant horse Comanche.
Earlier that day much like a cavalier Knight, Custer with his 7th arrived spoiling for a fight. Into the valley of the Little Bighorn they rode, battalions deployed to sweep left and charge to the front, while his columns of four detached to the right. Further ever further was pressed the advance, in to the jaws of perdition where they hadn’t a chance, to keep the appointment with destiny on that hillside far and eternal night for Son of the Morning Star.
No, nothing stirs this June night, not a summer’s breeze or a breath of life and across the valley up on yonder hillside, all now is eerily quiet.
Imagine Earth itself to be just another Troy, from which, after having raged
In countless battles from Tyre to Megiddo has not been conquered, only aged
And now, having defeated the Spartan race, destroying Priam’s home
Odysseus is captain of a spacecraft with the direction of Ithaca not known
On land to land, world to world, asteroid to comet, sun to galaxy he will wander lost
With endless delay, look askance-or with wanderlust-be unable to define a host
Of angels, like the first home, who—with celestial sound—closed God on a throne
Only future starmen will proceed without God's advantage, in empty space all alone
The victory of God against Satan, here, unproclaimed with all men lost, in between
The endless battles of lucifer and the deity; heaven's splinter to the devil's spleen
The past ages of travail, a mere testing ground of efficacy, the master's saving grace
With the bulk of humanity, like chaff of wheat, having been sifted, as if only a race
Mankind, having run as a race, a race, quite long, the original cause forgotten
How corruption had entered, how the fall began, when Eve traipsed the garden
Yet the race of man; his nature, his spoke, his mind, like a wheel intermingled
Along with the path of the gods--their flight, their call--the Seth of Eve first jingled
How could he not but cry out, from crib, in inter-mixed and complex strain
Since so saith Adam's wife, doting upon her first real child aptly named
Appointed to replace her prior kind, one stricken and one banished
Shepherd Abel first, died, from blight of Cain, latter, whose soul famished
If not his body, since fed with fruit and till of the land, in parched curse
His work distilled into nonsense, and measure as much less in worth
Then the gentle, strange and loving work of the Shepherd's hand
From Shepherd to shepherd, the Maker gave not to Abel land
Since he roamed from brook to brook, or down into gentle meadow
With his staff in hand, and flock afoot, only the caves like ghettos
Learning manly ways and singing with chest open and bare
Under open sky, canopy misting light, and all of life seeming fair
The Lord, himself, culling Abel's rapport and favour, giving him trust
Rather than partition acres, cubits or parcels of land, if only just just
Oh, there's lots of talk about the sad end
Of what we call the American dream;
About the fast decline of our morals
And that we're not all we once were or seem.
Yes, the enemy is outside and in
And most are betting that we're about through;
It seems religion just keeps withering
And that patriots are too far and few.
Not long ago leaders were respected--
They told us the truth and they were not stealth;
Now we doubt their word and their intentions
With smiles and slick phrases like “spread the wealth.”
Oh, they slowly take away liberties--
Tell us what to eat and how we should talk;
Call us fuddy-duddies and out of touch--
It's our traditions and culture they mock.
Yet, nothing is sadder than old liberals
When they go and wrap themselves in the flag;
Make those empty red, white and blue gestures
And say hollow things and put on false brag.
We know that they're just all so full of it
And we never believe a single word;
Leaving unintended consequences
While behind our backs they flip us the bird.
And if we should oppose same-sex marriage--
We're old and just behind the times, you know;
Seems our constitution and God's own book
Aren't enough to stop our nation's garbage flow.
So now they say police are the bad guys
And that they're too brutal and leave folks dead;
But if there's a robbery or riot--
You never call a criminal instead.
Yes, they keep saying our economy
Is just dandy and really quite a pip;
As they still lie about unemployment--
It's just mostly lives and burgers we flip.
Oh, there is no real war on our women
But there is a long one on the unborn;
And we're told transgenders now have their rights
While our own rights are met with stone cold scorn.
Our borders have become a suggestion
And illegals glut our land and just laugh;
We're told there's no such thing as terrorists
And we can't separate wheat from the chaff.
Oh, say we can see by dawn's early light
That we have fell down and long lost our way;
Heroes are now villains and wrong is right--
But cowboys aren't gone and will have their day.
Last night I had an American dream
About our hopes and not just our demise--
Yes... our America will never die
As long as freedom shines in one child's eyes.
The puppet masters plot and weave, when first they practice to deceive
From Bush to Bush the fire spreads, a wildfire born from the Great Beasts bed
Intent, creates a new Zeitgeist to spawn a child, an anti-Christ
The seed’s been sown in Satans name the purpose clear, to God defame
No deeds revealed in tabloid papers Kept hidden their iniquitous capers
They mock our angst with rabid glee and crown it, a conspiracy
A sick exposure of the fact, success repeats the Patriot Act
Cruel fate awaits a Christian race the journey’s set at the Devils pace
From Hitlers hands their fortunes fed, a Rotten Apple, spiders threads
A Presidency on the cards their chorus rings from Satans bards
Twin Towers fall to Evils gain, Nostradame marks an old quatrain
Noahide Laws infused in society, Bush’s claim to the Devils piety
The terror laid at Americas shore, Homeland Security at its core
Involve our sons in fore-planned wars fuel Bankers interests near and far
To reign with iniquitous intent, the rule of money, purity bent
A system born to grease the palms, of those who seek the Devils alms
Indigenous inequality, why share what they can take
The Devils hands laid idle, write the rules for them to make
They form their words in whispers, they speak with a forked tongue
The parchment fresh, the quill’s been bled, the trap it has been sprung
Your liberty’s been stolen, a subtly sanctioned sin
There is no war on terror, the terror lies within
No longer called a prisoner, Genevas cause is lost to law
Detainees they’ll term us to be a welcomed lawyers flaw
Witnessed by a vanquished people, an American constitution
Set forth in pious reverence, genocide its resolution
Rockefeller spilt the beans a farcical invention
RFID for you and me their ultimate intention
Not for the good of those concerned,
Though pay you will, you’re chaff to burn
A single cause a twisted communion
Creates a North American Union
Though history repeats itself, its Trump card clearly dealt
The final thrust, centurions spear exposed, our innards felt
A thunderous cloud, the storms approach, the hurricane it howls
Gods hand outstretched, His children freed, as Satan sadly scowls!
Written: April 8, 2025, for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
*******************
love fleeting
moments
soul controlled
promiscuity &
wantonness
winnow wheat
from chaff
magically
besot
bog-myrtle
emblem
shrewdness
credence
communication
intimacy & physical touch
oversight
laudation
love binds
oozes
matters
expands
prevails. . . and sounds
spiritual
visual
reversal
unperishable
individable
love is all around
love is all about
love is all we ask
love is all we bestow
love is all I have . . .
Joining
flowing counting
growing knowing
asking giving
motivating comforting
having
love is painful
fruitful
disdainful
gainful
baneful
graceful
hateful
archangel
playful
baleful
wakeful
unstable
i love: love
i am so in love
in love with Joy
in love with happiness
in love with anger
in love with frustration
in love with tears
love hurt, love heal, love win, love kill,
love loose, love catch, love toss, love match,
love fall love is right love is wrong,
love is weak, love is strong,
love rise love tall, love smile, love frown,
love stay love cease, love dream love sing,
The Paper Trail
1. Spend a lot of my free time being happy. Spend a lot of my time enjoying myself.
Shutting my eyes tightly, figuring how to forget/ignore the storm ahead. Perhaps, I have been cursed.
The hurricane of my mistakes is ready to take off the roof of our/my house. It's finally here, finally!
2. In my nightmares, I hear your careful footsteps going down the stairs and the creaking sounds of the luggage I asked you to throw out.
Once again, I am alone. Imprisoned by my own mind and the broken frames on the wall, exuding memories of my viciously clawed fingers.
In spring, you arrived like a summer breeze. It's winter when you left me in the cold.
Our favorite tree is buried under the snow. Our house is soaked by its flakes. My heart is frozen by your disappearance. My worst season.
Wanna know a secret? I still never shut the door. Call me delusional, but I pray you will return.
3. Finally, the storm is here! It came in the mail today. Two signatures is all it takes.
The clock strikes six.
How could a single paper haunt me?
Rattling my wooden windows, pitter-pattering alongside my heartbeat, having me thinking in my sleep and tossing in my favorite bed.
Grasping my wet pillow, replaying the things we could have done better. Things I should have said.
My dreams become worry, and food tastes like chaff. Running away from the moment we will eventually have to part.
Why do I always do this to myself? Choose to be happy when I was meant to be sad.
Pitiful!
I love you too much to believe we won't have an ever after. Please don't tell me it's for the best.
4. Watching nights become days, a single sheet becoming my greatest dismay.
Took a walk around the street, found some kids, and gave them sweets. My smiles melting like clay
How can a single paper taunt me?
One, two, three, the clock strikes six. Law buddies firing up my phone. Hope is long gone.
Will a pen put an end to our love? Tell me, My son?
Leaving mommy for her?
Perhaps, I need to recycle this obsession for rest.
Tears after Fears….By Kones Kipkoech
The church, the police station,
The mall, the school, the airport,
The bus stop, the market,
Even the State House
Everyone lives in fears,
Which soon turns to tears.
Why murder ?
Is it religion ?
Is it region ?
Is it the skin colour?
Riches or poverty ?
Why spill innocent blood ?
Why does your eyes blink in joy in the sight of spilt blood ?
Why does your nose heave with joy at the smell of the blood ?
Why does your finger rests on the trigger?
Ready to execute an ‘Holy command?’
We live in trepidation,
You instill fear by your blood beckoning threats,
Chickenhearted, you render us,
At dawn, you threaten to blow off the roof of this temple,
At noon, you threaten to steal the sacred wind at that mall,
Twilight comes, we shed tears for the blood you spilt at the bus stop…
And leave us wondering ; who’s next ?
Tutu! Tututu! Tutu! Tutuu!
A white fatty flesh flying in the air ?
Oh! No! The brains of my fellow compatriots,
You have blown them off,
As the whirl wind does the chaff,
And fled, and claim you execute a Holy retaliatory act?
Terror, tension tears and trauma;
Dismay, disquiet, disheartenment and dread;
Shock, strain and stress,
Are painful piercing words you have taught us to live with.
Is murder a Holy Act?
Why ruin the vibrant youths?
Why indoctrinate our youths?
Kill to defend a ‘religion’?
Kill to defend a ‘region’ ?
Kill for American currency?
Kill for a ticket to heaven?
I reckon it’s hell though.
A religion that murders is not a religion,
God is love,
Love for humanity is the right religion,
You and I are images of God,
Your religion is right,
If it promotes love for all humanity
My religion is right,
If it teaches love for all,
From West to East
From North to South…Love
You have a right,
I too have a right
For you and for me,
God is one !
Shall our tears forever flow ?
Shall fear forever cripple us ?
Let’s restore the glory of our land,
Tranquility is what we need in our land,
Let’s bury the hatchets,
Let’s come to the table,
We are one blood, one nation and one people,
Thus;Let’s embrace; love ,peace and harmony !
The singularity of my voice,
Wailing out in this dark, wild, and philistine-infested wilderness
Today; Its uniqueness alone amongst several million babbling,
Balbutient tongues, and inked pens and platitude-riddled pages on blinking
Computer monitory screens,
The intelligible and the inane,
The incomprehensible and the uncomprehending:
The pretenders to literature's throne and the
Imposters of the immortals of poetry, drama, essay and fictive literature, as well as history and verse,
None of whose utter sublimity can these modern dolts and interlopers ever hope to assay.
He who writes these words with a swiftly flagging, already dying ember of hope,
Has cried aloud in the midst of all the untamed, inky wilderness
Almost all of his life and particularly has he done so over
The course of the past lustrum, and never once was
He heeded, this involuntary
Modern Jeremiah-
Yet, if I recall my scripture aright, initially as did Jonah,
He did not wish the task, either:
That task with which the Lord charged and tasked him.
3. Though the age of the razor has for much more than an epoch,
And more like a century, been upon us, yet its mastery in
These times seems to have departed, like chaff upon the blowing wind.
Where is the clean and well-shaven face?
Where is the clearing, the meadow in all this wilderness of unkempt, untamed facial fur?
What ancient Jewishness has enthralled man so that now he
Daily practices the dubious art of the bearded?
Of all the multitudinous arts, precepts, practices,
Tenets, manners, and accouterments of the archaic Judean:
Many moral, upright, righteous and uniquely salutary:
Why has only the one betokening only the densely furred face
Has modern man sought to assay?
Even the author of this poetic, parodic
Jeremiad, even he, who is in fact I;
I say even he has felt the furry, follicular,
Hirsute hordes encroach full upon and in beleaguering it,
Make invasive inroads upon his Grecian deific countenance.
And aye, even that of his father's too....
ANd virtually every other man he knows,
About whom is this screed against shearing indolence, grooming sloth being written.
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