Long Chars Poems
Long Chars Poems. Below are the most popular long Chars by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chars poems by poem length and keyword.
This fool doth not consider himself wise,
writing paltry poetry difficult
to read and/or actualize
methinks perusers of great literature
snub nose how I miserably advertise,
laughable attempt to aerobicise
fifty plus shades of gray matter
lobbying showy words agonize
zing effort perhaps best to cauterize
near petrified glob - boon
for scientists to analyze
baffling laboratory technicians
unusual crenulations
a profound surprise
pitiful peremptorily doth apologize
unlike verbalization feasible
after webbed whirled fist size
terra incognita reveals numbskull years
wrought yours truly to anesthetize
smelting, squelching,
and suppressing emotions
scored how tree rings annualize
environmental conditions definite
premature imp of the pervert
poe fella lifetime channels,
where bullies did antagonize
upon death requested autopsy authorize
zing eager scalpels to apprize
miniature dried river bed
formerly streams of consciousness
lake never seen before engendering
crowdsource to hypothesize
baffling every expert,
how terrible fate did baptize
ala lemony snicket series
of unfortunate events
multiplied power bajillion times
number only Google could surmise
obvious tell tale signs did brutalize
as if smacked upside the head
one unfortunate gladly apparently
suffered maelstroms of armageddon size
poet chars evidently
succeeded to burglarize
more successful than Watergate
psychological ploys hackers
noninvasively did cannibalize
(perhaps bored furloughed
government employees)
albeit noninvasively deeming
imposible to canonize
resultant cerebral corpus
understandably did capsize
entire body politik (Democrat)
faced, booked on hatred did demonize
verbal assaults indicate
suffering did caramelize
cerebrum, cerebellum and brainstem
resembling burnt offering
impossible to categorize
glommed hardened integument colleagues
hard pressed to characterize
highly rendered anomaly,
hence unfair to criticize
erratic schizoid personality disorder
quite evident amyloid plaques
did significantly crystalize
definitely explain aberrant quirks
resultant incessant emasculation
unquestionably led him to demoralize.
Front door brings in nippy chill,
You step onto the frosty path,
No pleasant air for you to initial,
Only a gut fight with the waft.
But friends are warm and bright,
Neighbours smile by their cars,
Old friends get in touch, write,
The hairdresser chats n’ chars.
What to give is a nice problem,
What to write on xmas cards,
Why not to give, there’s a hum,
Of distance, you only give cards.
Relative’s personalities summed,
Cousins hobbies are understood,
Relations interests taken, gummed,
And friends activities are all good.
Jumpers are purchased for mum,
Plus teapot, hand cream, soap,
Quality Street purple is a chum,
Candles jars are given in hope.
Sporadic robins brighten and light,
Kids build a roly snowman, just,
Dogs walk in cosy jackets tight,
And by-passers stop for a gust.
Families welcome drivers’ eyes,
When they look in the windows,
With flashing lights, mixed dyes,
In patterns, pictures, pure glows.
The atmosphere at restaurants,
Beckons xmas truth and tale,
When others also have nuance,
For special kin who chat, sail.
No negatives divide and split,
No text to state what to say,
Greetings are heartfelt and lit,
Your chat can be any old way.
Church is optional, a possibility,
But fires and heaters gaily blast,
Radios aptly inform about activity,
When Santa will visit stores vast.
Decorations furnish, fill stores,
Giant Christmas trees stand, line,
Large baubles hang on all floors,
Huge stockings see shoppers dine.
There is a righteous business,
In the air, filtering, at xmas time,
It’s friendship and happiness,
That's engineered, the told sign.
The central focus is a snug meal,
A slot saved and made for chat,
Where for each person the deal,
Is to converse, discuss and bat.
All are welcome, all can have,
Everyone can enjoy, participate,
Each one can find peace, shove,
Xmas with you does coaguate.
Whatever the question, give,
Everyone is part of Christmas,
A smile, joke, a chat, a forgive,
You can even restrain for a bash.
Her tears fall like rain on a borrowed shore,
A quiet deluge, seeping through seams,
Staining the fabric of a life not hers—
His shirt, his collar, his cuffs worn thin,
Drenched in the salt of a love forbidden.
She weeps for him, the man she holds
In the hollow of her chest, a stolen flame,
A fire that warms her, yet chars her soul.
Each drop a confession, a mute apology,
To a heart that beats for what it cannot claim.
She traces the threads with trembling hands,
His scent a tether, his warmth a ghost,
Her love a river with no mouth to run,
Pooling in silence, drowning her slow.
The wrong woman, they call her—
A thief of glances, a beggar of time,
Yet she gives all, her tears the proof,
A currency spent on a debt unpaid,
Soaking his clothes with her breaking truth.
And then the wife, the keeper of vows,
Lifts the sodden cloth from the basket’s weight,
Her fingers brush the damp of grief not hers,
A stain she cannot name, yet feels too well.
She washes the shirts in a rhythm old,
A ritual of care turned bitter with knowing—
The tears of other women weave through the warp,
Heartbreak stitched into the weft of his wear,
A tapestry of sorrow she scrubs in vain,
For the water runs clear, but the pain remains.
The wife’s hands pause, the suds grow still,
She senses the echo of a stranger’s ache,
A chorus of fractures pressed into his skin—
How many tears have kissed these sleeves?
How many hearts have wept their claim?
She wrings the cloth, and with it, her peace,
The laundry a shroud for a marriage worn thin,
Each tear a thread unraveling trust,
A silent war waged in soap and rust.
The wrong woman cries, the wife washes on,
Two souls bound by the man between,
His clothes a battlefield, soaked and cleansed,
A map of longing, a ledger of loss.
One loves in shadow, one in light,
Yet both bleed red beneath the strain—
Tears that fall, and hands that mend,
A cycle of hurt with no clean end.
For love, unshared, is a wound too deep,
And the shirts he wears bear all they weep.
Maggie Skosana
cut down in your youth
for the simplest reason
telling the truth
'twas the hand of your brethren
that cast the first stone
your supporters have fled
leaving you on your own
No one came to shield you
No Police siren rang
No help for the victim
of a stone throwing gang
Your pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears
No black hand outstretched
No holding back tears
in the crowd that surrounds you
as you writhe in the dust
You're a victim of society's lust
for freedom and gain
Look only to God now
for relief from the pain.
Did they drag you outside
your face in the dust
Did you scream, did you struggle
Did you cry "What is Just?
Where are my protectors,
why did they not come?
Your death knell was tolled
on a paraffin drum
Your legs do not function
you struggle to rise
They kick you and beat you
You look in their eyes
Many black hands outstretched now
but to kill and to burn
The stones pelt down faster
you have no way to turn
They called you Informer, a Traitor, a Liar
Matches held in black hands
light your funeral pyre
Your executors dance
hands raised high in the air
No one came to help you
No one did care
That you had a black skin
That you thought you were right
No help for you Maggie
From black or from white
The fire chars your body
your end has now come
to the thumping of hands
on a paraffin drum
We weep for you Maggie
that your death was in vain
That you died in the dust
That you suffered such pain
In the great Halls of Justice
those who committed this crime
Your Judge, Jury, Executioners
meet their maker in time
Their end surely must come
when it does it will be
to a slow...slow...beat on a paraffin drum.
Maggie Skosana was a young African woman who was burnt to death for unknown reasons during rioting in South Africa many years ago. I wrote the poem so that she would be remembered as an innocent victim of man's cruelty.
I wander down a cobbled street,
sodden from rain, heckled by whispers
revealing secrets on this blustery night.
They bewilder me in a surge of confusion
far beyond the juncture of cursory fright.
If this is collusion to drive me insane,
I beg deliverence from their echoing disdain;
Are these callous voices reality or delusion,
taunting me to plunge into depths of despair?
There is no hope of suturing my wounds,
or to eviscerate my harrowed heart.
If I could expunge them from my mind
would that ease the grief caused by the thief
who's bent on ripping my life apart?
Whispers are spilling from invisible lips.
How they tantalize me with false accusation.
My emotions are bereaved by the goading quips.
It's a conceived conspiracy of fallacious blather,
repeatedly mocking me in condemnation.
They've branded me with hot tongues they wield,
burning scars in my ears. Chars that will not heal.
If only I could douse memory's flames. I'm curious
to know if doing so would eliminate this torment.
My body is beaten, slashed by blades of driving rain.
Like shards of glass each raindrop cuts
my skin until blood seeps from the crux of my soul
and life drips away in scarlet flux.
I am wracked with sobs, prostrate with weeping.
And still the hissing voices berate me.
My head is pounding from their petition of jeers.
but I've no confession to give, nor act of contrition.
"Not guilty," I scream, but they won't let me be.
A vortex eddies around my bare feet
and my breathing grows shallow as whispers fade.
Dawn's warm fingers reach out to comfort me,
breaching the darkness on a cobble stone street.
June 25, 2018
8 word challenge-1.Fallacious 2.Eviscerate 3. Curious
4. Bewilder 5. Plunge 6. Tantalize 7. Vortex 8. Scarlet
John Hamilton~host
~~~~~~
O tender soul, o innocence defiled,
What cruelties did your youth upend?
Tormented by she who should cherish her child,
Instead her addictions made her your fiend.
Those eyes that should have beamed with a mother's love,
Grew cold and contemptuous in the throes of her vice.
What horrors played out in that hellish dugout,
As her demons unleashed their malicious device?
Did her hands that were meant to soothe and caress,
Leave marks of unspeakable malice instead?
While her harsh words like knives did your spirit suppress,
Leaving your young mind battered and misled.
In that lair where you should have known only grace,
An unholy darkness descended to reign.
Fear and anguish contorting your sweet face,
As her sickness lashed out again and again.
O the trauma embedded, those indelible scars,
That no child should ever have etched on their soul.
Your safe haven perverted by terror's brutal chars,
Stripping security's blanket that should make one whole.
And when at last you were plucked from that pit,
From the hell that your childhood had tragically become,
Other arms tried to embrace and permit
The shattered pieces of you to be some.
But the ghost of those horrors still stalked in your mind,
Echoing torments that never were quieted.
The hyper-vigilance always lurking behind,
As the demons you fled, you could not outride.
For PTSD's insidious grip took its hold,
Replaying those memories of helplessness felt.
The night terrors and flashbacks forever retold,
Of the agonies your young being did pelt.
O you brave, resilient warrior of the soul,
Battered but never defeated by your youth's blight.
The traumas that tried to leave you a haunted, scarred toll,
Could never extinguish your infinite light.
For though she was meant to protect you
My fingers are vibrant flames
that shoot sincerity one second, hate the next
and ignite with every caress.
You are warm until the heat begins
to eat at the skin and devour your spirit,
while you try to find a way to reach out to me.
But none are immune to my scarlet touch,
you throw water that vaporizes around me
and yet you keep stroking, then I keep burning.
But the nips heal, leaving scars that fade
and every time you anguish harder and smile less
until one day the crimson digs too deep.
And chars your golden souls burnt,
so you leave with your scalded heart
incurable.
I want to suffocate my flames, or drench them dead,
to see you again without facing how much
I destroyed you inside and out.
This pain is brighter that just my fire,
than my touch melting off your hope
layer by layer, turning to blue sparks and glowing coals.
It is always there, hiding behind the shadows of chars and scars,
a mess of vehemence smashed together
that rips me apart from within.
When it comes out, in searing agony and torment,
it grabs the reigns of my brain and
it yells and screams a wailing cry.
It crams into words into my head till
no other anxiety can fit, animosity that breaks
through the blindfold that covers my heart from seeing your burns.
It opens me up to the carnage I leave in my path
and the stabs of hate are thrusted into me,
in hopes to douse the arson it doesn't want me to inflict.
But it is too late and you are just a wisp of smoke,
slowly becoming whole again, and me stuck between
watching you burn with me and wanting you to be unscathed.
I know this happens every year,
but I dislike it all the same,
cloying, oppressive August heat
puts such a great stress on the brain.
Add the humidity to it
and slight movement soaks you through,
I’ve grown tired of the summer,
I have got the dog day blues.
Some people will not believe this,
they’ll just gawk and say I’m bizarre,
to them linking the cooler months
is simply a step too far.
But when the air gets hard to breath,
when relief is denied to you,
I think they’ll start to understand
those who get the dog day blues.
When outside holds a blazing sun
so intense that it chars the skin,
when even the breeze feels too hot
and you have no pool to be in,
when the mercury’s three digits,
and they won’t let you go nude,
then maybe folks will see our point,
see the pain of the dog day blues.
Last of all there’s the damn insects
who oh-so-prolifically breed,
then buzz about looking for food,
and always seem to feed on me,
whether I sleep or am awake,
I find the bastards rather rude,
I slaughter them with slapping hands
and curse these dog day blues.
I’ll breath easier when this has passed
since I don’t care for it at all,
some may like the summer’s sun,
but I say bring on the Fall!
Cool days, flannel, and colored leaves,
and new episodes on the tube,
seems to me a much better deal
than these sweaty, dog day blues.
This is not a place
Not a place
where trees grow
where water runs
freely
This is a place
of the quiet
solitude
A place of
fullness
emptiness
Yet to the people of old
The forest dwellers
The water dwellers
The nomadics
This is there home
Its your home too
In the desert
Deep in the desert
theres a cave
where nothing
holds all
10,00 paths
lead to somewhere
one path
to nowhere
leads here
This cave
Is not etched
on any map
Hidden from site
Located
on a landscape
A heated
arid landscape
A desert being
That burns senses
evaporates
Dims senses
chars self
The cave
Blood red rock
patterned with
handprints white
Ashen pigment
marks the
dead, alive
the unborn
Here
All that ever
happened is
happening
and all that’s
to happen
happened
Here
If one could
hear
10,000 call
shattering
the solitude
into 100,000
realites
Here
theres a pool
untouched
by
heat and wind
by element
A perfect reflection
If one could see
This reflection holds
10,000
in a hypnotic state
of self belief
There tears roll
Eroding rock
sustaining shape
But
It’s a cave
Just a cave
Alive with the
heat of being
and non being
An imposition
In the solidity
of rock
An empty space
containing all
Made of nothing
A place few go
Few find
This is the
mirage of dream
Form:
The world is a storm, like a hurricane.
It tears down our hope
And showers down pain
There’s floods filled with fear
And cyclones of shame
The fire it burns
And it chars our name
So I fantasize through sinister skies
Of Celestial smiles, Sagittarius child
andromadus dances,
constellation romances
And galaxies wave like the sea
Planets rejoice, ethereal voice
Jupiter laughs when he sees
Jupiter laughs when he sees
— - -
When it all seems too much
And I just can’t ignore
The devil that’s knocking down on my door
I close my eyes and I visualize
A world that is gentle and heart that is kind
— - -
I close my eyes once more just for sure,
The world still a storm,
With its twists and its turns.
The air here is sour with envy and power
I fight the moon everyday every hour
So I fantasize of freckle-faced nights
wrinkles in time and novas sublime
Sweet wanderlust, sleepy star-dust
And comets that flutter with ease
Leo recites his poems of light
Jupiter laughs when he sees
Jupiter laughs when he sees
— - -
When it all seems too much
And I just can’t ignore
The devil that’s knocking down on my door
I close my eyes and I visualize
A world that is gentle and heart that is kind