Long Clubbed Poems
Long Clubbed Poems. Below are the most popular long Clubbed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clubbed poems by poem length and keyword.
Take a plastic knife
lay down and put it over
the place where your heart is hiding.
Close your eyes; if behind each eyelid
you see a baby seal being clubbed to death
then that's a sure signal
you always meant well, but the seal still died.
On the other hand,
if you see an injured songbird
fluttering weakly in your closing fist
then that's a sign you
have forgotten where you left your heart.
Move the plastic knife around your chest
until you hear the bleating of lost lambs.
Give thanks for being soft and
pliable still,
and not hard enough to break
the point off a plastic kitchen knife.
A K-8 school, J.S. Waters, was roundly chastised today
Its students held a 'mock' slave auction
This happened in March, in North Carolina, in the year 2022
White students sold black students as slaves, and used the n-word too
One boy went for $350, later he was clubbed with a baseball bat
So, if you roll your eyes over 'Racism?' --in the USA?
~ You ought to think long and hard about that
Fire the principal, the teachers involved, expel the white participants too
Throw the book at the adults, and at those white kids too
Make an example of these horrid beasts, so this NEVER happens again...
We dare not wonder why Civil War wounds have yet to mend
We sat at the only empty table.
I'd never seen her before,
that elegant, thirty-something lady,
when I visited that shore.
I was twenty-two years old, with big ideas,
a little scruffy, a little thin.
I may once have been more fascinated,
but I can't remember when.
In the air, a sense of revolution,
an unseen, electric buzz -
hours of uninterrupted conversation
on that magic day that was.
"I am separated from my husband",
she mysteriously explained.
"Why?" I asked, my question drifting away,
of it, nothing remained.
I did not know the nature of their problem,
only that he was a doctor.
Her personal life was, it seemed, taboo, though
I wish I had unlocked her.
In the late afternoon, she bid me adieu,
departing to the West.
Suddenly, I knew that I was in love.
My purpose, I now possessed.
I hoped to find her on those foreign streets
before I had to move on.
Finally, I spied her, amongst the busy crowd,
but she was no longer blonde.
Before I could catch her, she entered a store.
So, I decided to wait.
How was it that she never came out again?
I left, when they closed so late.
Just then, a thug from some political faction
clubbed me, slammed me in a cell,
where I disappeared into a timeless fog,
emerging with a strange tale to tell.
They released me, who knows how much later.
I walked among the crowd,
trying to regain my wobbly footing,
my mind, beneath a cloud.
A man approached me, purposefully,
and I was shocked to see -
in every detail, he was a replica
of no one but me.
He told me that I would be joining him.
I pushed him and tried to run,
but he possessed superhuman strength
and continued where he'd begun.
He asked what I did for a career,
and it was a shocker
to hear my own voice say so loud and clear,
"I am a doctor".
"What a nice surprise that is", said he,
"so useful, I suggest.
We have someone we want you to meet.
She will be impressed".
A smoky vignette opens up, as if morning fog over the mountain valleys blown by winter winds.
Piano notes pulsing in a melancholic, waltz~ like cadence…the plangent tension of one long note on a mellotron held throughout the rhythmic piano notes sounds dolorous and desolate.
Images of 18th century couples in formal gowns and elaborate, powdered wigs dance through my mind. The hoop skirts gently sway as the couples move in a pattern, heads thrown back and arms rigidly locked in position.
The plaintive, closed throat voice of a man begins to sing, simply…
“ I feel unhappy,
I feel so sad.
I've lost the best friend
that I ever had.
She was my woman,
I loved her so.
But it's too late now,
I let her go.
I'm going through changes,
I'm going through changes. “
The couples spin and dance this waltz
all together, covering the dance floor like flowers
twirling a wind storm.
The fabulously tall and flamboyant wigs
disappear as does the pale make up on their faces.
The rigid yet beautiful dance continues as couples take turns covering the entire ballroom.
At each rotation, there's a change, some detail is different, the moles disappear and are replaced with fake eyelashes and red lipstick.
The gentlemen first have hair in low tails clubbed at the neck, then short locks and pompadours. Dresses go from elaborate ball gowns to poodle skirts and then to skimpy spangled dresses.
We watch as they dance and convert from one fashion, and one decade, to the next.
The final notes ring out, vibrating the room and the couples come to a halt, standing like statues in their perfect waltz form.
We realize that although every outward appearance has undergone transformations, some things never change....
Humanities love and dependence on music
and the compelling urge to dance to express the emotions that music elicits... surpassing every boundary, race, culture, and people. All of us use this expression in one form or another. An urgent expression of
Joy, love, sorrow, passion, pain, and on and on…
only able to fully express our feelings
through melodies and
the poetry of dance.
Young Johnny Walford was a handsome man
He possessed a keen intelligent mind
Yet the life he desperately desired
In the end poor Johnny would never find
Lack of education, coal dusted hands
His heart was set on the Miller's daughter
Sadly one night he strayed with Jane Shorney
Made his life into the stuff of fodder
He was forced to marry against his will
Jane Shorney was now carrying his child
He could not bare the thought of forever
Her screeching voice, made him insanely wild
It was but three weeks into his marriage
Our young Johnny couldn't take anymore
He clubbed her on the head and slit her throat
This was more than they had both bargained for
He took her body, threw it in a ditch
Then he tried to cover it with dirt
In her hand she clutched a piece of fabric
She had foresight to hold onto his shirt
Her body found there with a hue and a cry
Johnny was dragged in chains through the streets
Hanged on the gibbet for passers by
It is said that a year later they would meet
She haunts both ditch and gibbet to this day
Her banshee voice screeches berating him
Poor Johnny would prefer to be in heel
Her words feel like being torn limb from limb
A Shadowlam production. Great topic for a poem Shadow thanks
for inviting me to write this one with you.
A Cave Man Day
One day long ago a cave man slept uncomfortably
The brutal sun, good for nothing, woke him up abruptly
Ants crawled all over his body and began to bite
He ate every one of them one by one
Using his fingers and his thumbs as utensils
There was no name for breakfast at the time
Or the creatures who ate his parents
Cave man was all alone and had a simple job
To find more food and stay alive
Fire had just been invented and utilized
This miracle he took with him everywhere
The other 2 gods were sun and water
Fire would be his favorite deity
The man was good at picking berries, consuming plants
All of this at great peril and certainly by chance
They could be poisonous or make him sick
All cave men had to do this to survive and take the risk
He used rocks and sharp ended sticks to take down pray
Skills taught to him by his dad before he died
Cave man was short, stout, mean, with green and jagged teeth
And made his way through Stone Age foliage
He had a bushy beard and scratched it
Wondered what he was looking at… What was that?!
When he met a woman with long legs and tangled hair
She had nice features for a cave girl from that age
He took her by the hair and clubbed her on the head
Dated, copulated and married on the spot
What a lovely wedding day
They moved into a cave
Respect is the essence which never fades
Respect is what one needs during the journey
Be respectful of others,
use your conscience, treat them with dignity.
Not everyone has had it easy in life
and from my experience
those who have suffered the most have the most
amazing beautiful fractal heart;
No everyone has it handed to them on a silver plate
some have had to contend with abuse and hate
be gentle when sharing your views with others
yours might have come easy, but theirs were hard earned
Bend the reed but don't break it,
rigidity is for mules not humans ;
Let them feel free to express their beliefs
without being clubbed over the head !
Its easy to have faith when everything is going well
its easy to give up, when everything is not
Be kind to those who wear scars on their sleeve
be good to all, harm none, and most of all
Respect where they are, when it came to survival, they had the gall.
My back upon the bed, night's thickening dissolves. Awake, eyes open.
I see him lying high, the silhouette of head, glint eye, arched back,
tail hangs down black- tipped, black-striped, pale background,
dawn revealing furry, fire-tipped orange.
Perfectly still. He does not move. He has not moved since fading of last year,
and now January is here, soon gone, and though the night's are long,
summer sun's long march is strong, the shadow of his tail will shorten.
I see a wound.
Three stripes up, above tail tip, a small but bursting seam, entrail revealed,
white and clean, showing clear what must have been.
Ferocious battle with precocious cub who sudden leapt upon his back
and cuffed and sank milk teeth into his neck, and roared and clubbed with fearsome paw.
And tail was caught between the fray, and pulled and ripped and left this way,
perhaps to fight just one more day.
For now he waits, tiger lying high upon the wardrobe, beneath the ceiling.
No thought, not feeling, not counting nights for cub's return.
Yet eye below does long and yearn to see young cub again,
his muscle grown, with longer leg and thicker hair. Not long, not long.
The days will soon be flown in passing of the year.
Tall as they come, this man is 1 metre 85,
A basketball player inspired by the 2012s,
To compete in disability sport so to thrive,
At the high jump, his practice bookshelves.
Loughborough students encouraged him,
To work on his basketball leaps by trying,
To high jump. He was so taken, no whim,
With the London Paras, he was pertaining,
That he became a T44 athlete for team GB,
To qualify with PB of 2.06 at Bedford in May;
2013 also saw him in the IPC, Lyon to see,
Where he took silver, loosing to Poland, ok.
2014 IPC Europeans in Swansea, Wales,
And he got another PB with 2.15m, a WR,
Which would’ve won gold in London sails,
But he had to accept silver, Poland did bar.
Jonathan lives in Reading at the age of 28,
But was born in Colchester well fine, fair,
With a clubbed foot, a week right knee fate,
And muscular imbalance thru his body, lair.
You’ll find yourself on the other side of the blade
You’ll find yourself on the other side of the blade
You’ll find that trouble will come to you, ready-made
Today you’re the hero, tomorrow you’ll be the foe
Today you’re the hero, tomorrow you’ll be the foe
It’s the same thing as in ancient tales long ago
There ain’t no running or hiding in this wilderness
Ain’t no running or hiding in this wilderness
I think you’ll find nature impossible to resist
God has answers that you may not hear
The Good Lord has answers for you that you may not hear
Listen up child, lest all the good world disappear
Some people are blind to the tyrant that dwells within
Some folks are sure of the rules in a game they must win
Not knowing where to aim is the mark of sin
The demon of vice will not be easily tamed
He’ll threaten you with aggression for which you’ll be blamed
Til all that’s left of your legacy is a stain
The Major Judges are lining up above
The trumpets are sounding, the seals have been torn and clubbed
And the very last angel will sound the chaos of love
Yes the Final Angel will sound the chaos of love.