Long Corrodes Poems
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Written: April 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama
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When cruelty becomes a badge of honor
empathy transforms into an act of defiance
while the evildoers are celebrated!
The resonance of your words
Your words echo as a sharp blade
revealing the possum
shameful crawl
dragging through sacred remnants
they cut through the fragile chambers
of my vulnerable existence.
A rustle of grass
in the Cimmerian pre-dawn.
Watching you drown in your denial
Now, a landscape of sorrow
once vibrant with the hues of joy
has faded into mere shadows
Shades of happiness did thrive
I stand frozen, bleary-eyed
trying to bear sense of
eerie glow of empty eyes
I am a witness to the casualty
of an all-night bender
Your gaze, a weapon
cold and unyielding
left my spirit in ruins
forever haunted
by the ghost of what once was
The dreams you stole
That left me stranded
broken in body and soul
Amidst the unfolding horrors —
border violence, displacements,
police brutality, genocidal oppression —
Remember this: Cruelty is the point
Cruelty is not humorous nor edgy
Cruelty is not justifiable
Cruelty corrodes the sense of self
Cruelty for cruelty's sake
a repulsive and vile toxic waste
What started as casual banter
quickly turned into a serious dialogue
banter quickly grew into a colloquy.
I walk a path of despair
a subdued plea
where cruelty reigns
Some find joy in the suffering of others—
the essence of schadenfreude
Do we embody barbarism
when we think
we have the right to be cruel
And ignore the agreements we made?
The casualties were unintended
Yearning for a healing touch
for the grace to set me free
Yet the scars remain
a stark reminder
of the cruelty
that has etched its haunting mark.
Your malice roars like a storm
within my spirit,
leaving me shattered
and utterly out of control
I am a victim
The cost of your design
and now I seek peace
In my life
Humans possess the capacity
for empathy and reason,
yet systems of violence.
They are crafted to dominate
subjugate
dehumanize and oppress
Cruelty is always at the core
It feels as if we are consumed
by cruelty in our thoughts
defending the indefensible.
I am a purple headed chicken with glass beads. I like to roam the wooded glades. I often wear a pair of shades. It shields my precious amethyst eyes from the glare of the sun. Such heat corrodes such orifices. But producing a grin as I pass the goblin who gazes ay my feathers in an admiring stare. Then I make my way up the tree and use the vines to swing over to my favourite picnic spot by the lake. Mrs squirrel has made an amazing spread of acorn nectar which I peck up at great speed. Lovely wild mushrooms mixed with bracken. A treat as I sit in my woodland dream. But oh no what is that? That terrible noise? And why is it so very dark? I feel squashed. My throat is dry. Where are my woods? Oh no I am here and not in my sanctuary. I must claw at the sides of this thing. Far to restrictive. Cant even flap. And isnt that Myra, and Hettie I can hear clucking. If I get out then I will get them out too. Wait for those passing stomping boots and that noise must be on as I go. Means the end of a life but if I can rescue some of my friends it will be fantastic and plucky too. Plucking up the courage she began to claw and finally broke through. Squashing through the tiny bars she found her friends and instructed them how to release. Then one by one they flew up and up and up into the night air. Using the rest of their power gained by finding three pieces of corn on the floor of that place. The ceiling had a sky light which was barely wide enough to squeeze a potato but they managed to kick it whilst beating their wings. Finally having released themselves they soared across to the woods in the distance. Where they were greeted by a squirrel in a patterned apron and chefs hat. Wow Mrs squirrel is real. Not just in my dream. Mrs squirrel smiled and greeted her and her friends. Now you will have safety here amongst the trees. Later you can visit the lake. Then the blanket was dutifully laid and the birds sat down to enjoy their feast. Feasting feathers find fun. Then they spent the future swinging from the vines, visiting the lake for regular picnics, singing with the woodland choir, and working the soil with their claws and beaks. To earn a crumb is to earn a crust. And crusts are neither crumbles nor couplets crouching. Cluck cluck cluck. Ornithomania
Form:
Lets hike through broken lanes, till life make sense
Lets fence fear, give that insane pain a blockage
Till life make sense
Lets page our broken pieces of thoughts and hope
Let climb valleys and hills of sin
Till life make sense
Hold me tight, lets crash those ends that break us to ashes
Walk with me, parade the sour cloudy waves
Till life make sense
Lets throw stones to talks untill they sink
Lets dance till our sweat forms a sea
Till life make sense
Together we can drift, and swim through the sharks
Wrap you in my skin, hold till we start to float
We'll ride though the smoke
Untill life make sense
Lets float till we describe a dream
Freedom can only mean you and me
The world fires at you, roast you bad within
Paint you in black , till you drown in black wine
You dance and wine in pain, closes your heart, embracing the devils wheels within
You steam , role yourself as own enemy, then throw yourself in the bin
You watch as my heart scatter and shrink within
Say that am too good for sting
But I won't just let you fade, you're my beautiful mistake
I'l dive on your skin
Tilt pain, sun-kiss your soul, breath away drama and doubt
Till we fly in flashes
I 'll wear your heart, breaks locks, till love saves us
We'll run the light till we find the truth
I'll breath you, humour you till we find us
I'll stir chances on you , dance with hues
Till I seclude you completely from blues
Babe you're the force behind these traits
You track my mysteries and remind me what life is supposed to be
You're the pioneer of my dreams, the slasher of my big pride
You patron my moods, you're the twin of my smile
Your love is a massive crowd that cheer my heart
Your hand is the sun that catches and warms my soul
You paint all corrodes that threatens my future
You cement my dreams, the stars seems so near
You dish away nonsense, critics are cage as slaves
You're my ultimate king
You're my platinum win
You make me mingle with my spirits
Tatter dark till there's a healing
Meeting you was a mistake
Loving you is a cheeful beautiful mistake
21/12/2013 liz leppy
Ink blotting covers looks like souls trying to escape from a cluster
Shanking each other, blood spilling in a gutter
People hating one another, melting butter
The back of a butterfly, a hand partially covering an eye
Cloud in the sky a working mind in thermo radiation
A cooking guy
Pennies in a wishing well
Enemies in a holding cell ,tension in the air
A dog biting a man with a bag full of mail
Love repelled,
A glove inflated than popped ,the release of it’s hot air
Sound of a rip tear
Frequencies in microwave a picture of a solar flare
A working imagination, hallucinogenic animation, a scenic illustration
A sink draining, a monk in deep meditation
Party and celebration, ends meeting
The vibration of vocal chords when your speaking
Pungent odors reeking, a hangover
Pain, a crushed up range rover
A spilled on cup holder a puddle of liquid on a table
Lies made up by fables
A face against a glass, Xerox of a... butt
Thoughts about the past, a bum digging in my stash
Then I had to whoop his... butt like he stole something from me in the past
A well lit flower smiling in the sunshine
Blades of grass whispering in a huddle
From striking beauty a man tongue tied
Water being thrown from a puddle
A brief sensation of pain, the creation of a stain
Steam from a train, the wild that seem tame
Stain glass windows sun beams that protrude tears that trickle
Trees that snicker shadows that gaze
Thoughts that wither, ambition that fades
Having epiphanies feeling reborn
A field of corn full of life ,a cats purr
A cup of ice water stirred
The echo of waves submitting to gravity and current
A melancholy person with a smile that’s reassuring
A yell from triumph, an echo reverbing
A bond forming, a long wait that’s boring
The fear of mind control fear of the unknown
An adrenaline rush from a quick descent from high to low
A sore throat
Water dripping constantly on cement until it corrodes and forms a hole
Form:
Written: May 31st, 2025, for contest by Kai Michael Neumann
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In the stillness of twilight, shadows sway.
and a delicate craft rests on the shore,
embarking on a perilous, winding path.
Odyssey, its supple rostrum slightly widening
as if attuned to the twilight.
Drifting on a warm breeze, such a leaf,
Its brittle hull swings.
In a katabatic void lies a sliver of moon.
Bright crescent casts eerie glowing lunette.
over the nocturnal landscape.
As fragments of splintered light,
Meteorites streak across the cerulean vault,
leaving behind trails of glowing embers.
A haunting, protracted silence seeps
from the twisted, barren trees.
A slight breeze stirs the zephyr.
evoking a curious sense of déjà vu—
an illuminating, transient bond
With my repressed heart.
And the hardened, smothering cage
It jolts me back to the present.
Broken, overwritten nerves
Sustain high tension,
a permanent low-grade hum
that corrodes my senses;
The caustic, metallic taste of affliction
clings to my mouth, a constant
a nagging presence that resists fading.
Exercises to release it only
seem to weaken its grasp, which is maddening.
awful refrain that still haunts me.
In the wake of that terrible evening,
The broken pieces of our lives are strewn.
reflecting as shards of a funereal mirror,
collective soul.
The memories of that chaotic
cacophonous scene—the fractured glass,
The blood-stained floor
The irreversible point of no return
continue to plague me, a continual
repeating nightmarish specter
invading every waking minute.
There, in the evening silence, colors dance.
A little ship at the coast.
Starts a dangerous, winding road.
Fruits noirs
Sans qu’on y prenne garde,
Le ciel se tisse du grillage
Sombre des branches.
Elles s’étendent chaque année,
Et chaque année,
Grignotent un peu plus d’espace,
Au point de parfaire une voûte
Et d’arriver à se rejoindre,
En confisquant le peu de lumière,
Stagnante, sous les dernières
Feuilles de novembre,
La sève lentement rétractée.
Une pluie insistante, et froide,
Corrode la symphonie des ocres
En une bouillie sombre et gluante…
Les buissons moroses abritent
Aussi des fruits noirs,
A la densité lourde.
Ils pèsent de leur deuil,
Leur poids d’approche hivernale,
Et font oublier les envolées légères,
Des passereaux insouciants,
Qui se poursuivaient
Dans l’azur cristallin.
Ce sont des corbeaux ;
Et leur noir luisant,
Semble une menace anthracite,
Barrant quelque part,
De branche et branche
La lumière et la joie .
-
Without being beware,
The sky is woven with wire mesh
Of dark branches.
They extend every year
And every year
Eat away a little more space,
To the point of making a perfect arch
And arriving to join
Confiscating the little light
Stagnant under the last
Leaves of November
Sap slowly retracted.
An insistent rain and cold
Corrodes the symphony of ochres
In a dark and slimy mush ...
The gloomy bushes shelter
Also black fruits,
A with heavy density.
They weigh their mourning
The weight of winter approach
And make you forget the light flights,
Of careless sparrows,
Chasing each other
In the blue skies
They are crows;
And shiny black
Seems a anthracite threat
Barring somewhere
From branch to branch
Light and spirit of joy.
Enchanted by skylarks I surrender my time.
Day's sun unabated riveted me to broiling heat,
I stew in my skin. Every toxic thought
Pollutes my surface as is intended,
But corrodes and cankers their patron's heart.
The statue has a skin change too: skylark rest,
Merely superficial - smiles surfacing for air,
For culture goes deeper than color here.
Under the statue like a sheltering tree
I stand awed at my eroding liberty.
I count the red pennies, and watch the moods
Of racuos skylarks and people interchanging.
Standing diminished of labor's properties
And even the honesty of facade history,
I am watching skylarks sky diving for bread.
They all have long black wings
And they cry awfully; some say no one sings
Again, that rap is a longing to tell our own story.
I am listening neither rhythm nor art here
But a purposeful cry dense with bitterness.
The pennies I am counting fall, and do not roll.
Birds towering above me, on a sun scarred wall
Survey us ruefully as apart we fall:
Our ideas and paradigms like rubble and litter
The skylarks beyond our vision's fetter
Cry against the unexposed anger, the facade
That marked us polite as we crumble
Like old iron raw in salt mist and nitride air.
Under the statue of liberty the crowd mingles thoughts
In silence. The statue's massive, iron breast
Stilled, as the shrieking skylarks dive and digest
Crumbs of cold, callous film of charity
That goes easily to animals and birds, forsaking
The validity of man. Birds foment in the sky,
Skylarks still crying as the boats go pass.
A shadow with a fleeting cloud shifts and I see
The statue turns green, livid green, green as grass.
The Wall, The Wall
I
the world fades from my fingertips
like blood oozing from an open wound
the sky is ripped apart and full of thunder
and my eyes are twisted in pain
shut the door and lock me within
the light is buzzing and flickering
something is about to explode
or maybe thats just my soul
softly touch the wall and it corrodes
the white paint peels and turns black
and cracks appear on the surface
a garbage touch that ruins it all
for years the signs of ruin were there
building up behind fragile white walls
and now i sit here with an open chest
my heart nailed to the damned wall
and as the world fades from my fingertips
like blood from an open wound
the sky outside is bloody and tormented
and i cant begin to see my own reality
II
im so afraid that if i get up ill fall again
damned by the ghosts of the past
the flashing glare of reality looms larger
closing in on me and slapping me
if only someone could open the door
and let me out of this foreboding room
perhaps i could see more than whats inside
instead of slicing myself in half
remember it was your verse that ended me
slicing off my fingers one by one
it was when my heart was nailed to the wall
that i truly forgot how to feel
my sickening screams echo loudly
throughout the confines of my own mind
reverberating down my spine
and leaving me in a shivering fit
as the world fades from my fingertips
like blood pouring from an open wound
the sky outside has faded to a deep black
and i cant begin to see my own reality
Inscrutable torrents of history shall crush
him who ignores the lessons in his greedy rush,
his rabid obsession to subjugate others
tears this despot's humanity into tatters
for it feeds, bloats his overweening vanity,
corrodes the last trace of his tarnished dignity,
deludes his ego with invincibility,
convinced no less of his own immortality;
there is hardly a cure, healing or deliverance
from such madness and malady, such pestilence;
his crime neither torture nor death can recompense,
his is an onerous sin, a heinous offense.
But this creature, stripped of his mask, shall fall apart,
for pomp and vainglory hide a sham, hollow heart;
indeed, it is neither an overwhelming army
nor a pillaging horde that is his worst enemy,
but himself, a cowering canine that creeps to crawl
in the labyrinthine recesses of his soul;
his nightmares terrorize him, he is stunned and blind,
and so slowly the germs of fear feast on his mind;
and he shall crack and crumble to his inglorious end
as all his lapdogs scamper scared round the bend;
but slaying him will be an act of rewarding,
vengeful Justice cries for his endless agonizing
until life and dying and death finally die,
day of reckoning, swirling, flaming clouds float by.
HALF-EMPTY BUTTERCUPS
There was a time of kicked-back comfort and laid-back ease
Times when both butterflies and buttercups were ever blessed by a breeze
Days when wings were anointed and petals pointed to the sky
Times with the assurance that neither butterflies nor buttercups ever die
It was a time which convinced me that kids such as I could actually fly
Back when all I needed was a set of swings to get me high
But swing sets of steel rust and corrupted metal caustically corrodes
And even innocent and tiny tadpoles turn into poisonous toads
Then came a time when swings didn’t get me quite high enough
So I turned to substances that warned me yet I called their bluff
It was a time akin to aching actualities and wretched realities
When beautiful butterflies and buttercups sustained scathing casualties
It was a time when jumping rope brought hope and childhood’s pure delight
And I never sweated no matter how heated the sun became nor how very bright
I needed not to find shade that made me subservient to laughter’s lovely sound
Laughing was my only prerequisite need when the fact of a fantasy was finally found
Suddenly a sacramental sun became a consistently malicious moon
Malevolent nights and evenings that got even with me arrived too soon
A breeze became a winter’s wind that made ease Mother Nature’s greatest lie
When I discovered that children grow old and buttercups and butterflies do eventually die
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