Long Coward Poems
Long Coward Poems. Below are the most popular long Coward by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coward poems by poem length and keyword.
Both of their eyes locked hard on one another.
The sheriff needed to talk with this grieving, vengeful brother.
"Have a seat and a drink with me," the sheriff said to him.
"I need to explain to you what actually happened,
but before I reveal anything to you
I need your word that this stays between me and you.
If word of this gets out your brother is as good as dead."
The brother paused for a moment and then he said,
"You killed my brother," he said fighting not to cry.
"No I didn't," responded the sheriff, "He's still alive.
I killed the wrong man and claimed it was him.
Your brother is on the run, but he's still living.
All the residents of Fort Sumner are in compliance with me.
They don't want to see your brother get caught or killed
so they've sworn themselves to secrecy
and have all signed affidavits certifying that the body
buried at Fort Sumner is your brother. Your brother is deceased officially.
This is your brother's last opportunity
to go underground and live his life more meaningfully.
He has agreed to go
to Old Mexico
and leave his beloved country
where he was loved so
by all who would know
the company of he.
Before he left though he gave to me
this letter for his brother Joe to read."
The sheriff handed him the letter, shook his hand and left.
Joe opened the letter and this is what it read.
"My Dear Brother Joe,
I am still alive.
Don't believe everything those newspapers write and contrive.
It's so very difficult to let you all go
but I'm starting my life anew in Old Mexico.
Please know that loving thoughts of you will always be with me.
Forever your brother,
William H Bonney"
The above is a fictional write that I did.
Sheriff Pat Garrett did kill Billy The Kid.
Joseph Antrim was Billy the Kid's brother
and both he and Sheriff Pat Garrett did encounter each other.
When Joseph was approached and asked what Garrett said to him,
Joseph would always simply respond, "He explained to me what happened."
This coming from a man who once lost in his grieving plight
swore that if he ever encountered Sheriff Pat Garrett he would unmercifully kill him on sight,
but who knows, a loud mouth coward may have been Joe,
but I prefer the above pure fictional scenario.
In any event, we'll never know.
Who killed Christ the Lord?
It was not me said Herod, I did not spill his blood.
I tried to kill him once it’s true
but he was a baby then and was not slew
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Nay, not I said Caiaphas, it was not one of us.
Verily I say it was not by my hand
but by some higher greater command
Who killed Christ the Lord?
I did not do it said Judas, I did not kill the Lord Jesus.
Yes, I betrayed him with a kiss
and in shame condemned myself for this
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Not me said faithful Peter, I am my brother’s keeper.
Upon his head they put a price
and I, like a coward, denied him thrice
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Not us said the pharisees but ruled he be seized.
For his faith, his power and glory
alas they came for him at Gethsemane
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Not us said the baying mob, his life we did not rob.
‘Twas the Governor of Judea whose
decree was death to the King of the Jews
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Do not blame me said Pilate, the law he did defile it.
But it was I whose cold fateful breath
ordered he be scourged and put to death
Who killed Christ the Lord?
That great sacrifice of the Passion of the Christ!
Who for our sins in God’s holy plan
suffered the Son of God and Son of Man
Written: April 2025
If you walk ahead
there may be scorn,
but if you follow,
a coward is always born;
standing in front takes
a great deal of risk,
and the reviews you get
will always be mixed...
Courage is born
out of most desperate times,
when life isn't easy
and nearly everyone whines;
being tired and disgusted
is all it will take,
to turn a lamb into a lion
and hear the earth shake...
The strength to stand
when you hear them chuckle,
takes no more skill
than tightening a buckle;
for cowards run
when real strength is needed,
and the right of way
is then always heeded...
So don't give up
and take it on the run,
when you're so close
to touching the sun;
the prize is everything
there can be in life,
stand tall and straight
in the face of strife.
A gentle breath
A swirl of the wind
A hymm
Passed through time
Stirring
Guiding memories
To the front
of my mind
Crunching leaves
Each step
A step closer
To the cliff
Overlooking
Jagged rocks
And volatile waves
A cold
Winter's morning
In Virginia
The last of many
One step
The world dissolves
One step
The rocks make love
To my guts
One step
The step of a coward
One step
One last thought
But suddenly
A hand
A broken cry
And an embrace
Life weeps
Into my shoulder
Life has brown eyes
And curly hair
And a pinkish face
Life
Has come for me
And life sings
An anthem
An anthem of life
To pull me away
from death
The new Girl at Work (The Coward Speaks)
Should I feel a shamed?
I want to kiss the new girl at work
but I don't know her name.
Her understated beauty
is the first page of a book
I can't put down.
Man... just learning her name
will be my favorite sound.
She's the one I want, and need.
The treasure of her femininity
is the center of my greed.
But I am unknown to her.
I have yet to say hello.
At work I’m always
a good-natured fellow.
So, why am I afraid of
telling her who I am?
On the outside,
I feel like a youngster
trying to be a man.
On the inside,
I 'm like Tarzan of the jungle
beating on my chest.
And she's an attractive female
I need to impress.
I've been alone to long,
my soul calling for a mate.
But the coward in me
won't ask her out on a date.
So, I feel a shame
I 'm to cowardly to even
ask for her name.
The Anger Speaks To Me
The anger speaks to me of some long distant
fear. I do not remember becoming angry, only
that I am angry. The anger is hidden, or so I’d
like to think, deep inside a vault alongside the
fear. The fear provokes the anger and uses it
to deflect its sense of defenselessness, its
certain knowledge that there are demons in
the mind that torture the soul and threaten
the fragile peace. The fear does not understand
that the anger cannot protect it from the demons,
for the fear is of the demons, the presence
of their past. The anger hides in hate, or so it claims,
to hate this, and that, to hate them all. Who are
they? And why such a heinous hatred toward
them? Perhaps the demons have become the
fear and the hate, have duped me once again
into protecting them, concealing them in
dark and painful places in my soul. It would
be ironic if the fear and anger’s masquerade
as hatred is their ultimate charade, their Fait
Accompli, a psychic Trojan horse. Still
the anger speaks to me, screams at me,
belittles and berates me as a coward,
giving me no peace, no solace from the
hate the demons planted long ago and
left to torture me, and all who came to
know the anger, and to feel its wrath.
The anger speaks to me and I am unable,
or too fearful, not to answer.
I have a sense that the last refuge of the
demons is in the fear and anger, but
I am afraid and I am angry
and I hate it.
John G. Lawless
2013
Cecil the lion of Zimbabwe, famous and beloved,
Shot by a bow hunter after being lured from his home;
It took Cecil forty hours to die, how he must have suffered,
They tracked him down and shot, skinned and beheaded him.
It was senseless, cowardly, cruel and barbaric,
Oh I weep for Cecil the lion with the rest of the world;
And all animals victims of trophy hunters who kill for the fun,
Our voices must be united and be strong, we must end poaching.
We must demand justice for Cecil and all animals,
The hunting for sport must be stopped as it is murder;
No amount of money makes it right, no more heads on walls,
No more animals killed by cowards with big egos and money to do it.
Sign a petition, make your voice heard loudly,
Laws need to change so that animals no longer die;
This particular killer will be tracked down just like he did,
But we will be more humane, we won't shot, skin and behead him.
This coward in hiding must face justice in Zimbabwe.
__________________________
August 26, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Justice For Cecil The Lion
Copyright Protected, ID 15-703-723-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest , What Is Your Form Of Justice,
sponsor, Tammy Reams
First Place
#African_melanin
From a distance, I was captured, in me a flame lit, curiosity stroke my urge, in my body, suspense strangled me, dying of heat, waiting to be quenched of my yearned thirst,
a chocolate pigment, velvet and silk in one cloth,
I see what nature never allowed me glimpse into, maybe I lived in denial, for I chose not to go for dark skinned, until I couldn't balance myself anymore in this frame that carries my skin, African melanin
I call for the old and wise, something in me was never aligned well from my infancy, I need African roots in me to be transparent now, my story acquires undiscovered tracks, I'm in African eyes, feel found, I didn't know I was lost, hear my bones stretching, awakening the Africa in me, African melanin
I stare not behind, for I'm inevitably fixed to what's in front of me, a focus with my heart long missing puzzles, I wanna say Africa in you I was discovered but this African royalty before me, chokes expressions out of my mind, a melanin,
one day this world shall meet you and see why I couldn't name you, I fear for the eye which shall discover this treasures wrapped inside your melanin, I fear for the heart which shall fall from your beauty edges,
maybe I'm just a coward that fear has found hiding spot in but I'm certain of my discoveries, your ***** rarity,
mesmerized with echoes, my pulse lose its skipping turns, please catch me, before I lose even my mind too, inside this maze of your melanin, African melanin
"O, Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.
And God granted it. . . Voltaire
I grew up Ojibwe in a pure white world,
my long black hair was straight and never curled;
and I was bullied bad,
inside it made me mad!
Then one day I unsheathed my sharp sword,
all the hurt and the sadness within poured;
this brave warrior would not be ignored!
My rapier bloody,
I had not one buddy;
my time was all study.
There was no time to wallow in pity,
it was a bloodstained battle not pretty;
my only friend was with a black kitty.
Yes, I grew up Ojibwe in a pure white world.
My soul became blood-soaked from the fierce war,
the haters returning again for more;
I knew how to evade,
and to parry my blade!
The bullies were relentless and savage,
my true essence they wanted to ravage;
I waded a brutal battle to salvage,
this shy Objibwe girl.
On pages of white my words twirl,
with my sword pen words I swirl;
you see, I studied hard and my sword is words,
I thrust them out but they fly away birds.
A pen was the weapon I used on those nerds!
Still, my soul is blood-soaked from that fierce war.
A quote by Micky Mantle
"A gang is where a coward goes to hide."
________________________________
September 15, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Unsheathe Your Sword
Copyright Protected, ID 18-4538-0915-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Ye sing of me still,
as though my footsteps were wrought of gold,
as though the very air did bend in courtesy
when I passed by.
Yet hearken, friend,
for the tale men told of Richard Cory
was but a bright veneer—
a silver mask set o’er a spirit sorely worn.
Oft have I walked among you,
fairly clad and seeming whole,
and your eyes—
God knows, your many eyes—
did fasten upon me
with a yearning I could scarce endure.
You hailed me gentleman,
as if the word alone could save me
from the storm that roared within.
But woe unto the man
whom the world deems flawless,
for he becomes the prisoner
of his own shining image.
I moved as one bound in gilded chains—
chains light to behold,
yet heavier than sorrow’s stone.
I learned the old art of silence,
that ancient craft by which men
fold their anguish beneath the tongue
and smile through the breaking.
Yea, I smiled—
a fair, untroubled smile—
while my heart beat its muffled dirge
behind the rib’s dark gate.
In sooth, none asked
what tempest brewed in the quiet chambers
of my soul.
None marked the hollow in my greeting,
nor the dusk gathering behind mine eyes.
You saw the coin at my belt,
but not the chasm at my feet.
And on the eve of my undoing,
when the moon hung low
like a pale witness
to my inward grief,
I felt the weight of every expectation
laid upon my mortal frame.
No man may bear such splendor long
without his spirit bending,
cracking,
finally cleaving in twain.
Thus did I take my leave
of this bright yet burdensome world.
Think not that I sought death
as a coward flees battle—
nay.
I sought but the quietus
that life denied me,
the stillness where a weary mind
might at last find peace.
If you would speak of me henceforth,
speak not of satin gloves
nor keen intelligence
nor the envy of the town.
Rather, utter this truth:
that even the noblest-visaged man
may harbor shadows deep and dire,
and that compassion—
aye, compassion—
is the holiest gift we mortal beings
can offer one another.
Let my fate stand as witness,
etched upon the memory of all who read:
no countenance, however comely,
no wealth, however vast,
can mend the silent rift
within a lonely soul.