Long Cruelty Poems
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L i f e
I sense your perplexed pulse
within pirouetting pearls,
steeped in sinister streaks,
while fading sparks
of dulcet stars
swing from threads of darkness
on the verge of vertigo,
living in minutes
caught in the crawling contradiction
of tainted t i m e…
O’ f r a g i l e hummingbird,
I hear the hushed hymns
hovering through the ebony haze,
awaiting unlocked gates
adorned with regal rubies,
reflecting heaven that
sings of the sacred.
For in your lonely serenade,
in bittersweet solitude,
you raise fatigued feathers
to the alluring azure,
to heed the heartbeats
of the halcyon haven,
amidst your spirit
drowning in dreariness,
soaked in sadness,
counting cursed crystals
as blessings from the essence
of this endless enigma~
d r e a m gliding in drowsiness,
drenched in midnight terrors,
flowing between technicolor tercets,
etched in obsidian tears
within the raven prose
of Edgar Allen Poe,
oblivious to the table set,
serving chalices
brimming with
moonbeams and hope,
as you’ve long tasted
toxic embers from hellfires,
in a satanic sphere that knows
not the ingredients of peace,
consumed with hate and prejudice,
perhaps prewritten
from ashes seized
from the Hades inferno,
a spring stolen from the
valleys of dancing daffodils.
So let me waltz
beyond constellations of cruelty.
It’s too late to save the world,
to color the globe in lime green
and blooming blue,
as there is no winning
when the devil sits
on a throne of fickle flowers,
where snakes slither
through the narcissistic eyes
of the emperor~
dressed in deception,
eager to rule the weak and naive
with nothing but the scorching
heat of the serpentine sunsets,
bleeding venomous verses
upon your canvas
that pleads and prays
for compassionate clemency.
I feel the rising
of the merciful moon,
embracing the wolverine warmth,
filling the emptiness between
wicked lines,
k i s s e d by the weeping wind,
as purple phrases across pastel pages,
immortalize the poetic need to
paint the world with l o v e and lilac...
Spit out the clot of revenge
that kills your voice, that dries up world sympathy.
You have the right to resist -- to a limit.
Transgress and you're judged harshly by history.
Obey the law of conscience in your darkest hour
and survive the hurricane you instigated with your daring breakout from your
open prison, interlaced with illicit cruelty.
No Gazan voted you in power to set their homes on enemy fire! Where in Quran you find rationale for abducting women and children, for murdering whole families in cold blood?
The aura of 'Free Palestine' floats in another way with your self-inflicted wounds.
No need for a clock when time means nothing
Hours,Days,Weeks the lengths are all the same on Robin Island
the only measurement is injustice which has been a while
these 4 walls have seen me age , my name Mandela
My walls are my home , but they are there to keep me in
My view is pleasing to the eye yet will not set me free
My crime to speak of freedom , my name Aung San Suu Kyi
My walls are made of wire I'm on a Caribbean isle and over look a bay
My days are filled with cruelty and silence there's no escape for me
yet I can remember omaba say he would set me free
I go by many names but freedom stolen fits today .
comp entry 22022016
As usual the night passed in agony
Since in our relationship no longer resides harmony
The demon that suddenly took over him I have no idea
Just suddenly he turned my best and favorite source of sorrow
All I wanted was to be alone
After all, pain is better enjoyed alone
But he will never let me be alone
Sudden drop he has caused my hormone
That in the other room I no longer moan
His footsteps has become a terror to my heartbeat
A condition my body, soul and spirit no longer understand a bit
Is he coming to beat?
Is he coming to rape?
Or is he coming to torture as usual
Nothing between us is no longer mutual
Suddenly the happy home has turned my prison
In my matrimonial home I have no freedom
Was it a sin to have said YES?
Very funny how silence is now more comfortable in our house
Everyday depression swallows me the way I am forced to swallow him
Every minute of being alive was a torture
Escape was found nowhere but in death
And to do that suicide was the only option
After all, there are no children to mourn my demise
Perhaps the reason for the cruelty
And so I am going for my only and last option - Suicide
On this note I say, good bye world!
Form:
How much they hurt I know,
The wrongs, the things I did years past.
The wounds so deep still show,
The pains profound still last.
The wrongs, the things I did years past;
Those many slaps, those many blows;
The pains profound still last.
All I e'er brought were woes.
Those many slaps, those many blows;
They were ne'er what I promised you.
All I e'er brought were woes,
Oceans of tears filled you.
They were ne'er what I promised you,
Those heartbreaks, those lies.
Oceans of tears filled you,
Even the heavens wept at your cries.
Those heartbreaks, those lies;
The scars left still hurt thee.
Even the heavens wept at your cries,
I was to love, to cherish thee.
The scars left still hurt thee,
Time passes but they stay new.
I was to love, to cherish thee,
But pains and tears, that's all I gave you.
Time passes but they stay new,
Those bruises, those holes in your heart.
But pains and tears, that's all I gave you,
I tore your world, your life apart.
Those bruises, those holes in your heart,
Ne'er knew I'd feel them also.
I tore your world, your life apart,
Now I too am torn and filled with sorrow.
Ne'er knew I'd feel them also,
The brutality, the cruelty and the tears.
Now I too am torn and filled with sorrow,
Cursed has been my world these years.
The brutality, the cruelty and the tears,
For these and the rest I'm sorry.
Cursed has been my world these years,
Please forgive, erase every memory.
For these and the rest I'm sorry,
Through hell I've learned to treasure gold.
Please forgive, erase every memory,
I'd make today's sun bright and bold.
Through hell I've learned to treasure gold,
The wounds so deep still show.
I'd make today's sun bright and bold,
How much they hurt I know.
Poetic Justice
His rage arrived before he did—
a slammed door, a bottle’s clatter,
anger breathing louder than love
ever dared to.
Alcohol was his armor,
his excuse,
his slow, faithful accomplice.
He ruled the house with weather—
storms without warning,
silences thick as smoke.
We learned to read the tilt of his glass,
the slur of his footsteps,
the way cruelty passed for strength
when fear went unnamed.
Poetic justice is patient.
It doesn’t raise its voice.
It lets habits finish their sentences.
Cancer did not argue with him.
It did not flinch.
It moved in quietly,
cell by cell,
teaching his body the lesson
his soul refused to learn:
nothing survives constant poison.
The rage had nowhere to go then.
No one to corner.
No child to diminish.
Just a body turning inward,
consuming itself
the way he always had.
In the end,
there was no grand reckoning—
only the math of consequences.
The bottle emptied.
The shouting stopped.
The house exhaled for the first time.
Poetic justice isn’t revenge.
It’s the truth completing its arc.
A life shaped by destruction
meeting its mirror—
and finally,
falling silent.
THE MOUNTAIN OF HELL
Like Alighieri
My Virgil left me
Not near Paradise
But half-way up
On the mountain’s rocky ledge
Over a flaming putrid sea
He stricken by death’s call
It was now I, not we
Left to face Hell’s steep wall
Alone.
Breathing in the foul
Atrocious purulent stench
I tried to stay far away
From the raging madness
Of the twisted violent bodies
Creatures in the darkness
Circling around me.
Reaching out
In depravity and cruelty
The voices of Heaven
I heard in consolation
Flowed down in a clear voice saying:
“You will not be damaged
You will l not be touched.
We wanted you to see
The face of Hell to strengthen you.”
“Stay strong like me.”
“God is with you”
Confused
Outwardly they look like humans
But they are twisted vile
Vicious demons
Confirmed in deliberate evil
And irrational wickedness
Unrepentantly cruel
Intensely abusive
Ferocious wild
Savage
Saved
They reached out
To tear me apart
But I passed by covered by grace
Holding my ears closed
Dampening their painful shout
Looking down as my footsteps
I Tried to steady my trembling pace
And keep me from falling down
Into the smoke of their thundering clout
Your soul is dead like your eyes
Its very hard to disguise
A troubled past you can't forget
Which is making you upset
When your mind is always racing
With pictures that you are tracing
Over and over again
From a bad place you have been
Eyes open or even closed
There is no way to dispose
Of these images you see
There for all eternity
With no chance of ever getting
Rid of them, they're always letting
Out their dark and scary secrets
Your fighting never to see it
But the strength and power is too strong
They kept pulling you along
On a road of desperation
Tryna' find some separation
Against the cruelty forced on you
Emotional thoughts turn into
Daily struggles and sorrow
Night will turn an new tomorrow
Into damage you can't fix
That keeps pounding painful kicks
In your heart making it bruise
Each kick gets you more confused
Why your the one being haunted
Put through torture, badly
All because you couldn't tell
About your family life of hell
Epigrams II
Sex Hex
by Michael R. Burch
Love's full of cute paradoxes
(and highly acute poxes).
***
Midnight Stairclimber
by Michael R. Burch
Procreation
is at first great sweaty recreation,
then—long, long after the sex dies—
the source of endless exercise.
***
The One True Poem
by Michael R. Burch
Love was not meaningless ...
nor your embrace, nor your kiss.
And though every god proved a phantom,
still you were divine to your last dying atom ...
So that when you are gone
and, yea, not a word remains of this poem,
even so,
We were One.
***
The Poem of Poems
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
This is my Poem of Poems, for you.
Every word ineluctably true:
I love you.
***
Here and Hereafter
by Michael R. Burch
Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter ...
wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter.
***
Meal Deal
by Michael R. Burch
Love is a splendid ideal
(at least till it costs us a meal).
***
Vice Grip
There’s no need to rant about Al-Qaeda and ISIS.
The cruelty of “civilization” suffices:
our ordinary vices.
***
Piecemeal
by Michael R. Burch
And so it begins—the ending.
The narrowing veins, the soft tissues rending.
Your final solution is pending.
***
The Whole of Wit
by Michael R. Burch
for Richard Moore
If brevity is the soul of wit
then brevity and levity
are the whole of it.
***
Redefinitions
Faith: falling into the same old claptrap.—Michael R. Burch
Religion: the ties that blind.—Michael R. Burch
Baseball: lots of spittin’ mixed with some hittin’.—Michael R. Burch
Trickle down economics: an especially pungent golden shower.—Michael R. Burch
Poetry: the art of finding the right word at the right time.—Michael R. Burch
When the stars move by observable
Soldiers can count on them to stay
Maintain their position in the dark
To keep sentry, sure to stay in line
With nature by their side for comfort
Up close and personal at all times
Bayonets are raised to save tomorrow
And to that end they remain in place
Bodies drop around the tower grounds
Retain a sense of dignity as they fall
Uniforms clean and buttons polished
Face first, down in the dirt below
For the last time, for the final count
Put in their place by acts of cruelty
There could be a war on the horizon
Looking up, the sky is crisp and clean
Stars come out to be touched by Earth
At midnight men talk low
Beneath the fallen walls
Owners of their souls move on
Below the tower castle keep
Someone whispers, all is clear