Long Cudgel Poems
Long Cudgel Poems. Below are the most popular long Cudgel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cudgel poems by poem length and keyword.
Long time had passed, our road doesn't met
We keep on searching, but fate doesn't allow us
I removed myself from my shell to find freedom
Time you came unnoticed I wasn't there
I go to North, you came, we didn't come across
I search for green pasture, you're searching me
Our path is not meant to be mended this way
Life goes on we parted as our love has no closure
We chased the last bus ride, one of us is left
We keep to find the star that light our way
It seems dim light, but pitch dark is majority
I didn't notice finding profession is laid back love
There's hollowness within my heart too empty
Too tightly closed that after all these years aloof
The reality we face is uncertain walking that way
I go this way, you go that way, finding our love
But to no avail, we both landed in others arm
We go on life and love on separate ways
None of us is sure how happiness is temporary
Fate is not sided with us, He has many reasons
Why our love did not realized and materialized
For many decades we go on our ways
We have our own lives to be taken care of
Our family, our friends, our comrades are new
Our world, our profession, our aspirations anew
Our environment we keep on adjusting gauges
To make us fitting and raise socializing freedom
Until fate realized to make a joke between us
Someone has used to make the bridge repaired
I was at the end of the bridge looking at you
Reaching my hands to reach you once again
Missing you was the cudgel that first connect
The long lost love that once to find an answer
The love I once kept for a long time in my heart
Is now swelling with excitement and pride
At last, I have found you in unexpected manner
Your reply to communicate me erases all hinges
What remain now are all apologies I have made
To let you know how sorry I am for the lost time
Am not with you on those lonely darkest night
At least now, we found each other in peace
We now riding different boat going the sea of life
We both are happy now and contently fine
We may not have formal closure right today
Let it be that way for our hearts are happy now.
Comes a time when to strike or to feint
and let go the cudgel but know not which.
All that I know from my own complaint
is that life can be a bastard sonofabit*h
Comes a time when strength is not to fight
and forgiveness not for saints and martyrs,
when soil grown sour and the vine in blight
reap the fruit of the sins of the fathers.
Let go the past, it will not save you,
live and forget when all steadfastness is done.
It is a far far better thing we do
when all is right between Father and Son.
Comes a time when our conceit is to wait
with much to deem but nothing to say,
but it’s always too soon before it’s too late
when all that is given us is taken away.
Comes a time to forgive, not aggrieve
lest all that remains is a bitter chide,
but truly he that gives will richly receive
and he that stumbles suffer his pride.
Let go the past, it will not free you,
live and forget when all steadfastness is done.
It is a far far better thing we do
when all is right between Father and Son.
Written: October 2007
Dice, the goddess of morals, asked her mother, Themis
Why there's divorce, gambling, abortion, and alcoholism?
Why should dehumanization, like a Bloodstone, beamish?
Why should knives of nemesis nip the knots of neutralism?
Cores of conscience, like collapsed castles, Themis said, crash
The self within the inner sanctum, like sand grains, is split.
Joy, peace, harmony, happiness, and self-fulfillment clash
Empathy and sympathy submit to apathy's conflict.
Demons in humans delicately dominate their domains.
As though white sheep amongst black cattle, they cudgel their brains.
Their will to do good, like delinquent house dogs, is in chains.
Blood of cutthroat competitions, to win, flows in their veins.
Honesty should guide one and all, Themis said to Dice.
Summit of self-splendidness alone will never suffice.
Like A Fire Cat - Teaser Taste Of Spring...
Did Fistbump With Ole Man Winter
Once again, this fella alights
this poetaster and trots out weather,
nope not cuz freezing cold bites,
this poetic instance highlights
spate of unseasonably warm temperatures
circa early February 2019,
melting oppressive plights,
whereby totally tubular solar balm
energizes and alights
to zoom into heavenly heights
pleasantly zapping dendrites
with heaven sent
sunny rays, which excites
every fiber of this fella, writes,
a diametrically opposite
meteorological pleasure
pitch perfect to fly kites
versus torturous blast, sans
polar vortex arctic
cold one futilely fights,
where no complaint as
ecstasy knows no heights,
asper in above average winter
cathartically, holistically,
therapeutically... quiets
cabin fever with sneak
preview of summer -
skipping over stone temple rites
of spring despite dramatic
unseasonably warm weather
this anomaly nonetheless delights
this wordsmith voluntarily
holed up days and nights
from bone chilling, crushing brutal
(cudgel wielding) cold
understandably inducing flights
of fantasy imagining
(like...just yesterday)
hightailing to tropical
island paradise sights
blinds this sun worshipper
twittering revelling,
basking with robins
noah matter an old gipper
slakes insatiable thirsts
nsync with teetotaling
brewster herbalist honeydripper
ah... methinks this clime
makes me chipper
recalling good ole times
feeling like a day tripper
sprawled out atop roofed mansion
fronting happy hunting grounds
upon memory steadfast gripper
amidst haunting demesne
of "Glen Elm" transformed
courtesy where backhoes did stripper
of native flora and fauna
into ticky tack vinyl city for hipper
crats all in the name of progress!
Those who live an artistic life are genuinely soul-aware.
It is as vital to the human spirit as is the air.
Artistry, sculpture, and landscape design are creative,
That's around spiritedness that pulls and is probative.
Bury my heart in the wounded knee where even harm,
Battered gallows have histrionic gems and charm.
A ghost wrapped in a thicket of death rug toss,
Eigenvector fade marble eye fabric dross
Slap my lips with a cudgel, ruminant, spewing mere,
Apathetic brows cursed with sin shudder with fear.
I clasped my hands, viewing fake hooks and blows spare,
I may sleep freely on the rope or walk as drifting in the air.
Free from obscure sights, free from guilt,
I translated the chain that bound my spilt.
Each time the human spirit is apathetically ground,
Somewhere in the cold, an answer can be found.
Victim of its erratic walking and constant cold,
Lost and bastard, inquiries are permitted to be trolled.
You stay stoical and equanimous under a dearth,
You, the human spirit, are the nucleus of the Earth.
Yet, I took this mystery with me to the grave,
As of now, please note that I crave to rave.
I believe that fair things will win out for people,
When I dared not be the one to be motile.
Milk is insufficient for acts of human kindness.
The stomach can churn and be mindless.
Milk and whey used to derive cheddar or skim milk.
There are various choices for insights ilk.
Written: September 17, 2022
The Human Spirit Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Cold choice, listen to the voice!
Waver filleth all!
He who suffers Sin annoys?
Blanching light, thy pall.
Hated minutes of each day!
Flickering in time!
Doubt belies all disarray!
Drop and drop, O dime!
Slickened hatchet, cudgel black!
Blood along the back!
Stuff the world down bitter crack!
What then profits? Stack?
Weather, winter, splinter!
Shredder, call the storm!
Brutal blight, art beginner?
Blizzard, keep us warm!
Swarm of locust, come like frost!
Hie, O holocaust!
Bargain devil, get me Faust!
Nil regard the crossed!
Ghoul of ancient story;
Where will this dark tale go?
Morning, hast thou glory?
Walk well behind the row!
Yellow king in city vast!
Hang then all from mast!
Rule of law, thy just repast!
End Times, fast! Ye hast...
Born shackled with globe sized
yoked millstone around my neck
rivaling the world Atlas shrugged,
or outsize boulder Sisyphus
eternally obliged to toil uphill
steepest mountain side
in concert with
Battlestar Galactica pièce de résistance
ear splitting discordant cacophonous din.
Simultaneously analogous twin tower
of Old Faithful geyser
Googleplex times Mariana Trench
aqueous oceanic chasm amply housing
Rhode Island sized fountainhead
constantly spewed vitriol
out subterranean mouth
scalding yours truly
with deadly skull king poison
(parenthetically), metaphorically, hyperbolically
approximates, nee aforementioned
actually an understatement
how whit sir yours truly
psyche dashed, manhandled, whipsawed
post parturition mine birth
subjected to class sic
biochemical, environmental, neurological
pummeling, oft times the cudgel
inherent, latent, salient...
genetically scripted torment.
Case in point
constitutes psychosocial (mine)
extreme introvertedness,
painfully shy reticence
exiled within zapped
writhing, wrenching, wracking
emotional, physical, spiritual isolation
plaguing mein kampf,
a worse fate than death
experiencing brutal and
nasty schooling as outcast
never feeling linkedin among peers,
nor family of origin
particularly latter years
minimally functioning just squeaking
to advance from one grade to the next
hidebound by invisible manacles
weighted heavily with severe anxiety
debilitating, paralyzing, unrelenting
panic/ anxiety attacks.
Scattershot employment track record
poor credit rating
the bane of misery
bias, discrimination, prejudice
throughout hand to mouth existence
impacted two innocent grown progeny
the eldest unforgiving,
no matter this papa coped
with demands of child raising
the missus easily overwhelmed
deferred domestic duties
birthday party arranger,
chauffeur, cook, homework helper,
summer time planner,
medical appointment scheduler...
Let us discuss the circus alive in the theater of your conflicts,
the Master of Ceremonies cremates caution
in the center of curiosity's conciet
where birds bleed songs of azure agony,
madness remembers the melody of a midnight march
to a shrine built from bricks baste with war sweat and stress
as Death sits solemnly thumping it's cranial cudgel methodically
atop drums taut with elephant hide,
a child approaches through the Hippodrome's east chamber
juggling three radiant orbs, omni, omega, ovation,
the audience of thousands uproars unanimously
when Hate, Love & Fate manifest as beasts of the best brutality
encircling the child with a primordial hunger in their bellies,
their handlers cocky and competitive, controls the animals with elements
such as air, fire & water, one by one they rush the child
with violent intent, in their hearts victim & victory are synonomous,
the tiger repelled by the fire of the child's imagination,
the bear repulsed from the whistle of his innocence,
and the lepoard refrains from the current of his youth,
in the balcony, Venus and Mars applaud proudly for sagacious survival,
acrobats appear, the grey one Fatigue, the green one is Resolve,
despite loathing each other they must be team or die from the heights,
gasps from a crowd caught in a conspiracy of soul piracy
as self destruction stands cackling on the arena floor with his anger crackling red,
attempting to whip the hands of the acrobats with a dragon's tail
encrusted with the crushed vertebrae of cowardice,
he strikes their wrists but they secure the dizzing stunt in defiance,
cheers collide with the chimera of acrobats transformed into an eagle's scream
while the Master of Ceremonies welcomes the women of warhorse wishes,
J.A.B.
invincibility had been a difficult pastime
the flak vest of insecurity and coverups
had managed to inflate anxieties and fears
to the bursting point of impromptu explosion
the festering boil had to be lanced at any cost
for resentments anger hurt and self-harm to subside
a bullet proof illusion was no longer an option
to call it friendly fire would be an understatement
what started as a splinter soon became a red-hot cudgel
incising the mind soul body complex of delusions
yet no more fully detached from valid emotions
he decided that having feeling was better than amnesia
Elbows must be packed more carefully.
I catch the eye of a flight attendant.
Some preliminary questions…
"Miss can I be slipped into a less edgy wedge?
She frowns, resenting perhaps my ‘miss’
should have said ‘mam’…damn.
I carry on babbling –
“Could my mind be more swiftly amputated?
Is it possible to be shuffled laterally
until I intrude less and match more?”
Now she is throwing daggers of hate towards me.
Are the engines honking like killer geese?
Will dinner come as an intravenous drip?
Is that kid vomiting back there?
Her dislike of my questions
is as palpable as a cudgel to the head.
“Miss I can’t see; my eyes are too near the seatback.
Will you stamp my papers D.O.A. now
to save time?"
My voice through the triple layered mask
sounds like a hyperactive zombie.
She smiles robotically.
"Sir, will you please stop blinking,
you're making the other cargo nervous."