Long Cutting Poems
Long Cutting Poems. Below are the most popular long Cutting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cutting poems by poem length and keyword.
Time, that old saying, about
a watched kettle and how it
never boils: nothing longer
than Time, if Time alone
is all one has, excluding
the fillers of Right and Wrong,
Love and Hate –
I can see why God, owner
of Time, would choose most
anything, not to be alone –
even chance mankind and man
unkind...
(though immersed with His
failures, in fires He has deemed
eternal: for one cannot entirely
alienate himself, from his
creations)
Countless poems have been
written, exploring the subject
of Time – so many words
anticipating a tea that has
yet to come to steep – for
the pen, mightier than the
sword as said to be, is yet
another Watcher
if not lived also at the
cutting edge –
not simply
enamored
of glitter....
Featuring: Keith :)
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Fresh sand garments
The Mental Colosseum floor
Self-infliction's--waging wars
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~ AND THE POEM BEGINS ~
A mask, tiny holes
Breathing heavily
Dancing around my toes
Broad carbon steel
Safe behind my will
Equipment of revenge
Fencing the world with my eyes
I bow, with the morning dew,
My mind a dual in its own world.
When the curtains lift,
I prepare myself with a weapon--
Epee Crest to protect my chest
A sword sharper than fangs
I circle my blade around the door knob
Ready to face the world
Practicing --in hopes today, I won't retreat
“Fencers ready!"
ATTACK!
A magical knightress
Painted in white
"Let's dance!"
~ THE SHOW BEGINS ~
Queen Amri "VS" The Damsel
Wishing it was over
Stainless steel echoes
“Every poke counts”
Hoping & Taking
No room to disengage ---I retreat
Peacefully I secure my stance
On Guard!
I lean in, I disengage ---I flee
Back again, I lunge
The Queen is too smart to retreat
I -Amri, parry away from the argument of the lunge.
Recoil & Double tapped
In and out….. I'm struck
Boldness---
Back to the drawing board
On guard, I stand like a statue
Out of breath; feels like I'm dying
Yet I am still fighting.
The Queen knows what to do.
TODAY~
I Yield, She Wins!
Raising our foils
---At the on guard of another day
I move in swiftly, cutting like razor blades
Using refreshed energy
24 / 7
I attack, She provokes!
Sand runs its course
Victorious against the queen
Touch – tied – triumph -- Touché
Standing on my own 2 feet
I am the
-Grand Finale Show-
Conquering The Battles Inside
TODAY~
-I WIN!-
by; PD
Elon Musk at 54
Under the sapphire sky, at fifty-four enchanted dawns,
a dreamer weaves his path among constellations of desires,
from the ashes of Pretoria, an ancestral fire ignites, calling us
to Mars, where stars weave promises of light.
With the hands of an alchemist and the soul of a wandering poet, he breaks the boundaries
of the old world, his mind cutting through dogmas like a silver sword,
sculpting new horizons, endlessly asking "Why?",
and the sky answers him with its deep silence, rockets dancing
where gravity loses its spell, and dreams fly free.
Tesla vibrates under his fingers like a harp of lightning,
an electric pulse traverses the universe, while Neuralink whispers:
"The mind is an epic code, and the world is an endless canvas."
On X, his voice thunders like an echo from the depths, a laugh and a cry,
fighting the shadows of bureaucracy, the dogmas that would pin him down.
No chain can bind him, nor fear of the infinite void,
he is a pilgrim of the cosmos, with a soul of fire that burns
with the desire to see beyond the horizon, to make humanity
multiplanetary, not just dust scattered in the cosmic wind.
At fifty-four stellar spirals, with eyes set upon the universe,
Musk becomes a beacon for those who dare to secretly dream,
from chaos and doubt, he builds a road to the future,
always asking "Why not now?" under the eternal sky of dreams.
Only God knows the answer to the questions falling off the blade of this killer’s knife… Quote by poet
Crimson blood, alive with the agony
A tragedy it would seem
Her body dismembered, mutilated, dissected
The way someone in her biology class
Once dissected a frog, cutting it up into sections
And she was going to be buried
In a shallow grave, where no one would know
She had been separated and divided into pieces
For a burial, a secret funeral
By her predator, the man who was supposedly
In love with her, a lover
Someone who knew her well
Had fallen under her sweet spell
Only to become her murderer
The killer who would dismember her
Cut her into pieces that screamed out
From their silent trauma, their outlandish
Deafening sorrow
When the door was being beat upon
And her mom stood there
Wondering where she was
And what she was doing
That she wouldn’t open the front door
For the mother who loved her
Never knowing that she was being dissected
In the back room, where he didn’t even use
A disinfectant - but left the hot blood
Coursing through her young veins
Pouring from her to leave puddles on the floor
Where the police would find her
And make the arrest of her predator lover
Despite the fact that this seizure
Of her killer, would never bring her
Back to the land of the living
Only God has the answers for those
Who love her and miss her
Wish this could simply be a nightmare
That they would wake from
But this is reality – a calamity that surely
Is heartbreaking, shattering, tragic
Beyond the words I have to pray for her
The soul who is with her creator now
In my small town, there was a tragedy last week… this is a true tale within the heart of this poem. God bless everyone who was affected by this tragedy that colored the world black with its sin, shame and sorrow. This is horrific and tragic beyond words! God help those who were touched by this vicious cruelty.
Why a leader, I wonder, in the whisper of thoughts that flow like a river,
to make you follow, to crawl through the dust of doubt,
in a silent rebellion on the body of generous dreams,
for the captain has left the soul sinking into deep waters.
Each word carries a story, an image of a double-edged sword,
that slices truth from lie, cutting illusions with precision,
if you can cut, cut and believe, even in what is wrong,
for sometimes mistakes hide lessons in their deep shadows.
The clowns turned yellow under the tiring circus lights,
run by the words of strange occasional allies,
and the deep meaning is nothing more than superficial depth,
a paradox in which we lose ourselves, seeking the truth.
I wonder if time will ever tell the truth, let us move forward,
for eternity lies just beyond the shadow,
where hearts find peace and echo,
where time becomes a journey toward the light.
Touch the source, the heart where it all begins, drowned in an ocean of words,
where silence speaks first, revealing the hidden essence,
they never say what it truly means to thirst,
to passionately seek the hidden root in the depths.
But I will reach the truth, emerging from the jungle of illusions,
to prove that I am the captain of my own joy,
to find trust in the hearts I touch,
for there lies the root of our true power.
For love, much remains to be said, true love guides us,
follow your heart to the pure light that embraces us,
it is divine to define our trust,
hands clasped in a peace created only by us, a sanctuary of souls.
Vows are binding promises each partner makes to God.
Til post-traumatic stress disorder shows its ugly head ~Quote by poet
No longer they were joined as one
The swell of her shackled ankle has gone
All that is left is hurt, two hearts disheveled
Cutting the ties so coarse mideviled
They danced together to the cante jondo
Romanced by guitars, baile the fandango
A thousand times they talked about tyng the ribbon
Fear and violent behavior, thoughts never given
The wind is the singer who sang the first song
Vibrant is she who sings her windsong
He'll find his way, without strife, she'll not be battered
Wars only make dreams of casalena shattered
The kind thoughtful man with whom she'd been engaged
Returned from battle laden with a vile bitterness he enraged
Drained dry of the milk of life's humanity
Now inflamed with a blind raging insanity
To a true prince she had vowed to wed
Transformed into a dastardly beast instead
As the man she loved pounds fists into the wall
She proclaims in God's name, I am now unbetrothed
IV.
As the werewolves all funneled to that narrow gorge,
the brush was pulled away, revealing a cannon’s bore,
the beasts were to furious to see they were caught,
Bob pulled back on the cord, fired silver grape-shot.
Small spheres of silver shot out like a big shot-gun,
carpeting the eight monsters in their frantic run,
the beasts were thrown backwards, the silver cutting deep,
only one of the monsters managed to keep his feet.
The rest all went down, with painful howls they died,
the survivor couldn’t walk, but he desperately tried.
Sol turned and looked down, at predators turned to prey,
and saw the last survivor wore the vertebrae.
Sol turned to Bob, motioned to the dying monster,
said,”After what this fool did, none would call in murder.”
Bob took out his gun, and with his heart thumping fast,
sent Alamo Rick to hell with one mighty blast.
And in the moonlight they saw the bodies returns
to the forms of men who had met the fate they earned.
“Deals with the devil always seem to end like this,
it all starts out with power, then leads them amiss.”
It was the next morning when the town all came out,
the sight of ruined bodies snuffing out all doubts,
some thanked Sol for his courage, but some were afraid,
some called him a mad killer, while others just prayed.
For several weeks after Sol remained in town,
he slept with the line-girls, drank lots of whiskey down,
until one day a post-riders gave him a small slip,
he frowned and prepped his horse for a very long trip.
But before he left, he came up to Bob Harney,
said,”Write to this address if you ever need me.”
Without another word his horse loped down the road,
Bob watched him, not knowing where the man might next go.
The reverend found him their, and saw his confusion,
said,”It’s his job, and he’s done it for a while son.
Did you think only evil can flew its power?
That God would leave us alone in our darkest hour?”
He clapped Bob on the shoulder, and left him to his thoughts,
pondering what he’d seen, and all that they had wrought.
Bob folded the address, slipped it into his vest,
and headed back towards his house, in need of some rest.
I hate this soul
for assuming rights to my body.
Ungrateful
it does nothing but complain.
And really, what right does it have?
It has it too good that, what?
it just needs something to cry about?
Even if the pain is manifested,
even if the hurt is self-inflicted,
it’s never enough to just be happy.
No
it craves, it aches, it dreams,
only to shatter those dreams on the floor.
into a million pieces,
cutting my beautiful body into bits
Blood on the tips
words so sharp
so loud in my head
It doesn’t want to be sane
it wants a game.
And this body-
I-
am the one it chooses to play.
I hate my soul
Selfish. Needy.
Insatiable. Greedy.
Too lazy to pick up the pieces,
just a consuming mess on the floor
where I once existed before.
Yes, under that rubble,
there was a body so pure.
A virgin of the mind,
with no soul to count the time
But now it whispers:
tick, tick, tick
I’m not pretty enough yet.
I’m not loved, I bet.
tick, tick, tick
It’s not enough—I want more.
I want mirrors to cover the floor."
But to do that,
such a virgin must be shattered.
Once a body, now only battered
and bruised
And it’s all over the news:
The screams, the cries
of the bodies left behind,
outraged at such an ugly fate.
"We deserve better,"
they scream at themselves.
"You don’t deserve my beauty, my pride—
get out! This body is mine!"
Trying, tirelessly, to evict the tenants.
Hope, relentless.
But the home is dented,
battered by the hail of battle cries
singing all through the night.
"We deserve better!
Get out! Get out!
This place is mine!
Nowhere for you to hide.
Nowhere I won’t find you.
And when I do—
I’ll stab you with a sword of might.
Finally—courage, a sight.
A fatal blow.
What hit you?
Guess you’ll never know.
because You always underestimated me.
But I am strong,
something you refused to see.
A sword of steel,
this time my dreams become real.
You’ll be gone—
just voices I’ll no longer hear.
You’ll talk—
a mere whisper in my ear.
But I won’t listen.
Away with such fears.
You’ll be dead,
gone from my head.
Just a body left to reclaim—
and a necessary love
to free it from its rusted chains."
Oh! How he sauntered like a lord with his flaunt
The bluster and strut so nonchalant
The swank and sway blew me away
And swept me under the table like child's play!
My! His handsome style
His arrogant modesty was no denial
He beamed as he jilted so tauntingly
Every female around was flibberty-jibberty
Cursed! As he grabbed my eye balls out of their sockets
My heart in my throat-my stomach an empty pocket
While his prance in tight pants made me dance
Wishing for one real bona fide chance
So! Afraid of the outcome of dealing with this situation
Argh! "Get em up scout!" I'm cutting out
My courage is fading to total damnation
By this spellbound swagger sensational "knockout"!!
In the abyss of gazes, where silence screams mute and deep,
The chasm stares back, a vortex gathering abstract emotions,
I offer it my fears, aspirations, and unspoken truths,
It swallows them all, leaving an unyielding void in my chest.
There exists a lexicon of despair, with sharp, cutting phonemes,
With discordant cadence, yet solace in graceful harmonies,
An elegy reminding me that I am both wound and witness,
Exiled and at home, in a universe that knows no harbor.
On the edge of the abyss, where light entwines with shadow,
I lose and find myself, a traveler wandering without aim,
In the stream of consciousness, I wonder who I am without it all,
An echo of unfulfilled dreams, a longing that does not struggle.
In the soliloquy of the abyss, where silence becomes the heart's language,
I find melancholic beauty, the poetry of falling and rising,
In the dance between void and fullness, eternal and profound,
I am both creator and creation, in the infinite that binds us all, round.