Long Deaths Poems
Long Deaths Poems. Below are the most popular long Deaths by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deaths poems by poem length and keyword.
(alternately titled random axe of violence)
I calculated an average
of ~10.16.... deaths per year
of mass school shootings since Columbine,
a morbid benchmark where,
iGen / Gen Z 1995 - 2012 bore significant hit,
now students require armed guards to learn - veer
really within purportedly "safe places",
which statistics tracks a unilinear
trend, and justifiably causing
absolute zero reassurance
countering alarmist state of mind dust tear
ability to accept rationale
dismissing greater probability
prevails lightening will strike loved ones,
nonetheless share
ring understandable expressing
rightful salient concerns with school board
quotidian possibility son(s) and/or daughter(s) rare
lee remain mum at every opportunity,
how second amendment does not square
with democratic e pluribus unum firmament,
lieutenant management,
quintessential reverent tenets
pointing trigger finger of accountability
at lax gun purchasing rare
lee does emotional uproar demanding
immediate controls, limitations, restrictions,
et cetera on firearms scare
the bejesus from stalwart National Rifle Association,
whence spokesperson doth prepare
convincing rebuttal (lock, stock at barrel) overbear
ring lee outgun legitimate
parental concerns, now near
daily occurrence hardly cause a flinch glossed
inducing similar reactions as
sports home team defeated, sans mere
slightly raised eyebrows while headline news
when another tragedy gets tacked
unto the 122 students killed since Columbine
took the lives of innocent lives 19 plus years ago
which ho hum sacrifice of youth or teachers bare
lee induce ripple despite an increasing number
of spent bullets fallout inflicting
more than 208,000 vulnerable
impressionable psyches sorrows need a lifetime to air!
Heaven bound, hell-bent
Cradled between truth and false
Solitude well-spent in crowds
Among soul-filled emptiness he stays
Wisdom remains when one does grasp
We know not one thing at all
As he drank the poison
He died with this attained
Leave to Sparta where you may speak freely
To question without an answer
Spread your words like wildfire
Consummate them like an unavoidable cancer
But he chose to die in Athens
Heaven-bound, hell-bent
Governments await their deaths with no apology
Drinking the poisons of their hatred
Taking their curse as sustenance
We know not wisdom
Till humanity filters us through
And blinds our fear of death
And blinds our fear of you
September 4, 2013
Liberal lovers
claim maternal rights
to reproductive powers of yes and no,
maybe and not yet lives.
While conservative haters
demand paternalistic rights
to purchase and bear deproductive automated powers of terminal wrong,
terrorizingly maybe and not yet deaths.
If this is our only viable choice,
between being a socialist
and being an anti-socialist,
a sociopath,
between being a lover
or a hater,
between acting with future regenerative hope
or degenerative malice,
then, for those committed to a healthy energy democracy,
for those constitutionally invested in prosperous well-being,
we can take no uncivil rest
until everyone freely chooses organic and fair communion
over deadly automated commerce,
narcissism,
cynicism,
greed,
fear and anger building hate,
absence of both natural and spiritual integrity.
I would not think
we would need a PhD in health care
environmental science
or divine arts and crafts
to see which leans closer
to full-score democratic resilience,
maybe and not yet quite polypathic resonance.
Storms glistening sporadically
Inspiration wavering dramatically
I can’t move like I should!
I am fighting against the reveling, reviling flood
Evidence of many spawning deaths cannot stop me
And the zombie maggots grow as they are left rotting
I can’t stop now—but I have no particular place to go
Mentally merrily on my slithering way
Into creepy caves of my intellect and hemorrhage
The saliva of its mouth and the cruelty of its teeth
Ensnares me into multitudinous quicksand of truth
Raining in this cave is the vile that will keep me working
I watch others drink it and it drives me to fury
Take of me what you may—but don’t take me all away!
I will remain in the inspirations of time!
I will remain like the grime on the succulent wine
Like gathered dust on the ivory keys
The music will always stick to me
Your words will plant a grave into my lines
As my madness entwines and bewitches their minds
Weathered in the snowing wrath of immortal sorrow
I cannot wish for a bloodier tomorrow
I will glisten like blue fires as long as it storms
And the rest will shred into dumped, plumped worms
Infecting everyone in the inspired malevolence
Of pure, sick false innocence
Braid your way if you dare
Encircle me to your snare
But do not drink of me within a fathomed rig
Or I will turn you into the stone of a pig
Dying plants in a malformed heart shape
A tepid symbol of love
Truth robbed by innocence
Show a dying man stretching his hand from deaths embrace
to rest upon hers
The tears of the strongest will unable to quell the torrents of their loss
The smile shared at bedtime before sleeps interruption
That tender kiss that promises a return
That sigh we exude when we think of her
That fury turned on god and nature when she leaves the earth
Her hug that halts your fears
That shine within her eyes that comforts the universe
Those words that as a child were never given or understood,
from her can stop all time and space
The touch of her hand that finally makes you one
Truth so true
And life finally lived
[Note: this poem was inspired by a strange and terrible experience I had at 17 when I first set foot on the battlefield in 1965 after an interview at the college there: physiologically, it was like being mortally wounded. I was an agnostic then and so shrugged it off, but after I had an NDE 7 years later, I started thinking it may have been something else.]
Now the happy soldiers
go to fight again the battle,
marching bravely forty abreast
with heavy muskets shouldered,
yelling their cries of pain and glory
as they face the cold cannon
barking like a pack of mad dogs.
Down they go in ones and twos,
and sometimes in little bunches,
collapsing together as though
put to sleep by the fairy dust
of long forgotten dreams.
Both sides feel the urge
to kill, to step the victor
o'er their bothers' bones.
Grown men playing-- yes,
even perhaps a bit silly--
but maybe, just maybe,
some of them are unaware
of their own anguished deaths
there on that sweating day
not really so very long ago.
At seventeen I went to that town
to talk of my education and
in the warm afternoon
I meandered mindlessly
amidst the boulders named
fearfully for Satan's lair.
There, suddenly, terribly,
while walking between two
of the giant stones, my body
shuddered in anguish and sweat,
my heart raced like it might burst,
as fearful dread seized my mind
and rattled me to the very core
of my soul; but back then, I did not
yet know I might have lived before.
['Satan's lair' refers to Devil's Den, near the base of the Little Round Top where some of the battle's fiercest fighting took place.]
I taste your desire" a strawberry mind
blue muffin(casket walls of wet desire)
breasts of isolated systems of dynamic mathematics
by its numeral ills of base ZERO ...
monolithic flowers swaying 1.61 degrees
by beautiful deaths.
GRIND() my pressure colored paintings weeping
upon famous walls of museums and words dripping ink-words
toward the masses. I weep. I weep. I weep! those dreams
are more than handles than women or men as sunlight
in isolated systemic hearts!
Older than wooden ships that offer vanished ghosts
who can hold this hand of mine?
Of mine. Whom zooms through
one perfectly beautiful now...
my home : Ionian isles.
:: 09.15.2021 ::
Re-sound the aura of Holy you
In war or peace your tryst is true.
Through misplaced desire and loud falsehoods cry;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Let come your Holy fire in heat white pale
Though hindrance of debt is here, retell your tale
To nations wracked by doubt and moral pain be nearby;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
The old, the old has visited men, and malice and evil has employed its ken,
I trace the shadows that beset man, woman and child, yet as they labour
Doubt and cry, raise the standard! your cross on high;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
No man, no strength this world can show, but you alone
And always so, raise hope and raise beleaguered gloom-clad men,
You today and forever, the when and why;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky
Call all mankind’s troubled brood, sad and haughty, proud and rude
Saying I will return, as even now I sue
Standing alone with love, no gold can buy;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
All time is in your scheme of naught,
By blood and fire your souls were bought,
Now is! time for the battle cry;
As ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Now we know that the Qur’an, forbids the weight of debt on man,
How more then should we hark to you, (it) as a commandment you gave anew,
Then under a blackened heaven your flesh to die
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
All souls of love rejoice and cheer, the time
Awaited is drawing near, when your cross appears on the
Eastern sky, those asleep transformed shall upward fly;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Dear good Tennyson write me you did bid, the mirror
Self the Lord kept hid; now the Holy Spirit will testify
To deaths legal ending with its alibis;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Light speed is in your blazing eyes, Let go! The bells
To peal on high, as the old year passes to the bye and bye
With eternal shimmer in the chilly air, and the Holy Spirit in fullest cry;
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
© Joe Maverick 20-11-2010
Under dark protection of the night the gruesome two-some take to flight,
To exhume the grave of the recent buried, in a wheel barrow the bodies ferried,
Body snatchers creep at night, the open coffin brings delight,
Strip bare the corpse of wealth adorned, delivering the body before the dawn,
One with a shovel the other an axe, with powerful blows the coffin cracks,
The lid split open the crypt undone, access gained to the disrespectful ones,
Cold as ice the body lay, undisturbed until this day,
Burke reached in to rob the dead, as Hare watched on, his greed be fed,
"Help me Hare this one is stuck", his feet were sinking in the muck,
But Hare looked on his face turned grey, as Burke was being pulled away,
The ground beneath began to crumble, as Burke and Hare began to stumble,
The grip of fear had them tightly bound, as the corpse took hold of both their Hands,
Burke screamed "For God's sake help this is no joke", and that was when the Spirit spoke,
"Burke and Hare your fate is sealed, by the hand of death from which you steal,
Tonight The body snatchers me, as I ferry your souls on deaths black sea,
I take your life's to pay your debt,
Too long you taunt and tease the dead",
The ground opened up and fire shot through, the screams of torment echoed Through,
As Burke and Hare could not break free, from the depths of hell they could not flee,
Falling deeper underground, their bodies never to be found,
Yet listen close by graves at night,and you will hear their screams of fright,
A warning as they burn in hell, never desecrate a corpses shell.
The streets are quiet,
no waves left to break on the shores of the silent,
No blood on the curb to draw the stray dogs.
A stray wind blows through the darkest of alley's
like you it forgets where it was that you came from.
And the boarded up windows watch where it is that you've been.
Death doesn't care about your great name.
You think it was clean—
and as one door shuts, the other never opens.
But the dead don't lie still,
they rattle on in your head
when you bite down on all your immoral sins.
They creep through the purple walls,
Children eating lead paint,
Their brains soft as their forgotten prayers
grey hollowed out eye sockets.
You can't kill any of those dead,
but they can kill you,
if you would only but let them.