Long Defacing Poems
Long Defacing Poems. Below are the most popular long Defacing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Defacing poems by poem length and keyword.
My mind is euphoric from scenes historic
Assyrian chariots innovative wheels bristling Mesopotamian plains
Paring the ranks of each, dated infantry formation
In Greece, anesthetizing anvil of the Dorian invasion
Glorious bronze relics supplanted by cheaper iron distillation
Persian armies: Greek hoplites, Scythian archers; mercenary aggrandization
Shrinking rebel hordes in Asia Minor's wars of attrition
The venal nature of imperial Rome's persuasion
Crucifying a few, targeted rebels for cultural ingratiation
Devout, gentile Europeans crusading to Biblical heritage's door
Defacing cross with predations in route, arriving uplifting banner 'gainst infidel Moor
Normans in hordes splashing across the chilly, English channel tides
Under William the Conqueror's mantra, bridging the Anglo-Saxon divide
Lakes and beaches are wiped clean like a whiteboard,
each day by waves, tide, wind.
Then marks of ripples and tracks provide transient tell-tales
of what has gone on since, of what is yet to come.
What caused those ripples? Where did they come from?
What caused those tracks marking crisscross paths on the sand?
From whence did they come? To where are these interlopers going?
The agents and causes know nothing of these things.
They do not care.
They can't know they are being tracked.
They do not wipe their foot or finger prints clean.
They wander furtively wary,
scarily and carefully looking about, but unaware.
They dare not look back,
lest they be cast into salt or stone,
or sent back to hell,
for defacing such clean pristine spaces with
their street-art hieroglyph graffiti.
A hushed stillness lies over the lake at dawn
A single plop or tremble stirs a ripple the mirrored plane.
Soft as a whispered caress on a sleeping cheek,
Perhaps the kiss of wind, barely daring to touch.
Perhaps it's the kiss of fish rising to take a fly.
Perhaps an insect flitting, skittling onto the surface
Or a bird dipping to drink from beak.
The ripple propagates outwards in concentric rings,
echoing and resonating on its journey,
long after the cause has passed and gone.
Where are these ripples of unknown causes going and why,
The sources are untraceable via back-tracking,
remaining hidden and mysterious,
long since gone.
Do these ripples want to cuddle a distant shore,
to caress a foot paddling in the shallows,
to rock a boat with sleepers to sleep,
or to kiss the pebbles puckered up to kiss in rows?
Or to simply go and then fade gently and dissolve from view,
happy in their journey getting there.
In time the wind and water gathers breath,
to blur the lines, to wipe the scroll and slate clean,
To blow the sand grains around to cover the tracks.
The tide comes in, obliterating the imprints.
The wind builds waves to crush the ripples in chaos.
The defaced becomes a pure clean mirror surface unmarked again,
With no trace of regret, or memory to replay.
The defacers, shakers and movers,
long forgotten, forlorn and forgiven,
have faded away, to dreams and memories,
forgotten, hidden, wiped away, until awaken.
The same people who demand I put that mask over my face
are the same ones who lift sieves from borders.
Inviting sludge +slag along with the gold.
The ones with no respect for law and order.
The same ones that demonize all police.
The same ones who close an ocean.
The same ones who claim they can stop rioting with a hug.
Broiling the soul of the country for optics and blood ratings.
The same ones that release violent inmates.
Into society to protect them from the flu.
The same ones that are defacing Honest Abe.
The same ones that use retirement homes
as halfway houses for rapists and drug addicts.
The same ones that rip toilets from their mansions,
to avoid paying taxes-all the while raising mine...
That's why you can bet your blue "regressive" behind
That my thumb will be turning red come November.
I was liken a race car driver, while on the tracks of life my spiritual self just keep on running and running and running and running and running and running, running.
My physical body just tried of the days on things. Bored to life with all the complex trappings. My body in a bind, this world not treating me very kind.
And I rely on myself to get me out of this mess. And to my surprise I just stopped and got out of this world car. Stop the pains of traveling around and around racing defacing myself… got a breath of the wind. Found myself surveying;
put the car in park
got out of me start praising
now walks in heaven
now walks in heaven
where there's no pollution none
no spiraling drones
life's racing autos
running running in circles
car now placed in park
my needs now get out
got out of me start praising
now walks in heaven
9/4/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....
Why not make a real difference?
By mending broken down walls and fences.
Instead of defacing personal and business property.
Recognizing people and their business need the
freedom to operate them. A healthy and productive
economy, Complete with equal employment opportunities
Is beneficial to all of our countrymen and country women.
They feel they are being surrounded by walls
of hatred, and bigotry. Black people need to
have the responsibly of freedom. By respecting
the rights and privileges of all people, tribes
and tongues. Those of us who are white.
Realize the need for social justice and equality for
Black Americans.
Why not make a difference? Each in our own words,
and each in our own ways! Locking and closing down
our country. When your voices have been heard
is counter productive! The time has come to mend,
fences, walls and bridges not to tear them down!
We are all in this together. United we stand, but
divided we fall!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
July 02, 2020
Choking, churning dense river of clouds.
Vengeful, raging, wrathful airspace,
where seraphs and cherubs are murdered,
where cold torrential demons are unleashed.
Dank deep noons and nights interbreed,
incestuous and quailing, unholy waters
wailing, exploding, spilling specters,
erasing, defacing, disgracing all that was.
We all know the inequality of cruelty.
Cloudbursts inflict the most on the least.
Drenched hopes and soaked assumptions are
undone by mudslides, unhinged in flash floods.
There are so many conversations we wish
we once had, before the rains started,
before the blast of tainted waters scoured
our private rooms, and it was too late.
No, we don’t know we’re drowning in
the life we repudiate.
Sometimes In silence
I question citrine stars~
what streams beneath
murky waters,
Is hope still flowing
through rusty ripples,
why do we live
in an orb
of sheer blindness,
would the wind
ever seize tunnels
behind the black hole,
or are we destined
to narrate novels
too narrow and unseen
for the naked eyes.
Whilst the earth
lies dreaming,
manifesting milky-ways
quilted on magical mats,
wishing, hoping, praying
that pastel colored patience
and crystal clear compassion
would vaguely sway
like glowing fireflies
amongst the darkest
edges of innermost core.
Transmitting seraphic
breezes upon
tender branches
of silk cotton trees.
But amidst the
destructive defacing
of turquoise heart
within evergreen forests,
sun and the
moon still flicker
streaks of poetry
along the linings
of tattered
tweaks and wilted weed.
Yet worldly impulses
fail to remember
that mother nature
is in need of kindness,
as she’s been
fed poisonous petals
dipped in a quagmire
of ignorance.
Escorting her
golden spirits into an
inexorable grievance,
as ghastly greediness
left no rosy seasoning,
of soils we strolled,
paths unnamed and
undiscovered halt,
questioning toils
of intrinsic creation~
the earth lies
in solitary slumber,
for in delicate dreams
we sing songs
of tranquility,
more mellifluous
than the burning
fumes we
inhale mindlessly.
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com/
Spending oftentimes with friends on the virtual screen,
There the lives of young minds might be seen,
Such beauties are presented by MPEG or jpeg,
But sometimes, these are stolen and corrupted.
Breaking the rules and defacing the limit,
The things for public and for private,
Whether pictures, videos, papers, and artistic works,
These need purity through the hardest fix of screwdrivers.
To eye on purity is to wire up the human system,
And your conscious clicks are measured by a pure screen.
Then a wholesome desktop could be measured by a LAN tester,
And your genuine heart could properly maintain these things.
Standing to fight
in the heart of the city
The jungles of asphalt
where neon flashes evil
as sidewalk dwellers
window shop hate
and find peace labeled “Not for sale”
I cling to my beliefs
in lamp post graffiti
Spray painted wishes
fading in color
and store owner nightmares,
defacing the brick walls with burnt flags
surrounding my very existence
Fear falls in pamphlet raindrops,
pages scattered
beyond the welcome mats
of big box politicians
in paisley ties
and pastel pant suits
shaking hands and scamming votes
Promises made
circled in cigar smoke and cheap eye shadow
fall on unsuspecting ears as truth
until the “sorry we’re closed” signs
spin in favor of loss…
opening for business
to the throngs of the thoughtless
I see their eyes, hollow,
faltering of sorrow as worry
becomes the next day’s problem
Reaching into my pocket I retrieve
the French braided wings you gave me…just in case
and I fly to be with you
Unable to face the fall…of humanity