Long Deformity Poems
Long Deformity Poems. Below are the most popular long Deformity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deformity poems by poem length and keyword.
I at times in moment of quiet reflection consider it unfortunate the scars so deeply carved across my heart and soul which take on no outward appearance, for though wounded there is no evidence to the world of these pains which have been suffered. Pains of loss, born through the awakening from flowered dreams of innocence and lies of eternal bliss.
The question drifts through my searching mind as lone cloud in an otherwise empty sky:
“Is it best this scar be concealed under the vail of summer cap or perhaps winter cloak ....?”
Though the damage real and infirmity limiting there is no outward sign to others this suffering which is mine. No walk of altered gait, no deformity, no call of recognition which might bring moment of understanding and therefore mercy from those who would see it in their passing.
But the scars of a broken heart do not call out making themselves apparent..... and the world takes no heed of that which cannot be seen through blind eyes.
2200 E High Street
Pottstown, PA 19464
Upon making a purchase,
yours truly murmurs bonjour
to the man/woman clerk
manning cash register,
(perhaps another day)
maybe soon as tomorrow
January twenty four -
two thousand and twenty,
I will explore
Moonlight madness sale
fifty percent off all merchandise
across the expansive floor
after getting weary and footsore
snagging garments for near future
return home to stock wardrobe (mine)
satisfied with basement bargains galore,
aye attest bang for buck heretofore
wearables specially bought with difficulty,
née impossible mission finding clothing
to fit this hunchback named Igor.
Rather than pay top dollar i.e.
as prestigious patrician wag
hashtagged with extremely
high price tag
(think chic boutiques)
uninviting to token
garden variety scalawag
(i.e. namely yours truly),
who feels more at home
attiring himself courtesy ragtag
garments, particularly scant legal tender
jangling within me threadbare moneybag
plus deformity drawing
less stares when I lollygag
(matter of fact many "Zerns people")
populate said very affordable - egad
even amiable animals
amble along to stash their feedbag.
Impact on very limited budget
affords me more bang for buck
upon locating rare find,
I feel analogous to lucky duck
quacking and fluffing tail feathers
scouting around for usable goods
another shopper did finish
with thence did huck.
How are you my pet?
Have all you need?
Are you all set?
Have all your wants and needs met?
Good, now it’s time to pay
With your vote for me today
Prove your loyalty and appreciation
To further our political masturbation
Of you my obedient pet
Just obey
And please don’t fret
We need your mindless conformity
As we employ our brand of deformity
Time to keep quiet and do as your told
As we bring you to heel
If I may be so bold
It’s the same story
That’s old and retold
We prey
You obey
And fit the mold
Of soulless servitude
To the heartless and cold
Surprise, surprise
Your existence has sold
To the lowest bidder
Is what I’m told
Now come my pet
And submit to the F. O. L. D.
(Follow Our Logic Deviant)
Eric (and sometimes not)
Incessantly it trods and plods
perpetual the pendulum.
So long before the abbey bells
tolled and told of hours passing
before the ticks and tocks of clocks
or shadows crept with solstice gods
no one to worship at its start
that knew not of a perfect love.
The kindest heart left drowned in tears
and wrapped in gross deformity,
yet sheltered by cathedral walls
in disrepair as much as he.
'til Esmerelda's gentle hand,
he knew no love, just hate and scorn
and like the brand from tempered flame,
it's burning love that made him strong.
So like the edifice was he,
an ugly house that held God's love
and Quasimodo's lonely heart
who'd toll the bells that silence hears.
Then in the end he found her dead
and sacrificed his mortal life
to sleep with one who truly gave
the only love he'd ever known.
Interred, yet not forsaken souls,
whose bones became entangled vines
that turned to dust when first exposed,
then blew to heaven ~ found in time...
A battlefront benefactress,
She has her fortress, a fortified Princess, inside the dungeon of distress,
Tiled with the bone chips of ingratitude colored in pigments of black bright & rugid red,
An arrowhead chandelier illuminated by wicked tears, wet with woe,
Everybody saw her wedding dress, they all knew the warfield wardrobe,
But how many cared to touch her sorrow gown, how it hung on those exhausted shoulders,
The lilac one piece she wore for private pain,
Gain gauged by perseverence of self defense, vengence on Victory's tombstone,
How many visit that ceremony, where love is isolated amidst jealousy's cackle,
Do any of them frown with sympathy for the debt of her crown,
For every jewel in the tierra there exists a bruise upon her beautiful body,
An assault levied by the 'learned', the rape of a writer wrought by the wretchedly wanton,
Honors earned ransomed by pitiful rivalry, kindness taken in the grip of disingenuous delight,
Some say her very name is a curse, an anethema from some God foresaken moon,
Poet Destroyer, 'Too much nerve, too much passion' they exclaim,
Its only natural for her ingrown throne to be a thorn
In the fingertip of the editorial 'elite',
They know we will bleed for her grace like the children of wild sport,
The Poet Destroyer shall not hurt us as educators of deformity do,
She will not impose false limits on our brows,
She will not strike our eyes with rotten ink,
And look now you vultures of vice, we are Legion,
We are Brothers and Sisters of the Quill, raise your sight and behold our Worshipful Queen,
She rests not long in the sanctuary of her inner star, here we are,
Leading the war march towards you with captured & dried quills
Of imposter poets lashed to her sheild of cauterized parchment
Imprinted with the blessings of all literary Titans who have warred before,
We step forward While chanting in crazed concentration,
Oh woe to you,
Victors of vanity, victims of sanity!!!
This composition has been made in honor of the Poet Destroyer, aka. Linda,
A beautiful woman, a guiding Light, a warrior of liberated and Divine Art.
J.A.B.
*Image of Stringer Davis and Margaret Rutherford by Fanpop.
Miss Marple's Nephew's Double Mysteries
~~0~~
Agatha Christie,
Agatha Christie slights through half her years,
pens a fictional, Miss Marple,
a Miss Jane Marple by her peers,
Agatha's best sleuth qualities had a nephew,
a nephew named Raymond
not into crime stuff like his aunt,
not like his aunt who'd felt him as Rainman,
though he thought much of the world,
the world he thought of much,
~~0~~
such as the Death Valley Sailing Stones,
stones sailing by magic touch?
some stones are seven hundred pounds,
seven hundred pounds some stones are,
wintertime,
wintertime flats fill with little quantities of rainwater that freezes so far,
day's sun melts the ice splitting it into sheets,
into sheets, they're splitting,
desert winds hit the stones that slip and slide,
slide and slip making results fitting.
~~0~~
and in Raymond's follow-up study he did of Richard III
death and all,
death and all?
after his remains were found, his head was bashed repeatedly,
bashed repeatedly appall,
no defensive wounds led to believe he had no helmet,
no helmet had him,
furthermore, *Shakespeare's spinal deformity an err, he had no limp,
no limp or a withered limb,
furthermore, his remains were found on a battlefield setting,
a battlefield setting, not in a churchyard,
"A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse", alas none were seen,
none were seen near this Shakespeare die-hard.
~~0~~
*Shakespeare's cast of Richard III in his play re his spinal deformity appears to have been exaggerated.
2022 July 24
To the air of life
I fear not
Yet I still fear
Exactly what I fear not
Cos life is a wall
And our life in life
Is the ball of life
So what you gave
To life surely follows you
To the air of life
I chose awareness
Over fear
Cos light can't be hidden
And my light is never
An exception in this case
So even when I step
So brave in my deformity
I never forget to be humble
Even when I win or fail
Life must gave me something
For my life assurance
And if you doubt
The prove is so clear
In the air of life
And when you insists
On your ignorance
Cast your fear only just
To the air of life
That for sure
You will live again
With a new air In life
Would you like to know what resides beyond the deformity of our perceptions if there is anything? Just what lies beyond those wishful embellishments emptiness perhaps nothingness if such is this
idea tempts like sugar many of the “intellectual” nothingness after the
last heartbeat a candle blown and the flame simply gone. But it is an answer of the laziest sort a rejection of possibilities of endless natures placing a dot
at
the end of a sentence which could continue and bloom into the most wonderful stories? They
like to say that imagination has nothing to do with truth (as if they knew all the mysteries of our minds) James Fowler – and others – have opinions of a more stimulating kind I say open up your
heart for there is much more beyond of what we’ve created in churches and temples even greater
Love
and imagination can be just the right door but there is and there will be
even more just
Stand
still and standing look and looking think and feel the voice that speaks through everything let it bring the freshness and vision of what there is to know and then in a brand new humbleness gently bow
your head
to all the powers which reside on the other side of the wall which divides
Human intellect from wisdom
A brave mans venom
freedom fighters got
venom
cos their words
never contradict
their personality
everyone got a
reason on earth
despite we are same
humans
yet humans are problem
of themselves
we are the originators
of every issues
we suffer
their is no same
agreement in the world
our mentalities proves
this
our royalty remains
our deformity
our ignorance
still close us to
our delusion
we are yet to
be come who
we truly are
same problem
ever were
no wonder
the words
of a freedom fighter
is a venom to it
oppressor
even when they don't
care
I am saddened, I am grieved
That you’ve become so sick, so diseased
Turning from God, the Light, unsaved
Criminal heart, morally depraved.
Be gone, out of my sight, away,
“I recognize you not”, I say
Oh what sadness, Oh what grief
What emptiness, a tortured thief
Made to kill by monstruous evil
Unaware accomplice of the devil?
I am saddened, I am grieved
To see your soul in Hell unrelieved.
What a pity, poverty of soul
Unknowingly malignant, wickedly unfit?
Tricks of mind, distorted reason
To gain advantage for your infantile delusion.
Masked as simple, meek and mild
Below a raging mad mind, a bad child.
I have nothing more to say or do
Flee from me, I want nothing more of you.
You are not of me, we cannot meet
Our paths are moving along a different street
The schedules we have, our plans, our guide
Are all of a different kind, of a different size.
Our hearts are beating beats of a different beat
Farewell my empty crafty entwining creature.
I see deformity in your every singular feature
The only hope for you is a divine miracle,
But that requires an open heart humble, plain and simple.
That requires God and Christ
Which you refused, I attempted twice.
So finally, I say, be gone from me
You are repelled, refused, incurable malignancy.