Long Derailing Poems
Long Derailing Poems. Below are the most popular long Derailing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Derailing poems by poem length and keyword.
Fetishes,senses and derangement calls,
Sedatives crushed into the hold,
A trance of tragedy, regaining conciousness,
Abreast on fantasy, stranded on hope.
Derailing conclusions often up shut,
Just another goddess, worshipped in not a castle nor hut,
A deranged perspective, too joyful to be true,
For she ,closer to happiness ,has faced twice the rue.
her eyes red, her clothes torn,Sensations on her lips bloom,
Ashes on her neck,ashes on her chest,
Squirming in delight as the wounds undress
Vigour and joy turn to gloom,Her face scarred, her mind numb,
Behold she is a child still sucking on her thumb.
WE DIE DAILY
Waiting, hoping, fingertips and noses,
Thorns among roses,
We die daily.
Hands are busy, working, folding,
To have and holding,
We die daily.
Seeds of sowing, reap the owing,
The coming the going,
We die daily
Beauty fading, strength abating,
Time not delaying,
We die daily.
Happily sailing, health soon failing,
Like an appointed derailing
We die daily.
New born crying, another man dying,
Souls go flying,
We die daily,
Wise men preparing, for the appointed clocking,
The Savior’s knocking,
We die daily
Heed the calling, never stalling
Sudden death can come like a rabid mauling
We die daily
Begin believing while you’re breathing,
True Faith is received without the seeing,
We die daily.
Dear God, I know you are real busy up above,
But could I have a moment to talk to you;
Things are not so good here, we could use some love,
You sent your son for us, then to heaven he flew.
You tried God, but is seems that your plan failed,
There is so much happening- things are out of control;
The list is very long and oh so sadly detailed,
So much war and bombings, the killing of souls.
Children in poor countries are eating garbage,
There are hurricanes, earthquakes, horrible storms;
Airplanes falling, trains derailing, oh there is carnage,
Hundreds are hurt, losing their legs and arms.
What can I do God, I am only a girl in a Canadian city,
But I was thinking, I can help my cities homeless;
I know I cannot change the world and that's a pity,
So, I've joined a group to help the lost and hopeless.
We bring street people coffee, food and blankets,
I like to talk to them and find out their story;
Many have pets, dogs and cats, giving love, that's it,
Well God, that's what I am doing and I seek no glory.
Oh, I forgot to tell you that I bring pet food, oh yes,
I think it is beautiful the pets giving love unconditional;
Well, as you can see God, earth is in quite a mess,
I cannot change the world but I can help one individual.
For a moment . . .
_________________________________
April 10, 2016
Poetry/Rhyme/Dear God, Can I Have a Moment
Copyright Protected, 16-776-562-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
An unexpected whistling
unlike Christopher Robin
hi ho... hi ho exiting
their wooded den
(think Snow White and
her seven dwarf men)
off to work they go to earn cents
(unbeknownst conversion into) yen
boot just enough to undergo
gastric bypass surgery
to shrink abdomen,
plus grueling boot camp regimen
guaranteeing bullseye
hit courtesy artillerymen
nsync with honing
sharp eyed acumen
joining (rather leading) civilians
carrying out coup d’etat
putsch ching aside feeble,
inept and lame
president to step up
and augment pen
ultimate last ditch effort
to halt climate change
to stave turning planet Earth
into self destructive oven.
All joking aside horrific,
née apocalyptic crisis doth loom
perhaps even unleashing mushroom,
clouds (thrown in for good measure)
encompassing entire planet
assuredly spelling doom,
where liquidation and fire sale
at all brick and mortar
stores will bloom,
(just ash at the front desk)
charcoal burnt offering skeleton crew
pointing blackened decker
index finger boom
meringue literally every black
Friday, Saturday, Sunday...
until every tomb
morrow until end of time.
No one will remember
all the names of the bodies
laying in pools of blood
in all those back alleys
and side streets
burned out warehouses
and by-the-hour motels…
They don’t talk about them…
Cause their lives don’t matter…
All those bodies just lying around
decaying as fast as our minds.
Our children stepping over em
like they were just another
discarded used condom…
Looking down at ‘em
and saying how disgusting
to just leave them lying
around like that…
But it don’t matter…
Because they only give them names
if there is a way to get some fame
for the next live broadcast at six…
And if it’s a white dude being stabbed
by a knife-wielding black man on heroin
oh boy…
Then stay tuned for the news at ten
and they’ll recycle it
again and again.
Tell you all about when
somebody
somewhere
somehow did it…
Cause ratings do matter…
We wonder why everyone
has become so numb.
Are we all so dumb,
to let life be squeezed away
with the press of a finger and a thumb…
If it ain’t some gangster
with an itch to scratch
holding a gun up to our head
then it might
be a nuclear warhead dropping
sending people
to the ground
flopping around
with their eyes popping out.
Either way, they’re dead…
How they died doesn’t matter…
I’m not here to make an excuse
for the way the hate
and abuse has turned
our kids into something
without any feelings…
I must admit it no longer
sends my senses reeling
when I turn on the news and see
another mass killing…
Or murder and destruction
children abductions
drugs and thugs
bombing planes
derailing trains
volcanos and earthquakes
covid
abortion
and another
school shooting…
Makes me wonder
what the Hell’s next…
But then I think…
Does it really matter?
Do nothing pages.
Both nothing and by myself.
Weird, scattered, brain poetry.
Chewing my thoughts as if there’s a train derailing.
Poetry.
Words collapse and they do.
Fall apart like beads scattered, nothing.
Trampling energy.
The sun bursting energy all during my thoughts.
Both nothing and with my friends.
We chatter around while I’m thinking about writing a poem about death.
With nothing except the sound of a trombone wheezing next to us.
Foolish pages.
Do nothing like a moth does nothing.
Just likes light, except we understand death too.
We think we do.
Scattered but it’s supposed to be that way.
Both nothing and having friends.
Bursting as well.
X
another 30 days
spring about to lose her lust(er)
I'm lost and
ill prepared to last
XX
markings of what I have not
carved deep, in thought
four corner posts
unmade sheets,
stripped
a canopy of peace
with every article
re(a)d
meant to be spread
out, on top
enlightened
gods weep at the sight
for they must live to rule
darkness of night
where
one must delve courageously
in the tiny details
derailing innocence
mounting the trinity of angels
in more than mere dreams
***
I admire the view afar
and crave that scent upon my soul
desire wishes to inject me with your poison
as I eat a top your table
enjoying each and every dainty fruit
known of man
A year through glorious gain
Even though troubles pour like rain
How efforts seems to be derailing!
Shockingly, Jehovah comes bailing
Then thoughts run head so insane
When the Lord stamped it 360 degree
He finally gave you truly the blue key
To cease mourning and verily disagree
With impossibility existence blue guarantee
To find possibility in years ahead off plea
So, entertain luck in grace per luck with joy
"Wishes of yours will be true", says your boy
Be real like always, dear humble friend
And celebrate in thanksgiving with heart
Cum music, gifts, prayers to mainly blend
In each, do forever find such spark an art!
Live Grace to the Fullest
Even amidst raging tempest.
(described in ~thirty lines of rhyme)
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
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"Lo! the dolphin dotes laughs
My passion is the maritime coast
'Ocean!' said I, 'thing of seawater.'
Oceans dolphins
In a kingdom full of coastlines
Eagerly I looked for the seaway
I crave the marine, more mare
That up bound jellyfish - that unbound jellyfish
I felt compelled to sniff the territorial waters
I am shorn of my catfish
I discovered the riverbanks
Suddenly, I heard some tiding
Rise, fly mighty dolphin up through the skies
And its eyes have all the ponding
Resulting and resulting with my pacific
But in the fact that it was fluttering
I had dreamed of ribs cluttering
Only this and a ameba
The west water whaling
The dry dock smiled
How they were curtailing, prevailing - derailing
I discovered the crayfish
I crave the marine, amidships maritime
Ah, distinctly I was swallowing
Rise, fly mighty dolphin up threw the skies"
11/19/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©