Long Despoil Poems
Long Despoil Poems. Below are the most popular long Despoil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Despoil poems by poem length and keyword.
Lust's Sickness throws off the yoke, of cure?
Defiant in-body, pleasures obscure.
A mask, of pride, a lost soul-in vogue capture, a hell-ride in the belly of a beastly whore.
The salt crystal shines your thirst back to you in a drowning mirror that blinds you.
It's image, in-retrograde.
Worship of false idol,
self, made, self that binds you.
You are tapewormed, pinned at the head,
eating the loop of tale.
A process processing by lassoing,
the masochism of sin.
The Harlot, riding an illusion abiding,
of perverted grandeur, aboding the Vale,
in a warped game of intelivision in the City Dell.
Rally the standard, flags, censors,
sensor a game, of shell, of humanity being played,
like a fiddle, rung like a bell.
Their humanity wanes,
from defiant song in the harmonic scale, of fever.
Their body a signet, of times despoil.
The occulus hourglass abacus mirror waxing cold,
fusion spirit, ether, spell for sale, sold.
Doors closing double
folding into the dimension of troubles.
Shopkeepers of the gates of Hell,
and souls falling onto the other.
Neon is in the blood, signed, *** - 666,
enter, the veil.
Apocalypservices,
the last vomiting throes of Society's-former Dale.
BDSM by Hollywood (wand not for display),
at the demonic re education menagerie.
Self's gallery for sale, while burning,
nativity to ashes,
carbon to polish our looking glasses.
Sold-out to the oil of midnite.
Snaking, on a torch lit by the way
of political prophet-eering incite.
Insight of conscience swayed
by field communications, too near.
Of Olympus-apothecarried by the scales in motion,
weighed by fears'-musings-fear.
By Reptilian, Orwellian, modern, progressive notions caught doing.
Explosive, fiery things.
Burn us to death, in house arrest,
in-deed to fuel one's own un, manifest.
Doing, one's undoing at the behest of the WEF
THE BIG QUESTION
Are you ever curious about your last day on earth
Does it make you question just what was your worth
Were your acts always equitable towards Man and Beast
Did you help their life's journey or was their pain increased
Did your God give permission to do with his animals what you will
Saying you might hunt them, exploit them, they're yours to kill
Were you ever told the Earth is mankind's to despoil and plunder
Have Mother Nature's jewels been wasted and plowed under
That creature in need did you turn your head, looking askance
Or did you promote compassion while there was a chance
For earth is a school and the syllabus of study
Was for an elevation of soul, not for greed, lust or money
On that day of days the bank account couldn't mean less
It's our acts while on earth are what shall redeem us
THE BIG QUESTION
Are you ever curious about your last day on earth
Does it make you question just what was your worth
Were your acts always equitable towards Man and Beast
Did you help their life's journey or was their pain increased
Did your God give permission to do with his animals what you will
Saying you might hunt them, exploit them, they're yours to kill
Were you ever told the Earth is mankind's to despoil and plunder
Have Mother Nature's jewels been wasted and plowed under
That creature in need did you turn your head, looking askance
Or did you promote compassion while there was a chance
For earth is a school and the syllabus of study
Was for an elevation of soul, not for greed, lust or money
On that day of days the bank account couldn't mean less
It's our acts while on earth are what shall redeem us
emptiness 2
How do you feel today ?
Like I’m in a empty room
A plain box in grey
Waiting for the end or doom
To come and get me
emptiness
I guess
Is what I feel
Is it the celexa or not
Life’s anchors
Linger not
My wife’s carer
Says talk to somebody at the office
My friend ‘s
Don’t know
Or do they feel
the same as me
I can’t tell them.
Looking out my window
I realise.
the shining leaves and tree’s
The sky and sun
Will continue on
when I’m long gone
even when human kind
has done its worse
to despoil our universe
do we deserve the wonders
we’ve been given here
god or happenstance
matters not
selfishness and greed
are they the same
planets by the million
galaxies a billion
more or less
do they contain
creatures of lessor greed
or imaginary need
when happiness
is what they need
but again
time will go on
when human life is gone
time and space eternal
in emptiness
Mankind, you're so proud and tall
You really think you know it all
And once you had discovered fire
to such great heights you did aspire
Once, gladly, of myself I gave
but now your plan is to enslave
Do you think it is your right
to consign whole species to the night
You rob the forests of their trees
and think you can do as you please
Disfigure me in your quest for oil
and with your wastes, my seas despoil
My rivers now flow red as blood
choked and dying with your crud
I've pleaded, but to no avail
as you wiped out the mighty whale
My atmosphere is choked with fumes
just to heat your fancy rooms
Radiation blights the ground
Everywhere your footprint's found
Pesticides pollute your crops
Acids taint the pure raindrops
My icecaps melt with global warming
A hole in the ozone layer is forming
I am your home, your ONLY home
Amongst the stars you'll never roam
Will you then, your home destroy
with these methods you employ?
You care not for this pollution
What then, mankind, is the solution
Should I let you on Earth remain
or wipe you out and start again
Mankind take heed you have been warned
So far my warnings have been scorned
One day soon you'll feel my rage
I'll knock you back to the stone age
With earthquakes I'll destroy a city
Too late then to ask for pity
With fire and storm and tidal wave
I'll consign you to the grave
What you've done make's no sense
Now I demand much recompense
Mankind, betrayer, of you I tire
Heed my words ... my name is Gaia
I've constructed a picket fence around me to keep jackanapes out
Through pickets they can see me, but I never allow them to touch
private parts of me I keep concealed, and don't talk about so much
I keep whitewashing my fence, cleansing it from things left in doubt
When my boards become exposed to prying eyes that shouldn't see
I open another bucket of watered-down paint and reach for a brush
to cover the flaws, my faults within, and I am always in such a rush
to whiten and brighten the facade out front. The veneer veiling me.
There is a gate with well-worn hinges, but usually it's kept locked
to prevent invaders who would dare trespass on my every thought
Those who'd despoil my fence with graffiti and rip my boards apart
Hence, one reason why I keep a supply of whitewash well-stocked
I am the prismed reflection of my surroundings, including my fence
where no webs shall arachnids weave within my weathered boards.
I will apply a coat of whitewash to my palisade as the need affords
It is a beachhead between me and crawlers; my penury of defense
Twining around my picketed railings, grows a vine of climbing roses
The virtuous blooms are never cut to prolong each inculpable stem
They shroud malevolent fingers pointed at me that would condemn
I shrive every foible and failing that my whitewashed fence encloses
May 28, 2023
W T F Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
Up but Down…part-4
It is a month. Since we went to that hill
Not so high or big to boast about.
But still something for us to elevate
Eliminate or despoil as we please.
I have no quarrel whatever with it,
Its name, its need or the somber logic
Of its existence. Only sympathy.
None of which it needs for its own sake.
Apart from the not-so-old power stations
And undulating woods and plantations
It has streams too to woo its rare guest
But mine is the job to relive in full
Its timeless past and its complex present,
A past that seems vanished for good, but
Thrusting an enigmatic hand at our hearts,
Time past is a thrust into the living
A sudden punch that leaves us but shell- shocked
Treading a thorny trail, climbing down steps
We cautiously step down boulders until
We stand amidst huge and rotund rocks whose
Polished round shapes tell of millennia
Of floods, of flow, of hard and soft movements
And we stand in an apology of
A stream, tepid and knee deep, where we went
Hoping to dip our hot bodies in the
Hilly chill. Dismayed we walk back sweating
Exhausting ourselves to no avail and
Thinking of how we should brag about it
All back home, vacuously and insincerely.
Rain clouds were just gathering over there
But plains saw torrential rains last fortnight
People sadly tell, “Not much in the hills”
Love’s Wave and Breaking Crest
And though the lover’s now shared empty cells
o’erflowing with the enmity of loss
endured the curse of self inflicted hells
beneath the towered specter of the cross
the remnants of a love – now prayerful dross
crumbling – dry flowers clutched to chest
unwilling to admit denials cost
beneath fate’s wave and breaking crest.
A darkness of the heart devoid of light
numbing to the core all pulsing hope
adrift in string-less voyage – hateful flight
as fearful fingers ever slowly grope
the promise of the knotted, swinging rope
to which the aching heart has acquiesced
in effort to relieve love’s need to cope
beneath fate’s wave and breaking crest.
As through love’s hand slid harsh Manilla grip
tears dried upon a sallow, sunken cheek
awakening cold heart from endless trip
silencing the quest for dying’s shriek
recoiling from a final act so bleak
as to despoil a love that felt so blessed
strip it of love’s whimsical mystique
beneath fate’s wave and breaking crest.
Thus does the heart renew its rhythmic pace
return full beating flow to aching chest
release itself from memory’s sad embrace
beneath love’s wave and breaking crest.
//rhyme scheme not carried throughout//
//each stanza has own rhyme//
4/28/2015
You sense the presence but cannot see it yet,
not hear footfalls squeak on the hardwood floor;
the flesh-crawling aura of an unclean spirit
squeals the rusted hinges of the creaking door.
A tinpot Hitler, mincing and vile,
inner ugliness thrust outward on a pockmarked face;
how black and dead the eyes, how corpse-like the smile,
how far the endless fall from human grace.
An agenda to wrong-foot, keep you on your toes,
to spit on and destroy your heartfelt toil;
to tread your fragile dreams where nothing ever grows,
to rape all good intentions, belittle and despoil.
"Manager, I am!" it drools when it appears,
"Bow down and kiss the slime from off my shoes!"
it creeps upon your reverie, insidious, insincere,
how it hungers to humiliate, yearns to abuse.
"Manager I am! Manager I say!"
black neutered breath flows from the curling lips;
your insides swim in nausea, the floorboards peel away,
in anger, hate and fury you start to lose your grip.
All that you can think is how so very much
you desire this abortion to be carved, boiled and fried;
here is one Creeping Jesus the world would surely approve
of it's systematically getting nailed and ritually crucified.
A Grinch’s Lament/with apologies
I remember the Christmas I first met the Grinch
his whining, his snarling, his poke, and his pinch
I never knew why - but I liked him right off
his yellowish teeth - his green tussled coif
the way that he moved – a snake in full coil
awaiting the chance to strike - to despoil
whatever the Who’s might be trying to do
the way he loved making the Who’s – go BOO HOO
I laughed when he emptied all the Who’s houses
took the cheese from the little Who mouses
ate all the cookies and took the roast beast
truly the Grinch didn’t care in the least
I felt a slight twinge about Cindy Lou Who….BUT
HE WAS A GRINCH….WHAT ELSE COULD HE DO
I cheered when the sleigh reached the top of Mount Crumpit
urged him to PLEASE….GO AHEAD…..DUMP IT!! DUMP IT!!!
I couldn’t believe he succumbed to the glee
of the carols they sang – without any tree
or his heart would expand – his evil would shrink
he’d clean himself up – tone down his Grinch stink
I cringed when he rode into town on the sleigh
he was the Grinch – it shouldn’t turn out this way
So I tossed the Grinch and his book on their head
sat eating stale crackers – alone – in my bed
John G. Lawless
8/8/2015
Birth: the first step to journey’s end.
We cannot travel and pretend
That our paths will be all straight
And leave the helm to luck, not faith.
There will be chasms full of gloom
Where evil spirits hide and loom
The eerie feelings forecast doom
And wide-eyed flowers do not bloom;
There will be dangers hard to count
So many mountains to surmount
The angry waves will roll and pound
While furious winds despoil the ground
The weary feet will turn to lead
It will be hard to forge ahead.
But are we going to give in
To the backstabbing from within
Become a prey to currents’ might
Or beat retreat and take to flight?
Oh no my friend! That’s not the way
To reap the fruit of our stay
On this domain where life must rise
Above the slime; so let’s be wise
To turn defeat into a win
To put a stop to faults and sin
To change the darkness into light
To not submit without a fight
To find the means to learn to cope
So that we travel on with hope
Till when we give the final breath
We cross the bridge to life, not death.
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Author: Paul Callus ~ 16/03/2014
Contest: Life is what you make it!
Sponsor: Dave Wood
Placing: 1st