Long Devastates Poems

Long Devastates Poems. Below are the most popular long Devastates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Devastates poems by poem length and keyword.


Darlene Street

What on earth is going on over there, do you have something to share, what on earth is going on over there, you are acting as if you don’t care. Is there any good news for us? Is there any recipe in the cook book? She always has something new to cook.

 There is food in the pantry but the drain is clogged up, you have to get the technician to remove the plug before the day is done so that you can get the food from the pantry. 

 The wine is fine but there are few berries on the vine. You have got to put in a new crop before the autumn ushers in. They have the grain, the water and the drain; they just need a helping hand to clear the land.  

The drums are leaving the town and the villains are homeward bound, the oligarchs are surveying the place and the customers are running all over the place. Everyone is looking for the best price before they roll the production dice. The season for the “bleeding” can be so demanding when you have twenty meetings in one day and nothing positive is coming your way. Negative energy will make you sick, and kinetic energy will throw you off the cliff. 

Oh, I almost forget the shares; India has rice and beans to spare some people dislike the frosting on the cake because some flavors are out of date. 

The Indian rice is white and it is piling up to the sky, the people will  starve to death if you don’t act before the break of Dawn. 

Narendra Modi, the King of the East must gather his administration in front of the beast, to discuss the rice ban before starvation devastates the land.

 We don’t understand the reason for the ban, is it to purge the bad people from the land? You cannot allow the good to suffer for the bad or you will leave the entire world sad.  

Prime Minister Modi is a good man and he need all the rice to feed the 1.4 billion people on his land .

This has caused some disruption in the global supply market. This is what you should do to protect the horse and the shoe. Export half of your rice to the globe and keep the other half to nourish your people’s soul. 

You can add an extra dollar to the price to compensate for the ruthless sacrifice, consult your loyal customers and apologize for the rice ban. 

You must put the politics aside and serve the people with much delight. Send the people to plant more rice and rescind the global rice ban, Prime Minister Modi…lift the rice ban.


Knocking On Your Dreams Door

>>1111>>Knocking on your dreams door>1111>>Quincy Mac<<1111<<

date written: 11.23.2015
© Quincy Mac  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Epic

Nothing Left Within the Left

They once cheer-led the working class,
until they were useful no more,
now they call all of them ‘racist,’
to be hated and deplored.
Ignoring that it’s wholly sane
to fear losing a scarce job
to an illegal immigrant,
to be well and truly robbed.
But all of this was done before,
it’s a cold and brutal fact,
the left created old Jim Crow,
bigot votes feathered their hats,
until they decided dark folks were good,
and handouts their votes did net,
one day they will be cast off too,
there’s nothing left within the left.

They once championed free speech,
now they’re singing a different tune,
if they don’t like what you’ve to say
then they just try to censor you.
And if you still keep talking,
they send out PC-hate brigades
to mob your home, get you fired,
take everything you love away.
If you mention the rule-of-law
all you’ll hear is their laughter,
associate with one of their foes,
they’ll throw you to a prosecutor.
If they find no crime they make one up,
it’s the tactic that they like best,
no cares for justice or the truth,
there’s nothing left within the left.

If you should dare to worship,
try to live by those beliefs,
they’ll say you are ‘intolerant,’
that you conscience is ‘bigotry.’
And yet should any one of them
break a single P.C. law,
they’re ostracized and cast right out,
without a single moment of thought.
When you point out that they have just
chosen a different, unproven faith,
they cry “Fascist!” or just stand there
with a blank look on their face.
Unless, of course, you join Islam,
then they cry,”Don’t even jest!”
Up ’till the day they get blown up…
there’s nothing left within the left.

They still cling to socialism,
though it fails and devastates,
they’d rather rule a ruin then
admit they have made a mistake.
They push us towards a civil war,
if we are not already their,
and the shocking thing about it
is that they do not seem to care.
Power is all they’ve left to crave,
they jones for it like and addict,
if they break lives in its pursuit
then they are just fine with it.
No love of freedom still remains,
morals and principals bereft,
the walkaway folks have it right,
there’s nothing left within the left.

Except maybe death…
Form: Rhyme

A Summer Storm

Firstly, skies grew dark, whilst the winds grew strong,
this ominous progression, showed it would not be long
before towering clouds released their thunderous load
of torrential rain, on the land below.  Though rain bode
well for much needed relief, they held great danger too,
for a lengthy deluge lasting hours, which might ensue,
could flood the low lying regions, when the dry soil,
baked hard from weeks of drought, would likely foil
the penetration of water to the parched depths below,
where roots wither unseen.  Essential for plants to grow,
they’d wait in vain for relief, when heavy cool rains
racing pell mell to the lower reaches of flood plains:
sweep all before their gathered cascading might!
Although rain is needed, it is never a welcome sight
to see it fall heavily, then race away in unseemly haste.
Though desperately essential, it is a diabolical waste,
and further devastates the already stressed, parched land!
Of late Mother Nature shows she wants us to understand
global warming effects are a result of man’s thoughtlessness,
and this is why we see extremes of weather related distress,
manifested all around the globe, as severe rampaging storms,
replace once benign weather systems, accepted as norms.
Lately however, we’ve been fortunate inasmuch as the rain
from damaging storms has passed us by, and we gain
satisfaction, whilst our garden, over which we’ve slaved,
will reach its full potential, with our distressed plants saved,
from the effects of several windy days and oppressive heat.
From life giving rain, which fell:, our day is complete:
with our brown landscape becoming refreshed and green;
changed from the recent dull, ochre brown that has been
our lot.  Due to changes in our weather patterns of late,
the welcome rain coming as it did, has changed the state
of our land in a way that is seen by many as a miracle.
Although this transformation is natural, for this spectacle
we give thanks, hoping nature forgives our ignorance
if we  contain our natural greedy ways and exuberance.
Should we show firm resolve, to change our ways,
then she in turn may ensure we enjoy our future days.

Rhymer.  Aug 5th, 2016.
Form: Narrative

Premium Member I'M Always Right Here

If the river rises and the dame breaks                                                                                                                                    If the creek overflows and washes up on the bank                                                                                                            I'll be there to protect you; I'll be your first responder                                                                                          because I'm always right here

If the star breaks through the atmosphere and devastates the earth                                                                                    If war breaks out and you are covered beneath the ruble                                                                                                     I will search the depths until I find you                                                                     
because I'm always right here                                                                                                                                                                    

If your life throws you a bad rap or sour lemons                                                                                                                  and adversities attack you like a pack of demons                                                                                                             You need never fear nor ever fight alone                                                                                                              because I'm always right here                                                                                                                  

In sickness or in health, in poverty or in wealth                                                                                                              Through highs and lows, good times and bad times                                                                                       For you always, I am always right here with you

02282019PoSoupContest, I'm Always Right Here, Craig Cornish
Form: Lyric


My Dearest

My dearest Levallan,
By now I had fully intended to be miles away,
But my weary feet forbid me from moving on,
While my even wearier heart beseeches me to stay,
By now I woefully assume that you have either completely forgotten me,
Have moved on to a more receptive lover in my absence,
Or that worst of all you are so racked with anger and grief that I'm the last person you want to see,
The possibility that you could perceive me as maliciously apathetic to you and our love devastates my conscience,
For that could be no further from the truth,
Without you I aimlessly wander in circles,
The rays of the sun appear cold and pale while the light of the stars can neither guide nor soothe,
My thoughts thrash cacophorically in my skull,
My words plaster themselves to my tongue,
And drip from my mouth like mercury,
What I am trying to convey my Levallan is that trying to live without you is like supporting yourself on a falling ladder by desperately clinging to the last rung,
Consider this letter my most desperate plea for reconciliation and my most heartfelt of apologies.

Forgive my solemn goodbye and sudden departure,
And my habitually callous nature that prevents me to write,
But you must understand that I never expected something like us to occur,
For with you I have founded neither pleasure as sweet nor bitter as goodbye,
You illuminated my world with the brilliance of your eyes and the richness of your lips,
Your silver hair shimmering in the afternoon sun,
When it cascades like liquid silk past your supple shoulders down to your graceful hips,
your spirit invigorates my body in our nights of passion,
And rejuvenates my heart with your loving morning gaze,
By your command I would traverse any world of fire and brimstone,
For you have wreathed exquisite colors into my life of grays,
And while I am further away than any bird has flown,
You have no need to seek me,
For if you only look at the ruffles in your sheets, the clothes on your floor, and the tears in your eyes,
You will find me.


-With all my love,
Solas
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member In all the books of history written with ink of blood and dried tears

In all the books of history written with ink of blood and dried tears,
There is no war that was not hatched in the shadow of palaces of power,
Governments alone, like birds of prey sharpening their claws in silence,
Independent of the hearts of people, for whom war is always poison.
How many generations have marched on dusty roads toward certain death,
Carrying on their shoulders the dreams of men in expensive suits and cold offices,
While children and women wept at home, knowing they would never see the dawn,
Governments weave wars like spiders weave their webs, with patience and meticulousness.
The people, like a sea of souls that wants to live and love,
Never wish to send their sons to slaughter, to see the red fields,
But the unseen hands of power move the pawns on history's chessboard,
And simple people become soldiers, and soldiers become numbers on endless lists.
Even in victories, war is a disease that devastates souls,
Leaving behind only full cemeteries and grieving mothers who no longer smile,
How many homes have remained empty, how many stories interrupted mid-sentence,
While governments count profits and redraw borders on dirty maps.
And thus, in the silence of nights when the moon looks down on earth with sad eyes,
We can hear the echo of all wars that have been and will yet be,
Hatched in the palaces of power, where people are nothing but figures on paper,
And peace is merely a pause between two acts of the same tragic spectacle.
If we could rise above the noise of time and look with closed eyes,
We would see that war is not born from the hearts of people, but from the vanity of leaders,
Like a poison distilled in the laboratories of ambition, then poured over the world,
While we, the people, remain forever too small to stop this madness.
© Dan Enache  Create an image from this poem.

Natural Imbalance

We’ve all  been a part of universe,
though not as older as nature,
& its not wise to think of only us as adverse,
as we’ve got something as imperfect as this creature.

We’ve always been aware of known side of coin,
& the other side’s been left unknown,
for all those who appreciate nature’s gifts & variety,
there are numerous realities to be shown.

You bless them with fertile land, rivers & favourable climate,
they’ll exploit these legacies to become superior races,
but what about these barren lands, & unsupportive surroundings as fate?,
that though, unwillingly accepted, have worsened many unfortunate faces,
So, why only man blamed & held responsible?, my mate!,
for all these killings & various brutal cases.
So why only to blame us for all these cases?

We often derive strength & inspiration from this vibrant nature,
acts as a vital component in sustaining our life styles,
but, what about the other side of its incredible stature?,
that devastates every dream across thousands of miles,
without a slightest concern of miseries & cries of this creature.

Man’s accepted all the nature’s benefits,
& now he’ll accept all of nature’s challenging outfits,
but he’ll still comfort himself,
coz, he’s a man,
& will work as much as he can,
to embrace the bereaved,
in every possible way, until they are relieved,
coz, he’s a man.  

In  sympathy if he’s ready to embrace,
then why ready to destroy in disgrace?,
coz, there’s a variation,
in his overall creation,
since, he’s a part of this imperfect environment,
coz, if roof’s low, you’ve got to bent,
So, why to blame  man for problems with different bases?,
So why to blame  man for all of these inhumane cases?,
So if nature’s imperfect,
Why to expect  man to be perfect?

This Heart

This heart has holes
It is more work than most
Riddled with leaks
Tough to keep full

It has been mistreated
Not handled with care

They have not been careful
They don't understand
Neglecting its beauty
Avoiding its tenderness

It has been broken
Cracks in every location
Not whole like it was meant to be

Pieced hastily together
The fragments don't fit
Temporary solutions
Attempting to live on

So hidden away
Bruises can be covered
Imperfections are secrets
Do not let them see it
Do not let them near
Pretend its ok

Someone to mend
Someone to help
Someone to understand
Someone to care
Someone to heal

Letting them is dangerous
Outcomes unknown
Risking everything
Wounded and bleeding
Craving relief

They fill without warning
So hard to resist them
Happiness comes quick
Release from pain
Instantly converted
Seeing the solutions
Wanting to believe

Overflowing but leaking
Don't allow it to drain
Empty is broken
Be careful this time

Help it to heal
Once and forever
No more temporary fixes
Ever watchful
Notice the changes
So beautiful

Love is required
Holding soft and so tight
Never ever release
Letting go devastates
Reversal of progress

The filling is fast
Just keep it full always
Empty is painful
The cracks are so fragile

Each time is worse
Shattered a bit more
Many attempts have failed
Cutting wounds even further

This heart wants to be whole
Longing for healing
Wishing it true
They'll need strength to endure

It may never be perfect
Might always have scars
There is not another like it
This is a special heart

Cling to it's guardian
Forever loyal forever true
Deeper than any other
It gives all its love to the one who will save it
© Ra R  Create an image from this poem.
Form:

Water

Water- Lauryn hill unplugged( Kian breakfast in bed)

I shouldn't spend so much time
in the forlorn
Saddened by the mistakes that haunt me
The past for which I can not change is gone for good
Rinsed down the drain.
And that's a good thing
A filtration system meant to recycle in 
the fresh experiences and insights that will
quench my thirst.
I wasn't the last and I wont be the first.

Love is alot like water, or a running spring, or maybe a well
Time will tell if this levy will break again, if my heart bursts open it could become a tsunami, the epic disaster would be immeasurable the carnage that devastates all who crosses the path.
The pain is palpable, disease is incurable, the number of affected people is a toll that is non billable. You do the math.

The water I speak of can be stream in a meadow,, It can be redirected as she could be swimming up stream with a different fellow. My heart is yellowed, afraid of this angry sea, Mighty storm torrential rain before me. Never mind that I can't swim, can't save you if I tried, besides who can swim and cry?
I've drowned in my failures drifting along until I found this life line
Now it's a combination of destiny, and time.
Will I beach at a paradise or beaten by the rocks while floating down stream. Sublime.

The water is a force, the beach beckons, can't have earth sans water. Can't have food, can't have rain, can't have showers, baths, soak pain away, rinse away, drink to cure, can be serene and pure. Visceral, celestial,natural, perennial, preferential, moving about my earth directing my new flow. Cleansing me letting it all go taken away lost in your ocean living off the idea that inside me will one day again grow.
Form: Ballad

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