Long Disfiguring Poems
Long Disfiguring Poems. Below are the most popular long Disfiguring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Disfiguring poems by poem length and keyword.
The things I've been, the things I have been, the things I am, things I'm to be,
a symbol so dark, a sign so brite, a mark of the heart,
shadow of the soul,
rind of mind,
as the Buddhist meditates on mandalas of rich color,cycles,devas,dangers & devotions
I embrace the world with all my senses, with vigilance,
riled rhapsody,
Christians sewing psalms into the conscious
confounded with temptation, condemnation & damnation,
as Buddhists focused towards an ineffable destination
my terminus is an awareness that explains purpose without pain or pleasure
but with an indomitable patience for being in perfection,
as blue is blue for blue,
Freemasons have their acacia & aprons,
the magic of History, of memory, of Brotherhood,
I shall memorize the wrong & right of my behavior, of my beliefs,
carry the cross of carelessness, rub beads of bemusement,
scratch thy palms upon the rough ashlar,
bleed for the sake of beauty, for the right of recognition,
as a hawk glides and swoops with an exactitude
reminding One not to waste effort, to combine instinct & strategy
into trusted tactics, salvation found in solitude,
intuition aimed at the heavens can demonstrate
there is knowledge in not knowing,
serenity can be secured through suffering, happiness in creative endurance,
a nomad, a monk, mother of a nobody
may teach that freedom is measured as strength through degrees,
chessmen bespeak the value of loyalty & sacrafice,
police have a badge, judges gavels, bankers use notes, psychologists study dreams,
artists utilize shapes & sounds to elicit feelings
evoking meaning for life,
perhaps superstition is ultimate motivation,
subjective & collective interpratations for reality which make it all tolerable,
that special definition making life personal,
when a culture abandons, or forgets the symbols of it's constructs
how can it survive,
continuity can not color & inspire posterity,
a tree without water,
as when a human neglects itself,
disfiguring the ideal into something rueful or baleful,
then the mystic symbol must change with it
as rich soil to mud,
the symbology survives, elastic and plastic like a spider web in the wind,
nature will always reconstruct,
teaching that our lives are inflamed imprints for the future -
J.A.B.
Almost a century ago
Innocent blood was spilt
Almost a century ago
But there remains the guilt
The world must acknowledge
The Armenian genocide
The blood won’t wash away
There is no place to hide
One million and a half
Of Armenians met death
Their hopes and dreams extinguished
Gone out with their last breath
The women brutally raped
And their husbands shot or hung
How many of their songs
To this day remain unsung
The children weak and fragile
Dying for want of some bread
Left in the desert to die
Buzzards flying overhead
The sick and the elderly
Were discarded on the way
No one to weep and mourn
When their bodies saw light of day
The mothers dying slow deaths
Seeing children turn to bone
Wanting to feed them their flesh
Knowing they’ll not see them grown
The young girls flying off cliffs
Rather than suffer disgrace
Others hiding their beauty
By disfiguring their face
The soldiers with stone hearts
Deaf to the moaning sounds
Of the dead and the dying
Strewn on the desert ground
Faceless nameless people
Identity stripped away
Not honored with a number
In this gruesome tragic play
Their blood is crying out
Like faithful Abel of old
Still demanding justice
Their story must be told
The genocide of my people
Was not hidden from God’s eyes
The world may now deny it
May feed naive people lies
But every single blood drop
Will be accounted for one day
The murderers will face judgment
To escape- there’ll be no way
The Judgment day is coming
My people will see the light
They will be vindicated
They will march out of death’s night.
They will be reunited
With loved ones that they have lost
For their souls we now seek justice
We will achieve it at all cost.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
TORNADO SEASON
storms
of spring
happening
disfiguring
squalls
~
flash
of light
reveals plight
roar of thunder
quick
~
hiss
of train
the cyclone
slithers like a
snake
4/4/2017
Brian Strand’s Standard Contest
Lanterne Form
Whose “image and likeness”
I ache as my spirit recoils, denies
the truth of what we have become.
…in his image and likeness..
surely there could not be
a “god” so disfigured, so ugly
as to hate its offspring,
send assassins into our midst,
fill our “prayers” with doubt and distress
sicken our spirits with the apathy of acquiescence,
abandon us to our acceptance of evil.
I grieve all death as it depletes
the fullness of our entwined spirits
drains the sap from our tree of life
denies a never formed branch existence
depletes the chorus of its fullness.
I weep in sorrow for the body of man
bleeding slowly from self inflicted wounds
blinded by the horror that it sees
unable to fulfill life’s simplest need
consumed with petty enmity and hate
children the sacrificial lambs of fate.
I am angry with this “disfiguring” god
enraged that he would tar us with this brush
paint caricatures of our souls
default dominion - this worlds debauchery.
I am appalled that men can do to men
such that the soul would favor hell
over living in the squalor of despair
seeking mercy from a god who’s disappeared.
John G. Lawless
6/19/2015
How strong is your love?
Should a rather cruel fate befall me;
a disfiguring accident robbing me of
what first attracted you to me, what you
found most sexy about me, my pulchritude.
Would you still love me?
How deep is your devotion?
Suppose I told you I had a checkered past,
an uncomfortable truth, a secret I kept
from you, dreadfully afraid you'd leave me.
Once a troubled youth, now a changed man.
Would you still love me?
If you fell hopelessly in love with me
mostly due to my unshakable faith in God,
and we nourished a promise to grow old
together, and I somehow lose my faith,
doubtful I'll ever regain it.
Would you still love me?
If I gave in to temptation, a weakness
once and only once, even though
I love you desperately, and you see it clearly
every hour of every day. I swear on my life, to God,
to never again repeat my careless mistake.
Would you still love me?
We had the world on a string. Life with me,
so grand, rich, a bed of roses; the future
couldn't be more auspicious! If due to circumstances
beyond my control, however, it all went belly-up
I, the breadwinner, now struggle to support you
My darling, would you still love me?
Date written and posted: 12/05/2018
Withering breezes spill
along the fairytales of my piercing lies
Terracotta earthquakes unravel
an amber-flickering prevail against me
An ebony-surging massacre
disfiguring its ivory mental masquerade
And I am left truly naked
in the breath of the light I once was
Perhaps It's wrath, is my muse
It's sacred hymns, as belladonna blues
An immovable evil twirling in my veins
poisoning my heart into an eternity of silence
Alas, its destructive nature raised its symphonies
and my vile pavements shiver without fear
Scream at me again, cast me out
Beat me fiercely and I'll kiss my bruises
The mockingbirds will grow weary
and his angels will keep humming
And if I were to climb to my death,
your regrets would anoint my memorial
And I would be forgiven in blood
Swimming its gray ocean turned to stone
unraveling into its crimson shadows
Crawling into my mother's womb;
and only God would perceive me there
And if I could go, I'd surrender
Bleeding a wine-dark tune
of an exquisite exhaustion
Because the songbird has held its breath
and I am suffocating into its demise
So when I leaped, I leaped
in a subterranean heartbeat
Without a drizzling doubt
as the night bloomed violet
As the emerald sea sparkled loudly
As my faith prohibited me
No longer am I afraid..
I am unafraid.
Some years ago I met a young lady
Looked unhappy, a definite maybe
I also found her pretty ugly too
Never smiled or interacted with you.
One day came modification in her
She chatted and laughed as never before
With a glow in her eyes, a smile mile wide
And a happiness she just could not hide.
The reason for the turnaround I found
She’d been alike a prisoner, housebound
On edge, just in case her shackler appeared
She’d come to find sense and run from her fears.
So I had clearly misunderstood her
Which taught me a lesson that I deserved
Never to judge anyone on their looks
One doesn’t foresee who’s on tenterhooks.
The young lady’s fabulous, honestly
It shows how disfiguring fear can be
Happiness is the ruby in one’s crown
Especially to a girl around town.
Let me be the first
to have the audacity to translate,
This piece of mystery molded
in a magical meadow of mistakes,
The reckless subject, there,
just standing still like a landscape of order,
Disfiguring a flow of ridged ribbons
in shapes of unheard names,
Carelessly manipulating my optical
constructors to articulate promises
from paper wings,
Bewitched by the light warm
slash of sun laid upon the raging tides
within trembling silence,
How far charms can go to seduce their
way into a destructive satisfaction,
Might it'd been too kind to dry brush
around the edges of your shadows,
When the basement of your
intentions homed disturbing dreams,
Hunting for the tremors from
freezing nightmares that pray to
bury my ocean and all it's devotion,
Where do the ones who
seek the sins of lost words hide?
While half of the living cling
onto the drifting light,
This shrewd figure that clasps on
the thousand synonyms of shallow tears,
Whisking a bath of blades for
my pane of glass that hold scads of scars,
The pace of time, travels differently
when I try to captivate you through my sketches,
I am told by the tones of my pencil,
that your armor shields a menacing maniac,
Too cowardly to battle for your own persistence,
So hold on to what's left of your timid thoughts,
Sadly strength has long evaded you.
Does it Matter?
Does it matter today
If a cross stood high
On a hill
Two thousand years ago?
Does it matter today
If there
A man hung dying
In company with criminals?
To most,
Long years have faded fact
To history books
To lie like fragile threads
In ancient tapestries,
A mingled pattern
Of some fertile tale
Construed to build a church
On empty gullibility.
Self-freed,
Our media age
Needs no such creed,
No faith,
No God to reckon with,
No concept of beyond
To analyse and capture
By some smart device.
Our media age,
Itself held captive
On those screens of imagery,
Projecting violence
On a fragile world,
Disfiguring,
Slow-motioning to death
In the focus of a godless dream.
But a vacant cross
Still stands,
Calling lost sinners
To a life in glory!