Long Disgust Poems
Long Disgust Poems. Below are the most popular long Disgust by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Disgust poems by poem length and keyword.
I behold the rose in bloom, and I cry,
I weep and I wail, then I sigh.
As the night draws in, my painful thoughts begin to wake,
I retreat into my mind and with fear I do shake.
Your clammy hand on my neck, your touch just like lead,
I close my eyes so you will go, you bury further in my bed.
I know I’m worthless, but please do not hurt,
And I try not to scream as you begin to insert.
The deed almost done, your sneer of disgust,
Your toes curl as we prepare for the final thrust.
You roar with delight, I exhale with relief,
My virginity now taken by a wretched old thief.
The memory still haunts, and the damage goes on,
I unravel the silk cloth that my knife lays upon.
Slowly but surely destruction is on its way,
I fear for my soul, but my body must pay.
Anticipation takes hold, and the blade does its work,
I press firmly down, blood appears with a jerk.
Is this the pleasure I've longed to have?
And a voice deep within screams "YES! ONE MORE JAB".
I am so frail, my young flesh so weak,
I can not go on, for my virginity he did seek.
The cold steel blade tattoos my white maiden flesh,
And the untouched skin becomes like wheat for the thresh.
I must abate, I must restrain,
This is the only way I mask the pain.
My eyes glaze over, my body feels weightless,
Each stroke is a prayer, and every cut a caress.
The guests have arrived, my relief has been fleeting,
He stands there staring, my heart is beating.
He looks at me inquisitively, mouth gaping,
And my mother knows not that her brother likes raping.
His gaze upon me, I'm his gift to unwrap,
He would rip me open and toss me like scrap.
I wish he would vanish and leave me in peace,
But his lust won’t be sated, and on me he would feast.
My legs are so withered, and my wheelchair’s a cage,
I wish that man in the Skoda didn’t have road rage.
I guess I should be grateful I can’t feel a thing,
But my mind is alive and every inch of him stings.
He gives me a present and pretends to be nice,
But don’t be fooled, it comes at a price.
He wheels me outside for a fresh of breath air,
When no one is watching he sniffs at my hair.
I wish I could lash out with my thin spastic legs,
But they are as useful as ice-cube clothes pegs.
I hope my diary doesn’t land in the wrong hands,
And if you’re reading this now then I’ve suck-cummed to his plans.
- Anonce
MY CRAZY CREATURES
This rhyme's about creatures of various sorts.
Creatures with fangs, hairy bellies and warts.
They cause lots of mischief all day long.
Mum always blames me but I’ve done nothing wrong.
These creatures are crazy. They’re not what you'd think.
Turn over the page. Find out more in a blink...
The first is Belcher. He really does stink.
He lives in the toilet and plays in the sink.
He likes to be naughty when nobody's in.
He cannot be found when you're searching for him.
Dad always moans when he sees all the stains.
I tell him it’s Belcher, “He’s done it again!”
Two thinks that she’s pretty, but really she’s not.
She has warts on her face and is covered in spots.
She has a big bottom and six hairy feet.
Her name is Ghastly. She’s really not sweet.
She steals mum’s lipstick and paints her mouth red.
She tries on her dresses, throwing clothes on the bed.
As soon as mum enters she’s so quick to flee.
I guess that’s why my mum always blames me.
Number three is so quiet but I know that he’s there.
He smudges my face and puts glue in my hair.
I call him Hush Monster as he follows me round,
Putting mud on my clothes without making a sound.
I aim for the paper but the pen marks my face.
Mum looks at me glumly, "You're such a disgrace."
I try to tell her that it just wasn't me.
"It was Hush monster, Mummy. Why can't you see?"
The worst of them all is a creature called Doom.
I'm always in trouble when he's in the room.
He often burps loudly when we're eating our food.
Mum frowns with disgust. "Now, don't be so rude!"
He cackles with laughter whilst spilling my drink.
"Be careful," shouts dad. "Don't you ever think?"
You may well wonder why he's never been caught.
Well…he's the size of a pea and he’s very well taught.
He rolls under the sofa after doing things bad,
And I look to my parents who seem really mad.
These crazy creatures I like the best.
I’m glad I could share them with you and the rest.
Belcher, Ghastly and a monster called Hush,
Then don't forget Doom. They all make me blush.
They live in my house and like to cause bother,
Driving everyone mad, especially my mother.
They’re experts in mischief. They get me in trouble.
Now I’ll tell you a secret that may burst your bubble.
Whilst these creatures are crazy it has to be said,
They don’t really exist, “They’re all in my head!”
A weasel wibble wobbling can be said to have ingested copious amounts of indemonstrable indelible ink today as it soared into doorways, hallways, cloakrooms, and buffet tables. Buffet tables are neither buffaloes or bongos. In fact they are a pleasant sight to behold. Many colours. Many tastes. And the sounds of chatting from the sandwich stack is delightful especially when the mayonnaise is chuckling away at the jokes told by the ham and cheese. Little dainty cup cakes are immature so a quality conversation cannot be held. And the large jug is rather unintelligible and uninteresting as it yawns away the hours before the consumption takes place. The operatic oversized plate of soprano pineapples and chords of cheese with onions today but the mighty weight of the plate of rice and pasta salad bangs away and interrupts the acts really so the sauces must line up and push the nuisance plate to the floor and this they did. The dog was very very pleased and lay down after eating it all for a doze. And over half a dozen eggs kept jumping up and down and throwing their mayonnaise hats off. We font want these hats. We want whipped cream they shouted. The despondent tablecloth groaned. Another booming buffering buffet. And then the cutlery began having races between the foods. Zoom zoom zoom. Wow. The might of the jar of gherkins was being prayed to by the punnet of strawberries. And the profiteroles were preforming Pilates to an amused potatoe salad. The salt and pepper were arguing over who got used the most. And the coleslaw was diving on and off the pizza slices which annoyed the pepperoni who shouted go away in a very high pitched voice. Buffet battling bemusingly being buttering breadsticks. And now the time had arrived. The hungry swans and tulip people were here. They saw the mess. Blamed the dog. Then walked out in disgust. Oh dear. The tablecloth picked itself up and all it's contents too then went out of the back door and soared off in the air. It landed on a busy beach where it fed lots of little sea urchins. Who were grateful. They gave the tablecloth an ice cream to say thanks. Then the tablecloth went into the sea and swam to the island of the nine figs. Great isn't it. Ha ha the waves want wands. Hahaha boats bouncing into the sky. Left angled fueled fuel vision of a visionary variant spelling of mid. Xxxxx contemplation z z z z in a kiosk z
Form:
Macbeth, remove this blood, I command you!
Give me the strength to see another day through
It’s hit me what I’ve truly done
Sanity has been lost but power has been won
Was it worth it all?
Or should I take the fall?
Out of this castle, should I leap?
Or should it be considered not so deep?
The guilt is immense, should I be dead?
My hands are stained with bloody red
No perfumes will wash this blood away
This hand of blood will forever stay
How could I have been the reason for the king's death?
Why did I let this happen, why did I do it Macbeth?
My mind is now full of scorpions, as yours was before
Shameful thoughts, and blood is dripping to the floor
How, how, how did I become so cruel in my mind?
I’m supposed to be a woman, the weak innocent kind
For my power, I caused you to kill a king
And now our marriage is owned by a bloody ring
You had the idea but it was hidden in the dark
I was the one who lit the thought to be a spark
Now you’ve gone on ordering others to kill
Involved in violence, for the safety and the thrill
How have I done this deed?
I’ve turned you tyrannical, now this poor country will forever bleed
Oh we were once so innocent and pure
Now the doctor doesn’t even see me to have a cure
As for you, You’re in blood, too far stepped in
Your need for power will never win
Macbeth, look at what I’ve done
Duncan should have lived to see the next days sun
Horror, horror, horror, I’m not meant to be a Queen
My hands are made of blood, they’re meant to be clean
There’s a spot marked amongst my hand
Marking my cruelty, why I did this nobody will ever understand
I’m just a cruel evil witch who cares for no one but herself
A disgust to society, a sly woman acting with stealth
And we aren’t even content though we’ve got our desire
As you said before, the snake is scorching in a fire
This burden is never going to go away
On this earth I shall no longer stay
What’s done cannot be undone
Though remember, when a battle is lost, it’s also won
When I die, you would have won by focusing on your mind
But please, Macbeth, turn back to being kind
Violence is not the way to be, and only causes pain
Macbeth, in desperation I beg you, go back to being sane
I’m sorry that my life has ended in my self and violent hand
Make me proud down there, and I wish you to understand.
This Poem was submitted for the poetry contest "Jamie's interesting contest 1" sponsored by Jamie Pan, for theme #6. Reflections in a window.
Once while my mind was drifting through a cafe fenestration,
Whence my cappuccino cup carouseled round a mindless spun spoon,
A presence within a reflection's penumbral lines broke my lack of concentration:
A woman stood between the clash of shadows and pale light of the moon.
She stood there in the street resound on the glass,
Dressed in a pomegranate gown which melted to the ground.
Around her the air shuttered and shook within a glowing gas,
And she stared at me through the glass, although her head was not around.
Looking around to see if anyone else could see her too,
The busied bodies around me kept on being, undisturbed.
I rubbed my eyes and shifted to erase her from my view,
Yet she stayed put in the window with her body unperturbed.
"The horseman is a marewoman" I thought, fancying myself clever,
"And she is headed to a ball and forgot her head;
Perhaps we've been telling the story of Cinderella wrong forever"
The thoughts from inside my attention deficit head said.
I stopped, when suddenly, the phantom in the reflection crossed her arms,
And I imagined her absent head shaking in disgust.
Having unwittingly insulted a ghost, who haunted me in a foreign town of farms,
I apologized in my head to this woman whom I was beginning to distrust.
Guilt was replaced with anxious fear as I realized this woman was in my mind,
Hearing my thoughts and reacting to them appropriately.
Sweat trickled down my neck and dropped into the cup of espresso grinds,
And I averted my gaze from the woman and noticed the barista looking at me.
Having noticed me staring intently through his window,
He looked through to see where my sight dove in to swim,
I looked at him look and then looked where my eyes had showed,
When the woman lifted her arm and pointed right at him.
He dropped his demetasse, which cracked in half upon the floor,
Spilling a machiatto onto the granite beneath his feet.
He looked back at me whilst everyone looked as he swore,
As he quickly cleaned up his mess to make it, yet again, neat.
I immediately went up to him before I had time to think,
And asked: "So you saw her, too?"
To which he said with a wink,
"Saw who?"
2/15/17
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
To have dodged a bullet is heard by me as a clear soft symphony, it reminds me that all is a dramatized sigh of relief whether stressed, sad, annoyed, mad or worried, it all ends the same with the word that is second most heard than your name; “it is all going to be okay” whether in your head or said. To have dodged a bullet is the best kind of relief, either thought of or heard. Being told you have dodged a bullet is like someone whole willingly taking out the knife stabbed in your back you thought you could never remove until sane. To be told you have dodged a bullet is a moment of silence out of the few you rarely experience, the soft ringing in your ear, confused thoughts on how you got here, it is like the destination you so desired. To the hopeless butterflies flying away from my stomach, my terrible luck and the universe I relied too much on for comfort, I apologize. Still experiencing the comfort of the silence, life is still not over yet. With life being so unfortunate of course there's more stories to the questions I push into the back of my mind due to fear . To be loved is to be seen, and how am I capable of experiencing love if what they try to seek frightens me. Love is a beautiful thing, it's something that truly excites me. But so is my health and my love for individuality. Obsession turns into disgust,and dishonesty gives it life, whether playing into it or saying it. To the lies that are now dead. To the boy dressed nice holding the gun of a masked persona, I couldn't see the shades of heartbreak on his coat. Who would pay attention when being held at gunpoint? He missed his shot to a 3rd degree, to have dodged a bullet has given me a clear view, breathing in a fresh start away from the boy I thought I knew. “To have dodged a bullet” I can say it a million times and not think about that one horrible time. To have dodged a bullet is within itself one of the most beautiful lines i've been told that has healed my mental heath. Whether it was a lie to save my sanity, I will never forget the person who said it to me.
Side note: this poem, you could say, healed me while writing it, this was my closure. This is what kept me going. The reason as to why I wrote this happened in real time. I will never forget the girl who said this to me in a time of need. We weren't all that close either. Thank you.
When you see the desolating (Emptiness or destruction) abomination (a thing that causes disgust or hatred) standing where he should not
Then those in Judea must flee to the mountains
A person on a housetop must not go down or enter to get anything out of his
house
And a person in a field must not return to get his cloak
Woe to pregnant women and nursing mothers in those days
Pray that this does not happen in winter
For those times will have tribulation such as has not been since the beginning of God's creation until now
Nor ever will be
If the Lord had not shortened those days
No one would be saved
But for the sake of the elect whom He chose
He did shorten the days
If anyone says to you then
'Look
Here is the Messiah! Look
There He is!
Do not believe it
False messiahs and false prophets will arise and will perform signs and wonders in order to mislead
If that were possible
The elect
Be watchful
I have told it all to you beforehand
But in those days after that tribulation the sun will be darkened
And the moon will not give its light
And the stars will be falling from the sky
And the powers in the heavens will be shaken
And then they will see
The Son of Man coming in the clouds
With great power and glory
And then he will send out the angels and gather his elect from the four winds
From the end of the earth to the end of the sky
Learn a lesson from the fig tree
When its branch becomes tender and sprouts leaves
You know that summer is near
In the same way
When you see these Things happening
Know that he is near
At the gates
Amen
I say to you
This generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place
Heaven and earth will pass away
But my words will not pass away
But of that day or hour
No one knows
Neither the angels in heaven
Nor the Son
But only the Father
Be watchful
Be alert
You do not know when the time will come
It is like a man traveling abroad
He leaves home and places his servants in charge
Each with his work
And orders the gatekeeper to be on the watch
Watch therefore
You do not know when the lord of the house is coming
Whether in the evening
Or at midnight
Or at cockcrow
Or in the morning
May he not come suddenly and find you sleeping
What I say to you
I say to all
'Watch
[MK 13:14-37]
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
crushed at rock bottom he gathered the fragments of descent
slow motion agony that started at a plateau of deluded deceit
free falling sadness spiraling out of control beyond fast repair
the black dog on his shoulder had survived the fall and barked
another round of sadness an insurmountable sorrow cheered on
‘you are useless and even void and oblivion are having a laugh’
a tunnel with no light and the canary asphyxiated in the mine shaft
another panic attack unable to ease the landing of a scarred mind
scared and confused he gathered the pieces and stabbing shards
with broken bones and un-abating accusations he collected his guilt
fears and shame about yet another defeat at the foundation of evil
demons and miserable clairvoyants spoke in bifurcated obsessions
possessed by the mother of all depressions he reached for a glimmer
of hope he searched for a message from science deities and reason
yet unable to guide his emotions all efforts crashed without rescue
the rope had twisted once more and he dangled helpless face down
just enough slack to disfigure his angry face that featured disgust
and yet as the blood flooded his brain he surrendered his objections
one final attempt and he severed the noose with the open fracture of
the razor sharp dislocation sticking out just below the palm of his hand
with a further snap of his wrist and life line he surrendered lost dreams
if life gave you hemlock but the vessel had cracked on the impact
of the smash and grab of lifeless cycle of disassociated insanity he
resolved to drink his own blood and call upon autoimmune response
after all the medication had been useless and hours on Freud’s couch
had only imprinted more festering pressure sores on purulent skin
cognitive explorations had only dragged him further down self-denial
religion mantras and science had failed to invoke sanity and healing
levitation would not emerge when he fell from the edge of madness
the cross lay in pieces and nails had lacerated his heart and resolve
just when he felt the pulse getting weaker and with delirious gaze
he succumbed to a last ditch attempt to reassemble a piece of his soul
wrote an ultimate will on the wall and vowed to hand over let go and live
15th June 2020