Long Disinfected Poems
Long Disinfected Poems. Below are the most popular long Disinfected by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Disinfected poems by poem length and keyword.
"Laid Upon Their Alters"
qhapaq hucha
it begins at birth
the most precious
resource of all
we are registered,
audited, one by one
under the rod measured
by lizard rule
the capacocha
children of complacency
dumbed down, some
thorns, uppity, removed
heads counted
to be held high
as trophies, those played
and won
for the greater good
oh yes,
we belong;
we belong,
we’ve always belonged,
to the ruling class
sapa inca
orders sacrifice, daily
all are held up to the Sun
of the others’ huacas,
accountable,
we are ears of corn
sheared and scattered
kurnels sown to replenish
a new world
fresh crops
laid upon
their oily alters
falls the empires
one by one
like conquistadors
they dissolve us
holy sees parted
red and bleeding
we are all children
well drugged
foreplay for prophecies
all war rooms
cleanly wiped
disinfected, by fire
baptised deja vu
submerged
together
we are something else
to behold
realm of the four parts
these final moments
matter
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“With their royalty and focus of worship destroyed,
the general population readily accepted Spanish rule
as “what was done.” This created local assistance which,
along with outside factors, allowed the Spanish
to completely conquer the region by 1572,
marking the end of the Inca Empire.“
“This pattern of manipulating a people’s concept
of ideological power, in conjunction with
relational and material power,
is seen throughout history
and is often a large component
of the fall of great empires.”
"That’s why the banalities matter.
When the real issues come up, healthy states,
the ones capable of handling and minimizing
everyday dysfunction, have a great deal more capacity
to respond than those happily waltzing toward their end.
But by the time the obvious, glaring crisis arrives
and the true scale of the problem becomes clear, it’s far too late.
The disaster—a major crisis of political legitimacy, a pandemic,
a climate catastrophe—doesn’t so much break the system
as show just how broken the system already was."
Quick clay
A dog sent in
Looking for survivors
Given the last hug?
Hunting for people
Silent in quick clay
In a delivery room
She was real and she was perfect
Stillborn
A song played in the room next door
Dobie Gray – «Drift Away»
No beat
A wreck on the highway
Knocking on heaven’s door
A graveyard shift
Knocking on the door
Silence broken by
Slow steps
A ship in distress
A chopper sent in
Looking for survivors
A doctor thinking
The silent ones can wait in
The cruel sea
The room was bright
The respirator turned off
Death was pronounced
The body wheeled away
The room cleaned and disinfected
Nobody should die alone
The shelves is almost empty, the fridge too
The christmas gifts hide under the tree
Few in number, all wrapped up in blue
Nobody tells her to get up and dance
Nobody tells her to sing, sing «Silent Night»
All is not calm, all is not bright
I hear bells ringing
I hear choirs singing
All is not calm
All is not bright
Shine a little light on
The silent ones
Six feet apart
Or
Six feet under
Distance lends enchantment
While
Closeness creates calamity
Watching for symptoms
And
Keeping out of harm's way
Browsing in shops banned
With
Online goods to be disinfected
Photographs to remind us
Of
Those we so want to hug
No longer cheering as part of the crowd
But
Confined to watching our heroes on the box
When will we see the end of lockdown
To
Restore colour to our now grey lives?
Before this virus our taken for granted treasures
Now
Deprived of our life-enriching pleasures.
A month before my life began
A man decked out in robes of black
Gave the world the chance to end
My life before its start.
What is this strange philosophy
Predicated on convenience
That made the choice of death for me
Before I drew first breath?
It seems I had no choice in this
No rights debated or applied
In this death crazed society
My choices all were nullified.
This holocaust of mans fierce pride
These death camps disinfected rooms
Tear from my body whatever needs
Proved righteous motivation.
Were you in the "Well of Souls"
When God first called my name?
Equipping me with traits and talents
Holy omniscience in grace supplied.
Life created within a garden
Placed to live in paradise
When tempted to revolt,
Failed in the choice to glorify.
So it goes through all of creation
Mans dominion proclaimed freewill
Leads down the path toward its own end.
Leaving in its wake
A blackened lifeless scorched creation
This age of foolish pride
Has chosen its own ending,
Beginning with my life.
Quick clay
A dog sent in
Looking for survivors
Given the last hug?
Hunting for people
Silent in quick clay
In a delivery room
She was real and she was perfect
Stillborn
A song played in the room next door
Dobie Gray – Drift away
No beat
A wreck on the highway
Knocking on heaven’s door
A graveyard shift
Knocking on the door
Silence broken
Slow steps
A ship in distress
A chopper sent in
Looking for survivors
A doctor thinking
The silent ones can wait
In the cruel sea
The room was bright
The respirator turned off
Death was pronounced
The body wheeled away
The room cleaned and disinfected
Nobody should die alone
The seats are empty
Nobody tells me to shut up
And dance
Nobody tells me to leave this behind
And sing
One more song
they die for you
at night, alone, they cry from your noose
infants born starving on your military base
Usually lawyers marvel at these various cases
Still they die for you
Faced down in the devils tears
Last goodbyes from your noose
Like a soldier
To be your hero is their responsiblity
Bury your dehydrated ruins beneath that boulder
Move along swiftly, maintain, your agility
Rest your head amongst this heated, sunbeded sand
The only purity our lucifer may ever release
Seems you have fallen victim to an unleaded hand
When sincere to be, is your only peace
Will you protect us
When we try you
Will you hang for our neglected trust
You have been trained and suited to kill
Yet when you kill
It becomes a recruited appeal to a soldiers will
Tell me does it hurt
To leave on a conquest to serve your nation
Yet upon your return
Greetings, and welcome home's are in great hesitation
Now you stand before the same individuals that sent you to war
Only here on your soil have you become a convict for cruetly
These common acts of defending your life's declining bar
Don't you just love the way congress decieves it's people,
Betrays it's army
Feeds herione to infants through disinfected needles
When I'm dead and gone nothing you do can harm me
Poetry soup, they die for you
At night, alone, they cry from your noose
Yet you convict them, crimes of war
Our red and white stripes
Beginning to fade burgandy amongst the stars
If no one else is here for you
Like our soldiers
I'll stand and remain fragile
At times that I crearly cannot win
Form:
Through the bank account
over painted naivety
it is so intense just to be here
between look and expectation
knowing
I'm just one step from alighting
to be
your personal abyss
afford me completeness
in the same way that
high ranked husband
of well polished wife
pays to a prostitute
by the sadness of creator
using the silk ribbon
you are compressing my foot
(praying that it will stop the growth as the way you'll keep me yours )
I promise that I'll learn:
- to wash my hands in that lemon juice after finishing the portion of high quality
shrimps
- I won't applause in that gap between two arias
- I will pull on that poker face when your hand suddenly leaves mine while we're
standing in the street and you are asking me for an address as you are lost ....
sorry sir I can't help you, I am not from here
with naive faith-
secret is easier to bear in two-
piece of paper
adopted the image of birth
grey tiles
mannerly disinfected
under the glasses misplaced empathy
hand in the pocket of white coat
and naive faith
i guess there is no alternative
when the only thing left as your heritage are nails
i wish it is not the life
and that just a day went wrong
this way
only thing left is a label of
river
down which
no one will ever again dare to
release the paper boats
it would be better
everything
if only
it crossed your mind
to
tide my tubes
They wiped my thoughts
with antiseptic hands,
wrung my mind through linen logic
and hung me between breakfast
and scheduled silence.
Every hour—accounted for.
Every spark—neutralised.
Brainwashed.
Hope came in timed doses—
measured in milligrams
and dispensed with a paper cup
and plastic smile.
I swallowed the sun in tablet form
until it glowed from the inside
like a malfunctioning lamp.
Brainwashed.
I used to speak in fractured gold,
each sentence a riddle
spun from starlight and defiance.
They taught me to speak correctly—
which meant quietly,
which meant not at all.
Brainwashed.
They dressed me in fabric
the colour of pause,
stitched my name
into the hem of conformity,
taught me not to wander
outside the red line
of permissible imagination.
Brainwashed.
They made me fill in boxes:
Do you still hear them?
Do you still dream strange?
Do you still think
you are more than
this?
I circled no, and smiled.
Brainwashed.
My mirror stopped recognising me.
It showed a still ocean
where once there were storms.
I waved—but my reflection
had better things to do
than remember who I was
before routine became religion.
Brainwashed.
But some nights—
when the world forgets to monitor me,
and the ceiling isn’t watching—
I find poems hidden
under my tongue,
fierce and unprescribed.
I whisper them backwards
to keep them safe.
Still writing.
Or so they think.
Because inside the silence,
beneath the disinfected compliance,
something unwashed pulses—
raw, brilliant,
and unfinished.
I remember.
The bigger things are obvious
And are to be expected,
Like sickness, job loss and the fear
Of what’s not disinfected.
But little things I haven’t seen
In ages have affected
The way I feel and I don’t see
How they will be corrected.
Graffiti’s back and littering
And parks they’ve not inspected
For drinking (beer cans everywhere)
And dog poo not collected.
Some car alarms have sounded
(Most ‘round here are disconnected)
And garbage in the streets means rats
Have lately been detected.
The little things add up, of course,
So people have defected,
But those of us who choose to stay
Can’t help but feel dejected.
Willing, future wraps in entailment
music playing tricks on the mind
black to light
back to black
distilling moments
bleeding
infernal internal attack
slow lit cigarettes
ignition, pain felt recognition
burnt, a disarray of haze
cutting in and out of undue ambiance
unfiltered in musk filled stall
I, me, all
facing into the wind
taking it in
worlds keep spinning
even if the jester has lost her song
fear spread out in the country
where the once living soon are dead
the kookaburra sits in the gum tree
laughing
there's no one left to see
disinfected
hands can't embrace
dying, the human race
shuttered and sheltered
I refuse to go away/that way
fly to the heavens
the clouds are forming
an ark, a covenant
be that second,
time it's ticking away
the bush has been burning brightly
for way way to long now
put out the cigarettes
emerge from the haze
start living,
and breathe