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."
I
I am disinfected, sanitised from touch and eyes
Do not hold me. I am Bakelite and you smolder
Sat solid, the wall cold against my spine. A back-rest
To concrete electrocution.
I am distilled from Suburbia and Bohemian at Brandenberg
Rigid and saturnine. Heavy lidded Lichtenstein moons
And ruby lip and cheek.
Dumb-flustered and silent rictus
Nothing changes.
II
She edges closer with ostentatious mute steps. Like a bride
And thrice as white with crimson orb flowing underneath
Her caped wings and paper hat. Tiny dragging movements
As though her legs could snap
This marionette matchstick girl unfurls her bouquet of fingers intertwined
And ruffles from her drapes fragments of paper and a tiny plastic cup
I do not notice her. The bleach sticks heavy to the throat and
She envenoms me to the core stomach
She speaks. It is static heavy and foriegn, black-lipped vowels and dull
Continuations of barely literate sounds.
My words are daggered brutes, any poetry the less of my expectations
Is instantly meaningless, crass, common, nauseous and disgusting
Her flowing prose was illegible on those lips. Sounding almost spat
I could have silenced nine decades to my two and circled her in criticism
She would never understand with her barely-English cold translations of her
Own English mother-tongue.
III
People are fascinating
Occassionally
I find I look at them and linger, I study them and calculate their complex algebras
Undoubtedly we are products of our parents and the less of us by-products
We are strings and apples and figs
The woman with her ghost-white face and dress. Her parents were too strict
You can see it in her face, how if you even turn away her eyes circle with bags
And she feels lost, she could cry a thousand summers and undoubtedly should trade my place.
As of my own parents they probably loved me too much. Sheltered me and then
Stopped abrupt as death and cyanide fizzing
Suddenly trading my lineage into friendship and smiles and no, do silence yourselves
I am a maypole and the strings circle about me
Life and ambition they feed upon me, draining me in complex nervous disorder
I am a living question mark
I can feel it
Eating below my skin.
We ride the cattle rail Not knowing exactly what lay ahead. For weeks there's
been no heat, No bathrooms and we've barely been fed. We arrive at our
destined location. Sobibor...Sobibor...Sobibor, Is the death camp for Jews.
Opening widely, the gate to Hell With train whistle loud and prolonged, News of
our arrival they tell. Orders given, the boxcar doors open. The air so fresh, the
pines are livid. Decisions to make.....What to do? What to do? Tailors,
seamstress', blacksmith, carpenters Are there any?
Volunteers?...Yes...No ...Good decision, bad decision? Shouted at, screaming,
people being beat Kept others orderly on their march. Houses with names,
gardens with flowers, and Signs pointing to canteen and showers. Sobibor
seemed peaceful, not a place of murder. To the Ukraine to work you will go.
Because of lice, Women need their hair to go. There are epidemics, You must
be disinfected. Naked and unaware of the lies, They each take the walk Through
the tube-"Road to Heaven". The screaming strong at first, Weakens gradually
until it dies. Why?...Why?...Why?...You say. Why don't you fight back? Pick up
that gun, shoot that guard! That would lead to your death plus as Many others
they could hack. Why don't you escape? Where would I go? Here I have no
home, no family. ..It is cold. I have no warm clothes or shoes...I am on the verge
of starving. What will I eat? How do I get through the mine fields? How do I get
through the armed Poles in the forest? We do revolt... the camp as a whole.
Sasha, the Soviet prisoner of war... A new leader... good for our soul. He gave us
some hope. We were working class people, Everything was taken from us. We
were cold. We were hungry. We were beaten. We were killed. We lost all hope.
Oppression lets genocide happen. Genocide has happened in the past.
Genocide is happening now. Genocide will happen in the future. Greed and
power can and does lead to genocide. Only policy makers worldwide...God
willing, Can help stop the killing.
THANK YOU FOREVERMORE
Everywhere you step
That is where I am
With my oxygen hose
Under your feet again
When you are walking into a room
My oxygen hose catches your eye
You see it dragging on the ground
As you gently step over it to get by
It seems to be continual
To always be in your way
Everything you do for me
You do it every single day
You cook, you clean, you wash
You sweep, mop and much more
Making sure it is all disinfected
For anything coming in the door
On top of it all you are my friend
Always showing me that you care
Like the times you take me places
While pushing me in a wheelchair
You sprinkle spices on all my food
Making everything taste just right
You even make sure I’m breathing
As I am sleeping through the night
I remember dancing back in the day
To the song of Precious and Few
We went separate ways after that
So thankful to be routed back to you
We had dance classes not long ago
You remind me at times with a twirl
While you wear your special smile
You do make me feel like a little girl
I appreciate our times shared now
While watching a TV documentary
Or YouTube songs, a Family Feud
Or even all those reruns of Al Bundy
One of my really favorite things
Is when you take me for a ride
You set everything up for me to sit
And share our friendship side by side
I apologize for all those things I did
Or what I said to push you away
From having a drink or living with me
Even how together we used to pray
I don’t know if you’ll ever read this
I’m bound to be on your last nerve
By crying or saying the wrong thing
Surely something you don’t deserve
You’ll always be my best friend
Because I feel so close to you
Hopefully you’ll never forget me
When our life together is through
Also the sprinkles of hugs and kisses
Will remain a memory in my dreams
I want to THANK YOU FOREVERMORE
For all you’ve done beyond extreme
Florence McMillian (Flo)
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:
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 village air is pristine, filtered and non polluted.
It is from all the germs, diseases and bacteria disinfected.
The country folks are simple, natural, serene and beautiful.
They are unaffected by ego, vanity but are truly cheerful.
God made the country and man made the town
Man made the town but the industries have
turned them artificial, selfish and only to groan
villagers are strangers to the hustle and bustle.
And many a worry of modern mechanical
metropolitan life, the jostle and tussle.
They live in the soothing silence of rural solitude.
Hospitality and charity is their warm attitude
They can digest whatever they dine.
At the daybreak they wake up fresh, fit and fine
They know what true exertion, true appetite,
true satisfaction and true sleep is.
They the various reveries and sounds
of nature do not miss.
The cock's clarion, the hum of grinding stones
the tinkle of farm bells.
The splash of waters, rustle of leaves,
the lowing of cows and the chime of temple bells.
It is a pleasure to listen to the whispering
wind and to see the golden rising sun
The laughing flowers, the evening shadows
lengthening and the crimson setting sun
The humble dwellings are built of clay and
thatched with cornstalks and hay,
No wonder the yokel here are content,perky,joyous and gay.
Blessed are those who enjoy the village life's pleasures.
Machines and industries have made man
mechanical without any measure.
The sky above may kiss the grass
Astounded by the ethereal beauty of the village life.
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
Sun. sun. sun.
Shining brighter than the moon
The very thing I have always hidden behind
always longing to be as, bright as, shone as, loved as, longed for and exposed
I let him touch me a couple of times before,
but always went back to hiding behind the moon.
She’s always felt safer
the darkness around her and soft hue
Always made my wounds feel at home
the sun, warm, bright and masculine.
Makes me feel like i’m on a cold disinfected examination table
Cut wide open
His love feels like being poked and prodded
Left wide open
At least with the moon,
Darkness surrounds her holds her and makes her whole
I get to hide in her darkness
Be held and not exposed by her
She doesn’t force my legs open
Nor my heart or my soul
But allows and accepts me as I am
The sun does the same
it’s just exposes everything
It makes me squirm
And seek for safety in isolation
It longs for safety
For it’s loving warmth
cold hearts and misery and pain feel safer
This feels scary
Always an arms length away
I say so his warm lips will stay away
Until another rainy day
But even then
Push him away before
He sees all of my stains
From previous days
I don’t know what to say to him,
The sun
I’ve been running for so long, that I don’t know how to live, breathe or move in the light.
what does it look like? I just don’t know because living in darkness is easier.
Six a.m. the alarm click has rung
Time to wake up, time to start being mom
Wake up children
Get dressed, brush your teeth
We haven't a moment to lose
Time to start moving those feet
Jump in the mini-van
Start the engine up
Crap the windows are frosted
It must have dropped temperature
Below 0 again
Kids on the way out the front door
Their pop-tarts just dropped
On the mini-van floor
No need to worry
No need to fret
It looks like this morning
A bagged school breakfast you'll get
Kisses and I love yous
As we pull up to the school
All of this in an hour
My day is not through
Get to the house
Take out the dog
Make up a grocery list 15 feet long
Clean up the bathroom
Gross what's that on the wall
Some disinfected will kill it all
Hubby is home, he's came for lunch
Griping about something to do with his work
Throw in the laundry
It has to smell good
Sit for a moment
Take in the views
Soon school will be over
That means homework and messes
Than dinner and baths
Oh I hate those stresses
All of this while trying
To balance being wife and sex kitten
Finally "WHEW" everybody's in bed
Time to lay down go to sleep
So tomorrow I can do
All this again