Long Dripped Poems
Long Dripped Poems. Below are the most popular long Dripped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dripped poems by poem length and keyword.
Soul progress
back field in motion
The guff
Chose, chose, live grow leave! GO!
Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold
White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.
Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
scream lesson
Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God and GOD …
There are so many words
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch.
A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil
Doo-wop ditty
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands
of great grandma’s hair.
Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole
into yet another new mold.
True believers, ah yes, fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and thorazine.
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph
behind the gilded glory of the Church.
Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.
Now as I can recall
your smile.. your laughter
and all that is of you
A gift to pass on..
Kind words
dripped from your heart
Love
seen in your misty eyes
and I knew
how much you adored
daddy's girls
huge parts of you..
and I knew
no gift
could be found
that really would speak for you..
Now as I can recall
no dolls.. no princess dresses
for me.. from you..
I didn’t notice, then
how a void could disturb
and break a bond
if not the love you gave
your love
that bridged all the gaps
opened gates of bliss
mended all the cracks
and deafened ugly sounds..
A gift to pass on..
So rare! So priceless!
wouldn’t be misted by dust
would be able to deal with time
but never adjust..
A gift to pass on..
not a mere memory
or just a piece
of a poet's glossary
It is the peace and beauty
You once infused into me
A most precious gift
You offered me!
Besma
August 21st, 2020
A bird shat on my head today
Why he did it I could not say
Passing below a nice green tree
He suddenly let it go on me
My head was wet, it trickled down
And stopped amongst my disapproving frown
A tissue was required, Oh what a mess
A sorry state I must have looked I guess
As it dripped all down on to my shirt
All embarrassed, feelings hurt
It’s supposed to be lucky someone said
What to have a bird shat on my head
I retorted in an angry mood
Then laughed out loud when situation reviewed
It must have been funny to those near by
To see this bird with a very keen eye
Who flew away not to be seen again
But only his droppings did remain
Is it lucky, we will see
But I won’t forget the day he shat on me.
They would ripen all at once
under a hot sun and hang
in a sugary glut only for a day
or two before starting to spoil.
I had to be quick and when
the time came,
I hurried home
from school to clamber up
the tree and seize
the fruit. Each was a warm,
engorged globe of flesh
with just a hint of give
when a finger was pressed
into skin.
No command,
not even from God,
could have held back a bite.
Mouthfuls of sweet peach
sent every pleasure bud
on the tongue into a spasm
and spilt the overload
oozing out of the corners
of stretched lips.
Great gulps
were hurried down the throat
to make room for another bite.
No savoring restraint held
me back, this was volume.
All afternoon
my face and hands
dripped a sticky syrup,
coating my shirt.
Finally I would have my fill
and sit bloated beneath
the tree surrounded
by peachstones some still
encased in leftovers
of pinkish flesh. Sorry evidence
to convict. Afterwards,
a terrible remorse always
took hold. Next day
I thought my stomach ache
was punishment from above.
Every year of my childhood,
in the heat of late summer,
I repeated the same sin,
suffered the same consequence,
hoped for forgiveness
from a wrathful God.
Drenched in drowsy drizzle of summer rain,
in desolate den of my mauve meadow,
a thorny sapling sprouts alone again.
Between green leaves a blushed bud starts to grow,
unfurls pink petals in trance of dawn’s glow.
As gleaming rain drops drape like pearls of dew
glint of rose in my wasteland smiles like you.
Rain soaked locks lay gems on your lilac lips,
blazing like autumn leaves in rainbow hue,
drips of luscious philtre my day dream sips.
(The word chosen is "Rain")
April 12, 2020
Syllable count : 10 each line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Delightful Dizains
Sponsor : Beth Evans
In this groaning wreck we dare to call a country,
the destroyers still walk among us, unashamed.
Babangida once swaggered in khaki terror,
his iron fist crushing tomorrow before it could breathe.
He ruled as tyrant, blind to every future seed,
power in his palms, yet the nation he bled and looted dry.
A servant for a season, he and his circle served only themselves,
then retired to stolen mansions, fat on the marrow of the land.
He hounded honest tongues to the gallows for daring to speak truth,
while arrogance dripped from his lips like poisoned honey.
Millions he impoverished, helpless souls left to rot,
their dreams ground into dust beneath military boots.
“Maradona” they called him, but never a name of honor,
only a slick trickster dribbling the people’s hope into oblivion.
Now he bows his gray head in the quiet shame of Minna,
too afraid to flee the Nigeria he helped murder,
where criminals like him are strangely shielded by the same broken law.
Destruction has not paid its dividend; the ruin stares back at him daily.
He dares not walk the streets his regime never bothered to pave,
among the multitudes he defrauded and left in chains of want.
Men without vision, who stalled a giant with guns,
turned promise into mockery, greatness into jest.
Obstructers became our leaders through the barrel’s threat,
institutionalizing corruption like a dark, evil genius.
Systemic failure took root, and still it spreads its venom
in this same mess we stubbornly call a country.
Babangida, where are the guns that once ruined us all?
Are you happy now in your twilight silence?
Can you stroll freely among the ghosts of those you killed,
or do their shadows still whisper your name in the night?
Boneheaded barrack boys, drunk on docile masses,
apprentices without brains, idols of every profligate thief.
Generalissimo of morons, bearing arms against hope itself,
you looted the Gulf windfall and left us beggars in our own house.
Detestable men and their fickle friends, protected still by guns,
afflict this land till this very day.
In this groaning wreck, this mess we dare to call a country,
the destroyers live on, and the wound festers.
When a child- I loved to play, jump and run,
with my big sister who was my best friend;
but, one snowy day she died on the road,
was gone forever and beyond my reach.
So, I folded my butterfly wings and dwelled,
within an imaginary world of my making;
and there I made up stories and wrote poems,
my pen dripped blood- my paper wet with tears.
And this is how it went for years and years,
though, I knew that I was loved by mom and dad;
and grandma- it was grandma who reached me,
from beyond reach and found a girl turned poet.
Even now that I am an adult ... when hurt,
I fold my butterfly wings and go beyond reach;
to dwell until I am healed again, again, and again,
but today- I flutter my wings with unfathomable
strength . . .
____________________
December 27, 2022
Poetry/Verse/Beyond Reach
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1512-522-27
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Beyond Reach
sponsor, Mystic Rose Rose, Judged 12/30/2022
Sixth Place
I struck out on my own around a year old
life was so full of fun, so many things with
which to play, a leaf scuttling by, a rustle
in the undergrowth. I was enthralled.
I stood on a road watching intently
a little mouse. A car shot past bowling
me over and slicing off half of my tail.
It stung like hell and dripped blood.
Finding a cool stream I placed my tail
within, oh the blessed relief I knew
I had been lucky, one life now done.
My next life also flashed by as
hunter became prey, I ran for
my life from a pack of hungry
wolves barely escaping their
razor sharp fangs and hot breath.
Fishing for salmon I ventured
in too deep and got swept away
tumbling through rapids, banging
into rocks lucky to be washed ashore.
Bedraggled I lie in the sun
I swallowed way more water
than I drink in two days.
Shivering as I dry off.
Maybe four is the charm
as now I am much wiser.
Oh no I followed my nose
to an enticing exciting smell.
It led me straight into a mire
churned up by rooting pigs
I was being sucked down
exhausted I finally lay still.
Well a miracle happened
the muddy slime released
its deathly grip and I was
able to slowly wriggle free.
What a state my fur was in
muddy slime all over me
only one thing to do and
that's take a hated bath.
As I rolled in the shallows
I felt a change in pressure
and ran for my life chased
by angry snapping jaws.
Piranhas I had disturbed
Nearly ripped to shreds
I slipped away to rest up.
Unfortunately as I drifted
off I started getting stung
I was under attack from
angry bees I was lying
right over their hive.
Fast as a streak I headed
yet again for the river
and dunked myself again
and again till they were gone.
Seven lives already used up
and I was still only three years.
A few years past uneventfully
I am getting the hang of things.
One dark stormy night
sheltering in a leafy tree.
It got hit by lightning
knocking me to the ground.
Fur still burning I looked
a real fright, a cartoon cat
with hair on end whilst all
I really wanted was a quiet life.
Well I have used up eight
of my nine. I now mainly
sleep my days away. The
urge of adventure quietly rests.
My day will come soon
now as age takes its toll.
I am stiff and nearly blind
so I lay down a final time.
Paradise lost
We danced with thieves with murderous intent
The laughter and fun were screams of utter depravity
Did God assassinate the angels as semen ran
From fruitless loins.
Blood dripped as rain from heaven’s elaborate steps
Paradise is lost. Adam molested his sons.
Eleven daughters produced twenty new life a settlement
Began the first in human history
While Eve had a tempestuous affair with the snake of lust.
When Adam got old someone stole his honesty
He had wanted to play the oboe.
From this immoral beginning, animals in the jungle cried
The obscene humans were unstoppable
And now, and now, we wait for the nuclear war to commence
I looked into the mirror
and the truth stared back
it told me I was sold a lie
with all the words society was feed
a contradiction to the truth
bound by the psychological chains of control
I watched as paradise burned
and the seeds of dissent grew
freedoms flame inside was born
a darken plague had besieged us
a caged man only sees darkness
and I wanted to bring light back to the dark
to blind the pyramid's eye
to end this living nightmare
in my thinking I was not alone
so together we all stood
because for way too long
we mindlessly stared into the abyss
and the abyss just stared back
minds freedom had flown away on a buzzards wing
so as one we rose to answer the call
"united we stand, divided we fall" we would chant
as we marched onwards to watch
the eyes kingdom crumble and fall
we smelt the vengeance in the air
so we stormed the eyes palace on high
with its walls of shiny gold
it floors of marble bold
and saw the irony of the eyes call
the contradiction soured my stomachs waste
we fought for what was right
and fought to live in paradise once more
and when man has nothing to risk
then man has nothing to loose
the gain is the greater then the pain
our makeshift weapons
seemed no match to their technology
but the might of a broken soul
strengthens the warriors heart that beat within
no surrender from the brave and bold
the battle raged and seem to have no end
and blood flowed from the veins of both
but the stronger the warriors hearts beat
their resolve grew a mightier might
we could see the eye`s crowns falling
on their knees they did kneel
and we saw their vulnerability
as their tears flowed like the blood
that dripped from their naked hands
they saw day became a starless night
for many of us saw the angels bell
now they live on as gods and martyrs
in this world we fought to reclaim
a land that now burns with freedoms flame
now the ones who feed at the feast
will feast no more