Long Excised Poems
Long Excised Poems. Below are the most popular long Excised by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Excised poems by poem length and keyword.
She is
sallow-skinned, salacious, seductive beauty,
secure, safely sequestered in seclusion;
sinking, shaking, shattered, submerged
self-contained, self-centered in selfless solitude
she sleeps,
a slip of a slenderized, spindly silhouette
silenced in the stillness of somberness, sinless seer,
savoring simplistic, soothed in shadowy shades of night.
she teeters titillated,
transparent in tranquil twilight,
twinkling tangibility, a trembling in tenacious transition,
thoughtful trepidation, turning trophies to tantalizing treasures.
She exists
exaggerated expose' of effortless excised evenings
effused in embellished effervescent eloquence,
edgy enamored edicts, elated egotistical empowerment,
she wanders wistfully
where the wonders of a whirlwind wanting world waits,
wrapping wordsmithing into whimsical warbled wakings,
wishful wisdom with warm-hearted whistlings of womanhood;
she clutches
coddling childlike care, carvings cast and chastised
in cumulous clouded circles, cohesive cycles
of confident contented cerebral communion;
she dances
drifting in decreed danglings, dark, dangerous, delicious
purple plagued palettes of perceptive pewtered perfection
lavender lust, listless languishing lucid, luminous lilies,
there at last, she finds
inner evolution, deepest peace, lasting rest
and so
she sleeps within her dreams.
And in the well-worn ache
of turning mourning,
there are no more tears-
for all is beauty-lathed
misery, held unswathed,
without fearing to uptake
hope's new sculpted shape.
A changeling exchanged
while flailing naked
in it's abyssal state.
And wholeness excises, to demean
only fruitless shoots, now seen
to sow what has no further meaning.
And in the ague
of restless morning's
fitful, nude, new break
from dim, unsculptured yaw-
fretful feet leave
dark, wet indents in dew.
Old soul trails beneath gift's gape-
heaven's gate, just ajar,
seeps, speaks healing wreathed
in Love- the writhing heart agape.
And thr dry-cried throat
too friction ground to speak,
slakes it's thirst on dew-
Heaven's assuage tempers, cools.
And in eyes' age
of blinding burnings-
forceful, rude muckrake,
there are no more proud airs.
For eyelids pasted shut, caked
in self- molded clay's despair,
felt insightful incision
draw sharp truth's decision deft-
knavish knots excised, reveal
man's Sculptor knows justly how
to grave His image.
And seeing is only believing,
when believing is cleft open
to high insight's slice and sculpt
understood, read, spoken.
02/12/2017
I stood at the threshold
Of a promising life,
Ready to step out bold,
Face challenges and strife.
I wanted to soar,
Like an eagle in the sky.
Eager to conquer more,
To reach really high.
One fateful day I awoke,
To a painful, swollen knee,
In one terrible stroke,
It changed what I was to be.
Multiple hospital trips,
And neverending tests.
Our hearts missed a skip,
Yet we hoped for the best.
"Osteosarcoma"
Was the dreaded disease.
I felt dazed, in a coma;
My brain seemed to freeze.
My family drowned in tears,
My future looked so bleak.
Haunted by many fears,
Uncertain, depressed, meek.
My dreams torn and tattered,
A maelstrom of emotions.
My parents were shattered;
Were there any solutions?
Would I ever walk again?
Would I lose my lower limb?
Would I become a burden?
The situation was grim.
My folks offered prayers,
With devotion and fervor.
Could unkindly fate dare
Snatch their son forever?
My doctor reassured me,
On his face a kind smile;
"There's no need to worry;
You'll be fine in awhile."
He explained me the treatment,
And then asked "Is that clear?"
I was filled with resentment,
Worried for those I held dear.
They excised the tumor,
Chemotherapy began.
I was plagued by bad humor,
Wondering at God's plans.
It seemed an eternity;
Painful weeks crawling by.
I wallowed in self pity.
All alone, I would cry.
Now that is all over.
The disease has been cured.
I feel I'm in clover
I feel reassured.
The dark clouds have vanished.
I have jettisoned gloom,
My demons I have banished,
And let optimism bloom.
My life is now settled,
I like working, have fun.
I am in fine fettle.
This battle I have
Fifth dose, same overdose
I've got a nasty habit of gorging on low hanging fruit
It's fruit, right? Gotta be sweet
But these grapes are sour and apples bitter
But a rotten orange is a delicious feast
For those starved of the taste and sensation of being full
Yet that same rotten orange
Cannot be a diet unto itself
Yet for eight long years
I've satisfied myself with rotten, sour fruit
After all, I am the Sun of this greenhouse
And skin cancer awaits all who bathe in the light for too long
It's never enough and can never be enough
So long as this cycle continues
Eventually, someone is going to overdose and die
And leave the entire farm with blood on its soil
These are my familiar trappings
An addiction to touch and the need to belong
And to shoulder the weight of two lives
And break beneath it, leaving us both hollow
I don't claim innocence
As I promise far too much for one human to deliver
Yet if given the chance to be excised safely
I'll bear my weight solo gladly
Some people are not meant to be united
My role is ever more abundant as the days bleed together
To deliver content and entertainment from behind the screen
As a benevolent God that cannot be met
Many tragedies are born from gods interfering with men
And thus, he hides in his Heaven where all can be alright
And as a frail man clinging to a title for power
So too shall I hide.
who left trail of heartbroken sage woman
commander in chief deliberately stoked,
née sparked long
simmering smoldering, and stewing
long festering white supremacist altercation
fiendishly igniting racial conflagration
exploding during late spring 2020.
No matter no child left behind kibitzing
(yours truly as boy plucked petals
off daisy reciting "she loves me,"
"she loves me not"...
cupid loosed an arrow
into boyhood neighborhood sweetheart
she innocently bespoke
"I wanna marry you,"
when uttered courtesy Sherry Jones,
a little girl who lived
approximately three doors down
along cul-de-sac within Apple Valley
perpendicular to Lantern Lane,
or more age apropos,
when young gallivanting
purported vestal virgin ladies
nonverbally signalled
libidinal proclamations of emancipation,
as demurely expressed
lest unlucky (chaste into)
precocious phallic proclivity
suffered the punishment
of being buried alive.
Now back to present day,
when our old geezer,
the prototype garden variety
male of present poem -
any resemblance between general referenced
fella and living persons purely coincidental.
He (yours truly) easily qualified as
overly cocky whippersnapper,
i.e. young buck and/or Casanova wannabe
experienced bit torrent
hormonal secretions gushed
particularly in close proximity
wherein wafted pheromones -
think a waif faring ingénue.
As evident and quite obvious,
I fabricate (prevaricating
my signature trademark)
rather than stating bland reality stark,
yet will plainly explain issue
in summary essential rhyme
without reason constitutes
nothing more spectacular than
garden variety generic pockmark
excised pustule ofttimes hallmark
of teenage/ pubescent pimply benchmark.
a cadaver is laid down on a cold dissecting table;
to study all about life, an anatomist ponders
which organ to be excised for examination without bias
he decided to use a median value of the life
from normal curve within +/-1 sigma area
after a thorough examination of the body
the anatomist who is still breathing decided to excise the heart,
which never was stopped until the cadaver breathed his last breath;
and the brain’s layer after layers of good and bad memories, caused from good and evil thoughts or his behavior while he was alive
inside his heart was contaminated from all kinds of waste
and that’s why it made difficulty in breathing; on the surface,
so many big and small cut outs and stab wounds all overshadowed
by the immorality of the mundane world it makes you want to turn
your face away from it
the brain is no difference, after chopping the skull, the anatomist carefully pulled the brain out, unfolded and examined every nook and corner of the brain. the connected cobweb-like thought’s narrow passageway consisting from all kinds of chemistry symbols; it was, found to be a lump of fossilized DNA so fragile that just a little touch of the hand would make it crumble
at the time when the pulverized fossil blown in the air
carried by a gust of wind, started to release an overpowering
stench so disgusting that nauseates the sniffer; however, as you sniff more
and more, it becomes sweeter and finally enraptured the sniffer.
and after all the mysterious aroma thus becomes powerful enough
to delude you into pretense that you bear a charmed life, thereby
dragging you to stand at the edge of a deadly cliff
if a day of life is entangled with so much oddity and complication,
there won’t be any better and simple life beyond death,
yet the grotesquely structured brain wanted to look into
the world beyond as ever
"I want a season that whispers, "Jesus."
Ann Voskamp
'Twas the night before Xmas... No, No. WAIT!
That big X woefully negates Christ's birth ~
A phrase I detest and makes me irate
because it diminishes Jesus' worth.
At Christmas, presents are always gifted
What greater gift could there be, but His life?
Pity, the name of the season shifted
where only joyful merriment is rife.
"X" out Santa Claus from the occasion
and there'd be a tumult of objections.
There's no balance in such an equation.
These are my sentiments and reflections.
I celebrate His sacrifice each day,
sans a tinseled tree or lights on display,
so I have excised "Xmas" as a word
for its use is Biblically absurd.
November 27, 2021
"X" Contest hosted by Constance la France
Once upon a time fairies had tails, feathers and even scales.
This is the true tale of how and why fairies lost their tails.
Well
It all began in ancient times in the age of the dinosaurs
The first fairies were like mini flimsy and flighty Archaeopteryx
With scales, feathers and a long prehensile tail adorned with scales
Fairies flipped their tails to cast spells
But their tails were heavy and misspells were frequent.
Undoing spells was costly, unsure and tricky.
One day the fairy godmother decreed:
"Fairy Tail spells are Old Hat and Flawed"
"There's too many bad spells from miss-flicked tails"
"Fairies need a wand in hand like me"
"Fairy tails be gone!"
With a 'Hey Presto' flick of godmother wand
All fairy tails were painlessly excised
And converted to hand-held magic wands
So now you know
The fairy tale of how a fairies lost their tails
And stopped their misspells.
I took the force of it again today
A curled formed fist from powerful limb
Planted on cheek in full fledged force
Rendered with frustrated frenzy
And me the punch bag
I took the torrent of ugly words today
Aimed just for me like poisonous arrows
That infiltrate and destroy the soul
And humiliate my tortured mind
I took it all without a word
I took the weight of unwanted lust today
Upon my meagre violated body
Forced against will to serve base needs
Instilling hurt and sanguine pain
Contaminated and used
I bore the agony of excised pain today
That went beyond the barrier of suffering
Of no desire and mutilation
Taken without assent and free will
Now void of feeling and of worth
I had to marry an old fat man today
And take glib vows at tender age
Lost now the age of child-like innocence
No time to play, no time to feel free
Just subjected and servile
I carry the marks of abuse today
Of contusion and mental confusion
Of pain, depression and low self esteem
Of humiliating indignity
And permanent scar
The purge started with honest appraisal.
A deep peer within to unlock the knots
tying 'never too open' lockets shut.
There were regrets, fall-shorts, damning selfies
all to be opened with tear drops and fears,
exposing the scars, hurts, raw open wounds.
Effective catharsis by expungement
was the only way to wipe the slate clean.
So with scalpel and scraper the rot gut
was excised by wiping bad memories
away with a total system refresh.
The unresolved was foiled with stark parries
the aching boils were lanced and puss squeezed out
Each locket expunged was burnt at the stake
so regrets and short-comings had no where
to hide, no chance to beguile the future.
I enjoyed the glow and stench of the fire.
catharsis smoke and ashes blackening
the sky, carried away by wind disgusts.