Long Expunged Poems
Long Expunged Poems. Below are the most popular long Expunged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Expunged poems by poem length and keyword.
All that is left is scorched earth,
no future, present, or past.
For nukes have expunged Man's birth,
lost in the flash of their blast.
Intense heat melted the gold,
leaving only blood and gore.
And burnt the treasures of old,
nothing was spared by the war.
An eerie glow, worn by night,
now accentuates the dark.
And it lures me with its light,
past shadows empty and stark.
As this light restores some sight,
I'm amazed by what I find.
And realizing my plight,
I pray that death will be kind.
While all my hopes fall apart,
a plastic Jesus greets me.
And though its light lifts my heart,
it's clear, I'll soon cease to be.
(Quatrain)
1/8/2016
The rational mind
this contained receptacle of thought
allowed, restrictive, forbidden or prohibitive release,
still functions in both light and dark;
silent but unrestrained progressive thinking,
curbed by the mouth, lips and any vulgar release;
random, foolish, condemning images
prevail despite law, threat, incarcerated restrictions,
contrived interpretations or intimidated references;
this repository lives, perceiving life and its surroudings
fully functional, interpreting existence and reality,
its casualties, consequential actions, disparities;
action or inaction moves or hesitates as it exists
pure environment, acknowledgement of right and wrong
to be contained by filtered thoughts immoral and moral;
decisional knowledgeable preferences
in loathing of prior occurrences, retrospective recognition
of needed change, learned responses, resolute acceptance
of undesignated need, requisite essentials
for democracy, freedom, existence
with unequivocal, unquestioned, undoubted
equality for all
expunged and released, set free
by unfiltered consciousness of filtered thought.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_books_banned_by_governments
Impeached, indicted, discredited, expunged,
Forsaken and little short of being hanged,
Does the punishment truly fit the crime,
Inciting sedition and for that I need do time?
Are they crazy or simply deaf,
Do they think I work for UNICEF,,
A do-gooder, a kind hearted soul,
The kind of man to pigeonhole?
I'm a maverick, a crusader at heart,
The one to lead, feats to start,
I change the world it doesn't change me,
I push and I pull, won't let things just be.
So someone please tell me where I went wrong,
Was I not trusted to be valiant and strong,
To Shake the tree, purge that swamp,
On bureaucracy and waste simply stomp?
Build the country, cut to the chase,
Squash every foe, win every race,
And now what, have I've gone too far,
Plunging to earth like a falling star?
Give me a break, cut me some slack,
I did a great job, the country's on track,
Save for this Covid all would be fine
All other Presidents would I outshine.
Don't undervalue, don't underrate
I'm the one man you can't just abate,
Count me out at your peril, think I’ll retire,
For those that have crossed me, their future is dire.
Writing the words
I welcome the day
Writing the words
with new things to say
Writing the words
my heart like a sponge
Writing the words
all silence expunged
Every new sound
alive in the air
Every new phrase
unspoken to share
Every last vowel
irreverent of time
Every last breath
gives voice to the mime
Pen in my hand
the journey begins
Pen in my hand
through virtue and sin
Pen in my hand
the Muses surround
Pen in my hand
their voices expound
Dreams of my father
dreams of my son
Dreams hold me captive
dreams rebegun
Dreams in the mirror
dreams that relay
Dreams bringing freedom
dreams — dare I pray
***
Narrative Musings
Poetry
can’t scare me
But then
there’s the prose
Freewheeling
unstructured
I’m lost
in its throes
The words
in my capture
As verse
I sustain
But narrative
musings
I fight
— to proclaim
***
In The Instant
Always the next
poem
always the next
verse
That already
written
retreats
to disperse
What comes
as a presence
stays fresh
to surmise
And freed
in this instant
each word
— more alive
(The New Room: May, 2026)
gluteus maximus left and right half moon cheek
re: byte size buttock attached via usb
(uniform firm behind) to this freak
with bowel movement
incontinence + gas filled gut evoking contortionist
frown stretching to lowest peak
perched upon porcelain goddess
where elimination did jut held captive hostage
atop toilet seat for many a week
exertion to expel rock solid turd required utmost effort
to force jammed bowel movement free
inducing excruciating abdominal cramps really hurt
plus sharp jabbing spasms within high knee
innards rent asunder
obstruction as canon gun size BALLS did spurt
lodged fecal matter refusing to budge from me
caused by severe constipation
whereby prayer a waste delivered only increased
sphincter muscle to scream
for rectal relief this mortal man faced
a worse fate than death, he would deem
since demise would allow alimentary misery to cease
versus remaining in this impasse for what might be years
unless perchance **** lubricant or special grease
would bust loose abominable
constriction in arrears finding me unable
to pay rent or renew lease
best prospect of remaining stationary
with words to wax
poetic found a glimmer of luck
when a kind wildebeest
delivered this message via fax
to help this male in dire per situation getting
pam purred poop unstuck with outsize mug of exlax
to help unclog rectal muck
access to get expunged to the max
but once expulsion occurs
DO DO PLEASE DUCK!
The chromatic cords
of splendorous spring
embroider arcane art
on convivial tapestry
embellished elegance
dramatically drapes
the luminous landscape
of vibrant vivacity
as dream-drenched
blue lagoon
gets lashed
by idyllic eyelids
and
the lotus petals
of luscious lips
painted poignant
on silken canvas
of content countenance
the dulcet design
of narcissist facade
of innate pride
swathes furtively
the secret scars
of suppression syndrome
expunged.
The toiling time
revolves relentless
on convoluted canvas
etched with
fading felled leaves
of auburn autumn
in life consumed
while
the winter spider
weaves with strands
of twilight moments
the ordained web
with senile streaks
around hollow eyes
staring forsaken
at forlorn fringe
of weathered wasteland
as the lustrous lips
the fading flowers
lose withered
pristine patina
hedonist psyche
refuses to gauge
the grief of loss
the face morphs
into metaphor
for living panorama
captured by
the sanguine snapshot
of concealed charisma.
Spring returns with vigor while a rigor clings my stilted throat
Stings my eyes to bleed. There in the garden,
Within a pale and vibrant blend of words,
I see so little language left for me.
Oh Sky! So busy now supporting bird on wing.
Ahh! hummingbirds return to dance again this spring.
That Kaaww I used to imitate and say I hated
Now as lilting tune as I would know.
Of late, the chickadees, but first an english robin
Bobbing out a frisky tune, splendiferously repeating
His same greeting every June.
I press my hand to glassed pane with fingertips in hope
That I may still the scene.
Far less reach than I would brave become
Had I more words within my heart to sum.
Oh Clouds! Your white extrudes small silhouettes,
Hunting falcons, black. Now back in search of nesting things.
Such bursting forth with life this season brings.
I see them all through open window now flung wide!
A newfound stride in all those things of spring,
Wet with their enthusiasm and eagerness of gifting,
Drifting with my own awareness toward the summer’s warm embrace.
Every upturned face a grin the wind is pinned upon.
My eyes are filled to overflow with every dripping moment I can bear.
I am with them there in all the glory of each story,
But I have naught to say and ought to stay away from such a view,
Where language drips from many tongues at once,
Spilling into every room in floods that cannot be expunged.
It leaves my lips excoriated, plunged inside a quiet crevice lacking words.
This human heart so small it cannot near contain
Such love that tongues cannot pronounce, nor eyes explain.
That moment
That perfect moment
Where time became eternal
I saw
I opened my blinded eyes and saw
The expanse of your soul
To reword
To match time stricken words to an eternal glimpse
Absurd
So, I write
I write without reason
Flowing with the ink blotting the page
I ran
I ran around - all around
Into darkened corners and wounded places
I knocked down fortified walls
Cleaned up forgotten issues
Dressed open lacerations
With my arsenal of
WORDS
I SPOKE
I sang
I hummed
I belted out notes from the depths of my soul
I lit you up
And I giggled as I watched you shine
You skipped with glee at the sight of
ME?
I tried
Oh how I tried
To climb out and walk away
I yelled - I cannot be here -
You belong to another
But you offered me no ladder
So…I…
Stayed
I played
I played with words
Rearranging, inventing, creating
New ways to express…love
It was ok
I mean…I was just playing…with love
Not your
Marriage
One day
One beaconing reckoning day
She saw your light steps
Almost dancing with your secret
Play with love in words
With me - not her-
The invader
You didn’t withhold
But you didn’t invite either
I gave her my words too
She read, fed, and bled
I stood still
In awe of my
Words
I rewrote
I rewrote them again and again
But she couldn’t play
Fear had bound her soul
Some of my words reached her
Then, she decided
To kick me
OUT
She expelled me from hers
And expunged me from yours
She tried to push me far away
I stood in silence and
~ grieved ~
Your lighted steps
Became a plod
Her concern
Entered into rage
I put myself
To rest
In my Savior’s arms
Written by Trudy Schrader on 7-6-10
What is this sense that's made to be?
An afterthought expunged to reality?
Does this sense have a scent
of revelation, betrayal or of backing down?
Is it smelly repugnant, or a tasty, tangy treat on tongue?
Is its resolution crystal clear to bed-fellows one,
or lackluster and unconvincing to some.
Does it ooze up between the cracks between the lines of evidence?
Or is it refined in time, from raw materials mined to sublime?
Is it an ore, that lays there like gold,
to be panned and picked up among the nonsense sand,
with no need of refinement?
Making sense is a happening happenstance,
a presence, made and revealed
in the present tense.
Written: July 24, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
*************
Note: This is the Open (organic) VERSE created by Brian Strand and using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols; the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond, thus making this enigmatic form a two-way interplay & interpretation unique to the moment
************
wordless
sanctum
portals
cleaving
anchored
in
invocations
shroud-bound
effulgence—
vellum
&alabaster
fluttering
guising flesh
in
a clean slate
fettered
by
silence
ghost-scripted
expunged
orisons
canvas
bloom
weathered sheen
of
tether-tint
a
nailing soul
interlaced
exhumed
unbegotten
ebbing voice
forgotten
in a
breach
of
canonical hours
as
seeds
sprouting—
sky etched
wave-washed
sentence
retribution
under
a dust-turn
of
ink
& oblivion