Long Face Poems

Long Face Poems. Below are the most popular long Face by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Face poems by poem length and keyword.


Deep In the Piney Woods

Deep in the piney woods
A call beckons across the branch
A call that isn't animal nor human
A call that makes your hair stand alert and skin prickly from fright!

The light of the full moon awakens the spirits and the calling from the piney woods.
If you doubt my story and risk your very life, then make sure you take a 
weapon into the piney woods. Well, I believe the call is from the ghost of the moon 
shiners that have lost their lives in the mica mines many years ago. 
The mica was 
big business one time until the mines went dry.
The deep holes were perfect cover for the moonshine stills until
the revenuers caught the culprits. A great gun battle raged until death. 

Today the crumpled mica shimmer in the red clay is all that is left of the mines. 
The local children like to scare 
themselves with the 
abandoned rock graveyard along the edge of the piney woods. If you look close at 
the mound of rocks...it appears that there is a bony hand protruding from the grave 
and  pointing directly at you to leave. The ancient thick cedar trees seem to
guard the graves and whisper "Warning, Warning."  

In 1969 there was another vilolent firey death on the road through the piney woods. 
A man died inside a burning wrecked truck, screaming 
"Don't let me burn to death" repeatedly until the bitter charred end. 
When the moon is right the echo carries his screams across the hills.
 A young man only age seventeen lost his life in a fatal car wreck on 
the steep curved road. His life was taken so fast; he is said to walk 
the hills searching for his sweet ride to
 carry him on his journey, unaware of his eternal fate.

On a short walk along the shallow creek bank reveals an old rock formation covered 
in moss now but built by a people of long ago. Maybe Indian or early settlers, 
no one knows the architects but if you stand in a certain spot where the
 ground is always wet with a reddish ooze. You can feel a cold icy finger 
across your face and neck. 

Is the call a young buck calling his bride in the after life; is the call an 
evil doer fighting to avoid beelzebub's snare? The apparition can be seen 
briefly if you desire look when the wind and moon are right. Waynesville 
holler offers more
 than beauty in the day but beware of the moon lit walks that
 young lovers 
brave or you
 may be the next victim of the piney woods!
Form: Narrative


Immunity To a Death Sentence

Now the public library in our town contains the knowledge for mankind, 
and there’s not much happening ‘round the world, that I cannot find.
I can think of any subject that I like and tell Jenny what I’m after,
and she can find a stack of books that darn near touch the rafter. 

The library’s helped me countless times from days when I’m at school,
and I’ve become a handy man with books my back up tool,
but aside from books on lifestyle needs, on fiction some are geared,
and some authors write for little kids, and some write on the weird.

I’ve hired books about our history and read about some shocking wars.
Our garden is designed from books, and I’m obsessed with reading ‘Jaws’.
But crime became my new desire with cases filed from years gone by,
where Capital Punishment was handed down and why some had to die.

Description of the victims sent a chill right through my bones,
right to the guilty on death row with all their over-tones.
I read about their last few weeks, with how and why and where,
before they took their final walk to the electric chair.

One story written by a Warder based in a Southern US gaol,
is penned about a chilling case that for you I will unveil …
Leroy murdered seven folk; the warder wrote down in this book.
For twenty years appeals were held then Leroy’s goose was cooked.

When you’re with someone for twenty years, no matter what they’ve done,
you can form a slight attachment even if a fragile one.
So one week before that final stroll Leroy was asked by Warder Black,
if there’s something special that he’d like, and Leroy answered back.

“There is something I do desire - but it must involve me faithful wife.
“My wish is” Leroy grinned. “Is to eat her meatloaf now for life”. 
Well Leroy’s wish was granted and for three meals every day,
he ate the meatloaf that he begged for while the hours ticked away.

On the eve of Leroy’s execution there was tension being shown.
The corridors were creepy now with a ghostly eerie tone.
Forgotten were the seven victims - in the morning there’s one more.
Leroy must face ‘old sparky’ waiting down that corridor.

His final meal of meatloaf was brought before him on a plate.
Said Warder Black with teary eyes “You don’t look worried mate!”
Leroy laughed “I’m not my friend, that chair won’t kill me man.
If this meatloaf couldn’t do me in - I know that nothing can!”
Form: Rhyme

Your Nothing To Me

You're nothing
You're a disgrace
You've been dishonored
You've been unmasked
For the villain
That you are.


You know not
What true love is
You know not
The meaning of family.


All you know is yourself
Self-centered and egotistic
Who deserves the spotlight
Shine upon him
Thinking the world 
Revolves just for you.


I hate to burst your bubble
Of your twisted perfect reality
But the world revolves around nobody
Not even for a scumbag like you.


The spotlight shines upon all
It doesn't play favorites
Your not the star of the show
Your just a stage hand playing pretrend.


You talk amongst your blood
But don't praise your offspring
You dont' spare time 
To fix what is broken
You let it all go to ruin.


Your heinous crimes
Can never be forgiven
The lies you spout
Tried to warp my mind
But no more lies 
I'm through with you.


You put yourself before others
You think highly of yourself
You care not for emotions
Not know what they are
Your like a robot 
Without an empathy chip.


You've hurt many people 
Your road is crumbling
Burning bridges behind you
Poisoning the family tree
With your sickening presence.


No more, I say!
I take the axe of change
Chopping the rot 
Right off the tree
Drench it with fresh rain
To bring it back to life.


You're a waste of space
You're a disgrace to the family
You're a disappointment
You're a lazy bum
You have no respect
You have no morals.


I shout from the depths of my soul
I shout for the world to know 
The courageous roar of a dragon
Planting her feet deep in the dirt
To announce her right to say
"YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME!"


Be gone, foul demon!
Return to hell from which you came
Away you go from my sight
I wish to never see your face again!


You're a burden
You're a parasite
You're a moocher
You're a sloth
You're a liar!


Ye who dare to bring our family shame
Try to bring ruin to our name
I cast you out of my life!
Your no longer my father
The father I knew
Died a long time ago!


Replaced by a lout
Replaced by a bum
Replaced by an imposter
Replaced by a Jackass!


You mean nothing to me!
You're an embarassment
You're not my father
I've lost all respect for you!


Away with you now
Get the hell out of here
I don't wish to see you
I don't want you in my life
You mean nothing to me
YOU ARE NOTHING!
© Megan Ryan  Create an image from this poem.

Day of the Bees

Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky. 
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters 
Of the estuary  which spread out in the distance. 
Even the normal busy shipping traffic 
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon. 
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns 
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
 
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint. 

The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real. 
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees,  but these had a special sting

The temperature was  high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time.  Now there was  a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of   B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.  
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated, 
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall 
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out, 
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds. 
Luckily the girls were not cut.

Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire 
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires  joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,  
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels, 
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable  to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.

And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away, 
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off 
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city. 
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone. 
History called it 28 July 1943  -  Hamburg firestorm.  
Petra always called it  Day of the Bees.

.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest  Hot Time Summer in the City

Lamentation 1

What is life without joy and happiness? 

what is life without self honour and pride? 

Upon this mountain hell i lay every day

Battered and frustrated

A man of sorrow, forsaken

My spirit groans for mercy which failed to come

All is taken away from me including the smallest pin

 

 

of what is life without  a mother? 

painted black and  red

I mourn every seconds for that pretty damsel

swifter that the eagle, my heart pounded

Joy whispers sadness in my ears

and tears becomes my friend

In despair i feast and dance sorrowfully

they mock and throw me around like a forbidden coin

 

 

men are evil, my spirit moans

Raising my eyes to see my ears

i could tell of their wickedness 

my goats, cows and jewelries gone

Hear me evil souls, the nature has its judgment

Once in life, it cometh and it hard to escape

It hard to escape the judgment

 

look at father native compound

it been taken away by strangers

those who once dance with us

In good fortune and share our breads and barns together

NOw, they are against us in fury

Dare point us in the face and laugh

Hear me old friends, nature has its judgment

The nature has its judgment, beware

 

In my old age. bitterly i weeps all day

in affliction and harsh labour

my foes had become my masters

 the roads to my hut mourns

my compound groans and grieved

None to comfort me, all my friends had betrayed me

All the splendor has departed in the air

 

 

this is why i weep and, 

my body shivers

My eyes overflow with water

All who pass my way clapped and laughed at me

Enemies open their mouth wide against me

my grieves are many and my heart fainted

i am in torment within, disturbed and  distracted

I remembered my wandering and pains

In the dark forest alone

Covered my self with anger

 

 

perhaps my father had sinned

And i didn't know and, 

we now bore the pains

Getting brad is at my life risk

Because of the sword beneath

look and see our disgrace

Those who pursue us are at our heels

my siblings scattered abroad sorrowfully

No one to caution us and drag us back

Till end i know the earth has it judgments

i shall sing beautifully with joy in other phase of life

when the gate shall open.

 

ALL RIGHT RESERVED (C)  JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT 2013
Form: Elegy


Premium Member The Mermaid's Rescue

The Mermaid's Rescue

A lost and lone survivor of a sunken warship
 back into conciousness the sailor finally did slip
All alone in the vast, vast empty water prairie
 fleeting thoughts of home and his sweet Marie!

Hazy, crazy thoughts swirled in his aching head
 had he not drowned , O' why was he not dead
Memories of being saved by an unseen guiding force
 O' but what a song , what a beautiful angelic voice!

Visions soon appeared for his mind's eye to see
 of a beautiful creature rising to his rescue pleas
Hair of radiant gold lying lovingly upon breasts bare
 a swimming angel appeared ever so swiftly there!

Now  waking upon this small and desolate rock 
 feverish and deep in the throes of a tragic shock
Suddenly hearing voice began to softly, sweetly sing
 his spirit , soul healed so quickly that voice did bring!

Searching eagerly across the shining ocean's  waves
 for a mysterious hero that did desperate lives save
A wished for vision soon appeared at the water's edge
 a mere dozen feet from the jutting rock's lower ledge!

The same beautiful face he saw in his vision's haze
 the magical creature he now knew his life had saved
One even prettier than his cherished, loving wife Marie
 now it's entire form he could astonishingly see!

A Mermaid ! Heavens how could such vision truly be
 strange tales, fictional legends of very magical seas
Could this have been answer to his desperate pleas
 a vision so tempting that his faithful heart it did tease!

Singing  stopped and that voice began to clearly speak
 telling he had been fast asleep for an entire week
A rescue ship would be arriving there that very day 
 as it appears I must say goodbye and swim away!

Final hours his Mermaid and he did pleasantly share
 he in awe of her glory, her sexy body and golden hair
So many amazing stories of many a daring rescue feat
 telling of rescues where sister Mermaids even compete!

Suddenly that promised ship raced coming in so fast
 sailor knew this was his only chance, his very last
Please, he asked, will you give me a good-bye Mermaid kiss 
 wished granted , Mermaid vanished into the deep, blue abyss!

Rescued and now safely aboard his miracle life-saving ship
 his story told and nary a miraculous part did he dare to skip
His tale he told to all that sat amazed at his strange ordeal
 so mythical and strange, even he wondered was it truly real!

Robert L. 05-29-2014
Form: Rhyme

The Dark, Dark Room

The Halloween Party was in full swing
Witches, wizards and an alien thing
with tentacles and one huge eye
Flourishing a laser gun shouting "Die".

Alison and her friends Ada and Jo
Were all dressed as feline kittens "meow"
Carl and Simon had laced the fruit punch bowl
As the evening drew on it took it's tole.

Drunkenly a bet was stupidly placed
Who of them would last and not be outpaced
A nightly vigil at Haunted Creek
Where rode a phantom horseman, there to seek.

Everyone there all knew the awful tale
Making in unison a quick inhale
It was long ago in 1702
A mounted stallion there cast a shoe

The rider's name was Squire Abraham Knight
Was set upon and put up a good fight
He was then butchered for a gold doubloon
Was then thrown in the creek and found at noon

Unexplained sightings, that then disappear
have been recorded, it is very unclear
Warnings come from parents to their own child
No-one goes there, it is left to grow wild

With youthful bravado they all met there
Torches flashed around, as the trees stood bare
Alison and her friends huddled together
Shivering in the inclement weather

Bart and his brother camped down for the night
on a hillock, keeping the creek in sight
Joining them was the terror gang of four
Troublemakers, who all acted hardcore.

Two hours later it started to snow
Huge flakes falling and wind began to blow
"I've had enough of this" said Alison
"I'm all for going home. I'm all done!"

Eagerly agreeing, walked back in step
Suddenly Jo tripped up and in pain wept
"Can't go further, my ankle is wrecked"
Leaning on shoulders, onwards they all trekked.

"No, I can't, please, you must stop", poor Jo wailed
"It's agony! she gasped and then inhaled.
"Come on Jo, we can stop at Adam's place".
"We will make it there at a slower pace.

Adam's place was an old abandoned farm
"No, not there!" said Ada-May in alarm
"Afraid of ghosts and ghouls?" mocked Alison
"More like rats and spiders and not much fun!".

Giggling they arrived at old Adam's place
The moonlight showing fear on each girl's face
"We have to go in there, we have no choice"
Jo jumped. "Was that whinnying of a horse?"

On that retort they threw open the door
Stepping inside, they all dropped through the floor
Not one of them survived their dreadful doom
Trapped, without rescue, in the dark, dark room.............
Form: Rhyme

Pierrot Lives In Sorrow

The people surrounding me keep asking “why are you going back and forth uneasily on the empty stage shedding crocodile tears, and telling the stories of negative effects on others, though you are not of a man of faculty who is even able to produce a theory comparable to 'Blind Will of Universe', one of worst hypothesizes a man can think of.

It’s because though, 
when a worldly-minded snob shouts from a podium
“you should have a positive attitude,” while displaying 
his resume proudly with the title that is little-to-do with his personality,
his limited academic background that barely conceals the lack of intelligence, and insignificant accomplishment with somewhat concocted experience hiding his real being and thought, he receives respect from the audience who fascinated by every movement the snob makes in the form of applaud with standing ovation, I was always treated badly from audience, fed only by unwelcome astringent fruits of rejection and drink bitter tasting water sprang from unwanted rotten roots to quench my desire…

And that’s why the course of my reasoning became negative, 
and, as a natural consequence, no matter how often you may say 
to the audience “you ought to be a person of positive attitude,” 
since there are more negative aspects surrounding us than 
the positive elements, and that’s why I was accepted by 
others negatively. More importantly, I was treated negatively 
from others simply because reality goes before me. 

Although positive thinkers boast themselves as if their thoughts are
sound and healthy, by saying that the water in a cup is half full;
negative thinkers sigh with a defected air and say that a cup is 
half empty. However, it doesn’t make any difference how you think, 
men’s thoughts cannot surpass the physical phenomena
and, therefore, a half is a half, no more nor less than a half.  
In the boundary and limit is as such, whether you like it or not,
men have to go on the path of their own destiny.

Then, why does everyone has to have a positive attitude? I suppose, 
that is, not more than a writhe of the men who won’t admit reality 
in desperate agony. That’s the self-gratification of men 
who are not able to face the facts as they are.

[The irony is, nonetheless, man is able to bear and raise a baby 
by an act of self-gratification. It’s amazing, the world is a place 
full of wonders.]
© Su Ben  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Narrative

Free Range Fear

There is too much fear in the world these days,
Fear of the unknown, scared in soo many ways!
Phobias of spiders, mice, rats and bats,
Are you frightend of nothing?  Why are you scared of that?

Scared of oppression?  And the way they use aggression?
Are they messing with your head, using psychic suggestion?
Wrestling with your doubts will only lead to fear,
Always looking into shadows.. scared that something's always near.

You're winding yourself up!  There's no reason to be scared,
But it's never as it seems.. so you'd better be prepared.
Because if you're feeling fear, it could be.. you're not ready,
With your trembling legs, and butterflies in your belly.

It's not so strange, that lots of people fear pain,
Being boiled alive, with needles stuck into your brain,
You've got to be careful, I'm afraid to say,
Be quick to make your mind up, to fight or run away.

Would you fill your pants, with a gun to your head?
Now, that's REAL fear.. you could be dead, enougth said!
Some could find your nerves and make you scream for weeks,
They can teach you about pain and how it reaches new peaks.

But the ones like that..  are fearful too,
Of justice, revenge, and the human rights crew.
They should be scared!  I wanna see their faces white,
'Cause they even kidnap kids and slip away into the night!

Now I'll get swept away, as it floods from me,
See, some of these emotions, are as deep as the sea,
Some wanna get a gun, and hunt these sick suckers,
And get them on their knees and say PRAY MOTHERF%%%%%!

See this is the crux..  this is the bottom line,
If they catch you doing that, then it's you that's doing time,
It's never black & white, it's not easy to see..
There are so many fears, it's all part of being free.

Are you scared of the dark, because that's how it began?
Are you scared that it links you to the earliest man?
Who had to hunt to eat, had to kill to stay alive,
And did what they had to, so this race could all survive.

The things to be scared of are the things inside,
You can struggle and fight, but you can never run or hide,
So walk down the street with your head held high,
And face down fear.. because we're ALL gonna die!

But the opposite of fear though..  is to be brave,
Who knows how many lives you could save.
The futures unknown, and we all face change,
It is all just a part of being free-range.
Form: Rhyme

Welcome To the World of This Certain King

"Bring Me Wine,Myrrh and My Sweetheart Daughter Anabella,
My Little Anabella Loves To Listen To The Voice Of Salome,Her Lyre and Her 
Happy Serenade..
Tell My Scribes To Be Fast About Compiling The Exploits Of Their King In His 
Last Battle Campaign..What Is a King Without An Updated Chronicle..
Send In My Little Prince For His Voice As He Reads Through His Texts Of 
Poetry..Lures The King His Father To a Closer Salient Walk With The gods..
Tell The War Generals To Give Me A detailed Brief of Our Next Campaign.."

At Morn..
"Send In The Finest Of Thy Young Warriors..So I can Test My Stealth In The Very 
Face Of Battle and Danger...
What Have Young Men Turned Themselves into..So Lazy,Wanton and Unmanly..
Off My Sight Before I Seek Thy Skulls This Very Instant..
(In Privacy With The Head Warrior)..Oh! Sarskaas Your Young Boys Are one of the 
Best in The Region My Training Sessions Are Truelly Refreshing..Tell this not to 
them Lest you build the Fruits of Pride and Treachery in their Young Minds..
Do Usher in My Seductive Belles to Show Off Their Waists in Acts of 
Poetry,Dance and Linguistic Body Embellishments..."

At Noon..
"You The Dreaded Most Notorious KING Of the Valley..A Demi god,Invincible and 
Indestructible..As I Speak Kiss The Sole Of My Feet and eat this dish of Camel 
Dung mixed with fine desert sand..
Ax-Man when he finishes his dessert Bring me his Head on My 'Royal Golden 
Skull-Dish'..
Usher in the Wise Men of the South..For I want to converse with them in this 
same spirit of Saliency..
Stuff the roast Calf portions with a lot of herbs and Spices..You well know its the 
Obsession of the Men from The south.."

At Sundown..
"Usher in the different contingents of Musicians to Entertain my Salient Guests...
Wrap My 'Lotus Fumes' Quickly so I can Smoke this Life's Troubles Aways..And 
See Through the One Eye of the gods in Solemnity and Blissful Thinkings,
Head Eunuch Do Send A Servant to The Harem..He Should Tell My Queens to 
get A-Ready For Their Lord is in Good Shape for Royal Rumbles and More..
Oh! My Faithful Knights your War plans were excellent..Go Now Enjoy and Excite 
your souls as much..Retain your honour and have the War at the Back Of your 
Minds..
Depart In Peace..Many A-Waists in The Harem are Restless.. 
I go in to Satisfy My Very Own.."
Welcome Again To The World Of That Certain King..
Form: Ballad

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