Long Fisted Poems
Long Fisted Poems. Below are the most popular long Fisted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fisted poems by poem length and keyword.
concerning Iran (a brief letter to the american voter)
dear miss or mister
still-believing-in-the-“dream”---
which face that you see being displayed on your
screens,
do you think will get us into a war with Iran
first?
will it be mr. hope & change,
whose translucent slogans were
transparent to many of us,
even prior to his ascendance,
whose own hands became bloodied/dirtied on
the way up,
and who now spends his time
twisting on the marionette stage
to the hand motions of the moneyed interests
who fueled his first campaign &
who have fueled his present one?
as the manipulators of mr. hope & change
make him continue to strangle Iran with sanctions,
pull funding from Palestine &
pump more & more money into
militarized & already nuclear
Israel,
will the region get any more peaceful?
will all the countries who showed their dissent with the
Arab Spring
then become the little slaves that the empire wants them to be
under mr. hope & change,
further gearing up hatred,
encouraging the next 9/11 on US soil
as a direct result?
hmmm.
will it be mr. romney, mr. santorum, mr. gingrich or
mr. perry, whose combined complete lack of concern for the
citizen of the empire & wanton militancy
will sacrifice everything to crush the last stronghold
left in the region
(who refuses to bend over the table for america
so that it can install another Shah &
rape it of its oil)
in the name of the war on “Islamic Fundamentalism,”
whose characteristics seem all too familiar
if you are watching the whole thing happen from a television in
the
“Evil Empire?”
hmmm.
will these iron-fisted capitalists
who make fun of the unrest within their own country
by blaming the unemployed for the occupation of wall st. etc.,
march into Iran
(like the christian caped crusaders that ya know they see themselves
as---finally getting to convert the infidels after all these years,
with the big american military *****)
like they marched into Iraq &
they marched into Afghanistan
only a few years ago,
to incinerate the country &
start building permanent bases there with money that
could have been spent on
universal healthcare for americans,
better education for american children,
new employment opportunities through making america
green &
paying off our own debt?
how many Iranian citizens are going to die because of
the american empire’s hegemony & hubris?
hmmm.
The problem with war is not just confined to the front lines where the battle rages on. A
single shot can be traced all the way back home. For instance a young man stood on the
front line takes a single shot to his stomach, the patrol he is on is down one man, it takes two
pilots and 2 medics to collect the injured solier and take him to a feild hospital, where a team
fight to save his life. One of the medics, who work on him knows the injured soldier very
well. He feels distraught working to save the life of his friend. The young soldier's life can not
be saved and passes away. When the medic telephones home to his loving family he tells
them of the sad news that his friend has died doing the job he loved.
The family of the deceased war hero get an unsuspected knock on the door which, breaks
their hearts. One shot of a gun, one round, one family is destroyed, another family feels the
loss knowing thier loved one fought but couldnt save the life of his friend, and a full company
of heroes feeling overwhelmed with sadness for thier fallen comrade, and a growing fuel of
hate for an unforgiving enemy.
This is an example of one hero falling, and what effect it has had on so many peoples lives.
Imagine the domino effect when over one hundred soldiers have died in one conflict, and
remember there is two war zones at present, Afghanistan, Iraq and dont forget the peace
keeping missions.
How many have to die or get left severely injured or disabled before someone stands up and
says no more?
War is not particular about religion, in most religions murder and hate is forbidden, but when
a religious man fires his rifle at an enemy, does he say to himself forgive me God for i have
sinned? War does not care for religion. For all of those who have been in a war, who have
stood in the heart of a foreign land tight fisted without fear, i commend you for we all fought
an ageless war against an unforgiving enemy.
Do we all know what we are fighting for, not the lies the politicians bring, i mean the cold
hard truth about why our government want that far away land. Would you still go and fight?
All i can say is a few hundred men and women have paid the ultimate sacrifice for what i can
make is oil, is it really worth it? and how long have this got to go on?
In only a moment of maritime mirth
My ship's maiden voyage was missing at birth
The King's Royal Navy reduced me in rank
By flushing my ship in the place where it sank
I fell in the sea with no source of a boat
The swell I could see was no course I could float
A large appetite is the curse of a shark
Who leads with a bite that is worse than a bark
We cried out for help in the dead of the night
With talk of surrender we gave up the fight
My crusty old sailors were not in the mood
To sink in the soup of a shark brand of food
My ship was destroyed and my crew was displaced
A little annoyed by the danger we faced
Our ladies were waiting with coffee and tea
And pink bunny blankets on beds made for three
When they were well-rested and ready to run
I sent them to cities where pirates have fun
To seaports and pubs and the ladies who wait
With bottles of rum and the chance for a date
But many such mateys are making good matches
With young pirate ladies in wigs and eye patches
Where children are raised to be seen and not talking
Like peg-legged babies who lean before walking
Whose daddies are carnies in cages of creatures
Who match them in stages of true pirate features
For prancing with rhinos that race in arenas
With dancing albinos who chase ballerinas
But all these excursions are merely diversions
For hook-fisted pirates who plan to be surgeons
The call of the sea and the promise of booty
Is why we come back for the next round of duty
But English is British except when they drag us
More skittish than Scottish for anything haggis
To brothers who greet us and tell us they like us
And mothers who beat us and smell us to strike us
I pondered a fate that is stronger than reason
If Lori my date is no longer in season
Her love is my courage, without any question
Her food may discourage my need for digestion
Her frowning is downing my steep escalations
By drowning my clowning in deep reservations
For what I am facing and where I am going
And who I am racing when I should be slowing
Oh how I am tinged with a touch of that sorrow
That makes me unhinged when I think of tomorrow
If fate is a life that is longer than reason
Then why pick a wife who is still out of season?
Being an American in Australia isn’t easy,
but I’m trying to integrate;
I’m trying to fit in.
Just one of the boys with all the right expressions
under my belt, like:
pasty glut
cosmetic spring roll rut
five o’clock shadow cigarette butt.
I mean, I’m trying to integrate;
I’m trying to fit in.
I try to talk about the good ol’ U.S. of A.,
and I’ve never mentioned Uncle Sam once,
except to suspect he lives inside Colonel Sanders
who also gives me a big pain in the ass
with his mysterious suppository herbs & spices;
cos I’m trying to fit in, see?
I’m trying to integrate.
Okay, I can get nervous about women,
and cover it up under muscle and toughness, O.K.!
Say: “All sheilas are made fer ****in’!”
while dreaming:
leather cock thrust
beer lubrication
violet steak lips!
Say: “All poets are poofs!” and
beat my balls around fields of green
with wooden sticks so stiff and clean, screaming
semen icing power
spread on scones of breasts!
Bloody hell! Can’t ya see?
I’m trying to integrate,
trying to fit in.
Like wearing high-heeled snow-shoes
and roller-skater shirts;
doing al the expected things, even tho’
my Balinese sarong trips me up occasionally.
I’ve got a sun-tanned *******,
and I’m keeping me nose to the ground,
no bloody fear! I’m integrating, ya see?
Trying to sit in.
I’m a tough-fisted slow-sauntering grog-pissing
knife balling tit watching ***** hating self-deceiving
regular visionless mate of no matter:
Swallowed by deserts
and the fear of ******s;
Tortured by sun
and the freeze of lost passion;
Murdered in business;
resurrected in wages!
Enslaved in the cities and
imprisoned by FACTS
that stretch from my body
in steel rails of tracks I ride on,
I hide on:
I’ve lost where I’ve been.
But I’m integrating
(yeah, INTEGRATING!)
I’m just fitting in.
The Aged Man
Authored by Chuck Keys
There is a sadness inside of him,
Draped by layers of heartaches and disappointments,
Insulated with his long beard, thickly white eye brows,
Unkempt brushy long dense white hair,
Dry peeling cracked lips, slightly ajar,
Showing his smoke stained chipped teeth,
Wearing a dark, soiled, bulky long scruffy ankle length coat,
Two buttons were missing,
With a 2" uneven tear at the bottom of its left side stained pocket,
A dirty powder-blue weathered wool and leather hat, with ear flaps down,
It was a long cold night, in mid-January, the month of his birth.
He moves like a man covered with fear and age, and maybe hunger too.
Mornings and evenings are but doorways
In and out of his leftover forgotten soul,
To the long endless days and nights, forlorn and grey.
He meanders about with a slow cautious gait, head down often times,
Eyes more closed than open, squinting even in the dark unlit night,
Torn gloved hands (with a large irregular frayed hole in the palm of the left),
Each hand fisted tightly for warmth,
Arms tightly at his side, stationary, not swaying,
Protectively wrapping himself inside,
Or just holding himself, maybe for warmth or some unexplained reason.
His life is full, the years buried deep inside.
The pounding aches inside, remembers his early years,
Ages ago, wrapped and protected inside his large family,
But never a part of it, not inside,
Always outside searching, for what can't be found, ever.
His own family that slowly left him was remembered,
Material children today, groundless at best,
That have no memory of what was,
Only what is or what will be.
Grandchildren that lacked life inside his hug.
The pounding aches inside; smirks, sometimes,
Knowing time and space, loving and giving, peace,
Remedy for all that ails.
He knows only what he knows,
He loved, loves and will always love.
Even alone, he is in joy, at peace.
The old man walked into his last mile, a short while ago,
His slow cautious gait, one small step after another, and another,
As the gates opened, he turned and looked behind,
Frowned and smiled,
With nothing left to say.
“Ascension Bleeding”
In the Time of Great Sadness
a thunderous calling
resounds to
The All
Individually
like puzzle pieces
they are slowly
Connected
energetically
the truth experienced
no need for explanation
Internally
From within
they are for once truly feeling
the strange familiarity
of a childhood’s innocence
a once loved but lost
distant story
spreads its
new loving warmth
an alien thought,
this new conceptual
Being -
"They" transform to "Thee"
in this, their collective dream
Become Strong
as
The One
All Understanding
and holding a sceptre
bejewelled with
the hearts and minds
of each other
Love, Respect, Integrity
day by day
from within
the silence of fear
gradually
Becomes Sanctuary
The Time of Great Sadness
disappears
their hearts and minds
slowly unfurl like a
glistening
multi coloured
thousand petalled lotus
Knowledge Arrives
freed
from the clench fisted
Hearts and Minds of Man
in an eternal
formless spectrum of
Ultra Violet
Light
permeating all
from inside
the unified stem
outwards received
It has come from within
The One
is
Borne Again
Some kind
of
strange awakening
Ascension
is unexpectedly
delivered and worn
by that which is not seen
arriving not through
the type of clouds
they were all expecting
the robes
flowing over
and around
The Unexpected Crown
Coronal
Breath Taking
Feet bare, not walking
Ascension Bleeding
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
> There is a new world rising,
Not in thunder, not in fire—
But in a silence so deep,
It echoes across the galaxies.
181 nations, long forgotten by history’s biased pen,
Have gathered—not in conflict, but in covenant.
From the ruins of colonial greed,
A golden phoenix stirs.
The old gods of currency—Dollar, Euro, Pound—
Fall like crumbling idols.
In their place, a New Tender rises,
Digital, decentralized, rooted in equity.
No more IMF.
No more World Bank puppeteering the poor.
No more UN charades.
These houses of power dissolve,
As the Global South becomes the Sun that never sets.
Asia leads—not with conquest, but with consciousness.
Their minds merged with machines,
Yet their hearts remain deeply human.
Africa, awakened,
Not the dark continent, but the cradle of light,
An industrial colossus with rivers of AI,
Solar cities rising from the red dust of the Sahel,
Robotic farms blooming in the Congo.
No more borders—only bridges.
From Dar es Salaam to Dhaka,
From São Paulo to Shanghai,
A single government rises—not to control, but to harmonize.
Europe...
Once the iron-fisted ruler of centuries,
Now reduced to scattered provinces,
Its castles turned to factories,
Its people, wandering for work—
The way others once wandered into Europe.
Its population?
6% and falling.
Its pride?
A ghost in the winds of progress.
But there is no revenge.
Only balance.
The great seesaw of time has swung.
And in its justice, peace has finally arrived.
For the first time in a thousand years,
No wars rage.
No child sleeps beneath drones.
No color defines your worth.
Racism becomes a fossil, buried with the empires that fed on it.
The air is clean.
The waters heal.
The forests rise like emerald fortresses.
Genetic mastery allows disease to be undone.
Human intelligence—no longer bound by biology—
Expands a millionfold.
We speak in silence.
We move in light.
We live in balance with the Earth.
And for 100 years,
Humanity dances with peace.
This is not a dream.
This is a revelation.
And the prophets smile from beyond the veil:
> *"At last," they whisper,
"The Earth has remembered herself."
Although information is now abound,
but meddled by those in power,
in floods of deception how truth can be found?
It’s trampled upon, like a flower.
All media, owned by globalists, lie,
they twist every fact and distort it.
Like jackals, they readily them vilify,
who truth by the actions supported.
Not many have guts those lies to confront,
but if one is brave to dare,
like in the dark ages, they start a witch-hunt,
as if it’s a noble affair.
Such media plants a delusion like seeds,
their lies in all spheres pervade.
All, who are concerned, should unmask their deeds,-
the Lord tells: “Do not be afraid”!
The truth is commodity they dispose,
by censoring and dominating,
and anyone, who would deception expose,
can be persecution awaiting.
The freedoms are quickly expiring now,
discussions, debates are strangled,
and minds of many today somehow
are in a confusion entangled.
How many so cowardly try to fit in
with narratives crazily twisted?
Refusal to know the truth is a sin,
if even lies are iron-fisted.
It's sad when self-censoring now occurs
in them, who are stricken with fear.
The line between good and evil then blurs,
when we to the lies adhere.
The demons are joyful, when truth is suppressed,
and who stands for truth nowadays?
The morals of people and courage regressed,-
how many have lost their ways?
When doors to the truth, being shut one by one,
then darkness becomes their light
and, looking for money, for pleasure, and fun,
they envy, and slander, and fight.
How broad is the road for perishing souls,
for all who had wickedness chose!
But when politicians have sinister goals,
the Bible tells us to expose.
Expose activities of the dark force
which looms above freedoms today -
increasing control that they endorse
and with people’s minds they play.
A person, whose eyes are open, can
stand up to dishonesty, brave.
He could undermine the satanists’ plan,
refusing the role of a slave.
And even if he for resisting can be
afflicted, abused, trodden down,
his spirit, unfettered, unbound, and free,
will get from Christ Jesus a crown.
22-26.02.2023
Worth and numbers rarely go hand in hand.
Producing seeds which will rot and be eaten by the locust
makes barrenness a special kind of blessing.
So pay attention and lend me your mind oh child
b'cos from it comes the brush to which your life is coloured.
Rights enable you claim your hat
responsibilities show you when and how to wear it.
Manifestation of your works beyond the comprehension of your mates
exalts the power of your mind
but constant announcement of your own achievements
makes you the promoter of their doubts to crown you a liar.
Vehicles driven by words are no match
for the ones handled by deeds.
Let not your free will be cajoled
grudges in a hidden corner after the exhibition of charity
blows out your light with an awful breath.
A non doer and an adamant “no” giver
still possess some honour
when compared to a chronic complainer.
Reputation decorates the corner of an uptight man
but it is slavery when one lives on too many principles.
A good life is one moving on the chariots of freedom
and freedom is running a lifestyle
both within and outside without much notice.
Habits are great managers to conscience’s liquor stores
and character intoxication is closest to the point of irreversibility.
A greedy mind is a warehouse run by waste with no room for left overs.
A tight fisted hand is self limiting, reducing its surface area to receive.
A mind without courtesy to its environs,
spinning the world around its own orbit breeds selfishness.
Corruption builds thorns around the heart
and makes the soul a direct relation to insanity.
If false words were grapes, water would be tastier than wine.
Exaggeration adds a tail to the bird
and makes the dog an Amphibian.
But love gives poisons no ground to strive
satisfaction without it is the existence
of a Leopard in an Elephant’s skin.
The gardens of space filled with little rainbows
cannot outshine its colours;
staying as the only ingredient necessary for the preservation of humanity.
When your mind is at peace with itself,
then is the Joy of my inheritance to you completely whole.
There was a king who invited Artists to sketch the exact hand of Jesus so he can hung it in His palace
One of them depicted a Jesus with an Animal looking hand
Another depicted that He had the Square or the working hand
One of the Artists depicted that Jesus had a skillful hand
Another established that the Savior had the Philosophical hand
The final Artist sketched a Jesus with a Plane hand
The king wasn’t thrill by all the art works, so he never signed it. Why?
Because none of the sketched hands reflected the crucifixion of Jesus.
Hand’s which once held nails and wood
Now being held by nails and wood
Battered and tattered hands
The hands of a village Carpenter
He nailed splinters and carved timbers
He gripped lumbers with his bare-fisted fingers
In an age without gloves and hand creams
In an age without sunscreen lotions
A Village Carpenter hands, God’s chosen Son
Hands that labored under the harsh eastern sun
Hands that raised houses and erected buildings
Hands that fashioned furniture and repaired kids’ toys
Hands that broke bread and fed multitudes
Is now being broken to feed multitudes
These were the hands that fed the poor
These were the hands that healed the sick
These were the hands that made the sea and the fish
These were the hands that took bread and dipped it in a dish
And gave it to Judas as a gesture of deep love and affection
Here was the bread of life Himself, the Son of the living God
These were the hands that framed the stars and the skies
These were the hands that opened the blind man’s eyes
These were the hands that loosed the cold hand of death
These were the hands that disarmed powers of darkness
These were the hands that washed the disciple’s feet
These were the hands that cleansed lepers in the street
Oh gentle hands! Never slapping another back
Oh lovely hands! Never touching too roughly
These hands that bore scars that no lotion could heal
These are the hands of Jesus, so powerful and so real
These are the hands that convey love, so lovely
Oh! What a powerful hands! Oh what a lovely hands