Long Flay Poems
Long Flay Poems. Below are the most popular long Flay by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flay poems by poem length and keyword.
Roosters crow at the break of day
Inviting the sun to come up
And reveal a partly cloudy sky
While the poet shivers as she stays
Out on the porch to view up high
The odd slow movement of clouds cupped
Like a clam shell's ridges flay
White crackled cold dew coats summer grass
Pines softly sigh their winter song
Amidst bamboo wind chime's mellow tunes
Winter's bite removes desire to surpass
Time out on the porch with nature commune
Birdsong symphony; poet belongs
Not viewing nature through the glass
The Star Magnolia now blossoms white stars
Daffodils delicate leaves show
Forcefully pushed through frozen clay
Encouraged by the signs of spring's stars
The poet's winter blues allay
As warm sun shines returns aglow
Luscious plants become new avatars
Soon the red earth will warm again
Remove the damp damaging frost
Bare limbs whipped by winter winds
Will invite to come unconstrained
Now the northwesterly breeze blinds
The pines sigh from the cold winds tossed
A poet languishes behind glass constrained
Written: February 06, 2016
Inspired by a contest..It was a challenge..
If one is hungry
And bored
Of watching over Mecca,
What better place
To steal an apple
Than from another country’s orchards,
With fighter jets
Twanged in the sky
Like flying bottle openers,
Diving down
And peeling back a tin can roof
Of a school bus
Loaded with 40 children,
Whose shoulders are all
Strapped
With blue and red back packs
That look like little lunch boxes,
One of them
Surely containing
The sweet temptation
Of the perfect apple.
Mistaken identity, can happen.
So, a few bombs,
True,
Have to remove
The dozens of windows
And deposit
The million shards like razors
To flay the skin of the girls and boys
And, in an attempt to remain civilized
About this,
First cook
With fire and oil
The cheekbones from the skulls
Of the five year olds
Who are still alive,
And it’s important to keep fresh
The liver, tongues and hearts
Shish-kebobbed
With splintered ribs, white as serpents,
And finally, then
There it is,
The well done slab of lamb’s meat
Still clung, red as a beet,
Limbs and noses,
To be stripped
From that one buried back pack
And within it, zipped,
The fine taste of a ripe apple
Polished by mom
As a snack that was packed,
That day,
For school.
When...through it all, we trust Him!
To verily, Let God Have His Way…
Is much more than words… we say
It’s choosing to stand …and survey
Rather than to bend things our way
It is calling on our...faith...each day
While ignoring the obvious… display
Of the bold, unrighteous acts at play
It is being still when itching to...flay
It is trusting when wanting to...bray
It is patience despite the vast outlay
Of what is wrong, and fully decayed
It is strength found in hope’s…sleigh
It’s leaning while relying on Yahweh
It is remaining silent in times of gray
It is crying but turning…yet… to pray
It is when in humanness of our...clay
We tell Jah what we want on our tray
But then tarry not… to hastily convey
All the results...are His whatever may
Also, it is waiting… within belief’s ray
As we yield to Let God Have His Way
Job 23:10, 12:15, 19:25, Hab 3:17-19, Ps 13
copyright; jmsbell-6/18/21
The greeter-teacher,
the smirkier at the door.
I feel his gimlet eyes at my back
and though it is 5o years later
and his mouth is now plugged with dirt
his leer can be traced
in the brown water stains
of mottled walls.
A female slave-unit whose name was ‘Miss’
I cannot recall her ever speaking to a child directly,
only through the thin lips of her personal intimidator
a third level teacher who spat into her ear
as if sexually lubricating her fears.
I am put right by a serial wrongdoer.
A second tier maniac with a lust for rhetoric.
His large hands flay like wind-sails, they
slap books and heads.
On, on,
through narrowing corridors and echoing rooms
counting sadists, ticking off
a long mental list of ghouls
all dead and gone
except for the abusive drills.
One dead grinning fish-head
even opens a door for me
as I leave forever.
The pizza delivery truck
Crashed into the bay
Along with delivery guy
Three pizzas one stuffed crust did flay
Five full grown sharks and one baby
Upon the beach did lie
Soaking up the sun with round bellies
And nap flipping flies
While the news broadcast the tale
About the missing pizzas.......
And that poor pizza delivery guy..
That news reporter a real diva
She could not see the scene
Beneath the blue bay
Where tiny fish still ate the crumbs
Left by the sharks at play
The feeding frenzy still goes on
under the blue water
The driver swam to shore death spared
Now kissed by an otter
Alive, yet shaken to the
core of her lovely bones
youngest offspring unexpectedly
lost control of vehicle and groans
papa unable to comfort her,
she inconsolable sobbing tears
muffling thru telephones
safe and sound nonetheless
shook up like rolling stones.
Though dwelling bajillion miles away
in Bend Oregon beloved daughter
endearing supportive words
I tried to say
aware sullen mood
fifty plus shades of gray
impossible mission
to assuage grievous
state, especially cuz
accompanying passengers
namely my sister,
and Dunning family did display
anger at recklessness,
though harsh words
merely exacerbated upset
lass - earlier today
August seventh two
thousand nineteen flay
grant over cockiness
best appeased with je
nais sais quois gentle
kindness versus reprobation,
yet quite aware
castigating shrieks nee,
livid rage reflexive from
kid sister otherwise mellow
nonetheless hardpressed
regarding this fellow
to envision ordinarily
calm, cool and collected
sibling to rage and soulfully bellow,
yet informed charming product begat
courtesy mine biological
flesh and blood no
benefit arises to chastise
i.e. figurative flagellation
pinging hither and yon to and fro
but eternally thankful no loss of life...
whew, this dada would never know
reason nor rhyme
to continue livingsocial
purposefulness would heighten grow
wing suicidal ideation - I haint joe
king absolute zero
willpower to write poe
whit tree and/or flash fiction
decidedly, essentially, fervently toe
tilly tubular lee mein
kampf spirit bro
kin, analogous to falling off
skyhigh wall apropos
bailing out hatch of airplane
minus parachute gratefully dead
upon impact resembling red jello
splattered, the closest
aye attain tubby jiggle oh.
There must be a punishment
For those who are adept at rejection
Oh, to make them swallow
The vile poison of pain
That eats at your heart
That cripples your mind
That suffocates your life
Knowing……..
That you aren’t good enough
Never good enough!
You wait for a sign…
A message read
A smile acknowledged
A touch reciprocated
And you wait
And wait
The awful silence
That eternal tortured silence
Shouts out at you
“You are a nobody…a non-entity…you are nothing!”
Rejection
I wish….
I wish I could pay him back
I wish I could make him feel
I wish I could walk all over him
I wish I could I could make him kneel.
I wish I could make her suffer
I wish I could make her cry
I wish I could make her invisible
I wish I could make her sigh
There must be a punishment
For those who make you
Want to stop…
Caring
Giving
Hoping
Believing
Longing
Desiring
Yes, even to stop living.
There must be a punishment
For those who reject
Without a thought
Without a care
Without a regret
There must be a punishment
There must be
There MUST be a punishment
For those who flay your heart
With the knife of rejection.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The sparrows and cardinals
squabble -
hedgerow turf wars.
Sudden low evening rain.
Do the trees weep, or does the sky?
Anger seeps into drywalls
fills eyes with a restless acrimony.
Yesterday the sun was a brightness
on the wrists of small boys.
They played out a violent video game,
a shrill virtual savagery;
strife is merrily cast into the consonant air.
Garden blooms seem to badger each other
for a nook of sky.
Tonight I hope the owls keep blinking.
I hope tomorrow,
the Dalai Lama, or a politician
will actually say something wise.
Perhaps, a news anchor
will tire of his daily sneers?
Will owls stop questioning?
Wait! Is this a fresh morning breeze?
Are there hand-washing angels, do they rise
now within us to scatter and flay,
lather all into amity;
dissolve the moth bones, the spiked wings,
of that darkly spawning fray?
The river breaks its mirror with a scream,
Moods whip the trees — calm, then storm — then gone.
In love, I drown; in fear, I flay the dream.
A thousand selves pull knives inside one dawn.
The eyes of others turn my skin to glass,
Every slight — a spear, each kindness — pain.
Abandonment’s cold breath will never pass;
I chase and bite and beg and start again.
I wear my bleeding heart for all to see,
But shame is acid poured upon my seed.
Rage blooms in seconds, vanishes in cries,
While emptiness gnaws marrow from my thighs.
Unchecked, the soul dissolves in fractured light,
Births deeper wounds: addiction, endless fight.
With hands unmet, I spiral through the gloom,
A body living only to consume —
And none can save me if I don't choose soon.
A Coffin
A coffin came my way,
They said, therein you lay;
I could believe them nay,
Until they said they could flay;
Wild I went,
I could not vent;
The expression remaining,
Before it started draining;
I was no longer composed,
I had to be dosed;
You were ethereal,
This had to be surreal;
No enmity could matter,
When everything had shattered;
You had been battered,
When you had me flattered;
I can not apologise,
You have been baptized;
I seek not your forgiveness,
I need not your liveness;
For you’ll always be,
Right here, in my heart;
I woke up, to find you gone,
For EVER in your zone..
I need not repent,
For I have your scent;
Your memories alive,
Shall always thrive;
You were one of a kind,
Never out of your mind;
It is not cowardice,
For it requires courage;
It shall not be despised,
For it was your suffrage..