Long Forbade Poems
Long Forbade Poems. Below are the most popular long Forbade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forbade poems by poem length and keyword.
Mr. President, Mr. Vice President, Americans, and the world:
In the crucible of revolution, our forefathers etched their pledge—
a bold testament inscribed not solely in ink,
but in the quiet, relentless pulse of divine dependence.
It is as if the ink itself carried whispers
of a celestial covenant,
affirming divine Providence
into the very marrow of liberty.
Yet, as time past,
present battles won,
and future problems solved,
liberty's nation absolved themselves
from any responsibility
to the Providence from whose
sovereign ties
freed them from foreign foes.
And man's purpose became his own.
Hear this
If our purpose is in just us,
we will find we have lost ourselves,
encased in the cells of just-ice.
For if our forefathers found it requisite
to declare our nation's independence by
recognizing their dependence on the
"Laws of Nature and Nature's God"
beyond the limits of
mankind's powerful facade,
facading the source of
our country's origin,
our homeland's dominion,
foraging a jurisdiction of humanity alone,
thereby ascending mortality's throne
above the divine --
making mankind superior to the
"Supreme judge of the world,"
a position our forefather's forbade
"appealing... [In] rectitude...of [their] intentions"
to a God they believed in,
a declaration sovereignty -
bowed in solemnity,
proclaiming “with a firm reliance on the
protection of divine Providence,"
a dependence on a God they
entrusted their dependence to.
Who are we to say any different?
What difference does it make
if we believe in God or ourselves?
As the good word says,
"Shall the axe boast itself against him
that heweth therewith? or shall the saw
magnify itself against him that shaketh it?
As if the rod should shake itself against
them that lift it up, or as if the staff
should lift up itself, as if it were no wood."
For Godhood is to create,
and man was created by God.
And should man boast himself beyond
Him who spawned ages beyond ages,
he shall find himself his brother's pawn,
despondent, disheartened and disappointed,
foraging for the framework
of freedom our forefathers foraged,
overwhelmed by the damage
of a fallen nation who failed
to hear the caution within
the clarion calls of its creator.
This is a warning
from neighbor to neighbor.
My fragmented heart defied my mind's authority
A gloomy transformation carved from sorrow's blood
Dopamine disappears while endorphins are the minority
The down feeling crashes in like an uncontrolled flood
An unwelcomed intruder colonizing my obedient body
I routinely succumb to your callous commands
An old foe by the former name of melancholy
Like a sponge you absorb my joy unarmed
Your fourth unsolicited visit in fourteen years
The voice of my normality fades in your shadow
Familiar with your punishment I become immune to fears
The heat of your rule coerces my heart to feel mellow
I forbade hopelessness to assert its voice in my head
Through gruntled teeth I allow my pride to fall instead
Antidepressants forces a ceasefire in our internal war
Tranquility pushes you out through my heart's aluminium door
I embrace peace knowing It too visits but does not stay
For I know you will return again in a few years from this day
London,
I can taste the cherries
rich red ripe
aching
for a predictive bite
savoured with much more than spice
warm mouths connect
and erect
in communion
in faith
consuming the richness of fate
but alas
It is too far off
my patience reclines
supine
my breath wafts through the air
enplaned upon your scent
chained to your walls
forbade to move at all
but I must
musk mystifies the wild
the deep
the prowl
the forest lay dark
but I shine light on the macabre
sacrosanct as it shall be
I am the power to be
an elixir in the entails of lust
held cross'd the chalice
where your waters are my wine
I drunk
and you the alter of attention
I can taste the cherries
in your Puritan pulse
pulling
I wander about
the mountains, the glory
my chains become yours
the locks not really locks
keys forged in trust
the fires rage and rage
water droplets seduce your chest
I stand in awe
undressed
So clamorous in clouds of gray,
to shake once tranquil bliss astir;
reluctantly, it joined the fray,
a tumult tango beckoned her.
On every churning white-capped wave,
where breaths in howling echoes dwell,
they dance ashore and misbehave
where nature's fates forbade, foretell.
Fandango spins upon the seas
where tempests tease a tropic storm,
what once was born a peaceful breeze
now grows in yield, now comes the swarm.
Infatuation's flashing glances
aroused the night beyond the fears
to where once heedful caution dances
to where a love forgets the tears.
So brief, it seems, excitement dwells,
upon the crest of raptured swells...
The Cost Of Defeat 1
(No Victor, All Vanquished)
The sky was split by iron birds that rained a metal heat,
While land and sea were locked in steel to choke the Eastern street.
They called it peace, a bloodless phrase: "No victor, no vanquished,"
But all the weight of sacrifice was by the beaten carried.
Three million souls evaporated, not by the bullet's lead,
But by the slow, design-drawn engineered hunger of the dead.
An entire generation broke beneath a heavy curse,
The bloated bellies of the young, the dry and empty nurse.
The world looked on through glass and screen at bones through skin revealed,
As kwashiorkor became the brand upon the burning field.
And where the poets used to sing to wake the rising sun,
Great Okigbo lay in the dust, his final verse undone.
Then came the peace of paper ink, a warfare by decree,
To turn the wealth of merchant kings to sudden poverty.
A lifetime’s sweat, a mountain’s gold, the savings of the brave,
Were flattened to a twenty pounds—a financial, shallow grave.
The currency was turned to ash, the ledger books rewritten,
While properties in distant towns were seized from those hard-smitten.
They broke the map with clever lines, a scalpel in the dark,
To balkanise the ancient lands and dim the rising spark.
They severed blood from neighboring blood, cut network and alliance,
To isolate the Igbo heart and quiet its defiance.
The soldiers who had worn the rank were stripped of every crown,
The senior clerks and civil chiefs demoted, broken down.
The schools were dust, the roads were gone, the hospitals defiled,
And silence was the heavy blanket thrown upon the child.
For fifty years they hid the books, forbade the names to speak,
But history is a stubborn ghost that comforts those who seek.
The trauma travels through the blood, inherited and deep,
A structural, enduring hurt that will not let us sleep.
The war is over in the news, the treaties have been signed,
But look beneath the modern state at what was left behind.
The real cost is the fractured trust, the state-enforced eraser,
The ghost of Biafra whispering inside the silent ledger.
At my church last Sunday, I heard the word 'Shift' by two different people. The first 'Shift' that I heard was from the pastor, and the next by a parishioner. Later on during the week, it caused me pause as I further considered its significance. As I recall, the basic emphasis was that there is a present 'Shifting', and there would be more 'Shifting' taking place in our church. The dictionary indicates that 'Shift' means to change place, position, or direction; a change of emphasis or attitude; to move or change gears.
My father died when I was 13, and I must have been 11 or 12 when he taught me to drive. In those days, most vehicles had a stick shift or 4-speed transmissions. So that was the first kind on which I learned to drive. My father's 4-speed required 'Shifting' from one speed to the next, but the engine would stall if you 'Shifted' from 1 to 4 and nearly stall from 1 to 3. One could possibly 'Shift' from 2 to 4, but it was not advisable. So, as you can see, there was a lot of 'Shifting' going on in my childhood.
'Shifting' is also required when one slows down and speeds up again. So there is constant upshifting and downshifting. Without both, there is no way that one can navigate to his/her destination.
'Shifting' is not new to The Lord, and we are better served by Him if we yield to His 'Shifting', A major 'Shifting' took place each time God decided for the Israelites to take the next stage of their journey. God led them by the movement of the cloud by day and fire by night. Just prior to the Israelites' crossing into the Promise Land, Moses protested, but God's mind was made up to change the leadership from Moses to Joshua. Another major 'Shifting' took place when the apostle Paul was determined to take the gospel to Asia. However, The Holy Spirit forbade him to go into Asia at that time.
We would do well to remember that sometimes the 'Shifting' may cause us pain, but let us realize that ultimately, everything God does is for our gain.
050821cjPS
Arhinio the Highland Hussy, is a story about a tribe of woman who were
exiled from the Tribe of Tithious in the land of Srimadd, in the land of
Edenusfarr. They worshiped the Evil Goddess Unsharer, who forbade the women to marry men. Yet they could have male friends who were allowed to pay for favors. BBifer was the Queen-Hussy of Meaniest, who would allow these Broads to bare children, but couldn't marry, because the books of Frownbouis forbade it. Doltrime, was said to be the prettiest, she was allowed to smile and tease her male friends, Arilfo was the ugliest she had to submit to the first man who spoke, yet she was forbidden to marry. Thw high-queen,Longtouge, the Spearer, gave word to the kro-kro men of the Neitherworld, those who had many children, could have more and marry the whores, but the fairling and beautiful people were subject to scripts, were they were allowed to be pimped, by different names, if the woman, was pretty she could receive money from a member of her customers club, to receive payment for womanly chores. Askpikeheadrub, was away to show aprecation so this was taxed by the Hussywomen.
Sr. Faustina had prayed...
for souls to be un-decayed
her Divine Mercy crusade--
was for a long time delayed
her cool Diary -- forbade!
its publishers, too afraid!!
its devotees, all dismayed
but the Marians obeyed :)
its Message refused to fade,
and the editors -- inveighed
my fave part: when she crocheted
to please Goodness Itself -- rayed
His Blood and Water --- displayed
to seek our soul's worth (mislaid)
to restore our hearts/ persuade
to follow His path-- yet unmade
through Mary's pure Heart: our glade
protect us from Sorrow's blade! ----->
by His new Chaplet-- allayed
with Mercy Song, serenade...
usher in Healing-- pervade!
let my soul not be decayed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dark or Decayed Words Poetry Contest
Poetry Contest Deadline: Wednesday, October 4, 2023
14 poems of the maximum 35 allowed have been entered.
(as of Wednesday, September 6, 2023)
Sponsored by: Constance La France
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Resources:
~Academic-- Rhymezone: "decayed" (find rhymes-- advanced)
~Spiritual-- Diary of St. Faustina: Divine Mercy in my Soul (plus articles)
"Were a soul like a decaying corpse so that from a human standpoint, there would be no [hope of] restoration and everything would already be lost, it is not so with God. The miracle of Divine Mercy restores that soul in full. Oh, how miserable are those who do not take advantage of the miracle of God’s mercy! You will call out in vain, but it will be too late!" (Diary, par. 1448).
“Father Xmas! Father Xmas!”
A-top with joy shouted the kids
O, thousands along Lagos streets
Of boys & girls plus men & ladies!
A welcome to the fun of the day
Headed for the beach & parks like Mr. Biggs
With all manner of masks on the way
O, on their best went so many families!
It was such a happy sad day
That saw little Keza breathe her last
As she drank a poisoned coke on her way
O, Xmas grieving beside a grave she was cast!
And little Keza was dead and gone to her grave
A neighbour-hood grand-ma was witchcraft accused
O, old Alice set ablaze was forbade a grave
“At heaven’s gate, Keza goes a-smiling!” so ’twas said.
There are so many trapped
and tortured souls in this
desolate place.
We are ghosts, screaming for freedom,
darklings, crying for light.
Never sure how to grasp onto
something invisible,
without strangling it.
Even before the cold bars
made of murk and gloom
there was no hope,
only bleakness.
Now "lost'' takes on
a greater, deeper meaning
for us here.
Lost in the abyss of incarceration,
groping for strands of liberty.
Deprived of human spirit,
Forbade femininity, devoided masculinity,
By force at first,
But by choice over time.
Resisting may seem futile
Do rebel my Sisters and Brothers,
Insurgence is necessary
to rise and revolt!
But do not rise against "them",
Rise against your darkness
against your self hate,
your intolerance of others,
against your deep seeded fears.
For hope my Friends, and
the only way to survive this cage
is to Grab tight the Light, all your Strength Hope and Love
For it is the only weapon against
The descending into the the Darkness of the Abyss