Long Forcibly Poems
Long Forcibly Poems. Below are the most popular long Forcibly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forcibly poems by poem length and keyword.
I stand on top of a box and cry out
In a world of plastic faces, I find
No one will listen, so I have to shout
And speak to those souls who have lost their mind
They hold anger like trees in a forest
Gave their hearts to a leader of fool's gold
They've become no more than a staged chorus
While given the signs, they march with and hold
They have sold their souls to an illusion
A mirage that glimmers on the landscape
They're told that reason is an intrusion
While the truth is chained and forcibly raped
On the steps where war and blood gave consent
Our flag was torn from the lies they invent
6/20/21
contest Contemporary Sonnet
sponsor Charlotte Puddifoot
Children as young as three years old,
Killed for not doing as they’re told,
Forced to forget their culture bold,
What a tragedy to unfold!
Two hundred fifteen, that ain’t less,
Young innocents abused, suppressed,
How can humans be so heartless?
It breaks my heart, I must confess,
Wonder, how they would have pleaded?
Their cries for mercy unheeded
Residential schools, not needed,
Were soon closed, but lives conceded,
In the name of education,
A way of ‘assimilation’,
Native kids faced termination,
What a gruesome excavation!
07.01.2021
{On 28 May, 2021, the bodies of 215 children were discovered in a burial site at the grounds of the Kamloops Indian Residential School using new, ground-penetrating technology. The deaths are believed to be undocumented. The school, which was closed in the late 1970s, is located in Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation. First Nations refer to a section of indigenous inhabitants of Canada, along with Inuits and Métis people.
Between 1831 and 1996, Canada’s residential school system forcibly separated more than 1.5 lakh First Nations children from their families in order to assimilate them into the Euro-Canadian and Christian ways of living. They were forbidden to acknowledge their indigenous heritage and culture or to speak their own languages.
According to an information resource set up by the University of British Columbia, children were subjected to physical, sexual, emotional, and psychological abuse.
In 2008, then Prime Minister Stephen Harper publicly issued an apology, on behalf of the Government of Canada, to all indigenous people acknowledging the country’s role in the residential school system.}
For Edward Ibeh's "This or That, Vol 4" contest
You’re not my mate
lying to my face
just a fake
invading space
angry when you’re not believed
all I want is for you to leave
but you must always get your way
insulting me the more you stay
you can’t just leave or go away
until I accept the lies you say
Stuck unaware of all but you
narrow minded attitude
when everything you do is rude
blinded by your bloody mood
answering what wasn’t asked
determined so you fail to grasp
this friendship isn’t gonna last
just a dickhead from the past
predetermined like a fool
a plan of action non-tactical
completely unadaptable
you’re aware of bugger all
you planned this with an expectation
I planned too straight up rejection
out of line without detection
still here like a bad infection
telling me your daft excuses
selfishness I see as useless
go away you flipping duffus
absolutely flipping clueless
you aren’t aware of what you do
thinking I haven’t got a clue
you only see your point of view
now I just don’t want to see you
the cheek to say I don’t understand
like I am stupid and you’re the man
I would leave while you still can
yet you stay and make more demands
mate I’m going to knock you out
without a care or single doubt
teaching you to shut your mouth
forcibly knocking you down
you’re lying and I know you are
you know it too but disregard
you are a lying superstar
and now I’m going to leave you scarred
a pathological desire
speaking smoke there lies a fire
skills you think you have acquired
a credible friend? No! A terrible liar!
A leaf on a big tree was happily hanging
Favorably for every passer-by just to see
He was appreciatively coloured green
Like a bean, he was very much attractive
A treacherous wind rose up to shake’im fall
Forcibly, on the ground he landed green
He stayed’n suffered some time unseen
That was the moment’s norm to endure
On the ground, he all lied dead wondering
Why the bitter wind slaughtered him untimely
But he learned the truth was alive, not a lie
Black, red’n white ants gathered’round to dine
Eaten gluttonly, he suffered insensitively
Failing to feel the odour of the enemy
Who tiptoed to pitilessly extinguish him
While on the ground, he was lying powerless
But a generous wind to save him has blown
Him up like a living butterfly in the sky
Courageously, a new life he’ll have to try
Posing on a new branch of any big tree
He had died, but a new life he’ll remake.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Once you were a plundered people,
your ancient culture an excuse
for vainglorious swords to take by force
Yellow gold, Aztec Blue,
that rightfully belonged to you.
Your faces are now sometimes light,
sometimes sombre-
sombre as those hidden tombs
within which glittered eternal wealth,
and memories of doom.
Yes, your skin has the colour of life
as willingly fertile
as cultivated fields,
from which grew golden corn
nurtured, strong,
to be reaped by rights, not wrongs.
And so, they plundered what they could,
but not your hearts, or inner worth.
For here in your lives
are more treasures revealed,
forcibly stolen by strangers' eyes....
Rich thoughts unsold, unbought.
Here is the Blue of the sky,
eternal, untouched.
Here is the colour Blood Red,
precious lives, sacrificed.
Here is bright Yellow of corn, of Inca Gold.
Here is the Green of tiered fields,
yielding life from long ago.
Here is Black of night, protected sleep.
Here is White of eyes, of clouds and cloth.
Here is Pink of sunrise, babies' tongues.
And here is Purple, but where from?
Perhaps it is the colour of Anger, and Passion?
Or the colour of rain clouds,
glazed by the rays of Crimson sun?
Perhaps it is the colour
of victorious hearts-
Rich Red, Royal Blue,
that are now one, have won?
Today, you plunder people's thoughts,
with a heart- held wealth
that can't be bought....
And I must sit here, wistfully
begging for alms from history...
Posted 2017.
Sebastian hangs at the end of a rope,
crows pecking hungrily at his blue eyes!
For her tomorrow, is now filled with hope
When he had reached deep between her thighs.
In the dark she imagined just one thing,
crows pecking hungrily at his blue eyes!
The sight of his blue eyes made her heart sing.
She felt a warm sensation down below.
In the dark she imagined just one thing.
What she desired was gentle and slow.
Sebastian had painful things on his mind.
She felt a warm sensation down below!
Within his room, there forcibly confined.
Her screaming was like music to his ears.
Sebastian had painful things on his mind.
He kept her there for many many years.
Her screaming was like music to his ears!
Sebastian hangs at the end of a rope.
For her tomorrow is now filled with hope!
My entry into the Deep and Dark Poetry Contest
..continued from Part 1,
They're spraying whatever the hell they need,
To inhibit our solidarity,
to choke us out with noxious painful coughing fits, that rasp and stop our breathing - to create and induce an evil greed,
Lacking any oxygen and basic life giving harmony,
Dastardly bastard coward's war
- of the worlds, now spraying all, with evil banned impunity,
A constant mass of stealth chemical clouds to kill and maim so that once complete;
Envisioned preying on what is left of a once pure human community..
This was always planned of course, by their heinous secret band,
With its 'government of continuity'
Through covert means of Judeo-Masonic hidden hand,
Yet the bbc weather hosts shockingly now inform us,
Of hilarious coincidental
"normal contrails..",
Of course tho, what we witness now, is no such bloody thing,
Public perception a manipulation of their sadistic & habitual deeds, an occultic Pagan ring,
Happily their crappy insidious construct ultimately always fails,
Watch out for what you breathe in today, as it maybe the last breath you take,
It is certainly way past time now
to forcibly stop - the evil poisons
that they make,
We must not and will not ever concede to fall in line,
Nor even pretend; that everything is absolutely fine,
Turn up and look around use your God given ability - to now face;
Enough of those that cripple, invalid and divide, our birth right, And our connection to the Divine,
We, Mankind - God's own Human Race.
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
29th May 2023
During the “covid 19 & Global Warming" lies versus a genuine Mass awakening.
The PoetTree
Awaken Poetry. Awareness Poetry. Geopolitical. Philosophical. Music. Shared
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
facial pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
I construct them
And lay them everywhere
As man builds a fence
To prevent intruders
To guard his property
So I also do with my heart.
It's a necessary evil
All in the name of protection
We must be ready
We must be prepared
Like a watchman at dawn
To diligently protect
That which we value most
Some do not respect our boundaries
Do they not see them
Do they have need to enter so desperately
That they ignore the warning
Private property! Trespassers will be prosecuted.
Is there any leniency
Any exceptions to who can enter in
Is anyone granted access
Or must they forcibly try to enter
There is more than one way to be raped.
So we struggle
In the blindspot
To push back those who seek to enter
Unbeknownst to us
I lay boundaries
I am not sure as to whether
It's to keep you out or let you in.
A bundle of nerves tied in a knot as tight and as tangled as eldredge, around my neck, while the fuss of the life around me drowns me to chaos still. I go into waters so deep it gets hard to swim back up. The minuscule parts of my muscle throb and fight my being in a different kind of pain, wanting to be freed. Wanting to run a direction so divergent we may never find our way back home. And yet the longing for a explicit homestead stays.
The head of mine is participation to an all-time war, that only and only asks for my sanity as its reward. Every bone in my body gets the signal through every other fiber, to shut it up!...and yet I can't.
I think about jumping off of very tall somethings, but a voice in my head laughs at my own visions of a certain indiscretion. Like a breed of my own monsters calling out my cowardice. While a soft, warm being hides behind the door forcibly closed with locks too hard for her to open. She knows something I don't.
The volume, pressure, expansion, contraction- nothing works through the cavity. Nothing bleeds for lucidity, only for the curse I cage myself with.