Long Freakish Poems
Long Freakish Poems. Below are the most popular long Freakish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Freakish poems by poem length and keyword.
Creating avatars in political and law reality,
contracts and controlling stability.
Modus vivendi where the money flows,
oceans of spirit fears in tows.
Irresponsible silence of motions,
honored sheep’s and their devotions.
Munchausen’s syndrome via comic book,
kindly bulling with every look.
Home at causes, churches and cult,
never able to see the own insult.
Insisting on taking over and fixing things,
manipulated moments for the kings.
Being aloof with natures flawless bound,
no key for the self chain can be found.
Pride in the unfathomable meek,
pointing fingers to the seeming weak.
Motivation all about themselves,
to shine in opportunities like sparkling elf’s.
Taking care of this the millionth time,
when the world needs them in that golden frame.
Justified by abusing others because of it,
stories of the leading role in every bit.
In control to the freakish point,
if not involved so bitter anoint.
The masters and puppeteers put them in charge,
then everybody loves a hero at large.
Salmon Run
A flurry of reds emerges distorted from the river
As the sockeye salmon return from the ocean,
Following the scent of their home stream water
And swimming upstream to the place of their birth;
In this, their final act is to propagate the species.
During this migration, the sockeyes consume no food
But depend on their stored body fat reserves.
The salmon flesh is red due to the krill they eat,
and this pigment moves to the skin where they absorb their scales
as the flesh turns white, which is an indication of their health.
They endure the struggle over falls, up rapids,
And past man-made structures and predators
To reach the spawning grounds of their creation.
The name originates from the Pacific Indigenous peoples’
Salish languages,
Who called them “suk-kegh,” meaning “red fish,” after their colour.
For centuries, the coastal tribes’ ancestral heritage
fished the salmon for sustenance
And traditions and believed that all living things were once people.
To them, the sockeye salmon symbolizes determination,
renewal, and prosperity.
Frantically, grotesque-looking fish splash furiously.
The females in a frenzy sweep their tails to make beds,
While males await excitedly, defending their mates,
Ready to move in between them and the nest
To fertilize the eggs that are about to be laid.
They didn’t always look this way, with the upper portion
of the snout
Elongated, protruding over the bottom as if hook-jawed
With long fanged teeth and greenish-hued heads,
And red-pigmented bodies with thick leathery skin,
With a hump on their backs that makes them appear freakish.
The juveniles remain in the freshwater until mature.
Then, they swim out into the ocean for two to three years
before returning to repeat the cycle.
Steely silver-blue tinted colour with white bellies
And heads of natural proportions to the rest of their sleek,
transparent-scaled, torpedo-shaped bodies;
Magnificently gorgeous for a fish.
Feminine, glowing, and naked for all to see
She is on my mind, the unnatural beauty
One might say bizarre, freakish, and pink!
Thoughts of her will come and go
Centering herself in a dreamscape
A faux, man-made manifestation, or goddess
who will preside over artistic disciplines
Does she think of me while I dream, if so,
does she know me and what will
become of me, for heaven’s sake
Suggesting lyrical words of inspiration
As I amble through the valley,
many times, I have crossed her path
Restless visions, my meditation weakens
Last minute poems are shed, I retreat
I breathe deep, venture again, but must flee
A battle for words, it shouldn’t be this way
I stray about lost in a fog of notions
Searching for something to write about
Racking my brains, seeking, sneaking
Recalling a postcard from the past
A picture of a beautiful visage so to speak
Painted on a bridge made of stone
I’m stricken by my muse, her essence
Muses are gifts one nurtures and cherishes
Why, if I just make her my own
Feminine, glowing, naked for all to see
I’m sure she won’t mind consoling me
I wait under the pass, and listen to the silence
For a sign, a chirp, a soulful sound from a bird,
A lady I saw once on a granite arch
She came to me in a dream one night
Her painted body pink, her hair raven
An oak tree is present, twisted branches
straddled between her legs, there she sat,
as though part of the genus specie tree
I saw myself trekking towards her,
Why she beckons me, I cannot discern
The pink lady starts to cry then she sighs,
She whispers something softly in my mind
Tells me all her long-held secrets, grim and bright
A gift for me she muses—you will recognize in time
Matrix: Red pill please
By Michelle Morris
26/06/2020
Do you see me?
Am I real in this world?
Or am I a being in a matrix
Of controlled hysteria?
Please give me the red pill -
Take down the maze of pretence
and obfuscation;
I want the truth and my freedom...
To choose -
To live
To hope
To dream...
To be anything I want
In between the light and the
Shadows...
A warrior or saviour or
Freakish gamer...
As changed or unchanged
As I choose...
With the red pill
I can't lose...
Do you see me?
Am I real in this world?
Or am I a ghost in a
Matrix
Not of my choosing.
© Michelle Morris, 2020
Freaks creep out from the cracks
Peeking from behind their masks
Tentatively removing the veils
To test the light of day.
Sun, the source of purification and growth,
Accommodates all without distinction,
It is after all the source of Life,
And so within its light the freaks shine.
Moon, on the other hand,
Transmitting and muting Sun’s harsh rays,
With her passive face in reflection,
Hides in cool shadows what lies within.
The freaks empowered by their shadows
Emboldened by Sun’s clear light
Take their place out in the open
As if it is their birth right.
All men created equal, after all.
But the light and shadow are not the same,
As life and death are not,
And yet in the freakish they are merged.
What is this nature that seeks to morph
Into some novel and new form,
Something creative and self made
For the simple pleasure of self expression?
Visions come and visions go
As any dreamer will tell you
But the ones that remain within the light of day
Are the ones that need release.
Rights of passage, rites of exorcism
What the world builds up, it brings down
Wave upon wave, carrying all detritus
Is the way the unwise learn.
Humanity has learned this dance long ago
Accommodating and healing all that arises
But relegating it to its proper time and place
A day of festival to let it out, and put it all away.
(11/6/25)
Yet another vestige of love lost
whetted cheeks and swollen eyes
life's cruel moments wreak havoc
within the softness of one's heart.
A heart stops beating with malice
the breath gone in a rattle and hum
final whispers and the brain quivers
dormant pulse and a bluish pallor.
The tempest roars insatiably loud
a body can be lost, never to be found
great ships disintegrate upon granite
lives are left, penned on parchment.
The Reaper stares jubilant from rocks
as a grand lighthouse loses once more.
Clothing and splintered wood float by
as rubble and rabble left on the shore.
In a stormy gale, glows a freakish orb
slapped by the tail of a golden stingray
harbinger doomed in a soulless sky
tears in the torrent beget a dark night.
The late may sunlight is bathing a monument of Nature
so colossal in sculpted vertical structure
that it may very well be the palace complex of forgotten supermen,
stories from my childhood pastor of biblical Petra
discovered by Crusaders, or the Temple of Ramesses in Egypt
emerge in my mind as we course through this valley of watered chisled fascades,
sandstone worked by the trickles of centuries
has created craftsmanship of rusticly romanesque grandeur,
pillars, cornices, porticos, grotesque statuary
invites the imagination into the architecture of antiquity
and the legacy that looms in the landscape of divine forces,
these are the White Cliffs of America
born from the bone of Divinity
and worked by the water of will,
Coming out of the Atlantis precinct as Clark calls it
a fork in the river confronts us like a new religion
a pathway heretofore unknown to our shadowed souls,
the Hidatsas mentioned nothing of this avenue,
I am angered hot by this suprise of doom
if we choose the wrong river we find only dreadful failure,
both waterways are mighty , broad, and of a similar depth,
one goes northwest the other southwest,
I swear my brain is gonna burst,
Clark is bracing himself against a tree as if he is waiting for a heart attack,
nobody knows blue from black at this juncture
and the guys are gettin hyper as horses amid thunder,
after discussing the odds he and I return to camp
as professional officers, no doubts, only orders,
two small detachments , one led by me, the other by Ordway
will traverse on foot one river each
up to forty miles examining clues like owls on a mouse's trail,
each party is on extra alert for bear and Indians,
grizzlies have become a common monster lately
sometimes requiring 12 shots to subdue,
they are infamous for their zombie qualities
having freakish endurance and bloodlust while being injured,
as for the natives, one only knows after eyes are shown,
J.A.B.
think …
of the abyss …
unimaginably, unbearably cold
pressure that turns bones (and flesh) to vapor
eight tons - sixteen thousand pounds - per
each … square … inch …
a darkness quite unforgiving -
blacker than black
and yet …
LIFE …
burgeons in multitudes
otherworldly creatures that create their
own light in rhythmic patterns
fantastic organisms that
are so strange and striking they look alien
such an inhospitable world
yet things thrive …
I …
am such an abyss
intensely cold
a darkness beyond black
deep and desolate and bleak
compressed by encumbrance and a disquiet
that can turn bone to vapors …
pain that has no nerve
unbearable wretchedness … without origin
acerbic tears that do not drip -
they burn … and fester
but …
things live
odd creatures exist here -
freakish beasts of indeterminate shape and ire
that feed on joy … and purpose
they crawl and creep
and shiver …
and wait.
“Take me to your leader” ...the one
Asking seemed crazier than a
Kitten barking up a tree, but
Everyone seemed to fancy him.
“Marvelous, follow me!
Everyone likes the Kingdom’s king. Follow me…”
Twists and turns, through cramped spaces,
Out into the humid air.
“You’ll love our illustrious, delightful, leader
Or off with your head, sir! Come
Up here, onto the roof. Be careful or your shirt will tear!
Remember to respect the King, smile carefully,
Lay it on thick with a full courteous bow! Remember
Everyone is watching you!” He slid through the King’s window.
A surprise, for this impromptu entrance was
Daring. Gleefully, glancing around —
Everyone seemed to fancy him. The
Royal bowed in front of his freakish mirror.
8/19/2018
Caren Krutsinger’s Take Me To Your Leader Contest
Poor Ruby Hummer looks confused,
searching for her favorite feeder.
It was right there when it last was used,
in September, in the cedar.
Above the Bee-balm and Lobelia,
in my pollinator garden,
so sorry, Ruby, yes I feel ya,
and I truly beg your pardon.
I’m late this May, you came so soon
from your Yucatan vacation.
2000 miles from your lagoon,
a miraculous migration.
500 miles without a stop
o’er the Gulf, you must be famished.
A marvel that you didn’t drop,
and now your feeder’s vanished!
Just last week we had some snow,
a freakish mid-May specter.
Please be patient, please don’t go,
I’ll brew you up some nectar.
Meanwhile, check the Columbines
while I go and fetch the feeder.
And don’t forget your Trumpet Vines
that wind behind the cedar.
Come grace my garden, cheer my heart,
you’re my favorite garden guest.
It’s time to fatten up and start
to build the family nest.
Here nest materials, soft and pliable,
give shelter from the storms.
Next Spring I will be more reliable,
I’ll institute reforms.
June 2020
Garden Contest sponsored by Constance La France