Long Gaped Poems
Long Gaped Poems. Below are the most popular long Gaped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gaped poems by poem length and keyword.
A friend and I in a chat down a winding road,
I said, "Who can give me life, I mean real life?"
He smiled: You've life already, fully yours.
"So it seems," I said, "soon taken from me."
"No! It's yours, enjoy it to the fullest."
"Yes, on a short lease, not truly mine."
His face creased: scorn, sneer, snub;
then a sulky pout: Off his mind.
At a T we turned right—a road less taken.
On a hill, Jesus hung on the Cross, arms open.
We squinted at a bold inscription:
Here's a life for life; price fully paid.
We gaped at each other: Strange indeed!
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
15 April 2019
(In December 1851, Napoleon III, nephew
of the great Bonaparte, staged a coup d'etat
in Paris.)
The child was dead. Two bullets in the head.
The room was decent, humble, honest, clean.
An Easter palm was pinned to some old print.
A grandmother wept quietly in one corner.
In silence, we took off the little boy's clothes.
His bloodless mouth gaped open, and one eye
stared wild, surprised, unseeing, drowned in death.
His arms appeared to ask us, as they flopped,
for help; one pocket held a wooden top.
You could have put a finger in each hole.
I don't know if you've ever seen a hedge
with over-ripened blackberries; that's how
the darkened clots appeared. His broken skull
reminded me of firewood, split in two.
The old grandmother watched us as we worked,
saying, "How pale he is! Come near the lamp.
Oh, God! His poor hair's sticking to his head!"
Once we were done, she held him in her lap.
The night was ugly. Shots were ringing still
along the street. Others were being killed.
"The boy has to be buried," someone said.
A walnut cabinet gave up a sheet,
but grandma wasn't ready. Not for that.
submitted to Seth Pina's Horror Contest in '26
It started with one utterance
that grew into a shout.
That cry grew louder in his ear.
He could not get it out.
The bellowing prolonged itself,
and then one cry was two.
His frightened eyes searched faces on
the teeming avenue.
On the edge of reason then,
he gaped at strangers’ lips,
but mouths stayed shut and mocked the truth
of his apocalypse.
The cries that he was hearing came
a hundredfold or more,
a deafening cacophony,
an oceanic roar.
And nightmare revelations that
had brought this din in dreams
were now his actuality -
enwrapping him in screams.
The throng pressed on around a man
who crouched, with eyes half-dead.
And now inside a room he rocks
to screams inside his head.
The field is given a name.
Battles are about where they disappear,
the ones that walk away
don't know where the hell they are.
There’s a cannon ball under that Yew tree,
there’s a skull under that Ash.
There’s a hank of dried up hair
over there, woven into stone and moss.
After the blood, peace continues destroying barns,
insignia and belt buckles fished out and sold.
Excavated jawbones order and counter-order.
The officers that staggered away
go quietly mad, or marry well.
Surviving hell takes
a lot of stump-footed foraging.
The maimed tell their jerrybuilt tales,
cracked rockers creek along
the slipways of generations.
Hounds bayed at coons.
in the hot afternoons;
that was before the earth gaped open,
before the gore seeped sideways
into the earths wounds.
Good Generals and bad
have had their deadly play,
this scattering and salvage
of the blue and grey that day.
Ran; they were running up the hill.
Sea was rising to level unseen
I sat in my old shabby car,
All terrified of what it could be.
I floated in it and was stuck among branches.
The water receded, I was saved, might be.
My eyes opened to “Happy Birthday to you”,
The chorus held me in dismay.
They laughed as they never did.
I smiled stiffly and hugged them fast.
“Noah’s day, would it be?”
Was it a predilection, my dream?
By afternoon, we celebrated my day.
All were lost in merriment and they
Laughed drunk, as thunder roared
And rain became more intense.
Someone busy on network, shouted.
Still silence: each gaped at the other;
Never heard before: the capital was
All in flood since some hours and
People were running to safety
While underground parking and tunnel
Were pools of death; people perished
Shrieking for help till their last breath!!
27/08/16
Contest: A Deluge (Julia Ward)
A real tragic event on 30th March 2013 (eve of Easter) in Mauritius
and I had a dream some days ago and forgot about it.
My twin nieces and son birthday was being celebrated on that day.
Port-Louis is the capital and the hill has a church of "Mother Mary" as
seen in the video. In the interview some people said they were floating as in
the "Ark of Noah". You may watch.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0m1bzvm0408
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOLzWFjn97s
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VO6uRLFDp4
The storm water pipe
gaped into open air
from an embankment
where it surfaced
from underground.
The opening was a little
smaller than my childhood height
and they said it stretched
a mile or more but nobody
knew for sure.
A danger sign warned
against entry saying
the pipe was subject to sudden
flooding - a protective grate
had a hole big enough
to crawl through.
I would pause
at its mouth and stare
into a claustrophobic dark.
Hunched, heart racing,
I monkey walked
my way in, listening out
for water, breathing in
the dank air. Deeper
and deeper I would go until
courage left me when
the light from the entrance
faded and all went black.
Hell was there.
It still is.
Years have passed since i dreamt that night
Noises in my head, waking up to that sight
Overnight my city in desperate plight
Tragedies followed as the population began to fade
The strong wallowed, as the weak frayed
Mankind shown to be true, as their actions displayed
I found i was not alone, as others had escaped the curse
Their actions that i witnessed, man doing his worst
Abusing, taking advantage in their normal daily thirst
The ones who lost their eyes, never seen their end come
Even the deafened ones, never heard the sound of a gun
The muted ones just gaped, as they all tried to run
The fortunate ones had prayed, on the inflicted souls in strife
Targeting the weak, playing with their lives
The killings and the maiming in typical murderous rife
Eventually the fortunate, wanted more and more
They fought amongst themselves just like they did before
Everyday i look all around me, forever will i abhor
I walk our cities and towns, thinking what they used to be
The hustle and bustle of life, in the world of you and me
One day i will go to sleep, when i awake what will i see
The follow up too " It Will Happen Tomorrow "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-6.php
The loss of Sourthern Sons
Submitted by Serendipity on Wed, 2015-04-29 06:28
Today,
wakes to a red dawn punished
and sprayed in the blood of repentance,
compassion had begged in the
before, days turned minutes,
eternity now cradles repented
sons of the Southern Cross
They were more than death,
with courage they leave us
hope erased from the eyes
United over oceans and
long confused with desperation,
the silence of the fall
echoes across the Never Never
they are no more or less,
cloaked in a mantle of darkness,
far from our red dusted roads
and silently still
this mourning rains with
mute cries bled from two families,
agonized with the same torture
In the clarification of shocking
of reality, eyes gaped silence
this grimace of horrified truth moves all
they have taken lost sons found
whole again in confession and prayer
In this act, the numb
cold hand of death
touches us all
evermore cloaks their eyes
as ours are opened with truth
and to this new world bereft
of the gift of compassion
Blown loose from the world,
they asked for the boon of life
pleas from the world were,
Denied clemency !
Denied !
Denied !
Denied !
the empty soul of a foreign despot
raised the paper fist of a mute king,
a retribution of bullets severed
all the ties that bind
The shattering of mothers hearts
kills the light of the sun,
they are forced into infinity
this deed cant be undone
Outrageous power hangs
above our heads,
another world
foreign to true liberty
Sons of the southern cross
rest in the long sleep,
within the grace of home
their souls will find peace
As eternity kisses their lips
and the lilies begin to weep,
know they are there waiting
for us to join them in sleep
RIP - AC and MS 29th April 2015
The story behind this poem ...
http://www.news.com.au/world/breaking-news/bali-nine-pair-executions-set-for-3am/story-e6frfkui-1227325790962
Once upon a time...
Once upon a time, in France, a storyteller fella
Wrote of a girl named Cinderella,
Meant as a fairy tale romance.
Her daddy died when she was young, and she was forced to share his riches
With three monumental b****es,
A most unhappy circumstance.
For years her stepmom and stepsibs made her perform a menial's duty,
And as she blossomed into beauty,
They grew more hateful, mean, and cruel.
Each night they dined on fine cuisine and wore lace dresses with silk sashes,
While she wore rags begrimed with ashes,
And got just crusts of bread and gruel.
Then one day a herald from the king demanded entry
To the homes of landed gentry,
They were invited one and all.
It was the prince's eighteenth birthday, and the king and queen were harried
Because their son was not yet married.
Ergo, the reason for the ball.
The stepsisters primped and preened and wild excitement they exuded,
When Cindy asked to be included, they gaped at her as if appalled.
Stepmother sneered, "Look here, I'll show you!"
With self-righteous indignation,
"Your name's not on the invitation.
Just we elite are so installed."
So Cinderella went downstairs to seek some solace in the kitchen,
But 'stead of sittin' there and b****in', she started dancing with a broom.
She whirled and twirled around the floor,
Or else she'd stand there, gently swaying,
As if an orchestra was playing
Pretending they were bride and groom.
And then a flash, a crash of thunder, and to Cindy's stunned amazement,
There gliding through the kitchen casement,
A pudgy lady dressed in blue.
She said, "Hello, my dear, no fear, I'm here to grant your secret wishes,
I'll wave my wand and clear the dishes,
And make a princess out of you!"
She waved and tapped and flicked and zapped,
And what she seemed to make the air do
Was give her make-up, nails, and hair-do,
And then to make the look complete,
Out of those rags so soiled and worn and far too torn to drown a cat in,
A gown of gossamer and satin, and crystal slippers on her feet.
Without this timely intervention, Cindy's tale might have been tragic.
Could she have managed without magic,
And her dilemma be resolved?
But everybody knows what happened with a gourd and six white mice,
And how a smudgy scullery maid was made to clean up really nice,
When a fairy got involved.
To be continued...
Strutting down York Avenue,
Appearing in a hurry,
His face is beatific,
Showing not a drop of worry.
With one child in his hand grasp
And another at his chest,
He seems a modern father
But he stands out from the rest.
It isn’t for his man-bun,
Rather for the clothes he wears –
Not jeans or sweats or khakis,
For it’s leggings earning stares.
Today’s had printed donuts
Looking fattening and sweet,
While yesterday’s were swirled
With every color you might meet.
I wonder as his kids grow up
If they’ll think he looks cool
Or, as I perceived when others gaped,
More like a kingdom’s fool.