Long Gashed Poems
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Here are four survivors of a rocket that had crashed.
For a great distance, they had walked through rain that had splashed
so long, and so hard, that everything was turning white.
The downpour continued steadily through day and night.
“Does it ever stop raining on Venus?” one could ask.
A journey through the planet’s ceaseless rain is a task.
It requires the strongest earthmen to endure the rain;
a challenging test to withstand frustration and pain.
Venusian jungles are thick with vegetation.
Survival is usually of short duration.
The torrential downpour cuts through the trees and the land.
It is steady and so strong. A man can hardly stand.
It’s continual pelting of raindrops on his head.
It does not take long before most men wish they were dead.
On this planet, there is one thing that they would call home.
It is a round, yellow building known as a “sun dome”.
Inside, there’s a man-made plasma giving light and heat;
where it is dry and comfortable, with food to eat.
Thirty days and nights had passed since their space ship was downed.
They blindly tread through the rain until a dome was found.
However, inside, it was dark and cold with no sound.
Gashed holes in the ceiling proved there was no one around
Venusians attacked here and killed everybody.
These creatures were infamous for their savagery.
On the map, another dome was shown to be nearby.
Only a few kilometers away, it would lie.
They would leave in search of the next dome they hoped was near.
Their compass readings were off; their position not clear.
Suddenly, their ship with two dead crewmen would appear.
They had traveled in a circle, causing them great fear.
A dark, ominous, electrical cloud they would see,
spewing thousands of lightning bolts, a monstrosity.
This caused their compasses to show inaccuracy.
The group’s leader yelled “Everybody get down right now”,
but one man stayed up and tried to run away somehow.
He was struck by the lightning, and was burned quite badly.
Remains of this man were charred beyond identity.
The raging storm cost the crew another casualty.
The three remaining men continued on their journey,
blindly hoping a sun dome was in propinquity.
Based on the short story "The Long Rain" by Ray Bradbury
My man from youth grew
Your life was full of superiority;
You dazzled and demarcated,
Who does not belong must be sacrifice,
And laughter were the mystery of your horror tales,
To all animals not wild should cut their tails,
Freudian legacy that governed the tribe of the bookish
And trickles down to wild youths,
The Mafioso cum in our midst
As he found landlocked in:
This is a, that is b and those c, d, and e,
Alphabetically symbolize the allies
Who seemed not to care;
We washed different hoe-hands
Together into the same potluck,
But I decided to follow the king;
It is an experience, whatsoever or whatever,
Expressed what I looked for,
And clapped a song: immortal invincible God only wise,
In the conclusion of the matter
All that needed done was half done,
And tomorrow packed belongs and begone,
Gone on mission and came back with some spoilt,
The pathetic sweet–hearts you hate to remember
The one there and here and lived with in ransom,
And terribly pity, the one discarded, multi-distressing,
With all diseases in her mouth and in belly,
The executioners used darkness to mask
And covered up in shielded shadows,
With weapons drawn and the meat
Surefooted walked into the trap,
The in humans unleashed the superiority tussles:
A dagger slit esophagus,
Knife carved out eyelids
Axes butchered wrists,
Cutlasses designed gothic gashed all over;
Sliding and growling the pain shoot in his vein,
And tore through him the devastated dream,
Soon it was time to go as he lay
And the juice poured out of the vessel in torrents,
To perish, eyes and mouth agape, surprised;
To the moon looking down terrifying,
O! God we lack and want,
O! God provide us our daily bread,
O! God we are crying for injustice,
Mother cried of crushing, crashing heartbreak for
The lamentation of her killed beloved: 'Jealousy inflamed brawled'
Poor mama, she has not been there
Even when she went there,
In agony, sorrow and deep mourning, merely comforted;
But, Eman story had been contorted.
We dragged the slopes to our feet.
On the summit, we burnt our clothes
for wood and there shuffled our feet
in the hush of the falling snow.
We had come out of the scuffed grass.
With one look back in unbelief
exhuming the long trek
the silent keen
puffing through blubbery fingers.
We pulled the hoofed trail through
the trapdoor of our unchained links
foisting for new heights.
Beyond the Appalachian Mountains
the hanging fern on pine dripped snow
on moles burrowing in gashed hollows.
We paused. In that doubtful moment
we rued the climb, succumbing to the assault
upon this stilled millennia’s eerie silence.
All that time the swivelling blizzards raged
shifting soil, eroding avalanches.
Below, burgeoning customs
unmaned the silent dignity of bisons.
All bore testimony to a familiar preparation.
And then, suddenly before our eyes
the solemn ground rose with the breeze
the spangled map changing to the quick:
Chicago Pittsburgh Kansas City
wild barnyards dry-coughing, pop-corning garages
horrent timber ribbed the coasting steamboats
the linoleum walls
the mild Indian piqued he was
by the mahogany cubism of our speech.
We wondered if coming so far
only mattered, we would be content
to build a fire, here and now
and unpack our horses.
We saw little need to go on.
One night the summit might open
up and swallow us all or old age
would come upon us like a lonely neighbour
on a pretext to the door.
© T.Wignesan 1964
London, U.K.
[from the collection: tell them i’m gone, 1983; published in Fire Readings (A Collection of Contemporary Writing from the Shakespeare & Company Fire Benefit Readings). Paris-Boston: Frank Books, 1991, pp. 36-37.]
Brave Men Wade Into Shadows On Death's Ground
Power of one secret word can shatter all,
send men into war and deadly harms way.
Dead and dying on battlefields they fall
for dead glory and pittance of pay.
Brave men wade shadows on death's ground
duty bound, praying for divine reprieves.
Bloodshed reigns, ghastly deaths are found
Dark Lord lies, that eternally deceives!
Curse not legions of those fallen brave,
honor rests in dying for a true cause.
Heroes die in pain, as madmen simply rave
wasted lives best give deeper pause!
Blood gushes from spears with iron tips
lives depart in battles forgotten.
Charon sings out about his many trips
ferrying bodies gashed, dead and rotten!
Honor embraced those that fought dying well,
others lay in dark forgotten graves.
Charon took their lost souls deep into Hell
where misery lives, nothing ever saves.
No record exists of battlefield dying words
testaments of mouths gurgling red blood.
Rotting flesh, meals for hell's carrion birds
maggots feasting upon blood soaked mud!
Fear one secret word that can shatter all
duty, honor fail when wrapped in lies.
True warriors live to answer a just call
seeking life later in Vahalla's skies.
Serving truth in defending freedom's fate
they may find death to not be so hard.
Each knows with death they do have a date
a joker resting on at least one card!
Power of one secret word can shatter all,
send men into war and deadly harms way.
Dead and dying on battlefields they fall
for dead glory and pittance of pay.
Brave men wade shadows on death's ground
duty bound, praying for divine reprieves.
Bloodshed reigns, ghastly deaths are found
Dark Lord lies, that eternally deceives!
Robert J. Lindley, 02-10-2015
Note--Bringing this from my private writes in my journal.
The cabin door was slamming against the raging wind,
The cabin door was slamming
Banging, it was loud,
She fumbled in the darkness the fire had burned out.
Her faithful dog pricked his ears, continued with his bark,
She reached for the flash light she found it in the dark.
She went out in the dead of night, wearing just her gown,
Lighting,
Thunder,
The rain was pelting down.
Her flash light it was failing, the battery was low,
She did not see it coming, delivering the blow.
The cabin door was slamming against the raging wind
She lay there in the darkness, her forehead gashed, it bled,
The dog continued barking licking her wounded head.
She did not move a muscle, nor blink, as rain it fell,
The dog was smart to hurry, the neighbour to go tell.
Together back they hurried, He picked off her off the ground,
Her white gown now was sodden, it had turned slightly brown.
The cabin door was slamming against the raging wind
She stirred with rapid fervor a sweat had formed on her brow,
She felt his arms around her, He parted her matted hair,
She was content and happy that he was really there.
She felt him kiss her gently stirring her from sleep,
Her bed was warm and cozy, her gown a brilliant white,
The fire now was burning, radiant and bright,
Her faithful friend was quiet, as always by her side.
She was relieved she was breathing and had not really died.
She looked around the cabin,
She saw him sitting there,
She fondled him with a stare.
Before her heart could leap,
Slumber took her in his arms caressing her to her sleep.
The cabin door no longer slammed against the raging wind.
The mist was thick, the hour was late,
I halted at the rusty gate;
I’d heard the stories of that place,
And thought about a crime so base:
A girl was murdered, years ago.
Her ghost remains in situ, though;
She can not leave the place she died,
They say - or had those people lied?
I stepped onto the hallowed ground,
And heard a noise and spun around.
A mouse…a rat…a cat…I hoped.
I couldn’t see a thing, and groped
The headstones, as I staggered through -
Completely lost, what could I do?
My nervous heart was beating hard;
Alone, I crept in that graveyard.
Surrounded by the fog and gloom,
I tripped and fell across a tomb,
And hands were at my throat, I swear -
Although I felt no body there.
The girl was strangled, beaten, slashed;
I knew the way her throat was gashed.
Her killer jailed, she can’t forget
About her murder. Such regret!
A pretty teen who’d known such Hell,
And through her thoughts, I’d die as well.
My larynx crushed, I prayed for peace,
And for that sorry soul’s release.
As blows began to rain on me,
I knew I had to set her free -
Before I also died the way
That she had done upon that day.
I struggled, but alas too late,
And wished I’d stayed outside that gate.
I felt the jagged glass attack,
And sensed there was no turning back.
The moon appeared, the fog had cleared;
I trembled as the spectre neared.
The murder victim shook her head.
“It’s time I left,” she smiled and said.
The birds were singing as she rose.
She’s found repose.
for Knight's story contest
The Fiercest Black Beast That A Knight Once Slew
Dark poetry
Sharp blade penetrated black blood flowed about
Mighty hairy black beast groaned then vomit let out
In a flash I kicked it in the vulnerable spot
Enraged, with all my power gave it another shot
Plunged my silver dagger in to bleed it more
Thinking of those it killed, vowed I to even the score
Nothing was easy as it got me with left blow
Knocked back, a moment or two I didnt know
Quickly in nearby ravine it ran back to hide
But I saw, got it with a cut as in I slide
Its rank black blood squirted right into both my eyes
OF balance, fierce beast had taken me by surprise
With another savaged hit it bloodied my cheek
Used its dagger claws, nothing about it was meek
Gashed my arm and my red blood gushed on out
Stepping back, avoid its other strike I gave a shout
Immediately, my chance to strike deathly blow
This shall slay this huge, wicked monster that I know
With herculean might I plunged my sword in so deep
I sent that beast into its most damnable sleep
Stepping back, I watched the beast take its last breath
Under my breath, I prayed God gift it quick death
As it lay there, I saw its spirit its body leave
I thought, would Hell send another to earth deceive?
Robert J. Lindley, Verse, - Dark
July 22nd, 1971
Note: (1. )
This poem dedicated to my favorite poet, Edgar Allen Poe...
Note: (2.)
I was only 17 years old when I composed this one..
Teacher gave me a 100 score on it. I turned it in instead of a book report.
The food bank was in an old rundown part of town,
and already there was a long lineup;
the people needed to calm down ...
I was given a paper cup;
with bitter coffee not warm,
the food bank had certain hours;
and I was waiting within a loud bee swarm,
people were restless- for now it was rain showers;
this was a new kind of hungry and a huge need,
a nice lady was giving out numbers;
I saw some had big families to feed,
these numbers had colors;
when the big door opened,
there was a mighty push and rush;
every single person had hope and
I held up my number and stepped into a hush;
was handed a box with four dented cans of beans,
four tomato soup, four mac & cheese;
stale bread, peas, but no greens,
and nothing I had to freeze;
and things like bread stuffing,
pasta and sauce and six instant mashed;
and I left huffing and puffing,
in a panic that from that swarm I would be gashed.
" Food panic for unhealthly food bank handouts,
... is a sad reality !"
_____________________
July 30, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Food Bank Panic
Copyright Protected, ID 07-1376-517-30
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Panic At The Food Bank
sponsor, Kai Michael Neumann, Judged 08/22/2021
Whence it came it did not say
unwelcome it decided to stay
Like a ghost it seem to float in the air
glance twice and was it ever here
From the land where the sea foam sprays
the morning moon mist slithers away
Coolness glides as seabirds nest
remains of ruins dot the coast like buttons on a vest
Ancients once sailed these seas
to faraway lands they plunder with greed
Swords of steel that gleamed in the sun
slashed and gashed the helpless ones
Back as salves their woman and child
to a harsh land they never again smiled
Life was short and the journey wild
fury of the seas swallowed all in a relentless swell
Now my company this thing not dead
but a aberration of what once lived
Without a word I heard it all
and knew of their greatness and their fall
I did not speak but it knew my fear
and what it wanted for me was unclear
I opened a jar of deep ruby red glass
and it was drawn into it with the lid I clasped
Storing it on a shelf above the fire place
and soon from memory thoughts of it erased
Over the years dust layered the red
and rust bore holes into the lid
I thought of it in a moment's flash
and went to the shelf to gather the glass
But it was empty and dry inside
it has seeped away by and by
Dreams of people long in the past
to the seas my soul is cast
With sword in hand I hit the shore
to innocence I bring murderous war
These images haunt me with their pain
now I know from whence I came.
an ocean breeze fills up your senses
the seagulls flock overhead
inside there is something stirring
as if heathers exploding within
shadows block the temptress taunts
alone in the silence,
couples running naked through the sand
happy people with eyes gashed with glee
somber moments were unleashed to revere
a volcanic hot ash experience
cascading..
does fear grip you the most ?
why does one equate logic as fate ?
burning desire inside yet we still high behind four walls
the chemistry is elusive in its solvent decorum
shades of green Pine embers fallen in a nearby grass knoll
we can escape if we drift
to hear the vast expanse of the Timber Wolf dash
yet never to distinguish right from wrong all is relative
let the time stop now no use looking back at the plough
in heavy burrows as if the fox had escaped through
many today escape through a prison in their mind
only to get locked up in chains
the demise of Satanic laughter filters through the duration
yet hope keeps one alive through the pain
a chance at beautiful brevity loosed in the moment
many swallow the debris of left over road kill
only to infuse a sense of togetherness
as we near this place with whom we seek
perhaps its in the never world beyond explanation
yet we still have a pulse to believe the impossible
Shoot for the stars !