Long Gore Poems
Long Gore Poems. Below are the most popular long Gore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gore poems by poem length and keyword.
Let’s get one thing straight, dear
Let’s give the Devil his due
The clouds are conspired against us
The Revolutionaries hate us, too
There’s no room at the foot of the mountain
Only the sordid survive
Youth only drowns in a fountain
Only wasted memories thrive
Did you ever hear the one about
The doctor with no patience
Don’t leave me locked here in this lab
With my hideous creations
You pay the price for your concealment
So hidebound and subdued
If I knew where childhood’s zeal went,
I’d be in a better mood
But now the autopsy is finished
No hope for the organs at all
And no trace of the heart’s existence
But for the splatter on the wall
Did you ever hear the one about
There under the sweltering lights
Time is a play of dimension
I know you’re up to your arms in gore
But I was hoping for an extension
I was hoping for a life-extension.
He stormed Omaha Beach in Normandy during the Second World War.
The old soldier knew all too well the din of battle and its heinous gore.
He'd fought his way through France ending up in the Battle of The Bulge.
He was hailed as a hero, but was loath his heroic deeds to divulge.
They pinned medals upon his breast - he suffered through the accolades,
And was honored by his hometown folks marching in their parades.
But there was something lacking - he was listless when among others.
He desperately missed his buddies - they'd become as close as brothers.
Through many restless nights he wrestled with demons from the past,
Tortured by bloody battlefield scenes and the thunder of cannon blast.
He was turned down by government agencies trying to relieve his plight,
And was met with unconcern at every turn - it seemed a hopeless fight.
He became addicted to the Devil's curse, the bottle, out of desperation.
Friends and family forsook him - he was headed for a life of devastation.
He was seen pushing an old grocery cart here and there about the town,
That held his meager belongings - he looked so pitiful and so worn-down.
The headlines read: "Veteran found dead beneath a blanket of snow!"
He'd sought shelter 'neath an overpass when it was twenty-one below.
He was buried with military honors while "Taps" sounded o'er his grave.
Come on America! Can't we do better than this for America's brave?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
On Halloween, I heard of a guesthouse
advertising stays in a haunted house.
Spend one night, get a year's lodgings for free,
I was sure it was mere hyperbole.
Its decrepit looks failed to frighten me,
so I decided to ask for a key.
And upon opening a daunting door,
my footstep drew squeaks from a creaking floor.
There was no hydro, only an oil lamp,
and the furniture felt filthy and damp.
But I proceeded to explore the halls,
checking out smells seeping out of the walls.
I heard garbled whispers and muffled screams;
the kind of things one hears in nightmare dreams.
A stench was oozing from cracks in the floor,
as I searched the attic spattered with gore.
My heart jumped; when shadows started to shift,
causing reality to bend and drift.
And as fear fuels the panic, I feel,
I'm more and more convinced ghosts are real.
I soon concluded that this wasn't funny;
my life is worth much more than free money.
So I quickly hightailed it out of there;
if that makes me a coward, I don't care.
You can call me nuts, but that house has spooks,
those who've fled there, aren't just a bunch of kooks.
And you'd be a fool to stay past nightfall;
for I've seen things that would make your skin crawl.
Why this inhumane suffering
A constant tale of slaughtering
Innocents who die
Forever in the earth to lie.
Do we need to see far more
All that suffering and gore
Lives of children cut so short
Simple targets used for sport.
Voices shout that guns don't kill
But every day the headlines shrill
Another victim and far more
So many names we can't keep score.
Assault weapons are for war
Inflicting wounds that burst with gore
When will we all say 'enough'
A word too many find so tough.
If there's one thing we need to grasp
The burning question we must ask
Is our indifference complicit
With so much misery explicit.
While we posture and debate
Lifeless bodies lie prostrate
Have they truly died in vain
For a freedom quite insane?
Before they silence my voice
Under jackboots and bone crushing dogs
I must set fort before dusk
As I am shielded
By his gore
And crafted like Daniel
In the lions den
And Jonah in the whales gut
I must scurry to ventilate
With my traducers
At the gate
Because they engage nocturnally
I shall not look for a black goat
At the witching hour
I discern they loathe me
And my kind
They hiss, gnash their canine
When they hear my strange name
They curse the day
I was sculptured
They question why
My palms, sole are snow
While my soul case nocturnal?
Their revered face, soul case is snow, innocuous
But entrails insidious
As a welders fork
Forty friend's, fiends, foe and counting
Looking for a straw
In hay sack
Sneaking, feigning, meandering;
They huff, puff,
Sniffle, shuffle and snizzle,
Insidiously, frantically, scamper
For a Judas
To bell the cat, dog
How do you bell a cat, dog,
With nine lives?
They mob, sop, smother you
Like ants swam honey
Then,
Forget that like amoeba
Your outer layer
Is a cyst
Which immune your entrails
From vultures insidious fangs
Alas,
Spider's web, bobby traps, mines litter around
But,
A tortoise never gets
Enmeshed in a spider's web,
Big Ben never irretrievably hushed
Or a monkey ambushed
Trailing a snakes shadow
This jaunt is not for the faint-hearted
I have journeyed forty days, nights
In the lions den
In my arsenal is locusts and wild honey
My traducers eyes are crossed;
They are hard at hearing
Their necks are stiff,
They love gold, silver
More than good name
I shall ventilate
What their fore fathers
Did to prophets before me;
Chastising them with whips, scorpion
And because they denied me honor,
I must shake my dust off
Their door posts.
Nero’s citizens enjoyed games of death
People and beasts for their sadistic fun
Animals and slaves drawing their last breath
Death in the arena, no place to run.
Gladiator fights were the ultimate
Hero worshipped champions of the gore
A sword thrust or spear sealed many ones fate
Crowds roared approval and called out for more.
Was man against man with sword, net and spear
Fight to the death, only one would remain
Experts in combat, none showed any fear
The loser on the ground writhing in pain.
Thumbs down, thumbs up victor looked to Nero
Thumbs up, swings sword crowd have a new hero.
Man of the textbooks, steady hands, clean mind,
Mane of ambition rising feral, unaligned,
Mend of the timelines tearing through his spine,
Mourn of the moment he steps outside his design.
I flicker where the timelines meet.
Crave was the spark that lit his hidden core,
Grave was the future he opened in the war,
Grove was the echo of lives he lived before,
Gore was the price when the ship tore through the shore.
Bright was the life he built, the gentle one,
Brite was the name he carved in forbidden sun,
Breach was the choice when the coils begun,
Break was the moment the two lives spun.
Flicker in the hull, he feels the hum begin,
Figure in the mirror, a man he might’ve been,
Fissure in his memory, two lives split thin,
Phantom in the bulkhead, caught half-within.
Phase was the hum that split his breath in two,
Faze was the shadow self stepping into view,
Fuse was the scream of steel deciding what was true,
Lose was the verdict when the bulkhead pulled him through.
I fl!cker wh3re the t!melines m33t.
Man-Crave-Bright-Flicker-Phase
Mane-Grave-Brite-Figure-Faze
Mend-Grove-Breach-Fissure-Fuse
Mourn-Gore-Break-Phantom-Lose
M A N C R A V E B R I T E F L I C K E R P H A S E
M A N E G R A V E B R I T E F I G U R E F A Z E
M E N D G R O V E B R E A C H F I S S U R E F U S E
M O U R N G O R E B R E A K P H A N T O M L O S E
M A N C R A V E
grab your pail, we'll clean the sea
fetch a comb to coiff the sand
don't fall for burning cities, to be
eternalized
as a pinnacle of table salt
pinch me, porfa!
looking up/down—that's insurance
perilous looking back
psychics looking forward
pronouncing words
over tomorrow's world
should you be dissolved
by hands
furious at future-telling feats
well, you would have seen it coming...
stay simple
pick peppers
plant cotton
gin it
for reason
latent scars from childhood rashes
gore marks from hell's boar
love borrows
until you're vexed, next blue
how to hold love
comprehend it
neuter it
before panthers
track and eat your tears
extinguish glimpses
of stars, rays, and beams
and death, ghostsongs, stones
become fabrics of a seamless void
traffic runs past the burial ridge along my way
but I went slow this commute
appearing to me was myself
a cameo in crying fields
wearing pails, combs, spades, and boots
an element of wind stirred icy, traceless
talking in the sense of men asleep
said some things couldn't be offered:
dust bunny hearts
no photographs
no epitaphs
no salt
The sun had vanished, it was black as black,
The air was crisper than ice.
And the wire on the fence whispered a steady humming tune
To hundreds of kangaroo mice.
We’d broken down, in the middle of Australia,
We were alone, my partner and I.
At first it was serene, just sharing a wine,
Under billions of stars in the sky.
By morning it occurred, we desperately needed help,
So we trudged about ten k to a track.
We were spotted by an aboriginal tracker in denims,
Riding with pride, on his horse back.
He gave us some water, then left for a car,
Later towing us to his quaint cottage shed.
He looked over the engine, said we could stay,
Saying if he hadn’t found us we’d surely be dead.
The starter motor had broken, bus was in two days,
So he lay a bed on the cold kitchen floor.
And said to watch any of his hundreds of horror movies,
This guy loved his blood, guts and gore.
This guy lived alone, he knew how to survive,
In this desert, he was fascinatingly unique.
He fixed our car, we gratefully shook hands goodbye,
But I can’t ever watch the movie Wolf Creek.
Four fast friends and I sailed away to war.
Our dreams were fresh, and we owned forever.
On Omaha beach a shell took Trevor.
His sap of Spring gushed as blood and gore.
Joe’s gardens were the splendor of Summer.
Bright marigolds bloomed as his youthful kids.
One day he woke a viper from slumber
Leaving a widow with life on the skids.
Autumn’s leafy mosaic graced the ricks
With eye-popping colors down to the cricks.
Ben went for a cheerful leaf crunching stroll
Heart failing, in woods he fell with a roll.
Winter memories parade back to view
Medal of Honor friends pass in review.
Shedding tears for things that cannot be passed,
Will and I are racing to finish last.