Long Groans Poems
Long Groans Poems. Below are the most popular long Groans by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Groans poems by poem length and keyword.
What is life without joy and happiness?
what is life without self honour and pride?
Upon this mountain hell i lay every day
Battered and frustrated
A man of sorrow, forsaken
My spirit groans for mercy which failed to come
All is taken away from me including the smallest pin
of what is life without a mother?
painted black and red
I mourn every seconds for that pretty damsel
swifter that the eagle, my heart pounded
Joy whispers sadness in my ears
and tears becomes my friend
In despair i feast and dance sorrowfully
they mock and throw me around like a forbidden coin
men are evil, my spirit moans
Raising my eyes to see my ears
i could tell of their wickedness
my goats, cows and jewelries gone
Hear me evil souls, the nature has its judgment
Once in life, it cometh and it hard to escape
It hard to escape the judgment
look at father native compound
it been taken away by strangers
those who once dance with us
In good fortune and share our breads and barns together
NOw, they are against us in fury
Dare point us in the face and laugh
Hear me old friends, nature has its judgment
The nature has its judgment, beware
In my old age. bitterly i weeps all day
in affliction and harsh labour
my foes had become my masters
the roads to my hut mourns
my compound groans and grieved
None to comfort me, all my friends had betrayed me
All the splendor has departed in the air
this is why i weep and,
my body shivers
My eyes overflow with water
All who pass my way clapped and laughed at me
Enemies open their mouth wide against me
my grieves are many and my heart fainted
i am in torment within, disturbed and distracted
I remembered my wandering and pains
In the dark forest alone
Covered my self with anger
perhaps my father had sinned
And i didn't know and,
we now bore the pains
Getting brad is at my life risk
Because of the sword beneath
look and see our disgrace
Those who pursue us are at our heels
my siblings scattered abroad sorrowfully
No one to caution us and drag us back
Till end i know the earth has it judgments
i shall sing beautifully with joy in other phase of life
when the gate shall open.
ALL RIGHT RESERVED (C) JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT 2013
Exracted from Gerald Nforche's Epic, The Slave's Tale
-Across the Atlantic, 1793-
We cry out cursing to our very gods
Whilst mokala and plotters lead us in lots.
And slaves we have become, slaves we are groomed
And setting in the milken sky, is the moon.
This is the hell that befalls one’s prism
If he doesn’t open himself to pragmatism.
The ways of mokala are not our ways
And their days are never like our days.
Hope you fall in line with my tune’s knell
As it would guide souls to wisely dwell:
Now permit me continue with my sad tale
Before we are rapidly placed on sale.
For here I stand under an alien sun
Faraway from my own sweet land’s rung
Battered, chained to the queue’s label
As humans are placed on the auction table.
Here I proceed with my tale feeding you
With my pain, pains of brothers on cue
As they are sold off like fresh tobacco
Whips meeting flesh if anyone plays the hero.
***
Rocks! ebesse rocking, shaking like old
The chains cutting into arms, legs to mold
Croaks and groans climaxing to a sadistic rhythm
Beating us to yield forth into realism.
Light strained in through rat nibbled openings
Else we would have left the hold like blind goblins
Vicious to the point of abandonment
Scuffling for blood, mokala’s disbursement.
Aided by the scurrying light, my head worked
East, west, south and north, on shoulders, rocked-
Acquainting itself with the crampy hold
Taking in every detail for any bolt.
In long prodigious rows we humans lay
Meditating, some wide-eyed not to say
Tear tracks dry on their black paling cheeks.
They now submissive despite the reeks.
A cough here, a huff there. A groan here
A croak there. A curse far afield, a stifle near.
A prayer whimpered here, a shiver rippling
There. A horrid sight it was, a grappling.
That pungent stench, from decaying beings:
Men awake whilst parts decayed in rings.
I was nauseated, my eyes reeling, pained
My stomach flaring to throw up content.
And there they ran, hiking on heaving bodies
Playing hide-and seek- on chained enemies.
Tossing about, screeching on their suppers-
Causing a kick here, shrieks there, left-overs.
And my groans joined the choir, a dirge
Loud to fissure walls, and seditious to merge
Vocal forces to kill, kill! Kill! No shy-
And we’d die sober, die! Die! Die!
Warning - Mature.
Sweet night, a blanket made from scented space - holds this would-be poet in its arms.
Tightly - yet with care. Caring - yet with passion. Smiles her heart. Trembles her dreams. Hides them silverine in moments indescribable. Night caresses her spirit with unspoken thoughts, echoing from places foreign to her understanding.
From time taken by liberties, he waits, stubbled chin resting in broad cupped palm. He longs for her. Needs in the flame of passion's roar to fly that time long laid in stone.
Clouds drift. Days flee. Eons wreak weather to endless confusion. Creatures fall within time. Fossils lie crushed in their past. Ocean drowns land. Land erupts from water. Breathing rents the air. One step. A second. Knees buckle. She waits in her wondering why and what.
Hidden within cloud where the highest mountains touch the sky, the man sits. Alone, he is, wrapped in silence. He groans, wanting. Weeps. Prays to the gods, calls to the elements. Weeps more.
A sound, gentle, soft said, drifts space. Man hears. Wonders. Frowns. Understands. Wanting becomes pain. He groans. He moans. He laughs! Somewhere, she sleeps!
A rippled breath gasps my palm,
floats 'tween fingers flexed,
darts space behind my ear, laughs my neck
caressing thoughts I've not yet dreamed..
what language now,
what meanings, what delight,
pray tell?
you touch me with a hint of
honeyed power -
oh sybarite -
wrap me in heat so high I sizzle in my sleep..
look me.. sheet rushed aside I wait,
I moan, I sigh
to float 'tween fingers formed too much,
intentions still unsure but now.. oh now..
you lean forward
closer..
closer..
inhaling deeply..
sensing my gender
sighing -
sighing yet more
until..
temptation dared
and passion flared
I soar, I fly,
thereby -
thereby
however perceived
evol becomes reality
turned inside out upon its cap of what you will
emotions motion..
tumble in
turn and
turnabout,
spinning words, knitting language into shape..
explorers of such subjects
binding heart to hope and - yes
exotic inamorati all,
lie bed or floor or chair or shore
let loose that secret word
that spell - that lost civility
from A past where and when
when
one word
once found
once felt
once shared
was is forever..
love
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts, ....
Eager junior players are busy getting into their strides..
In small groups of 4 to 6, they are seeking to earn their stripes..
Religiously undergoing punishing regimes while in training...
Perfecting skills and flair to better perform beyond all these training...
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Players are wielding each a racket as an integral part of their hands..
Moving fluidly into anticipated spaces with well measured paces..
Unhurriedly and ever so confidently they execute hitting maneuvers...
One can't help but recall the phrase poetry in motion in their actions...
Within these glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Perspiration drenched players are seriously undergoing racket drills...
Moving swiftly and surely through well drilled routines without frills....
Whacking hard and fast the moving blur of a rubberised squash ball...
Confidently and effortlessly retrieving impossible shots off the wall...
Within the glass backed walls of these squash courts...
The dedicated coach is closely assisting and monitoring his players..
Eagled eyed and confident, he's getting the best out of the players..
Pushing and cajoling, occasional groans and cries of frustration and of laughter...
Help relieve the monotony in this serious business of training players to be better...
Within these glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Young players are diligently sweating blood and tears to excel further....
Endlessly going through technical drills so that their skills be better..
These endless cycles of training and stroke making drills are necessary....
For these young players are chasing living dreams of squash fame and glory...
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts...
Kiddie dreams of glory and fame are planted in fresh young minds in earnest...
Sporting dreams are cultivated and gradually nutured into driving ambitions...
A number of such dreamers will falter never to taste the ultimate highs of glory...
But one in a while, a shining diamond of a player steps into court, to start a new story..
Within the the glass backed walls of the squash court....
A generation of champions are being groomed to hold court...
Outside the world awaits patiently, who's the next champion to step forth?
At twenty-three, Brett found his girl,
A green-eyed vision with strawberry curls,
A year of dating came and went,
And wedding bells the sky did rent.
Life was good, he worked as a welder,
And rushed at night, tales to tell her
Of buildings built and bridges spanned,
Far and wide across this great land.
But as he watched football on his day off,
While he watched the Giants, nursed a cough,
His fun interrupted by a sudden call,
And from his hands the phone would fall.
While out getting some groceries,
A trucked plowed his wife’s car into a tree.
And as if just to make the situation worse,
She was just four months from giving birth…
He fell quite hard, into depression,
Triggered merely by his wife’s mention.
For years he took refuge in hard drink,
Lost his job, and was pushed to the brink.
With nowhere to go, he moved back home,
His parents watched, they heard his groans,
And knew there was little they could do,
But be there and hope that he pulled through.
At thirty, after a long stint in rehab,
He stopped the drinking, and drove a cab,
Eventually moving up to a long-haul truck,
Made some good money, improved his luck.
One day at thirty eight he pulled in
To a truck stop diner, for late dining.
The waitress, May, proved a friendly soul,
Thirty-seven, dirty blond, eyes of coal.
After eating they talked like old pals,
Then went to his rig for something else,
He got her number, and she got his.
They agreed to be friends-with-benefits.
And every time he drove on through,
Each the other they hotly pursued,
It seemed to him to be all too fleeting,
And ever harder when it came to leaving.
A year went by and Brett came in,
And found a worried-looking benefits-friend
She said he’d given her something great,
Fruit of the passion of his many stays.
Brett felt a fool, they were quite a pair,
Like two overeager and foolish teenagers,
But as he thought of it more, it became clear,
Brett never wanted to again leave here.
So Brett married May, and their child came,
Then another a year down, more of the same!
He found himself juggling two screaming boys,
At age thirty-nine, the late nights and the toys!
But Brett didn’t care, better late than never
And with May he would remain forever.
And give thanks to God whenever he prayed,
For showing him that even tragedy fades…
This is the bomb! Wait until you
Here you will read hear about the
Tick of tock of tick the clock is
Gone lawn the mow now show
The glow a phone it groans.
Then moans
Time it is almost to the hour now
The bombs have dropped the plot
Thickens and rots
Now what but WAIT! The gates
Are locked! Hot trot slots sure shots
Casinos we know get rich quick
Schemes we know. What the WORLDS!?
We have the pearls. Unfurl reload
The goal? Unload gun load here we
Go you know the GOLD! it has slivers
Of silver. I confess I digress. Do not
Be BOLD your blood can shed.
Though you might not Ever dream
But muse and know deep think
Contemplate visit a shrink yeah
Concentrate if you must do not
Trust all that you see but believe
Some dreams to be reality, which
You think you see, do not believe
Only some will dream the daze
Away figuring to think on, long.
Forward on to the path of what
You believe to be real. All of those
Fascinating fluctuating facts you
Think you have? hear is the deal.
It is not real. So I say hey how have
You not known this throne round
Golden glorious crown I have found
On sacred ground. I have found
I have found! I can here the echoes
Of the Tick tock tick the clock is
Here the block is bare. I ask why
And where and bone Crushing FEAR!
You are scared? You dare not be
FEIRCE? SPEAK your WORTH while
You are on this earth do your best
And confess your worst thirst. On
This sphere this here yeah! Do no
HARM here the WORD! you your
Selves be heard with freer there
Then the Sun flares it glares then burst the
Glint and flint a spark forlorn first
Gong the bell tolls something is
Wrong! So since nothing else Amiss.
First the munch of lunch. A brunch
Bunch bun. I fill my girth. It is TIME.
The clock chimes DO NO HARM!
The bombs fall blistering all.
Oh! DETINATION! DESTINATION!
Complete DEVASTATING Fluxlng
DESTRUCTION! frightening furious
Flames absorb everything Nothing!
Nothing! At all REMAINS the Whole
Hearted horror of HUMANITY!
AAAAH HAA the TREACHERY!
Those schemes the will that be.
The alarm to late. HUMANITY is
Gone tick of tock the clock has
Stopped. NOTHING NOTHING AT
ALL NOTHING! REMAINS!
REMAINS! REMAINS! REMAINS!
AT ALL REMAINS! REMAINS!... remains.
NOTHING!
where is the LOVE LOVE
LOVE?!!
Was this a dream? Became a
NIGHTMARE?
Eerily, I seem to wake
At the droning dusk
To feed my hate
To quench my lust
To salvage the young
And drink them clear of their sweet rum.
Hauntingly, I approach.
As quiet as a rodents burst
Danger sends its shuddering calls
But a new victim still responds
He arrives in all uncertainty
Every step revealing an immaculate beauty.
The steady rhythm of his heart
Soars gloriously as the distance departs
How entranced he seems at the sight
Of this dainty maiden lost on this deep dark night
He smirks finally in victory
As he lifts her head to calm her imploringly
The sound of the wine
She hears within
Her thirst commands her to begin
Summoning the demon to arise again
And in her haste she embraces him
His musky scent mingling with her skin
In control he smirks again
Obliviously sinking closer to her chin
Ah! How perfect it all seems
He moves so enthusiastically
Ah kiss that rests between her breasts
In rapture she moans his sweet success
How naïve my child you have been
To fall for this beauties charms, such a sin.
Her fangs revealed in all luminosity
Kissing his neck she groans pleadingly
Swift as a cat she sinks them in
Drinking this wine, that’s so sweetly divine
In fear he screams, so diligently
Like every other victim, so obediently
Finally submitting to this sweet end
He is charmed much more, and he starts to soar
She holds him closer presuming it best
And devours his existence so full of zest.
As death opens to him her inviting gates
He pleads with this beauty to reconsider his state
“Take me alluring beauty, take me with you
I sell my soul submissively to you
Take me sweet princess, oh princess of death
Make me like you, ever so gently I beg.”
Alarmed yet unfocused
She cries once again
“I shan’t my sweet child, this I must forbid.
For a life till eternity, is something I do not wish
So lonely and vile, an existence it is
So addictive and filthy and sickeningly dismissed.”
“Forgive thee, my child.
I render not this
But, kiss ye goodbye
So thou can attain endless bliss.”
With those words, death claims her mesmerizing win
Once again victorious she returns to her inn.
So still with sorrow, but radiant with her feed
She is swept away by the dawn
As it arrives so steadily
Come sleep my ravenous one, rest your demonic self
Sleep ever so peacefully,
So you may rise to feed once again.
By
Amanda.M.Miller
A nobody
Scared by the sound of his own voice
Following the girl home from school
In his mind this is normal
Stalking girls
He grabs her jacket
Pulling her backwards unto the ground
Placing a cloth around her nose and mouth
Gagging her until she sleeps for a while
He drags her through the woods
Branches hitting her every which way he turns
Dragging her along until he reaches the cabin
Picking her up over his shoulders opening the door to the cellar
Locking the door behind him he walks down the stairs slowly
He places her on a chair and ties her wrist to the handles
Tying her feet to the legs of the chair
Tightening the rope around her neck to the back of the chair
He undresses her waiting for her to wake up
Several hours pass
She wakes up
Sweating and screaming
Crying and yelling at him
He places duct tape around her mouth
Placing a knife against her stomach
She groans and yelps
He takes the knife away and looks at her
Grabbing her face and telling her shes beautiful
He turns around and stands with his back towards her
As he starts to say
But its the beautiful people that need fixing
He takes the tape off her face and holds her chin tightly
He carves a smile on her face
Cutting her mouth from ear to ear
Telling her
Smile dear it makes you adorable
He grins and sits the knife down
Laughing as she bleeds
She tries to move her mouth
It just drops open
He looks at her smiling
Now that makes you truly beautiful
He leaves her there for a while
Later returning
Placing a needle with a string attached to it
Sticking it into the skin around her mouth that is hanging open
He stitches her back together
Cant make up his mind
He slaps her and leaves her there for another few days
She sits with her eyes peeled wide open
A tear falling as she tries wiggling her hand free from the rope
As she frees her hand she runs her fingers over her stitches
Only to find out her whole mouth has been stitched together
She cant speak
She can only mumble
She frees the rest of her limbs
Trying to stand up and walk but she's to weak and falls
He runs down the stairs
Yelling at her to get up
She doesn't move
He kicks her in the stomach
She doesn't budge
He picks her up and uses her as a puppet
For his own needs
He then buries her beside his other victims
Only to find out shes still alive
Her hand slips through the dirty old mud
5-28-2013
I slowly open the old, rusty cemetery gate that groans,
it squeaks and creaks in the still night,
the trees are swaying dark shadows,
reaching out for me-
I walk
a path
strewn with fallen leaves,
they crunch beneath my feet echoing.
A sudden wind takes my long raven hair,
it whirls around me like a dark velvet, warm cloak.
The headstones go on for miles in rows and rows,
names engraved, cut into cold stone,
voices of those gone whisper softly,
but I journey on.
I seek
a stone
that bears my name.
Statues of angels turn and weep,
their tears wash me like gentle falling rain,
in the distance a mound of red roses already decaying.
This my resting place- I should be dwelling in peace.
I lived a short life and died young,
and in death I am beautiful,
but I linger still.
I was
a poet.
I seek the poems,
I wrote my words in blood,
in journals my many poems still exist,
words written that should have been buried with me.
it was my wish . . .
________________________
Writer's Statement:
The first thing you will notice about my poetry is that I like to write my
stanza's anisometric, that is, composed of unequal lengths. I also like
automatic writing without conscious control. I have the ability to put
myself into the poem, I am right there with the words as I am creating.
My poems tend to dwell on the sadder and more morbid aspects of life.
As the early romantic poets like to do in their poetry, I also like to write
in the school of drowned-in-tears style. Often my poetry is mournful and
takes the reader to a cemetery, a graveyard. So, I am also writing in
the style of the 18th century poets whose melancholy words dwelled in
darkness. This is known as the school of graveyard poetry.
In this poem, I am the ghost of a girl, a poet, who died young. She
cannot rest in peace because her poetry is lost to her in death. It was
suppose to be buried with her but was not. So now she will spend eternity
searching for her poems that dwells in the realm of the living.
__________________________
January 14, 2017
As the morning peaks over the hill, I wander through the dark and stroll down the park and whisper a silent prayer for my rose. Its fragrance filters throughout the atmosphere touching hearts far and near, it is the part of me that you cannot see that is always crying out for thee and deep down in my heart I want you to set her free. She has sacrificed for everyone; cleaning garbage and emptying pan, but no one ever says thanks.
My heart goes out for thee and I will do anything for you to set her free, she spends longs hours typing away on the computer, writing long letter some of them are more than fifteen pages , long enough to turn into a book or a lyrical song. I don’t know exactly what she does but she works night and day and when she is not outside the yard cleaning the garbage, she is at the computer typing away.
She wants to go to a country where she can breathe fresh air, she detests being over here; I don’t’ like the way they treat her and I don’t like the way they communicate with her, sometimes my spirit groans when I look at her clothes. She walks around in dirty clothes and doesn’t even have soap to clean her body and I feel very sorry.
They use her and abuse her; she is the money-making machine and the brains behind the wheel. She is educated to the highest level but goes to bed hungry almost every night. Please help her to get out of this awful plight.
She is brilliant, focused and fit and has the remedy for everything, she is stable and kind and is in love with the divine, where that person is I don’t know but I can tell when she sits and look into space, she is bringing the image of a close friend to the center of her being .
She loves writing but she would love to do that at another place so please don’t stand in her way. Please give her what she needs so that she can fulfill her lingering dreams.She has a big soul and she love from the depth of her heart and when the day is done it breaks my heart to see that no one cares for her.
She doesn’t get pay for what she does and she work for long hours seven days per week without a single pay; they have turned her into a money machine making but I hope that she will fulfill her dreams when she unites with destiny beyond the hill, she will continue writing those inspiring letters.
That’s All
Christine