Long Gunshot Poems
Long Gunshot Poems. Below are the most popular long Gunshot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gunshot poems by poem length and keyword.
How the birds chitter chatter and the church bells ring.
Daffodils fill the graveyard and are picked by passers-by.
Families attend the spring fair where a florist sells arrangements.
The chided children are guilty of picking flower petals but are
Pacified by their parent’s sternness by partaking in a Spring dance.
Dancing deer dart away out of view in the village field.
Freshly hatched chicks are made victims of the foxes.
But not before the farmers so threaten their temptation by
A gunshot or two.
Another Spring rainfall, the grass greener and greener still.
Dogs are walked in the woods where children accompany wilfully.
They attend church with holy communion and in his honour bread and wine is consumed.
In his remembrance of his resurrection, it is such a ritual, and they are thankful for his offering.
The shadows caste were long upon the span of empty field,
darkness grayed the rye gleanings beneath a Hunter's moon.
Purple pansies bruised by an early frost bend blackening
in the porch's planter hiding there beneath a Hunter's moon.
The farmer's gunshot cracks the air a white tail flees to glen
soon the venison with hang on hooks beneath a Hunter's moon.
The silo's full of cattle corn, the apple trees picked clean, so bare
ring necked geese are on the lake lamenting beneath a Hunter's Moon.
All that's secret, haunts the shade, fingering the pods and seeds
blanched, washed by the light unwavering beneath a Hunter's Moon.
Blood Brothers is packed with humour and poignancy.
It was a play I was privileged to study for GCSE.
I learned that I was connected to its history
And this came as a huge surprise to me!
It tells of a Liverpudlian family
Who were rehoused to a new town - Skelmersdale.
I knew that if I got to see this play,
Then this part of the test I'd not fail.
For the first twelve years of my life,
In Skelmersdale I had residence.
This rehousing occurred two generations back
In my mums family - what a coincidence!
Although my time there had its troubles
- so much fear, grief and trauma -
It felt so exhilarating somehow
To be connected to this drama!
Several teachers told us how loud the gunshot was
In the final scene of this story.
They said it made them jump EVERY TIME they saw it...
This sounded over the top to me.
When we went on a school trip to see it
I was determined not to jump.
But when that gunshot roared beyond the gods,
I was thrown back with a mighty thump!
I was on the edge of my seat
So when the trigger was pulled by finger
I truly felt the blow!
We were not told how this part lingered...
When I flew back into my chair
Our teacher laughed out loud A LOT!!!
Briefly, the cast looked up as to ask,
" What's so funny? The guy's just been shot! "
This vindicated our teacher.
" See! I told you this was so! "
This really made her evening.
But it was truly hilarious though!
That'll teach me never to attempt
To prove others wrong or to be the exception.
But hey, it's another great memory to look back on,
To laugh and smile at, on reflection.
Title: "Kneel Weak, Stand Steal"
(Verse 1)
Yo, you want me to bend the knee like a QB’s technical fix?
I stand taller than your apex, throw harder than your flex.
You apologize to the pocket, but I call the shot, boss,
While you’re kneeling for forgiveness, I’m the devil in the croup.
(Verse 2)
Vick had to bend his knees to find his aim, oh how sad,
I launch missiles from the line—sniper, no wind check.
You adjusted, then curled like a caterpillar in the dirt,
I’m Gotham’s storm, no cape, just thunder in my shirt.
(Verse 3)
Bats don’t kneel in Gotham, they soar through the rain,
You drop to one knee prayin’ for relevance, failed man.
The Joker laughs when you tweak, while I’m ripping the script,
Your "bent-knee game" is a joke—go ask the crowd for a plug-in.
(Verse 4)
Now Jacksonville’s gates all locked up—drama at the front,
Your team’s a zoo, but I’m zoo energy, tearing through doubt.
You fell for the key, now stuck in the lock’s cold trap,
I’m the pick, the spin move, while you’re stuck on repeatin’ your rapp.
(Verse 5)
Your hottest sex move? A limp wrist at the end,
I’m Bruce Lee’s pressure point—watch your ego bend.
You kneel for touch, I’m touch and go, no stop,
While you edit your flaws, I’m drop by drop, raw, no props.
(Verse 6)
So bend the knee for the weak, let the cameras roll,
I’m king of the apex, you’re just a shaky Google.
Your comeback was a crip walk, I’m the main event,
Now beg for the spotlight while I kick your ass in the context.
Outro:
[Demonic laughter and the sound of a quarterback dropping to one knee, then a gunshot.]
Snow had fallen covering the cobble stone path to the cabin.
It had taken me hours to get here.
I was alone and needed to talk to her, one last time.
She had left in a hurry, after we had had a terrible fight.
I can't remember what it was about, we had so many.
Money, sex, drugs, her abuse, I lost count.
Work was long today and I called to tell her,
we needed to talk.At least one last time.
She said she'd be at the cabin until tomorrow,
when she was leaving.
To where?I don't know.
The night was cold, damp, the kind of night
that can cut through you.
I felt uneasy, as I was later than maybe she expected.
Either way I wasn't going to stay long.
Say goodbye, wish her well, all while keeping
my anger in check.
She needed help and I couldn't give it to her.
Maybe time and distance would help.
As I approached the cabin I saw two sets
of footprints.A trail of blood lead from the
covered path across the porch.
My heart started pounding, who was here?
What had happened?Was she alright?
A candle light flickered in the frosted window.
My steps were slow, careful as I walked onto
the porch and then I opened that door,
the candle went out,I heard glass break, a gunshot.
I woke up in the hospital, hand cuffed to a bed.
A police officer spoke..You have the right to remain silent.
6/19/15
The Walk part 1
Tired of it all
The bottle empty did fall
On the third floor
I looked out
Skeptical
Of the distance
Fatal or just painful?
I have had enough pain
Looking out, it began
To rain
For my final walk
I took an umbrella
I was that kinda fella
Strolling down the avenues and streets
The bridge called Freedom nearing my weary feet
I walked up and halfway across
Looking at the darkness swirling in my head
The river I am sure would consume me dead
So I jumped
The Bridge part 2
Over to the side, as a car flashed by
Why that was close, close to die
As I stared down the murky river black
I decided not now
I will walk on back
On the avenue called Destiny
A robber jumped out
Your money or your life! He cried
I had left my wallet at home you see
Not thinking an identity would matter much to me
The robber seemed to disbelieve
As the gunshot rang out
I fell on top of my own irony
So I jumped
If this torch lays waste to summer, will my honor have been served?
Will the victory be final and the triumph be deserved?
If the flames blaze to their fullest, will they offer any light
As I peer into the darkness standing guard throughout the night?
Then a gunshot cracks the dawn, and the war goes on.
I’m feeling old, love, sick of this campaign.
I’m feeling old, love. All it does is rain.
If this sword sweeps through October, will the harvest have been good?
Will the meaning of the struggle be more clearly understood?
If the cannon roar much louder, will a tender word survive?
Will I stoop to vulgar gestures just to prove I’m still alive?
Then I hear a marching song, and the war goes on.
I’m feeling old, love, as do those who serve.
I’m feeling old, love, more than I deserve.
If this war outlasts the winter, will my love be there come spring,
Picking flowers for the wedding wearing someone else’s ring?
Will my bayonet be ruthless when the next attack begins?
Will the battle be worth fighting knowing no one ever wins?
Now my ammunition’s gone, but the war goes on
I’m feeling old love breaking through the line.
I’m feeling old love, once I thought was mine.
The 10th July 2009
7 soldiers died on the front line
Panthers Claw the op was called
Sangin district is where we toured
2nd battalion the rifles had a few bad days
With many a soldier still in that haze
Sangin DC or Fob Rob to others
Left a lot of grieving mothers
The worst fatalities in all the years
Fighting insurgents bringing with it tears
You can't help but to think why
Another of service men and women should die
Others left with life changing injuries
From gunshot wounds to triple amputees
Swift and bold the motto was
But leaving the gates everyone was anxious
Even today 14 years on.
Soldiers struggling feeling they don't belong
Mentally and physically exhausting it is
The mind playing games taking the piss
Rifleman Simpson and Rfn jo Murphy
Cpl Jon horne and Cpl Scot Lee
James backhouse and Sgt Paul mcaleese
William Aldridge lives taken with ease
I know war is war
And casualties happen
But why should this be
Those who survive get PTSD
from three miles away
the unmistakable sounds~
of howlers chorus
a slithering snake.
crushing prey without mercy~
green anaconda
small eyed black caiman
twenty foot alligator ~
watching and waiting
waiting in the trees
unsuspecting deer walks by~
a jaguar strikes
through overlapping branches
laser beams of sunlight pierce ~
the dense canopy
worlds largest rodent
like a giant guinea pig~
capybara dives
painful insect sting
as painful as a gunshot~
the bullet ants bite
rainforest rivers
home to pods of pink mammals~
fresh water dolphins
jesus christ lizards
walking across the water~
miracles happen
hanging upside down
eating green vegetation~
slow moving sloths
native indians
rub poison on arrow tips~
from the green dart frog
a very short tail
long shaggy coat and red face~
bald vakari swings
face of a lion
now an endangered species~
lion tamarin
pygmy tribes food source
monkeys, pigs and antelope~
hunting to survive
Written 6th October 2018
'Just get over it'
No we still haven't received reparations
And they are long overdue
Why would we get over it
When you prance around wearing bags made of our skin
Sitting your privileged self's on chairs oh so familiar
The fabric - our skin
But you'll never know
You'll never care
Because of your ignorance
Because what you don't know won't hurt you
But a little secret, I promise you it hurt us
Can't you hear the echoes of our ancestors
Or is your inability to basic human emotions
Cause you to go deaf in both of your ears
'Just get over it'
No how about you don't deny our history's existence
How about you stop going on the defence
Everytime you hear about the black experience
Why would we get over it
When it slaps us in the face
Every single day
Through the blood stained pavements
From segregation to alienation
Through the changing of weapons
Long gone are the harsh echoes of the whips
Is now the sharp bang of a gunshot
Going from personal torture
To cowardly killings
'Just get over it'
How can we
When everyday we carry the scars of our ancestors
And you carry the evil spirit of your ancestors
How are we supposed to walk the streets
Where public lynchings was free entertainment
Because no matter how hard you try to erase
The echoes of violence still linger
And the weight of generational trauma clings to a world we built
'Just get over it'
You may have drowned our cities
And set fire to our towns
But one thing remains known
Is how you'll never silence our screams
How can we get over it
When the rope Hangs from the trees
When segregation is over yet the ice in your eyes make known we are unwelcome
How sundown towns still exist with the same outcome
Where every ship is haunted by the fear
Our people faced
Drowning in the eerie thoughts of what's to come
When black history month
Reminds that nothing has really changed
The only difference is the rules of game they made
And the changing of the games name
You claim we are stuck in the past
But we are still living in it
How can we forget
When there's constant reminders
Hiding in every corner
Where every shadow leads to another piece of trauma
That reminds black is not just a colour