Long Harpies Poems
Long Harpies Poems. Below are the most popular long Harpies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harpies poems by poem length and keyword.
I just finished reading a new book
Which peers deep into human brains,
Methodically examining each sex
To see what is and isn’t the same,
And while men and women are much alike,
I was fascinated by the difference,
And how this could affect our world-views,
For example, I’m going to begin—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
But I’m talking about medical sci—
SEXIST!!!
Okay…so the other day I saw a report
About how hormones affect the mind,
Comparing estrogen and testosterone,
And both their effects over time.
Now we’ve known from the beginning
That these two do different things,
But it’s amazing looking at brains
To see their influence on thinking—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
But this stuff is well known. Ask anyone who’s had gender reassign—
SEXIST!!!
Fine…so the other night on cable
There was this great documentary,
About hold cold, ice age conditions
Changed and shaped our bodies.
Hey had a fascinating discussion
About how the musculature of males
Played a big role in mate selection,
And the food that was avail—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
Oh, shut the hell up you shrill, whining harpies! Reality doesn’t care about your god-damn chants and propaganda. We’re like any other sexually dimorphic species, so use you damn reason for once and stop screaming like petulant children!
(Stunned silence)
Uhm, so, like…would you wanna maybe go do something later?
(More stunned silence)
Unbelievable…
What? We can go back to my place. I’ll put the cats in their cages and we’ll have the whole studio apartment to ourselv—
(Sound of running)
Hey?! Come back! SEXIST!!!
Form:
Sings the river:
I am the water from the hills
I am the life from above,
I run steadfast after love
Caressing the swan’s quills.
Sings the flower:
I am Nature’s Beauty mark
I am Cupid’s golden shaft,
I want to bloom in the raft,
the figurehead on its arc.
Sings the river:
Call for me after the old oak,
I pass between his roots
Washing away sun’s soot
To be carried by moon’s cloak.
Sings the flower:
Cover me before it’s late
My petals are almost dry
I hear aloof the harpies’ cry,
Promising to beauty their hate.
Sings the bluebird:
Where is the heart-shaped lily?
The river took, the lily is gone
The old oak will stand alone,
When the night is dark and chilly.
There went the river and the lily,
Their course cannot be undone…
Form:
they say that there's a dance hall
right beneath this lake of sawdust
where underwater towns
have gone astray
and I can hear the harpies
the bagpipes
and I can smell
the burning petals
after we set the house ablaze
the blissful ignorance
of ghosts and revolvers
is pure nonsene
– as coup d'état of yours
still smiling distantly
but one day your goodness
will make you lipless, my dear
and then I will lull you by
the misty weather
verdant
fragrant
lucidly mystical
dazzling as a bell jar glance
existence matters – ad interim
and as the old gatekeeper
uses his trembling gestures
to swing the pendulum
tell me, my plain-hearted one:
ruby red or beryl blue?
does it really matter to you?
with all your childish devotion
please release
the drones
'cause thou art lost
and love is the law
love under will
Oh my beautiful Daughters
what have you done to the men of the Earth,
turning the roar of men's' love into notes of shame and whispers,
discoloring the gallant glow of trust with untempered lust for popular worth,
I made you to be embodiment of something sacred,
a steadfast source of Divine sincerity in the chaos of Man's struggle to be heroic,
to soothe and inspire His hope for honor, to be the hand he could hold in the tremor of dread,
in the Begining you did this much and more, exceeded the seed of my dream, making Them historic,
But you, my remorseless and rabid Girls
sought to be worshiped as a cult of marauding maidens of madness,
a horde of haughty harpies wanting glory your own, thrones tailored from supine bones,
pleasured as predators of Princes and paupers
saddistic seducers of troubadours and savants,
making " high minded " heros helpless on the cliffs of your thrills,
Oh my ravenous Daughters what have you done to the hearts of men,
what have you become with speared touch and rough laughter,
warm in love sport and cold in lip lies,
the Furies have your fame and faces framed in black flame
the day is soon when your beauty will become ashen, charms unmet with passion,
and the Furies will befriend you
adorn with thorned fashion, feed you a vulture's ration,
Nemesis is on your terrible trail of predatory travail
She to unveil the wail of your reward's gale,
my lovely Princesses, my girls of gnarled gain
a wind storm of lovers' cries flies towards you
a punishment Holy in it's honor and horrible in It's hit,
bite you shall, sixfold from Humility's tit -
J.A.B.
In the shadows, harpies linger as agents provocateur,
for the Fallen Watchers, for pecking order.
Prostitute mercenaries,
addicted to mercury and disorder.
Their claws sharp, their cries a shiver,
their motive insanity from hell's hateful quiver.
They pluck you from the light of day,
leave you in the flames to barter the fray,
to drown in the sea of faith no more.
Till nightfall,
where they tend the fires of a black wind,
poking signal lures,
preying for entropic thunder,
and romantic moon,
lyres to ascend your spirit
for the purpose of dropping you again
in despairs pit and swoon.
Denoting your abandonment and seclusion,
shoeing the fit,
wild horses couldn't drag them away.
Hoping to find you behind chaos's fire-line,
enemy mine,
a broken rhyme-
not asKing for a new day;
a soul adrift, in a sea of doubt,
no compass, no sails, no wind,
no faith, "tag you're it, hide your eyes and don't count."
on being saved from the fade to black
from grey lack of faith.
When you look at cancel culture,
and what it has become today,
you can’t help but look back and think
it didn’t use to be this way.
Free speech was once more respected,
people allowed to say their peace,
half the lefties who want us gone
once said the people should speak free!
So why is it that they do this,
what has made them seek to repress?
There’s several reasons, each worthy
of examination, redress.
The politicians are simple,
they see it as a useful tool
to rid themselves of annoying
people who think the pols are fools.
Like all the tyrants of the past
they love making souls ‘disappear,’
and any thing that helps them out
they will indulge in with great cheer.
their kind has always been this way,
The founders knew that pols were sh-t,
but they can’t use tools unless we
let the jerks get away with it.
And we know that the corporate types
just go along to get along,
fearing so much to get bad press
they don’t care if their acts are wrong.
So in bed with the government
they’ll cower and do as they’re told,
so afraid of losing money
that they don’t dare anything bold.
They think twitter is the real world,
and shrink back from shrieking harpies,
afraid that if they don’t play ball
they’ll lose out on the ESG.
Ignoring the big audience
that is waiting for them out there,
openly calling us bad names
to convince the crazies ‘they care.’
Then there’s the weak majority
who never grew out of high school,
they bit their tongue and say the words
out of fear they might not look ‘cool.’
That they would appear out-of-place
from what the news preaches to them,
fearing what other people think,
scared that they might lose all their friends.
These people don’t cancel themselves,
they just try to keep their heads down,
but when someone’s life is ruined
these types are nowhere to be found.
They do not bother to speak out
even when they think it’s wrong,
they rationalize the evil,
because in truth, they’re not that strong.
willing to give up all their rights,
then go make excuses for that,
they’re feeding the alligator
hoping that in will eat them last...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
wind god
was Boreas
of winter and north winds
swept down from cold northern mountains
of Thrake
he blew
cold icy gusts
of breath from bloated cheeks
hair and beard spiked with ice, wide mouth
howling
sometimes
seen as horse-shaped
purple-winged swift stallion
he swept down on mares in new spring
to sire
horses
for King of Troy
mated with Trojan mares
fathered the swift, wind-shaped stallions
for him
he found
King of Athens’
daughter, Oreithyia
by riverside meadow, playing
dancing
enthralled
by her dancing
and struck with mad desire
he abducted her to the sky
to wed
hid her
in soft white clouds
their love bore a daughter
Khione, beautiful goddess
of snow
sons, the
Boreades
chased away the Harpies
that threatened the King Phineus
of Thrake
Athens
celebrated
Boreas festivals
praised him as their god of the cold
north wind
The toughest thing about Homer’s Odyssey
Is that it is written in Greek
The trouble with mine it seems
It’s written in words ya can’t speak
For Homer had Satyr’s and Harpies
And trickery tucked up his sleeve
While I, in the midst of confession
Told lies that “No-man” would believe
And yet still I strive for I’m still alive
While Homer has yellowed with age
With all of his writings now high on a shelf
While I pen bad poems on a page
For some demon’s are, and some demon’s ain’t
Deserving of historic note
But all of them alter the truth with their “taint”
So, get off your fat asses and vote
Very soon marmosets and moose
will get their vaccines.
A lone gnome fishes in a Koi pond.
The light of the moon
has been dimmed by a Chinese switch.
Elite bands of cockatoos
fight for free speech, but just for themselves.
Preening jackasses bray in the green rain
and the songs are all the same.
A fearful old man stammers in the dark.
So far the greater apes are in ascendance
however, a turtle and trumpet alliance
has formed a combo of resistance.
Four masks a day and a cup of instant propaganda
keep us hiding behind a surreal subterfuge.
Afghan warlords wander empty streets
handing out relief packages.
Birds rent-out tree space to killer bees.
Belfry’s are bankrupted by fleeing bats.
Harpies and stool pigeons
turn in their stools for further interrogation.
King Kong whimpers inside a skyscraper closet,
too shy and lonely now
to swat even the smallest of biplanes.