Long Harshest Poems
Long Harshest Poems. Below are the most popular long Harshest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harshest poems by poem length and keyword.
Cat style slow blink,
relaxed into infatuated reflexes;
‘Lick between the lines…’
a message conveyed;
The purr is burning the air
dripping between each crevice;
Prowling into foreplay
cat style is all knowing;
With a slow blink cat style
hunger thickens a dry throat;
Hissing into the harshest moan
this fight is full of unbridled passion;
Sand paper is so coarse yet tender;
Exfoliating strokes give birth
to a new bond overflowing with peace;
Cat style is an all knowing purr;
Rumbling louder we grow closer
to the most intimate of brawls;
Tasting, biting and clawing the walls;
Taking in side to side
reading those lips;
‘Lick and fill up my empty space..’
Dive intoxicated head first into
a cat style slow blink.
A storm is brewing,
clouds are scattered by the harshest wind,
but they flee Eastward to meet the surly, purple sunset;
dark is rapidly growing subduing everything,
even seagulls are worried
about the safety of their tiny chicks huddled in the nest.
When gloominess replaces sunshine,
the evening is a looming shadow vanishing into the woods
resounding with the frightening howls
of wolves and wild dogs caught in the branches that entwine.
Huge balls of hail hit the charcoal terrain,
their force is too powerful and they form small craters,
the lightening strikes and trees fall down;
the forest's paths is an awful sight of broken branches.
It will be around midnight before the enraging Spring storm wanes,
no bird, no wolf or wild dog will be allowed to return;
they barely escaped death by taking refuge in the abandoned barns,
hungry and cold, they hope to greet the new dawn.
I'm learning not to embrace the frantic chase.
With things that are fleeter than me.
For things that wish not to be found.
For things that yearn to weave me to the frozen ground.
I'm learning to receive, graciously.
The things that may make you bleed.
Like love surrounded by white-hot fire.
Truth encased in blue blotted briar.
Peace is always worth the harshest sacrifice.
That doesn't mean I'll no longer engage.
To be that grand, golden giver.
It doesn't mean I've become a bitter quitter.
I'm still very much in the game.
I just lost the desire to keep score.
I'll be dispensing energy and shine more frugally.
Keeping company with dreams and gentle things.
Dodging the brutes and stained-glass boars.
Things that breathe just to bite and sting.
I pray the universe invites me to sample.
Its graceful rhythm and purity.
Of that sweet-sweet final sleep.
She grabbed at the quarter full pop bottle neck,
cream soda from Marsh’s,
and held like a truncheon, in the harshest
of voices
produced an otherworldly sound, GETOUT!!
“Give me a chance” and he stepped forward.
Stood aside her I moved towards
“****ing try it”
I’d never seen those eyes.
GETOUT!!
He turned and left.
He never normally got angry,
or swore.
I’d only heard him twice before.
Once as a just unwrapped Dunlop 65, badly hooked, hit the Irish Sea and brought blasphemy and profanity,
“Jesus ****ing Christ”
and as he handed me his driver an inappropriate hidden smirk from me,
his Sunday morning caddy,
for a couple of shots and 20p
The second at Elland road,
stood on the Gelderd End Kop,
Clarke swivelling before side footing in from twelve yards with me sat atop
a stanchion,
him stood behind,
“Get the f*** in” and he shook me as I cheered,
right arm aloft,
scarf tied on the wrist,
mimicking Sniffers celebration.
Sharing in the mass elation.
The best birthday treat.
It wasn’t our fight.
The adults crumbled.
We were let down on all sides.
Pre safeguarding times.
No support, no care.
Only the adults got choices,
not the era to listen
to five scared tyke voices.
I've cried enough tears till my eyes could weep no more.
Pain, a mere consequence of love—
felt sometimes when it's here, other times when it's gone.
Given at times, taken at others.
To heal, we must learn to forgive ourselves,
to endure rather than run,
to grow even in the harshest conditions.
What is life without the will to strive,
to serve and, when it's our turn, to receive?
Life is but a pendulum,
swinging ceaselessly, offering both joy and sorrow.
So we learn Amor Fati, embracing what comes,
and Memento Mori, remembering what must end.
To live as we are willed,
manifesting the glory and grace of God.
How can we fulfill God's will if we refuse to shine?
Whom do we serve when we shrink from our light?
What benefit is there to those we love,
if we dim ourselves for fear of shining too bright?
To love is to teach.
Slavery is hell. Hell is back. Slavery is worse than hell
No freedom of speech! And democracy is neither cheap nor for sale
Hell is here again. Please listen to the first resounding bell
Hell is as terrible as slavery, a source of shame, pain, suffering and misery
For poor hardworking migrants who have crossed under infernal sunny
Days, hot and thunderous rainy nights, and dark cloudy sky
Many uninvited borders in order to reach potholes full of ice
And snow, where the weather is hostile, racist and deadly
God did not create our world to be so sinister and unfriendly.
Slavery is here again, where children are summarily killed
Where gentlemen are sissified and humiliated, where unskilled
Goons and henchmen are trained to be worse than wild animals
Where women are beaten and trampled like rags in shopping malls
Where rumors of inhuman atrocities are widely spread
To sow fear, fear which is as bad as living in real hell
And where young men and women’s futures are for sale
To the harshest and meanest detention centers or gallows
This sorry world has no future for people with so many lows.
Exploitation is hell. Hell is back, again. Corruption is hell for the masses in the crasse
For the victims of countless wars and for the desperate migrants who hide en masse
Rich countries wage major wars and let their proxies drop heavy bombs and cans
To destroy the fragile homes of the impoverished, unarmed and starved citizens
One wonders why some countries have a military budget so high and wasteful
Maybe only Satan knows why human beings cannot be too cordial or fraternal
And why factual rumors and actual animosities are so widely spread
Telling the truth always hurts bullies, tyrants, executioners and hideous perpetrators
While the uneducated victims behave like hiding zombies in the wicked corridors.
Copyright © September 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 19
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 10/3/2025 1:17:00 PM
( 1st Place )
Written: September 27, 2025
No one calls her name
past the silent edge of her house.
No family voice calls her name.
The house is bare,
The quiet coils around her chest
heavy as a winter frost.
Empty shelves murmur back her longing.
No bread, no work,
only the rasp of breath stitching the silence
to measure the day.
The table bears a chair no one will fill…
she keeps it there
though no one comes.
It listens when she cannot speak,
it holds her secrets while the world looks past.
She cannot speak;
the streets do not bend to hear her grief.
People move past like shadows,
her sorrow clinging to the chill air,
her need folding into the city’s pulse.
Under the cloak of darkness...
she reaches for a mother long gone,
the hands that once held storms at bay,
the lullabies that stitched the dark
with tenderness.
Now even memory aches like an open wound.
And still—
each morning she rises,
pulls her body from the weight of despair,
plants her soles on the frost of morning
and begins again.
Not because it is easy,
not because someone will notice,
but because life…
even in its harshest silence…
demands she endure.
Dive deep if sea seems inviting enough,
Leap in a river, forget swelling flood,
Climb on to that temptingly tricky crest,
Walk down to the valley sloping that go,
Be guest to an unknown nameless forest,
Explore a hamlet never found on map,
Meditate else on shore of tranquil lake,
Try, make friends with men of an unknown tribe…
That’s how those in love of their instinct live.
Life’s a lyric of valour-filled ventures,
Successful or not, mattering little.
There’s friendship between birds of wings and sky,
As there’s between man’s feet and forest trail,
Between human life and longing to live,
Let a man kiss an opportunity
To challenge life, never to live in fear.
This wonderful, hard-to-get human life,
What if far too protected gets from strife?
Life’s no life lived on edge of blunted knife.
Penguins prosper in harshest of nature,
Their emperor kind leaps from a tall height
Into untried sea to span unknown depths,
Who trained them to dive, where did they practice?
But that is what helps penguins hail harsh life.
Insecurity and uncertainty,
As fertile grounds for serendipity,
Fair invitations are to existence.
What if a poem’s predictably prime,
And life unfolds on wings of perfect rhyme?
So, let a man follow his guts’ instinct
That height and depth two wings be of same bird,
If penguins know this well why not humans?
________________________
Reflections |22.12.2024|life, instinct, adventure
In the ocean’s vast and boundless deep, where light begins to cease,
A world of silent shadows casts a spell of tranquil peace.
Abyssal creatures, luminous with bioluminescent glows,
Paint streaks of light amidst the dark, where the deep ocean flows.
Jellyfish, like floating lanterns, illuminate the sable sea,
Drifting through the eternal night, in a ghostly, drifting spree.
Anglerfish, with lures of light, beckon through the abyssal plain,
A mesmerizing, glimmering beacon, in this tranquil, liquid domain.
Deep-sea vents, like chimneys, exhale plumes so rich and hot,
Harboring life in warmth and wonder, in the frigid, sunless spot.
Whales sing their melancholy tunes, reverberating through the deep,
A melody of ancient travelers, where the ocean secrets keep.
Corals, intricate and delicate, in the depths, quietly reside,
Creating havens for countless beings, where life and beauty abide.
Squid flash iridescent signals, conversations in hues and shade,
A vibrant dialogue in colors, in the oceanic parade.
In the abyss, where darkness reigns and where pressures densely pack,
Life forms with resplendent light, revealing nature’s knack.
For even in the most inhospitable, in the harshest, deepest sea,
Life finds a way to dance and glow, in beautiful, pulsing glee.
May we find inspiration, in these beings of the deep,
Who illuminate their own paths, where light is scant and steep.
In the glimmers of the abyss, amidst the pressure and the dark,
There resides a quiet, enduring spark, an ever-persistent mark.
For in the vast and inky dark, where hidden wonders lie,
We glimpse the boundless potential, under the ocean’s quiet sky.
May we carry forth this luminance, in our journeys, far and wide,
A beacon of resilience and hope, in life’s ever-turning tide.
I can wait for you, my love, in the silence of flowing time,
long and heavy years, with faith burning in every moment,
and let the nights be silent witnesses, guardians of longing,
one year, two, perhaps even a lifetime, wrapped in dreams.
The leaves of the calendar fall like the leaves of a tree in autumn,
but my desire remains steadfast, like a boundary stone,
only to know that it's not in vain, that my longing has roots,
that you need this waiting, this time given as a gift.
I can follow you through thickets and untrodden paths,
through scorching sands, where roads disappear into the horizon,
through mountains, on any path, even where not even the devil has set foot,
passing through all storms, without complaining about anything.
I will face fears and shadows, with an open and strong heart,
only to know that it's not in vain, that in the end, you will not betray,
that this journey together has meaning and light, that it's not just a dream.
I can give you everything I have, all that I am, without asking for anything in return,
and accept in your place the bitterness of the harshest destinies,
to consider my happiness the gift of offering you the whole world,
only to know that it's not in vain, that my love is not a shadow,
that I love you with purpose, that I am not living an unfulfilled dream.