Long Hastily Poems
Long Hastily Poems. Below are the most popular long Hastily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hastily poems by poem length and keyword.
Animal Kingdom
Beautiful creatures large and small
Species which fly, walk, swim or crawl
Respect life, not hastily condemn
Animal kingdom, we're guests among them
Cats, horses, elephants, giraffes
Hyenas with their infectious loud laugh
Zebras, crocodiles, lizards and snakes
Fish that swim in large crystal lakes
Eagles, hawks all raptors of prey
Birds by the water along a sea bay
Dolphins, whales, urchins that creep
Many size creatures of the blue deep
Consider them all, not steal their land
Man and his greedy money make plan
Less is their food encroach in 'our' space
Only to beat them with sticks and give chase
Hunt them down for a trophy cup win
Shoot them for their ivory and skin
Sickening to what humans will do
Brutality of those savage traps too
Caged in markets for the meat trade
Pain and suffering, eyes all afraid
Man will reap what he does sow
Rise of the animals evolution will grow
Return back their lands, freedom abound
Animal kingdom wear their own crown
Abuse them no more, lets end this all now
Sacred is life, compassion our vow.
24.10.20
The powerful palpitations pounding in my chest,
Will my heart with stand this test,
Another attack has just begun,
Abracadabra out it sprung.
Piercing pain constricting my chest,
My ribs collapsing, the attack conquering its quest,
Each breath harder, sharper, shallower than the next,
My fingers hastily clawing at my chests raw flesh.
Panic awakens my pale plain face,
Every gasp leaves a lingering lifeless taste,
Time is of the essence, prayers wont save me now,
The devils claws run deep and are dragging me down.
Awaiting me, a fiery hell of tortured terror,
My lungs burn is my soul to be condemned forever,
Just one deep breath to save my soul hear me saviour,
I beg of you I am not ready to meet my maker.
Finally the attack releases my air way,
The fatal fear and fantasies begin to fade away,
I have survived another panic attack today.
Bruzo my dog
Little pup at my maternal uncle's house,
Moved from his mother's lap and chose mine,
Pure black, on forehead a white stripe,
Tears of love in his eyes, that I did wipe ,
Reached my home and added onto family,
Dear he soon became, grew up hastily,
Faithful, wagging his tail in affection,
Clever and alert, wit in perfection,
A burglar's alarm, awake at nights,
Sweet morning walks and evening fights,
Winters, summers, autumn, rains and fog,
With every season bloomed, Bruzo my dear dog !
Written on 23/7/14
Contest- Animals alive
Sponsor- Carol Eastman
Ranked 3rd
Now entered for poetry contest "My Furry friend" by Royal T
Listen to the wind:
it roars, it murmurs,
righteously chants --
In gusty breaths, exhales, rants,
tempestuously pants.
In tyrants it wails --
tearing sleeves
and billowing sails.
It reddens, it pales
the ruddy faces of non compliant seamen
and blithering, pompous beached whales.
Perhaps this poem, too hastily sown
Should have read the rules
before breeze and blown
and not so far from the guidelines would
this pen have wont to roam. But in hindsight,
wind stirs in many out of main focus ways
blossoms beyond bordered-grid of a well centered garden
in orphaned airs, for some, yet, may glisten their sways --
Feeling hurt owing to belied expectation
The earth entity floundered hither and thither
Spiralling gloom causing consciousness contraction
The wound cut deep since he relied upon his transgressor
Pain amplified by cyclic thoughts plunged him into despair
For healing he visited a reputed clinical psychologist
Listening patiently seated on a swivelling chair
Of no avail were therapists or hypnotists
Finding no way he asked this question
Who feels the pain and why is relief not simple
This line of inquiry brought him to a clear recognition
Cause of suffering delusion dwelling in images ephemeral
Reflecting deeper if an animal is ensouled in human form
It goes without saying that it’s actions will be feral
We expect not from a carnivore embrace warm
Thus our cognition should be spherical
Meditating thus in silence and stillness
He knew each being acts as of his evolution
With all our flaws we too seek divine connectedness
Yet hastily condemn others by our jaundiced eye perception
The afflicted soul then rose in the light of clear understanding
Looking at the other with kindness and compassion
His own orientation thus prayerfully correcting
In quietude of transcendental meditation
17-January-2021
Assaulted Peanuts
They rode across the Western Hills,
For the land of Middle Eyed Bong,
To raid the Salted Peanut Trees,
Of King Pod and his merry throng.
Who were they, this reckless band,
Dare to plunder with motley crew.
They knew not what their fate would be,
Angering the wrath, of Old Cashew.
Cashew is Sentinel of this land,
Most powerful Nut to crack.
Born and raised in the Pecan Mines,
Eyes of Steel and Walnut Black.
Renegade leader of this Gang,
Was Outlawed Percival Grimface,
Once a native of Middle Eye,
Until his assaulted Peanut disgrace.
Pod and Cashew received a snitch,
Of Percival’s imminent raid
and so, prepared their men elite,
The Special Peanut Brittle brigade.
Grimface had an informant,
A betrayer amongst his ranks,
Passed the word to King Pod’s Men,
Who were grateful and offered thanks.
The Brittle Brigade were fighting men,
No one could take them down,
May contain some traces of Nut,
Emblazoned above the Town.
The attack was planned for Midnight,
On the Thirty-Third of July.
A new Moon was clearly visible,
Under a cloudy dark blue sky.
On the edge of town, they did dismount,
To make ready for their swag,
In expectation of stealing Salties
and Take-away in a plastic bag.
The Peanut Trees were just to hand,
When Cashew shouted, GO MEN GO.
Percival walked into an ambush,
He was struck underneath, down below.
No match for King Pod’s Brittle Men,
Who had muscle and sling shot bricks.
Grimface and his Gang, outwitted,
Only Conkers and pointy sticks.
They never saw it coming,
No protection from Peanut shells,
Hastily retreating under fire,
Their pain and ear-piercing yells.
Those Renegades had been dispatched
Back from whence they came,
Never to return to Middle Eyed Bong,
In fear; of getting more, of the same.
If there’s a moral to this story,
Of which I seriously doubt,
Buy your own Salted Peanuts,
Else your villainy will find you out
Not a dove but a treaty,
still wet with ink,
signed by hands that once held nothing but a border,
a line drawn hastily through breath and blood,
through cities turned to dust.
Diplomats gather round a long table
believing paper can outlast a wound.
I have read of peacekeepers who dress the wound
of nations with gauze thin as ink,
blue helmets standing sentinel at the table
where old enemies redraw the border
not with rifles now,
but dust of chalk,
erasing what they built on breath alone.
A ceasefire is only breath
held long enough to let a wound
begin its slow arithmetic with dust,
to let the pen release its ink
into a silence larger than any border,
a hush that settles soft across the table.
But peace is not a signature,
not a table set once and left.
It is the daily breath
of tending what refuses to leave the border
between memory and wound,
each morning choosing to lift the ink again,
though the page keeps turning to dust.
Perhaps we are all made of dust
that argues with itself across a table,
each nation a paragraph of ink
trying to become a single breath.
The charter calls it dignity; I call it a wound
we bandage nightly at the border,
not to erase the border,
not to deny the wound,
but to keep faith that the dust
will someday settle into something whole,
this breath we share,
this fragile, shared table,
this covenant renewed in ink
and human, human breath.
So let the border hold its dust,
the table keep its wound half-healed in ink
still we return,
still we bring our breath.
When...through it all, we trust Him!
To verily, Let God Have His Way…
Is much more than words… we say
It’s choosing to stand …and survey
Rather than to bend things our way
It is calling on our...faith...each day
While ignoring the obvious… display
Of the bold, unrighteous acts at play
It is being still when itching to...flay
It is trusting when wanting to...bray
It is patience despite the vast outlay
Of what is wrong, and fully decayed
It is strength found in hope’s…sleigh
It’s leaning while relying on Yahweh
It is remaining silent in times of gray
It is crying but turning…yet… to pray
It is when in humanness of our...clay
We tell Jah what we want on our tray
But then tarry not… to hastily convey
All the results...are His whatever may
Also, it is waiting… within belief’s ray
As we yield to Let God Have His Way
Job 23:10, 12:15, 19:25, Hab 3:17-19, Ps 13
copyright; jmsbell-6/18/21
Appeared my angelic princess.
Me overwhelmed reckless helpless
being swept away by flow of flood.
Hard to control bubbling blood.
Appeared pretty pristine princess
Could not help but to be impressed.
Hastily heart beats jumped up high
Surprised as she blushed being shy.
Appeared charismatic princess
Me perplexed on her glance blink less.
What could I do but sank in dream
Pearly love filled heart to full brim.
Appeared most elegant princess
but just passed and did not address.
She held the hand of handsome prince
But I couldn’t forget her then since.
All are feeling anxious on the old camp ground this night.
Weary Yanks are girding for tomorrow's awful fight.
Young soldiers loll about, staring blankly into slowly dying embers,
Dreaming of home, recalling happier times that each remembers.
Supper is finished, the usual rancid coffee, hardtack and beans.
The sentries call out, "All Is Well!", one of their hourly routines.
Sergeants huddle with comrades, offering solace to their platoon.
From across the way is heard a harmonica's melancholy tune.
From afar, Rebel cannon is heard, a portent of things to come.
Men in gray are readied for battle to the beat of muffled drum.
The ebon sky is aglow with the cannons' awesome display,
Competing with the moon, overshadowing its mellow ray.
Here and there a Bible is opened to the Twenty-third Psalm,
To once again be comforted by that eternal message of calm.
Pensive eyes that on the 'morrow may be forever sealed,
Gaze upward, imploring God's embrace as their guardian shield.
Hastily penned notes read, "If I should be borne to heaven above,
Know that we will be reunited in The Father's gracious love!"
Gallant men draw upon their innate will, apprehensions to allay.
The dulcet strains of "Taps" lowers the curtain on another day.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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