Long Hazing Poems
Long Hazing Poems. Below are the most popular long Hazing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hazing poems by poem length and keyword.
Sine Wave replicated the Hand whistle, a drum and
bass and tremble guitar fused with a funky mix of
in opposition tothe fella's camped further in the distance.
There a banjo and fiddle were played while a crooner
serenaded the dust clouds kicked up the drunken
cowpokes.
While the Elders sleep or were to drunk to refuse them
wise mid twentyish people grabbed instruments and
went into the barn and began to
fuse there style
with sounds that were never heard before. A member
of the orchestra used his influence to
convince these busy hard working people
to make time to get together
and create music. The way music needs to be appreciated.
Night hides the meanest of day
but moring tell the true story
if she'll go
or if she'll stay
Regional flavors
Capsicum Annuun
Hot Peppers and Milk
Pizzicato wash your hands
begore you pull
them strang's
Headdresses and Cowboy hats
Hazing a Tenderfoot
Focused, concentrating
on some random
but persistent thought
riveted in ruminations
fixed on point and purpose,
ponderings deep and dark
in retrospective scrutiny;
Aged, antiquated,
moments and years,
decades and suddenly a century
passe, slipped into senescence
names, history
lost in time.
Startling, staring, fading away,
hazing in dull images
out of time and out to space,
evanescence, dispersed,
vaporized, evaporated,
lost in the moment,
dematerialized from reality.
Time intervals, stretching, elongating
millennia unrecorded
scratching at eternity,
forever modes, ended
life spans, lifetimes, legacies
names, history, forgotten
in missing time.
Wouldst, such mortal traverse the crags of Ne'ermere tails,
tis a grayest hour whence Luna's twilight flits her crown whipped
freed of mnemonic shimmers.
Hail winds bade the cliffs fond too well,
the forest dwelleth quietude, erring not to wake ired beasts.
The Black fog rose amidst digits crag,
gorging deeply in a slithering bout,
its murky poking hazing to edge's where hast steep crevices befallen
debris burdens.
Forgiven enemies miserably hast to but exclaim vapid
excuse faltering, absent of morals that yield despair
heightens.
Invasive spirit's of Ne'ermere hatha steered lost souls to the steppes,
to the moors.
The ambling blood moon followed a selection of bane thoust chose for
dying, fast coming.
Inky's inscript on columbine petals are guarded riddle,
steeped in thine devil's brew of concoctions.
Constant a stirring from tri-conjurers and duo warlocks
of ruin, loss, and havoc--locals all of Ne'ermere.
A daring wraith bidst the gifts amassed of bless souls,
the voids of trifled entities of a doomsday.
Shortening the navigated souls in their mortal state of decay,
their tenuous grasp of wilted massive fibrous veins.
Remnants of a vigorous life surrender to their authentic demise via a
hall between perishing slow or death's blow.
Truly, a proper act of granting reassemblage their formers,
Earth's finality prompt sail to the sunrise of the ancients,
and a warriors welcoming.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,:>>>>>>>:>,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
of late, a solitary fireman’s sedate, sad sobs
sought some balm for his own dreadful sighs,
missing the “arffs” of a terrier he so adored
his eyes slept alone on nights deep in aching ardor…
till he was summoned and exposed to a blazing
untamed flame, raging a tower wired in wild hazing. in
one giant flash of courage, he threw himself unto screams
of canine thunder. then, a fainting spell. a whisked escape…
brave smoke fighter gradually revived from blinks
of quick stupor by warm licks lapping his ashen skin.
accepting tender scratches of mommy dog’s paws,
the flapping ears of puppies awakened his kindred desire…
as he gazed into a gauze of grateful reverie , hounds
clung to his belly as if he were a daddy pooch leading
a lost pack, now orphaned from dreadful calamity,
yet his rare touch dissolved tiny pups’ grating anxiety…
a blessing poured from all this catastrophe… fireman
was awarded three doggies’ full custody. for gratitude
is known as a prize for risking one’s life; the bliss
of God’s gift bestowed on a man and his new family…
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
(( for Joyce Johnson's " Doggy Gratitude" Contest ))
A boy. Short. He goes to school and cowardly hides behind every corner, scouting out what lurks behind the next turn. Always shoved and disregarded, he seemed to have no friends. He was bullied everyday by this monster. Someone who terrorized him since day one. “Why me?” was his battle cry, just before every black eye.
A boy. Alone. He was adored at school. A big jock. He hated his life, his choices. He picked on this kid, a rather small kid, who was simply pathetic. He would catch glimpses of him, cowering behind corners, and hiding in bathroom stalls. It was this kid that made him popular. He did not hate this him, but simply saw him as an stress reliever. Anger reliever. He was praised at school, abused at home. School was his safe haven; his home away form home, but no one knew what truly went on behind that strong, muscular smile. Divorce. Abuse. Shame. His mother was a prostitute, sold every part of her just to manage to keep him alive. His father was a drunk. Abused every inch of him to relieve him of his intoxicated wounds.
A mom. A prostitute. As a little girl she was very bright. Did well in school, and even managed to get into a good college. It wasn’t until that one night she mad a stupid mistake. It was one of those fraternity parties. “All the cool kids went, right?” She would tell her self. That’s all it took. One kid. One rufie. One sip. Next thing she knew she was pregnant. She dropped out of college. Told her boyfriend it was his kid. Got married. And had a beautiful baby boy. It took five years until she told her husband the truth. The truth about the conception. He left. She was alone, receiving no support. No money. It took her one month until she found herself in the back of a strangers car in an alley way for $200.
A frat boy. A stupid hazing ritual. “Host a party. Drug a girl. Have sex.” Only he made a mistake. He got drunk. Too drunk. He had no control over his actions. The demon residing within him took over, raped a girl, and impregnated her with what ruined her dreams, his dreams. In frustration he went to get fresh air. And made one more stupid mistake. He was conscious of what he did, and knew he could not live with his mistake. Police found him hung from the fraternity balcony the next morning.
This is in dedication to all those who suffered from something that was no in there control.
evening rolled into
my self conscious beliefs
during a subtle warming
of climate change
i'd completed a list
of life's worries
that had henceforth succomb
to a natural disaster before me
why i was quite tempted
to hunker down beneath whims
thee hovering of thee vanishing eye
from this tropical storm
brewing within my soul
emotions were stirring about
calalities of sudden laughter
hazing almost above the hinting
of rouge the sweet nectar
surrounding suicide thoughts
a bleak craving of balance
between life and death
why i'd explored eternal meaning
immortal matter consumed me
wrapping my body in a mauve garment
of my past my present
as my future mingled about sanity
madness had occured over time
an yet i'd never felt
more whole before
than in my death
created somewhere within
my own mangled mind
I know I'm second-hand
Filtered out to feed ur addictions
It's bad for my health
But I can't help relapsing over the touches
They take the cigarettes to their lips
and blow the leftovers at me
And I inhale with everything I have
I'm out of breath
But when im with them
It feels like something to live on
I'm an addict for the 2nd hand
I can't avoid it as it blows through me
Around me
Hazing everything I used to be familiar with
It becomes a part of my bad habits
My new form of oxygen
Different from the one I was taught about
I'm second-hand
And I hate that my lungs are worse than u thought
It burns when I think about it
I shouldn't have gone
I promised I'd stay away
Find something to give me purpose again
But turns out it's all I'm good for
A product of what I was made of
2nd hand on what I grew up on
All is quiet
as I exit through the Emergency Entrance
at the local hospital.
I notice a black T-shirt
with a pink ribbon logo
announcing in bold green script
"No one fights alone"
Due to context
I'm guessing we're talking about fighting cancer;
harm taking us away
from health care giving and receiving
we would all prefer
while walking out of,
rather than lying in,
any Emergency Entrance.
But, I am a theologian
by training
and practical parenting experience,
so I'm thinking,
Why do we not also wear T-shirts
reminding each other
"No one loves alone"
Or even
"No one loves to fight alone"
or even just among ourselves,
within our own households
and habitats.
I ponder my way back to humble Yaris,
with automatic electronic nothing,
and on the radio I hear clusters of fighting themes:
mental illness
domestic violence
gun violence
automated weaponry
military fear and threat stress-testing, enduring, stretching, growing
hazing as baptism through alcohol
depression and repression and suppression
acclimation to chronic climates of terror
and quiet climates of ever more dissonance
lack of healing sleep
anger management
fear mismanagement
mutual assured destruction (MADness)
diplomacy by threat and RightWing arms sales
military industries
applied increasingly to personal and domestic disarray,
local terrors,
households
and habitats
going up in flames
flowing under floods...
No one fights alone
just as no one loves peace alone,
and health
and ecological wealth
and ego-resilience
and eco-systemic balance,
harmony,
synergy.
No one can sustain love
while violently fighting
just as no one can sustain this fight
for climates
and cultures
and ecologies
and theologies of health
by thinking we are
admirable
or somehow credible
or even possible
sorting through
and choosing Love alone.
As I exit my car,
now home,
I think
My T-shirt would probably be too wordy,
No one loves to fight disease
and unease
alone.
Especially not God
or Allah
or Patriotic Loyalty to Earth
or wherever we find our
remember to Love messages.
All is quiet
as I re-enter our home.
I seem to be,
in this moment,
alone.
Turquoise tears stain my face
Like violet varicose veins
Stains of sentimental sensuality
Wrapped in white fears and black feathers
For love has fuschia flown away
Ruining reverie’s red roses
Turning them black decomposes
Any ink dried died in letters for love
Would have fell on silver sword
Sacrificed, sliding through heart
Silky bloody poetic death
He saves a cutting of brown hair
And a crimson rose of despair
Pressing between pages of art
Like my onyx broken heart
Was only a notch on burnt belt
Firey from love’s hazing hell
Wicked love spell wilting passion
Kisses rationed refusing
To hold wet tongue’s telling
Of rebelling rose’s rise
In spirit despite demise
Petals of purple pain
Painting passion with rain
And teal tears tangerine train
Of torment trailing behind
Like a wedding dress
Of jilted beauty
Doing duty during dilemmas
Flower to remember
Pressed between pages
Of a little black book
Of love unreturned
Consider a beehive
and/or an ant nest,
and call it holistically holonic,
egoQueen and eco-proletariat balancing regenerativity,
Beloved cycle-climaxing Community.
Now look at the manual/womanual service sector
as co-responsible co-redemptive CareGivers
and the cooperative-matriarchal Queen
and her fertile multigenerational authoritative function
as perfect CareReceiver,
co-investing in long-term mutual future optimization returns
of healthy regenerativity
continuously slow-growth projected
for long-term CareGiver/Receiver health-wealth abundance,
resonance,
recycling resolution.
Now notice,
while we might see bee and ant ecology of CareGiver/Receiver
as synergetic
mutually co-relational prime relationship,
yet the CareGiver employment sector
in LeftBrain dominant human eco-politics
has become increasingly competitive WinElite-Receivers
contending with Loser-NonElite CareGivers.
Wealth receivers
and health service providers,
domestic matriarchal nurturing laborers
have turned what was rich neurological nutrition
into a ghetto employment sector
for those who have nothing more valuable to offer
our capitalist-survivalist Either/Or
monoculturing degeneration
Over-feeding CareReceivers into WealthHoarders,
growing resentful UnderCaste revolutionaries,
revolting against prisons and detention camps
around shrinking service economy ghetto-dwellers
with full-growing feelings of over-populated futility,
competitive Lose-Wealthy/Lose-Healthy
terrorizing/terrorist rabidity.
For healthier cooperative ownership and self-governance,
consider a beehive
and/or ant in nature/nurturing matriarchal nest
of appositional BothGiving/AndReceiving role identification,
rather than EitherGiving OrReceiving Win/Lose
LeftBrain egocentric anthropocentric dominance
CareReceiver un-naturally authoritarian and disempowering,
predicting further Winner v Loser degenerative trends
of narcissistic grazing and hazing,
feeding off LowerCaste CareGivers
rather than feeding and breeding with.