Long Infamy Poems
Long Infamy Poems. Below are the most popular long Infamy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Infamy poems by poem length and keyword.
Occasionally I despair,
an eternal uphill struggle,
a hopeless walk to sanity:
what else is there for me to do
but scream?
Occasionally my stomach rumbles
as pain, hunger and strife
make it grow distressingly tight.
Occasionally I try to fight
and seek that elusive light
at the end of the tunnel
only to find an inky blackness,
ebony obscurity of darkness
that smothers the soul.
Occasionally I search
for a twisted street or
an endless channel
only to discover a world
devoid of any kindness,
languishing in defilement,
foul-smelling with pollution,
tarnished with infamy and slander,
and an ever-reigning lust.
But often I stand up,
for myself if for none other
and look down towards the horizon
and find what I require: hope and trust.
PS Sorry I left Poetry in the lurch but was hospitalised for three days. I hope to read your poems soon. But please give me time.
Context,
Boer War , South Africa
The Battle for Spion Kop
Slag van Spioenkop
Ladysmith , Natal
23 January 1900
British forces under the command
Sir Redvers Buller
Dug in to take the higher ground
on Spion Kop
In order to engage the Boer army
encircling below
Lead by General Louis Botha
The rest is written down in history, folklore and infamy
And a famous football club's stand named after it
Dedicated to it's fallen
2nd Battalion Lancashire Fusseliers
243 Dead
1250 Casualties
I write this only because,
i myself visited this hilltop graveyard paid homage and knelt before it's unkept memorial upon it
And instead of feeling what i thought
i should be the travesty, horror and
utter futility of war
And whilst leaving took 1 final glance over my shoulder at the vista and panorama only to be over come by the sheer unadulterated serenity and beauty
And i left perversely thinking what a beautiful place to die
Death has a hell of a lot to live up too
On all these battlefields, shrill howls,
Corpses riddled with rotting bullets,
Abandoned tanks on fire,
Under this black sky of mourning, where death makes its home.
Where love has vanished from all these hearts darkened by hatred and greed,
the henchmen of the furnaces of hell express and realize all their fantasies.
Torn by the cries, by the tears, by the torments of war,
I walk like all these soldiers lost in the darkness that inhabits humanity.
My uniform stained with innocent blood bears witness to the battles and the agony of all these victims,
My soul bears the scars of all these horrible wars.
The tears of the earth were drowned in the hot hemoglobin of all these bloody battles.
Peace no longer appeases these minds, frozen by jealousy, infamy, hypocrisy, deceit, slander, savagery, barbarity and tyranny.
My brothers in arms have all tasted the glory of the lights of ultimate sacrifice.
All these oceans of pain spread by human wickedness.
Have made my existence on this planet bland.
Under the weight of regrets, human beings prefer to wear masks,
To hide the horrors of their darkness from the shadow that stands in front of their mirror every day.
For centuries, cannons have sung dramatic symphonies, but peace remains a dream,
For millennia, the din of weapons has sowed terror.
But humanity continues to invent weapons of mass destruction.
Thanks to the darkness of earthly vanities, I face the punishments of my life like a brave man.
He paces through ardor.
Ardor with scorched feet,
Feet in fire for love, forged in blaze.
Blaze that does not burn
Burn but brands his personality.
Personality with resolution,
Resolution hindering infamy.
Infamy he swallows completely.
Completely to make his son grow
Grow uninjured, undefeated.
Undefeated, he positions
Positions at the pit’s verge,
Verge where anxiety and destiny are vivid.
Vivid is the quietness of ransom,
Ransom as the price no one will grasp.
Grasp how he risks the world.
World where his boy might become open.
Open to choose the trail,
Trail avoiding him stagger
Stagger through the dark unaided.
Unaided as the father strides,
Strides but shapes a trail through stone.
Stone by stone, he builds a road
Road that is not bumpy but good and superb.
Superb becomes that man.
Man who walks not for his grandeur
Grandeur as a guide his son’s hand.
Poem by Mugisho N.
as the Towers die away
alone on a beach where thunderheads Roll
where I stood far from
shards of glass fire, horror, disaster
they televised only elemental chaos
cold rains passed through a nation's heart
then through my soul, hardened
on that day
that day when the unimaginable was destined
to end in fear
the day the towers came down
an insane day of Great Pain
that still haunts our hearts
still to this day, it is a new Infamy
a day that will live forever
for me then, the horrors of the coming holocausts
crowed my nightmares
a great stain of our collective history.
Felt in great disdain as I watch nightmares coming,
the towers, falling,
falling down to earth!
I watch the darkness gather in its wake
the blackest day never dreamt
as a nation cries
as a nation tries to understand
and Stand to face the terror of those future days
I watch divisions of desolation pit
Man against man
Brother against brother
belief against belief
these still echos through to this day
We fought back the tears
And watch what was happening
I try as I might
I try to see a future bright
I try as I might see a nation called together
to come to arms to take a stand
to muster the fight against an invisible enemy
I try and realize this world
this world was destroyed, rearranged
I cry as I feared the loss of a nation's soul
the time is at hand for a new day to be born
I will try and not let the hate burn out the rage
in the coming age, phantoms will linger
in the waiting, the slicing the wrong from right
I watch as a nation stands
tries to understand
a greater love Beyond destiny
I try to stand and understand this war
coming our way
postscript: this was 20 plus years yesterday ago
much has changed much has never gone away,
just like these tears, I fight as memory
cascades a storm in my inner history
all is left open, a sore
all is debris scattered
along a distant shore
now a new terror is born...a new war has come!
2 years and counting...
in 1122 I’ll fall to the ground for you
princess O princess of rosemary dew
you know it takes two
to tango fandango
Delia – heartbound; foundling born tired
forsaken vixen of dying light
a submarine ghost
a rose dale long closed
infidel lost little girl still admired
her royal affairs of turquoise red
flew into the newborn on a death bed
into the rabbit hole of paranoia
that’s chimerical, that’s flamboyant
how easy can dreams come to an end
it’s noontide of deathless urban decay
in a separation station of her heyday
Delia’s timorous, cold like iron
living the fate of Sharon Tate
feeling redundant, Delia is
a scarecrow of the nameless river
her russet hair like abbatoir cleaver
it’s been a folly,
infamy,
end of me
end of a saint, soon-to-be sinner
she was the girl that was ill
Delia of the lavender hill
travelling light year by light year
Delia of the metasphere
Oh the disgrace
Infamy and shame
The ridicule that’s now
Poured on her name.
There’s no escape
For she’s been seen
Trying to fake a pair
Of Designer jeans.
She couldn’t afford
The poor dear soul
The real thing and so
She cut her own holes
She fooled the world
For just a little while
Except they didn’t have
That designer style.
No ragged edges,
They looked too neat,
Too contrived and
Not really incomplete .
Sent to Coventry by
Her fashionable peers
Subject of ridicule
Whenever she appears.
Oh the disgrace
To be publicly seen
With fake holes cut
In counterfeit jeans.
She wears whole jeans now
One of the new fashion bold
And tells the world at large
Her legs are no longer cold.
Dear Student
I have made it a task
to motion my thoughts
and my fingers to type.
Striking at every letter
that could carve words in your mind
As I hope you can have a sombre reflection.
I have rummaged through
the bookshelf of human profanity;
injustice, inhumane, complexity,
indiscipline, insincerity, callousness
and absence of academic wits
are book titles that adorn its walls.
I learnt of the pills of unhappiness
you force through others throats
I am aware of how you have
made it a must to grow
cornfield of downtrodden students
while you bask in the euphoria of supremacy.
I feel sad
when your name
pops-up in the school's search engine
as a notorious class bully
I feel sad
when you pass-by
and the weak in your class
in their timid voices
call you "Mr Oppressor"
For how long will you continue
to swim in the sea of infamy?
Your classmates cry silently
they wish they never met you.
Those who yearned to have a voice
you annoyingly silenced them,
calling them names in class
while you make a mockery of them.
When will you learn to grow
and respect the other man?
It is never too late
to make an amend
to right yesterday's wrong.
It is never too late
for you to give that pat on the back
and help your mates to get out of their shells
It is never too late
to grease your mind with soothing words
It is never too late
to regain your good name
from this untold shame.
From your concerned teacher
the one you called "Mr Preacher."
(c)2020 Muyideen Ayinla
I remember where I was on 9/11. Beckoned inside
as I was mowing the lawn. I watched TV in shock
as one of the twin towers went up in smoke.
"Wow, terrible accident!," I thought.
After Plane 2 hits...WHAT!!??
day of infamy
attack on america
it's terrorism
A MEMORY Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Date written: 07/01/2020
When you take from life and give so very little!
And think you are a Roman god,supping on wine from goblets gold.
For recreation,poetry has morphed into sheer madness and infamy.
Destruction of others, by sword, pen or mouth, is your goal.
Drunk, to the winds,with false pride, as your motto!
Smashing human hearts in your path?
True friends...of them, you have no further need.
Just rest ye, on your velvet couch.
Fanned by followers, your biggest addiction and sad affliction.
You have slain, cruelly, those who cared.
You threw them heartlessly down, hard marble, bloodied stairs.
5/25/2022