Long Junks Poems
Long Junks Poems. Below are the most popular long Junks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Junks poems by poem length and keyword.
Mother told a story yesterday
of how poets die in black penury
she said I won't be a pretty poet
as my dreams dance on my ink
"Poets are mirror of deceit and pain
craving beyond the debris of life
over my dead body will you be one!"
she pulled down the heaven on me!
a woman is a country of many colours
the hearts of men are far country
we are all students of life, learning
even the masquerade has a date,
a date to join their ancestors beyond
hold your tongue to your bosom
fate knows whose palm wealth will
be planted sooner or later by nature.
You will be raped by darned darkness
fed by junks of insanity lurking by...
a teary gland shall emerge, right in
the bosom of your myopic despair shall
you live by your sorrow like an oiled
orchestral stammerer down the street
father raged holding my LLB firmly
like pixels collection from a twisted
camera abandoned by a loner.
writers are mirrors connected to reflect
this world filled with broken stanzas
if my fears are not for my brothers and
my sisters and for Nigerians chains...
I will leave my hope dashed in the air
tilt this morning with the eyes of the night,
we will dice this moon for hand
on the paupers animated series of life.
Aduke birthed venoms last year for you
Chioma made your tears red images
words are like Sunbeams, the more they
are condensed the deeper they burn!
demise of a poet, no one seem to notice
in your domain,you don't expect praises
if a kingdom falls,there are several others
to replace it while you rot calmly.
Poetry pays but its a business of the Elites,
a trade not meant for children!
Shakespeare name is still carved on the
body of the sky, his head still seen today.
what is penny without a route in life?
Poets are pauper to their testy tongue!
Father, leave me to my dreams to perish
alone, even if evil calls for good,
I will stand as one poet and always will.
let the traces of a saint be kept in peace
let the shining armor of a poet glitter
becoming another star is not a sacrilege
Poets are not broken and shattered dust
this musing muse is only our spirits;
a spiritual elixirs to the clay world
we are crops, the worldcover, ladders
let the ways of poets be kept, we are
not paupers on the street begging for meat.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Water rains the philosophies of mums each morning plying jeer can with tough
faces because the taps have been experiencing months of loneliness in it
gush.
The waking of sleepless mums gluing their hope to the taps gush, merely
believe this city certain to save the mums from slavery of their own. Owed
the boredom drenching in strings water to the songs of birds close the
window to the windmill.
The nights become longer to the size of river Nile wishing the night to
swallow the day, their pace can be heard in parliamentary to the voice of
the kettles rumbling in the morning
Their sweat determines the pain they have been through to ignorant of the
truth the pipes are like dead snakes on the roads biting us with fear.
It gushes no water that too melancholy on milky tooth of incompetent man
hovering his wings to the nation and attribution regretted.
She colors her behavior to spit the crowded of women around the well to
the crisscross that wills the nation to notion active only by the title of
competency if imagined.
The cascade of the city to scent of village with tantamount hope boiling no
interest to glue in city that with no sign of before, but backwardness
rumble to the dumbbell in the morning to mothers cry.
The dampness of their clothes to the scent of cockroaches well being, the
fake manifesto entertains poverty and glue the water collectors to
colloquial gossip in the morning hoping to ram the messed up and the big
mistake ever nation has cried that circulated in short saga.
Dumb in parliament to the palatable junks of protruding stomach shining
gown to the shake of lizard to the fall of Julius Cesar by the sword
And by the oath of power to the pointless of being a President to the
resident overdue of coalition of poverty is fence of blunders on the frying
plate
by then the imagination of mums fetching the tinkling of water enshrined
them each morning to months of lamentation
They rallied you to paint their faces with hope of impregnated oath to
breath of thief with heavy sombre spell diction's where we must defend to
the arrival of Jesus by jumbling solutions to fix broken ideas to the
weight night.
A life that you own yourself not
Of brutality and torture
Of head and heart work
Of hunger and thunder
A life bitter than bitterness.
#HABAR
OFFSPRING of love divine, Humanity!
To who, his eldest born, th'Eternal gave
Dominion o'er the heart; and taught to touch
Its varied stops in sweetest unison;
And strike the string that from a kindred breast
©Divine Martins
We are not dogs but chained
Deprived the right to breath
Heed to no one but our masters
Fed with garbage and junks
Speaking of cloth, rags are all we knew.
#HABAR
From the slight puncture of an insect's sting,
Faints if not screened from sultry suns, and pines
Beneath the hardship of an hour's delay
Of needful nutriment; when liberty
Is prized so dearly, that the slightest breath
That ruffles but her mantle, can awake
©Divine Martins
I can remember the story
Told by our grandfathers
Of a slave who lived a life
In between life and death
All because he respond late.
#HABAR
Tears with stripes.
His quivering flesh; with hunger and with thirst
Wasted his emanciate frame
Exhaust his vital powers; and bind his limbs
In galling chains? Shall he whose fragile form.
©Divine Martins
We work from sunrise to set
Whether our bellies smile or not
Just like everyone we have feelings
Of love and wants
But for survival sake, we swallow them all.
#HABAR
Again we tear the morsel from his hands;
An useless booty! while the sufferer droops.
Of keen enjoyment,can you boast?
Add poignance to your pleasures!
Can their tears delight you,can their groans?
@Divine Martins
A life of a clock
A life of confinement
A life filled with spikes
A life filled with all sort of woes
A life that I will wish to my enemy not.
#HABAR
The noblest freedom, freedom of the mind.
From the bounds of right and wrong given.
By penalties severe; which often flow,
But always certain, on the guilty head,
Pour down the terrors of the wrath divine
©Divine Martins
am the one that you corruptly and acidly destroyed I once a country of success and national prosperity hub educational champion, but you politicians ruined me. I was meant to benefit everyone living in me, you exploited me exposed me in ruin. I was the national Anthem of West Africa, because of bad leaderships and excessive of bureaucracy I was designed to benefits all people rather unfortunately I am the captain of poverty and development underdog, architectural blind.
I am stinking with abject poverty chronic sculptures and broken windows, the king liar and acceptors of blame lazy bunch of kindergarten, capable of feeding the nation with myopic thinking, justice is dying in courtyards. You let the people to dream pleasant dreams they wake up to utopia. The country is in abject poverty lotion of thieves, excessive greediness.
Politicians used our blood to write their golden manifestos they flattered us with junks of food. They altogether brainwashed us, we are the rightful and meaningful owners of our destiny. We have been denied justice to serve our country men and women. Sierra Leoneans are proclaiming having lots of minerals all infancy, and surreal.
I am a hamlet where developments are eminent. But corruption have eaten into our hearts destroyed our organs and kidneys like narcotics. Lawmakers enacted laws ask criminals to apply the peace. Beggars are moving around town to mendicant in order to survive in the heart of Freetown, in order to skip the day.
The Statehouse witnesses these painful memories the beggars are finding it too hard to put food on their tables. They move from east to west north to south as if they are intoxicated though they are not, but because too much of pain sucking in their skins, they brought us the Ebola method to subtract the population with Nazi salute.
Junks acting superior
When dem and em niggas
Be doing their things; we
don't envy, jealous, attack
Don't take without
You were not given
Was our awareness
Not taking forcefully our education.
But when it's ours
Dem start creating
The movie we the villains
They the right and nice ones
Em niggas wanna boss up
over us, so em can control
And take over our resources.
But Thank God we so bless that
we only observed instead
of reacting or fighting, a disruption
We just pray for insight
So we can act right from love
Moving on rather than revenge
When the time is right and Ours.
Father God bless thy conscious
Peacemakers, meek and those
That are pessimist to evil
By not allowing evil, lie and deceit
Prevail over good, wisdom and truth.
We not nice, we kind and authentic
We don't do it for attention
We do it for thy father's
Business thy kingdom
In thy soul the DNA
Heaven on earth
Let all junks
falls off
Itself.
At the right timing, Love
Thy will be done as it is
For it's
Time
Almighty
Creativity
On earth
Let all
The junks
Falls off
Itself.
The Bible said
Whatever branch
That does not
Produce good
FRUIT
Shall be cut off
Now judge us
With the work
Of our hands
Our deeds
Let all
The Junks
Fall off
Itself.
Knowledge for evil
A weapon in disguise
Destruction manipulation
Overpowering other's mind
For selfish pleasure
Instant gratification and bossiness
They've always put above
Thriving in integrity
Let all
The junks
Falls off
Itself.
As written in the bible
It's not by might
Nor by power
By thy spirit
Let all
The Junks
Falls of by
Itself.
I'm not a traditional poet
As you may think Wole Soyinka
Who writes in form and pattern
I'm only a man of romantics
Who love to paint words and polish lines
Until they become flower verses
They are not cast on a stone,
Or like gold, tried on fire
They're just free verses
They're the expression of my love
To you, Imabong, my dearest
I know you love to read my lips
When I say those sweet nothings
They are music to your ears
They are like a bouquet of roses
That bring satisfying feels to your heart
Of such unflinching devotion
These are the little things I do
To make love blossom
I remembered our walk in the clouds
When we flew like birds to California
How we painted the summer red
Beaten black and blue by stripes of the sun
And every night we slept like dead logs
After we have exhausted all day
Gallivanting the five stars
Yea yeah, that was when our love was young
And exuberant, such a juvenile delinquent
We ran around naked on the beach
Went clubbing all night long, every Friday
Drank alcohol, smoked cigarette
And woke up hangover, by Saturday morning
Ate junks from the restaurant cartel
Hamburger, shawarma, ice cream,
Anything we love to eat, we ate
But I knew, such feeling of invincibility dies with time
Such moments of madness we enjoyed, pass away with age
When I'm seventy and five years old
Doctors say don't eat this, don't eat that
Just be watching your blood pressure
Yet, I still found my heart pounding
When my grand children race off to school
And their parents, went chasing money everywhere
Home alone with the memories of my love
And the ghost of the years past
Rocking the chair
And humming old school songs
What a joyous encounter this year has been!
We are almost bidding it goodbye
But If I say it was only the smoothest it's a lie
We've lost some along the way,
You have suffered along the way,
You have hoped along the way,
Do you remember your resolutions for this year?
When you told yourself that twenty four will be the year?
Trust me you were right
And your achievements will shine bright
But what of us whose dreams weren't accomplished?
Like a crooked boat, I long for to be demolished
Sickness has been part and parcel
It has never left us as we had hoped for
Unemployment has cached up
With which strength will I clear the junks?
Our family members left us
How strong I am going to stand up to face next year?
Is it all but a fluke?
The ride or die I promised myself that this was the year
Unions have broken , lovers disentangled
Wasn't this the year I promised myself to settle down?
This pen is too heavy
My eyes so teary,
The journal I kept before the 'promised year '
Looks so old and stuffy
With the ink faded
Am I going to write the same resolutions for next year?
Or should I let nature take it's course.
But I know,
I am not giving up.
We dust ourselves and try again
Twenty -five here we come again.
From old and new squabbles sprouts!
After some side boundary rules flouts:
Its own list of blood-freezing deaths submitting;
A number that would send the humane vomiting.
From time to time sharpening local knives,
Not excluded the spears one into a body drives:
A free pillage of hard-to-replace property
And rubbishing of harder-to-replace liberty.
A resting community becomes a fleeing one,
Seeing as a farm tool metamorphoses into a weapon:
The hitting awareness that Javelins aren’t kinder than bullets
And poisoned arrows sure in hospitals to drain wallets:
Yesterday’s guiltless eyes are today’s mischievous pair,
By their furtive glances at the secret graves detected:
Undeniable witnesses to the killing The Normal wouldn’t dare
But badly wanting to ever remain protected.
Journalists at scenes of immoderate temper emerge,
Their jotter pads for anxious details and sluggish ones;
Stark junks remember to twist and color every dirge;
There ought to be chances for overstated ones!
A time for a police to swell his slim account
And police officials their pressure mount,
Their motivation and blueprint: concern for Humanity:
For the once precious things from some maternity.
I can’t even call it a room
Old mattress, no bed lamp, and fluffy pillows
Just a cabinet full of didactic books on the top shell
Some enjoyable comic books and dull novels on the middle
And DVD collections on the bottom of the shell
Couple of boxes full of crap on the floor
A broken radio and a wrecked watch nailed on the wall
In a pink-walled room
I only have this one piece of technology
A multifunctional diary to write my journal
The only way to express my feeling
Rather than to share it with those who act as if they care
In a pink-walled room
Some poetry are nailed to the wall
With words where others barely to understand
And others start to think that I’m losing my mind
But I think they are the ones who don’t even have a mind
In a pink-walled room
Where others put their junks on it
Filled it with wasted family keepsakes
I would call it a wastebasket
But they keep calling it, my room
What a beautiful life I have
In a pink-walled room
Where the rain keeps dripping from the ceiling
With an old curtain keeps hanging on my window
And the ants are started to make their kingdom
It stills the best place to express my feeling
My pink-walled room
I walked fearlessly into the room
But no one seemed to notice
At my legs my hands clenched in a tiny fist
I sat at the table and said a prayer
As I dug into my half cooked broccoli
I noticed something
You were silently watching me
I couldn’t think of anything from a to z
I cringed in my seat and laughed pointlessly at a joke
But you kept on watching me intently as everyone spoke
I looked down at my plate and examined the food
I gobbled down junks of meat trying to be rude
I wished you wouldn’t look at me the way you do
As I withhold a smile, of my consciousness
I’m laughing
Because I can’t help it when you look at me
When everything seems to freeze
Time slows down and I feel as if it’s now or never
But reality taps in and I know it’s never
I smile back politely at you and you look away
Every time you do it feels the same
But I withhold all the mushy emotions and tough it out
Because maybe one day you’ll save me from this
Maybe I’ll finally feel bliss
I chew silently on my last piece of broccoli
And escape the table
Escape my fears and untold fables
There’s much more than what you can see
Maybe one day you’ll realize you belong with me.