Long Lancet Poems
Long Lancet Poems. Below are the most popular long Lancet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lancet poems by poem length and keyword.
I go to church each Sunday,
God warns ‘there’s much to fear,
the world is decomposing,
the final end is near’.
I go to church each Sunday
and taste the wine and bread,
though elsewhere on our globus
raw hunger reigns instead.
I go to church each Sunday,
hear preachers’ words rebuff
repentant pauper’s pleading
‘enough is not enough’.
I go to church each Sunday,
watch candles burning bright
although they don’t enlighten
the demons of the night.
I go to church each Sunday
to wash away my sin,
while prophets make their profits
with wars that do us in.
I go to church each Sunday,
think thoughts incessantly
of all our planet’s peoples
denied equality.
I go to church each Sunday,
sit peacefully in the nave
while folks afar seek, grieving,
throughout a boundless grave.
I go to church each Sunday
to view iconic forms
alive in lancet windows
that hide unholy storms.
I go to church each Sunday,
discharge the weekly tithe,
while others pay the piper
when Reaper whets his scythe.
I go to church each Sunday
regard the holy bell,
reflecting on the wastelands
where day and night they knell.
I go to church each Sunday,
hear persons of the cloth
disguise the hell hereafter
with wartime victory froth.
I go to church each Sunday,
half perched upon a pew;
with everything so hopeless,
what else can one but do?
I go to church each Sunday,
and gaze upon the steeple,
majestic as the rockets
that plunge on placid people.
I go to church each Sunday
to hear the choir’s song
keep time with banshees shrieking
within a world gone wrong.
I go to church each Sunday
(above, doves fly in flocks),
while far flung realms are flattened
beneath the wings of hawks.
I go to church each Sunday
and pray so oft for peace,
but still the death continues,
it never seems to cease.
I go to church each Sunday
to sing sad psalms of praise,
while distant drones are humming
o’er bodies burnt, ablaze.
I go to church each Sunday,
a quest to save my soul
’gainst warfare’s pride and plunder -
prayer never plays a role.
I go to church each Sunday
my errors to confess,
while countries keep on killing
and suffer no redress.
I go to church each Sunday
the future for to see -
a man-made Armageddon
that ends humanity.
An immortal time traveler,
I visit placid planets and shining stars
across the inter-stellar space
in the timeless continuum.
I’ve visited many times in disguise
the unique blue planet,
thriving with vibrant earthly life.
There, in the distant past eons ago,
I cherished the flow of geniality air.
On its affable wings
I could freely fly like a bird
across the span of the azure sky
to the horizon of lilting lands,
soar alongside of the floating flock
in the warm space of conviviality.
It was the chromatic time then,
when in the vibes of vibgyor dawn,
tinged by the spectral sunbeam,
I could see the friendly throng
in the breeze-braced plateau,
singing together the spring song
of unrestrained intimacy.
In my final visit now,
I see the shadow of lurking desolation
creep menacingly close unhindered,
turning the earth’s corners into cages.
The confined spirits plunging in lone abysses
stagnate within gripping isolation.
Intolerance weaves threads of hatred
in the fabric of the scary times.
Innocent blood is shed in madness,
fanaticism spreads like wild fire.
Life is splintered by the lancet of chaos
into disposable debris uncared.
In the psychic grip of insolent stress
the fostered relationships crash.
Before the world order collapses
I ardently wish the times change.
The war-tanks become pianos,
guns transform into harmonic flutes,
deadly arsenals turn harps,
mercenaries become violins.
They all perform the symphony
of peace and universal brotherhood.
Before the hourglass breaks,
let the essence of times change.
The thorns of contempt turn into flowers,
cactus of hatred changes to olive branch.
Let the crooked minds morph into alchemists,
make golden strands from rusted fence wire
that will create the garlands,
intertwine the humankind with love.
the soldier knows many of the 4,500 who died
in bashing Iraq,
the soldier may be one of the 32,000 who have been wounded,
or s/he may know any number of these individuals
who for 9 years spent their time
killing the 104,000 (estimated by Iraqis)
or perhaps 600,000 (Lancet estimate)
or perhaps even more civilians than that,
as estimates of over a million
come to light through further studies,
not to mention the deaths caused by the
strangling sanctions which the empire administered upon the
country
between 1991 & 2003.
the soldier knows that the american embassy in Iraq
will NEVER EVER be gone &
that it is the largest in the world---
the soldier knows that the oil companies have been
feeding on the land since the first green light
like vultures tearing apart a carcass---
the soldier also knows that the contractors
who have been getting paid more than him/her
since the get-go
are flooding into Iraq
like it was going out of style
as s/he goes home for a short time
before they are called up again
to go to Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran or
even Australia
to bash bash bash the world into a bloody pulp
even further.
and over the “holidays”
the same soldier can discuss with their veteran relatives
from the Vietnam police action
just how great the empire is that they live in,
knowing first hand
better than anyone
just how far its greedy bloody talons can stretch---
then in tandem
they can all shove their fingers down their throats
to vomit up all that disgust again
because it never goes away.
One mystic blue night dead still,
I’ll steal the silver full moon,
break it into sharp shards,
and stow them in the backyard
under the shadow of the creepy cloud.
The dark devils will enter with fiend
my anguished heart beating vengeance,
hit hard by the moonless dreary darkness,
and make my boiling enraged blood
turn into lacerating incisive lancet.
The sinister scarlet elixir in my veins
the night will drink like wine,
the shining sequined full moon lost,
it’ll make a black one hollow,
darker than the dread of doomsday.
When the impious wolves will slash
the neck of the frozen stillness,
their ominous bark in the chilled air
will shred the nocturnal chastity, it's time
for moon plucking from sordid shadow.
They cunningly ensnare in an instant
the naive malleable minds unaware,
skillfully wrap with mute trance
the innocent hearts trapped
in the travesty tangle of love.
I’ll slit open their deceitful throats,
slice the reveling saccharine lips
with the harvested sickle moon.
the incisive December winds blow with lancet chill of the arctic cold
through the snow-laden boughs of the defoliated trees, frozen long
in dementia down to the roots, forget once they have been green,
nesting the summer birds, all disappeared in some unknown verdant
pastures beyond the misty horizon from where driving the drifting
cloud clumps the northern zephyr comes whistling and playing in the
winter flute the carol tunes implying Christmas is in the air where my
mind that floats like the feathers of the departed far-away birds in
the ether of joy, filling my heart’s cornucopia with the memorable
moments of the happy times, I’ll share with you all, so from the edge
of the fading year when the new sun will rise with our hearts filled
with hope and bliss we shall embark on another journey on the garden
path, at the end of which
the splendor of dew
shines on bronzed grass of meadow
future green canvas
December 14, 2019
Contest : December Or January Haibun
Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger
“Fathomless faith gets divine blessings to rise from the entrapping evil marsh” – Quote by Poet
On squalid quicksand you walked obsessed and weary,
gripped by the demons of sin as vicious as they could be,
sank in the destined depth of abhorrent abyss of bane,
wrapped within the despicable layers of livid disdain.
The lancet of immorality lacerated the ethical essence,
you had long tried in vain to protect within sane sense.
The grave for the soul slain by the stab of sordid sin,
you had dug contrite in the ground of anguish within.
As divine awareness ignited the candle of hope in you,
you perceived revived the conscience got kindled anew,
and lighted up the dark alley of introspection inherent,
you reached the self-illumined horizon of discernment.
With your being cleansed of the depraved turpitude slime
by the allusion of self-absorbed sense of sagacity prime,
at the lit fringe of life you see the shadow of the time still
when you were entrapped within the quagmire of evil.
( Cancer as well as the treatment for it take a terrible toll on the afflicted. At the end of the day either or both of them have a debilitating effect. Often, it is the battle field of the body which has to rise above itself to come out a winner)
The battle lines are clearly drawn
Armies arrayed in fighting forms
Caduceus with wings, serpents and staff
The Rampaging, unruly, hordes, which teem.
Lancet, venom, and piercing rays
Cut, poison, burn body and soul
Devastating, scorching all in their path
The vile corruption to eliminate.
Yet in this war the one who's lost
Is not the Asclepian might
Nor the vile, evil minions of the Crab
But the frail field of human flesh and mind.
Fertile fields full fallow laid waste
The loser none but afflicted man
His life, his joy cut short, cruelly maimed
Sad victim of Caduceus and Crab.
But there be some tenacious fields
Which fight and rise and bloom once more
To lead a life more complete than before
Their war - won with indomitable will!
I wish i had been born to you
I truly wish i had!
The only dream i want come true
is to see this wish sail safely through
Eternal seas harbouring endless decades
my destiny i seek enduring dismays...
I donot wish this wish , to be granted
with a magical wand...in a swish!
Nor to make this wish , my wish
on a falling star! that's not destined too far!
I place my wish in the hands of time
To dissolve,disperse...be infinitely mine
This wish! my wish..it roots from within
its the soul of the soul...the soul therein,
thats older than old,deeper than deep
the lancet to another world....from where
this wish does peep!Beyond the mortal memory
beyond the world that sleeps......
The harvest of duality,intuition tends to reap!
My father!.....my father he is!!
i know it as i feel it...i feel it as it is!
i belong to him, i am his child
let the karmic node be pointer, midheaven decide
If authorities of science and law must resist....
it only strengthens the theory,
A Parallel world exists!
“Winter of despair grips the fallow mind,
as lancet wind of desolation slices solace,
the song of sad bird freezes in silence”- by poet
In the frame of the reclined verdant bough,
opulent with the fine filigree of emerald foliage,
a delicate design I made with love-laced twigs
for the nest of my adoring desire,
I weaved with the finesse of fervor.
On the wings of winter wafting in polar wind,
the wilted leaves of my longing
blew away rustling to the realm of nowhere.
Dismal in my frosted nest on the skeletal tree,
I counted in heartbeat the footsteps of twilight.
My yearning turned into glacial embrace,
you escaped from the fold of frozen love,
flew away far to the sun soaked sky.
Desolate in freezing darkness of the arctic nest,
I live in memory with the frozen feather you left.
_______________
February 17, 2023
Theme chosen : Frozen
Contest : Writing Challenge - F Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Intolerance weaves threads of hatred
in the fabric of our scary times,
innocent blood is shed in madness,
fanaticism spreads like wild fire,
life is splintered by lancet of chaos
into disposable debris uncared,
in the psychic grip of insolent stress
the fostered relationships crash.
Before the world order collapses
I ardently wish the times change,
war-tanks become pianos,
guns form harmonic flutes,
deadly arsenals turn harps,
mercenaries become violins,
and they all perform the symphony
of peace and universal brotherhood.
Before the hourglass breaks,
let the essence of times change,
thorns of contempt turn into flowers,
cactus of hatred into branch of olive,
crooked minds morph into alchemists,
and make the golden strands
that will create the garlands,
intertwining all of us with love.
_________________
June 8, 2022
Contest : If Only My Wish Would Come Ture
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon