Long Lashed Poems
Long Lashed Poems. Below are the most popular long Lashed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lashed poems by poem length and keyword.
They packed us in ships and boats.
Sardines have more space in their cans as compared to us,
Low ventilation, no water, little food,
Out of our land of abundance, land of riches, land of gold,
We sailed off to the land unknown,
‘Door of No Return’, that was the last door I saw in my homeland.
With shackles on our necks, ankles and wrists, we were led sheepishly to the ship,
When we complained, they lashed us, when we rebelled, they killed us,
And the weak amongst us; they were maltreated.
My sister was force raped yesterday; it’s my fiancée’s turn today,
We were supposed to get married last Sunday,
“I’ve been shot in one knee”, an Old Norse slang,
I’m married; I was going to tell my friends,
But the sun sure didn’t smile on me on Sunday,
Now in a new land, new soil, we’re auctioned like some merchandise,
I thought they only wanted our gold, or was it not enough; the additional cocoa,
Now we work on their plantations, from dawn until dusk,
We’re forced to speak the Whiteman’s language,
We’re forced to eat their food and dress like them,
And the very thing that make us Africans; our pride, It’s been taken from us,
So I wonder the kind of future that lies ahead for our unborn generations,
I wonder if our rich values, our norms, our traditions,
I wonder if they would be passed down to them,
Africa, my story.
When the parents are gone,
the kids survive by heeding advice and carry on
their wishes by honoring their true intent;
flowers sprout and then bloom,
never living their fragile, little ones to a fateful gloom...
as sunshine nurtures them!
Glimpses may not give us a full image,
but they can reveal their glossary of life and death,
and it depends on us how to put it
into a consequent sentence and give meaning to it;
our parents raised us up to a certain standard,
hoping we'd pick up the slack where they left off!
And will we be elated by parental pride,
by doing all things that are beautiful and honorable...
great things that endow us with exuberance and fortitude,
to conquer every boundary and win every battle?
History can take us there, showing us the ones who fearlessly dared:
Moses who bashed rebellion and Jesus who lashed the whip!
Many will stumbled on life's deception,
others will cautiously follow its trail to wisdom,
to find themselves acclaimed by glory
and flourishing in their endeavors: they will find immortality;
and if anyone was deceived by the notion...
that nothing outlasts us, they are completely wrong!
There's no greater joy than remembering
how our parents leaded a religious life without a spot,
believing that obedience was a reward for longevity; and was
God ever put out of their thoughts...not fortifying
their spirits and making them stand on a solid rock?
Foolish persons shouldn't be pitied for their self-inflicted wounds!
The kids can survive by heeding advice, unfraidly facing their challenges,
alleviating their fears with the words that they received from the elders:
walking on a straight path, avoiding danger and harm, to live a golden youth
and a longer life...when most youngsters lose these to drugs and lust;
and with no gray hair on their heads and no stories to tell their granchildren,
who are the victorious ones that should declare thier well-merited crown?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I can't picture things like other people do;
But I think of that photo.
I feel the pain in my face,
And I remember thinking;
"I should have been there, how could I leave my mum there".
I felt like I'd left her for this to happen,
I ran away as soon as I could and left her there.
Mum was never the problem.
I love my mum.
I miss her.
And my mum is still alive,
She's moved far away and my dad only lives with her part time now.
But it is burned into the corners of my mind;
That photo made me realize;
I'm just like my mother.
My fianceé hasn't lashed out in months,
But last time he did,
I laid there and I thought of mum.
I was walking away from a fight with him.
He grabbed me and threw me on the floor.
I got up and tried to leave, he wrapped his arms around my waist and picked me up,
Then threw me back down.
I didn't get back up.
I just covered my head with my arms and waited.
He stood over me and he swung his foot towards my chest - and the impact knocked the air out of my lungs.
And then, he did it again. And then again.
I said "stop" so many times.
His foot would hit my shoulder or my chest, and I'd be shoved back and my back and my neck would hit the table legs behind me.
I said I was sorry. I said stop.
Then I heard my dad's words in my fiancees voice:
He asked me,
"what are you gonna do?"
For the first time in 7 years with him;
I said;
"I could call the cops."
He said "call them" and he kicked me in the face.
I didn't call the cops, I was scared of them showing up at my house.
But I didn't dismiss what I was thinking about my mum.
I didn't shove it into the back of my mind and say "this is different, he loves me".
I called a women's shelter.
Mum doesn't have to worry.
I will not be a punished woman.
She told me I have to be stronger than her;
And that doesn't mean I have to be strong and put up with it.
She was telling me to leave.
She told me,
"Love is a b*@#$ when you've got it for the wrong person".
And I'm gonna listen, mum.
I'm sorry it took me this long.
Perched on figurative shoulder...
taking devil's advocate stance...,
with sharp eyed cognizance
of course Joe King abidance!
Wild eyed traitor Joe Schmoe,
albeit Democrat subjects himself to grow
wing skepticism at impeachment show
whip lashed, viz strapping jock who stow
weapons of mashed destruction
expects at least one rotten tomato,
or "mother's petrified pop slop,
electronic brickbats, et cetera
hard as(s) bupkis targeting yours truly
smack dab rendering aspiring po'
wit smashing me face
courtesy final deathblow,
while pilloried vainly
waiting for... Godot,
cuz I must say impeachment travesty
appears triumphantly trumped,
where Nancy Pelosi will eat crow
proving Hillary Clinton's catchphrase
basket of deplorables apropos
aforementioned speaker of the house
tin pot dictatorial desperado
scuttling hither and yon to and fro
oddly enough even staking out
manhunt for Wizard of Oz
enlisting (right on the Dot) doggone toto
tense seat of pants increasing
stiff competition on all faux pas,
whereby freezeframe tableaux
icy (I see) as temperatures
dip down into five below
analogous to stop motion
projector manned by bonobo
sports petsmart stuff and struts
(think shock absorbed) ditto
Ringling Bros and Barnum
& Bailey Circus, where ma's yoyo
tricks, tracks, and trumps...
three ringed circus, nonetheless
(toe) nail biting suspense
amazingly graceful slick cameo
starring emperor donning
invisible new clothes
couture well worn portfolio
prosecutorial cadres itching
to dredge schmutz (quad) drilling,
and extracting ore region null
evidence upending forefathers status quo
appearing impressive bandying
sine qua non quid pro quo bingo
emphatic pedantic Latin Oh
though above named
language dead - Anglo
Saxon heavily and
will (yum) doth barr row,
especially to appear self important
those of the Senate
does saul full bellow.
Death had tied up my wrists the day I dawned,
With a thick rope
And had dragged me along
On the tortuous ways of life
Going wherever it had willed
Laughing at nothing in particular
And minding not
The laments and the cries
That I lashed out at it
Trying to tell it to stop it
As I am suffering and paining!
Pray, life is ruled by Death
As it hovers over us
Doing whatever it wants to us
Leading us to uncertainty
And having us merely submit to it
As if it were our Grand Master
And we, its submissive slaves!
Death, cried I
Enough! I have had enough,
The skin on my whole body is blistered
And blood is oozing out from every nook
I feel so cold, so hurt,
So abandoned, so lost,
Death, please, stop this agony that you are
Making me go through
Stop it
If ending it would give me comfort,
Pray, then such is what I seek
And have been seeking all the time
You have been playing this cruel game with me!
But, if ending it would simply have me
Tangled in another one of your games,
Then, I wish solely to turn into nothingness
Where I would enjoy the silence of eternal darkness!
Why,
After what you are making me go through,
I am sure that darkness would feel like a bed of soft candy!
Untie me, Death,
I know not why you hate me so much,
Why you make me suffer
I have been through enough of it already
And I seek your pardon!
Pray, listen, turn not your deaf ears on me
Untie my wrists
And give me
My freedom!
A pampered son of privilege, of infantile entitlement,
he rode the escalator down, grandstanding his campaign.
He tongue-lashed his contenders, making them grovel
into silent shame, silent, scandalous, craven disgrace,
when Piper had his way.
He spattered spiteful splatter on his screeching penny whistle,
crude culture war caustics, the coded corrosive cacophony
of othering, of terrorizing, the Great Replacement closet
skeletons in every white supremacist’s delusion,
when Piper had his way.
The raging torches burned holes in the night sky,
from all the fuming, festering fractures they came.
He reeled in vermin, gnawers, ticks, fleas, and maggots.
From fetid, rotted flesh, the dead and dying democracy,
when Piper had his way.
The noxious stench permeated every moral fiber,
Every conviction was consumed by avarice.
Every flaunted corruption overpowered common decency.
Every dull-witted stunt became a predictable mockery,
when Piper had his way.
And thus, he led all the children of Hamelin astray
with his deceptive, discordant whistle squeaks.
He sealed them in his criminal conspiracy cave.
They never questioned his chicanery,
when Piper had his way.
And so, when Piper finally faded away
the defilement dragged on and on.
The diseased, depraved devaluation persisted.
The sordid, squalid, sickly stain remained,
since Piper had his say.
One day high up on the moors
the sun was starting to rise
I thought at first I could see
lakes and in the distant sea.
Then realised I was above
the clouds. It was peaks
of hills that poked their
heads out over the haze.
It was like a new land
showing itself bathed
by sunlight I looked
around in amazement.
Gradually things came into focus
valleys appeared like magic
each one with its own splendour
Deer and ponies grazing below me'
Birds singing in tree tops close by
A stream fills the lake and fish leaping
so full of joy and life for the new day
I sat, watched, delighted by all the sights.
The clouds rolled by, lifting up higher
I was truly right above it all, on top of the world
As I drove home I dropped down lower and lower
to the bottom of the valley under the clouds.
The rain clouds lashed at me no sunshine here
it did not clear just more and more cloudy rain.
Yet I knew that on the top of Exmoor
It was a bright sunny day no rain up there
Chains that clatter, rusted tight,
Steal the warmth of morning light.
Backs are bent, hands are sore,
Lashed and broken evermore.
Fields of sorrow, cotton white,
Torn from dawn till dead of night.
Cries that echo, unheard pleas,
Freedom whispers on the breeze.
Families ripped and cast apart,
A mother wails, a shattered heart.
Children sold, their names erased,
Love denied, their past displaced.
Masters claim their right to own,
Flesh and blood, yet hearts of stone.
Gold and greed their only creed,
Built their world on others' need.
Men who toil, yet reap no gain,
Drenched in sweat, drowned in pain.
Hope is but a fleeting dream,
Lost beneath the lash's scream.
Yet through the dark, a spark remains,
A voice that fights against the chains.
For though we suffered, though we died,
The dream of freedom won't run dry.
So hear my voice beyond the grave,
No man was ever born a slave.
For justice waits though justice lags,
Our spirits rise our bodies sag.
One day these chains shall break and fall,
And freedom's voice shall rise for all.
.
On an azure expanse without prospect or sail
the debris of my ship rent asunder from gale
as I float, the last salt to endeavor my breath
my mates sent to Davey Jone's locker in death
I am lashed to this length of the mizzen, adrift
as swells rock me gently and ship riggings shift
it's too many days now I've been without water
parched to my marrow the sun growing hotter
I've now resigned grace, if I give up the ghost
and I think on the treasures of life I love most
I remember my time in the crow's nest a-sway
puff cheeks of the moon on the tail of the day
the glow of the wake as the drift ever churned
and the dancing of St. Elmo's fire as it burned
oh the heavens - as dark as the deepest abyss
yet alight with a blush from the Milky Way's kiss
a thousand suns setting and not one the same
young lasses in port with bright tresses aflame
the yawp of the sails, e'er the ship came about
a yell from the nest when we'd spotted a spout
the cold slap of spray as a cap broke too soon
or Luna's night dance like ten million doubloon
well ...
the ocean can't hold all the rules that I've bent
but I float off to sleep on these billows content
ever sure that this seafarer's life was well-spent
and my only fit grave, this ol' sea, heaven-sent
aye, my only fit grave, this ol' sea ...
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Rattling Rhyme" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
On the day we leafed through
the glossy magazine pages
Scenes from Bar Beach in Lagos
I thought of you, Akande
Those who are about to die
criss crossed in sisal rope to
Oil drums lashed to stakes
Protesting, begging, praying
Finally the moment arrives
The Men of God step aside
The black hoods are hung
Cheers at the festival of death
The boom of a firing squad
bloodied men in a death slump
Robbers, bandits, coup makers
Gone now into magazine pages
Lawrence Anini - the Law
Ishola Oyenusi - the Doctor
Godogodo - the hefty one
But I don't see you, Akande
On a day such as this
I can only hope that long ago
You escaped the man's noose
Or the AK 47 whose sound
can sometimes make a man cry
(C) mbsaaka/2020