Long Lgbt Poems

Long Lgbt Poems. Below are the most popular long Lgbt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lgbt poems by poem length and keyword.


Plumage

"Plumage"



We are the iridescent gems
kicked like rubble
gifts to give

we walk souls 
in dead bodies
all colours, plumage to be free

accepted our truth,
is shunned by the better ones
we are viewed obscenities

integrity takes courage
honesty by the beautiful ones
broken down by frowning whispers

bits of us shine 
put together again macrami shame
hung around our necks

we are 
a puzzle 
considered feigned

by the holier than thous
discouraged
we are love that is hidden, pain

Love is Love
Life is Life
inside comes out

eventually
different coloured feathers
freely given flight

brighter than ordinary
what is expected tries
so many times, tears cry

windows open 
credence to be seen 
uncovered jewels that glisten

soulfully divine 
in Divinity’s eyes
Heaven listens

(LadyLabyrinth/ 2021)



“The Village” / Wrabel
https://youtu.be/tilsrO-3gcQ




"Whispering that same prayer 
half a million times
It's a lie, though 
buried in disciples
One page of the Bible 
isn't worth a life
There's something wrong 
in the village,
In the village..."













https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_rights_in_Australia

https://humanrights.gov.au/our-work/education/face-facts-lesbian-gay-bisexual-trans-and-intersex-people

https://www.beyondblue.org.au/who-does-it-affect/lesbian-gay-bi-trans-and-intersex-lgbti-people

https://www.cfr.org/article/changing-landscape-global-lgbtq-rights

https://ilga.org/about-us




LYRICS/ The Village, by Wrabel
https://genius.com/Wrabel-the-village-lyrics


I Drank the Blood

I drank the blood. 
Shuffled up to the altar,
pearly white shoes scraping over
faded white tile dirtied by the footsteps 
of countless sinners.
(I knew, even then, that that same grime already claimed my soul.)
I accepted the golden chalice with shaking 
hands and brought it 
ever so gently to my lips.
It tasted like poison, but I drank the blood.
I’d never feel so holy again as I did that day,
wholly pure in untouched white satin,
bursting with life and joy
and the light shining from the proud eyes of the parishioners.
But the light of their spirit would soon curdle in my veins 
from the hatred of false goodness.

I pored over page after page,
dutiful scholar I was,
and found nothing but tongues lashing like the Romans 
they should’ve disdained, 
not mirrored.
Every biting indictment corroded the gleam of my soul
until the only light remaining
was the reflection of that glistening chalice.

I am not the one who bit the forbidden fruit,
and yet the sweetness of its juice mixes with
the blood on my dry, cracked lips,
crimson trailing down, down,
down my ashen face.
A stain of my humanity.
A stain of Your hands.

I drank the blood.
The transplant attacked my system,
draining the life from my eyes
until I was left pleading You to sop up
the few lasting drops with a pitying rag.
Merciful as You’re written,
I begged you,
knees bloodied and scarred,
to transform me.
Make me whole 
or dismiss me to the depths.
Fix me,
or allow the scourge and fire to purify me
for ever and ever.
I called into the night for year after year
before I realized it was as vacant as I was revolting.
Was I right?
I may never know,
but I do know something inside of me broke those days,
shattering me from the inside out.
I try to escape, peeling back rotten layers,
but it courses through my veins 
steady and permanent as my beating heart.
I cannot claw it out, no matter how I try,
for I drank the blood.

21st Century Victim

LGBT and the loud minority
women want their rights
and the blacks equality
some do get upset
believe conspiracy 
protests and petitions 
all over my TV 
thoughtless hypocrites 
contradict consistently 
religion sees its boundaries 
shrink with every century 
politicians lie 
most empathetically 

they all point at the white man 
hindsight and history 
and he must put it right now 
he caused their misery 

is it right to blame the white 
if the white's a man like me 
no cause I have to fight 
which comes in unity 
paraded in such light 
our "superiority" 
as white men take their life 
they do it to be free 

The weight placed on their shoulders 
by each community 
for acts they had no role in 
the species history 

He'll never be the victim
called racist cause sexism 
yet white men made to listen 
have help they need now missing 
an isolated existence 
in society's "accused" prison
© Nick Trim  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Lg Means Linguistic Gender

mi Espanol is muy mal
my Spanish is very bad

but i'm 
trying to
understand
in these days
of trans i don't 
want to mistakenly

write a
wrong and
be translated
especially since
i don't believe in any
political view to be said

to be
politically
in an incorrect
set of words or a
statement that may
put me out of poetry soup

but she once
said that i could
be her Muso since
she was mi Musa but
I felt a bit queasy and q**er
so i said to my dear dearest let

me be
your perro
and you can
be my gato but
then i realized that
she would be a he "o"

and me
an "o" so
minus the GT
we have an LB
crisis on hand and
my hand was elsewhere

so slowly
I tried to find
Her cat and still
be My dog without
linguistic complications
the moral of the story is that

if i'm 
trying to find 
a Spanish pussy
cat not so butch because
i'm a Spanish manly dog because
linguistically we both end in a masculine

"O"
she can
be oh so wild
and i so wildly
sniffing without being
sticking myself in the out of

LGBT
Form:

Premium Member Coffee Shop

I met her in the coffee shop
She hid me from a violent cop
She didn't care if I'd been hooking
She gave that cop a sober look and
Said, "She ran out that back door"
While underneath the check-out stand
I curbed a giggle, touched her hand
And saw that copper nevermore.

For thirteen days and nights we played
We laughed and sighed, no promise made
Not one moment were we apart
I loved her dearly from the start
Now I sit alone with mocha
And a side of almond roca
Our final meal: rice with veggie taco
Then she left forever for Morocco.





This poem I regard as a failure. It's odd it took me several months of periodic tinkering looking for the perfect words and scans that would rescue it from clunkiness. I think the last line is perfect for this poem, but leading up to it are so many little bad choices for which I could not find better. But I'm giving up, and sharing it as-is, as after all that work on it I hate to just throw it away.
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member our curse - a love poem

i see the way you look at him,
holding his hand,
kissing him,
and i see  you’ve been cursed.

cursed to love a man you never truly loved,
cursed to lose the girl who gave you butterflies.
if you were a boy,
you said, so many years ago,
i think i’d want to kiss you.
so unsure of yourself in your sentences
out of fear of being cursed with a life sentence
damnation, you said.
but how could a love so sweet be so wrong.

how cruel for a sixteen year old girl to hear these words,
i cut my hair, 
i bound my chest,
i made myself a reflection of who the world wanted,
in order for us to be together.
i waited for you.

but time did not wait for us, my dear,
your parents laughed when you brought me home to meet them,
then their laughs turned to violence
when they saw us 
said we were cursed,
laying with the devil
they turned your bright green eyes into
swollen shades of blues and purples.

now, nearly twenty years later,
i see you with him,
saccharine smiles,
absorbing his touch 
like a reluctant sponge.
heartbreak is not nearly strong enough a word for this kind of pain.

my love,
we were never cursed,
the world was.
© Oliver Chu  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Splitting Facts Reveal

Leo Varadkar: 'I don't agree with the Catholic Church's policy towards women
Speaking in Washington 

A bit two faced of him to speak ill of the Catholic church 
singling one faith as it was homosexuals whom entered it 
causing the scandal disrespecting God in the first place 
by abusing young boys maybe if the truth were to be told accurately 
and people read between the lines him promoting killing Irish children 
what values does his words have to be honest respectful clear  
for his personal opinion truly seems to be what he promotes openly 
above and beyond calling down names firstly forcing his agendas 
down everyone's throat his attitude and lies need to be addressed prompt 
as he dehumanises children of all races and sexes 
regardless of his high and mighty attitude and policy towards women 
when he has none only abortion spitting out of his pride filled mouth 
to put it mildly squarely on the cases examined bluntly  
LGBT should be held to account as well 
on certain facts obtained in relation to all abuses 
from victims of abuse in many churches I spoke to in person 
over the years I for one am not blindsided 
instructing his ignorant view singling out one church 
tells me deep down all I need to know about him 
I am a catholic caring little about what he disagrees with 
this world is awakening to a grave moral deceit against the house of Our Lord

Premium Member I Hear He's a Winner

I Hear He’s A Loser

I am from the USA
Where it’s okay to be gay
Not that I am, but if they say 
That I am, it’s hearsay 
Appointed first LGBT
NY third district officially
Congressman George Santos
United for Trump, how he boasts
Serving out his term as Lawmaker
Donations, a big taker
Republican, his shameless fabulism
Denies all fabrication, all criticism 
Felonies up to his neck
In without a background check
How did he slip through the cracks?
Finally caught dead in his tracks
He made his own situation dire, 
liar liar pants on fire.

I Hear He’s A Winner!

Ron DeSantis is
Florida’s governor and his
Plans for filing with the FEC
To beat Trump for presidency
On May twenty-fifth, he’ll give his rattle
On his intense running battle 
Once you are known for lying  
Then everything you say is trying
If not, and he wins, we’ll be crying
Let’s see if he passes the loser test
I give him all my best!

DeSantis is known to surprise even his closest allies with last-minute changes. #5
Trump frequently accused DeSantis of neglecting his job as governor -#1
"A really bad politician," Trump said. "Enjoy the trip, Ron!"

To qualify as a loser:
1. He doesn’t have a job or career goals -CHECK
2. He lies about everything  - CHECK
3. He uses excuses instead of solutions when something goes wrong - CHECK
4. He has nothing to talk about  -CHECK
5. He doesn’t have any friends or family who like him -CHECK

May 10, 2023 · US congressman George Santos, who ran for office on an embellished biography, has been charged with a wide range of felonies including fraud. The 34-year-old LAWMAKER, who has admitted to being...UPDATE Sixth congressman ever to be expelled in the nation's history on 12/1/23.
© I Am Anaya  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

The Forgotten Poets

"The Forgotten Poets"



Saints and Sinners
all calling out for 
forgiveness 
and wanton recognition

de Sade like minds
libertine and revolutionary
Saints living out their penance 
kiss the sharp lips of Sinners

Juxtapositions of souls
Sinners become divine
Saints become unhinged 
more human, mortalised
willingly they are led

They Become

Love makes us 
All Hallowed Souls
intrepid and invisible
crazed with courage

walking unseen through 
the sanctified temples
of the lost and isolated,
The Forgotten Poets

Manifesting, we are mesmerized
We are actuaries counting lives
through the hidden words 
and forsaken numbers

along the jagged lines 
absent of what 
is most deeply sought
ruthless has been the confiscation

to spend our ink on clean sheets
imprinting heat we brand our marks
beating in time and out of time
a tattoo on a body of work 

that will eventually be stroked 

souls are traded 
we are all bought
by the vanity to be read and seen eternally
understood by the Unseen who gifts us 

A moment 
to cross the static mind
to draw a line between 
Trust and the Lies 

We are Sensate 

tracing softly the streets
in a lover’s open palm
to slide a finger sensuously, 
provocatively 

towards the crossroad

of an unclothed and vulnerable 
upturned wrist
feel the pulse tickled 
in the moist hollows of somewhere

a whispered breath 
along a neck kissed 

Communing with cunning alchemy
manifesting what is not said
through broken hearts 
and the tears of half open doorways
closing on pasts best forgotten

wrapping our thoughts like 
warm legs around the burning
Divine 
leading us into temptation 

with 
futures and promises

(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)







 “Certain souls may seem harsh to others, 
but it is just a way, beknownst only to them, 
of caring and feeling more deeply.” 
Marquis de Sade


"My passions, 
concentrated on a single point, 
resemble the rays of a sun 
assembled by a magnifying glass: 
they immediately set fire 
to whatever object they find in their way"
Marquis de Sade

Is It Just Me

Is it just me or
Has anyone notice that
The USA is gradually becoming
A communist country
What happened to free speech
Now you're being ordered
By new laws, telling you
What you can and cannot say
Even a woman's right has been
Taken away, with new laws making the
Decisions for her against her free will
All because of an old law that was revamp
Now new laws are being created
Against the LGBT community 
Who has been around for decades
A child will grow up to be
What's inside of them
In the past and the present
We have all kinds of people 
And nationalities that no one will
Ever change, no matter who it is
And it will remain that way long after
We are gone, because this world
Belongs to GOD!!!
© Daisy Ward  Create an image from this poem.

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