Long Low grade Poems

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


Zika Virus What Next

Zika Virus What Next

It is officially announced, there is a global health emergency...
World Health Organisation (WHO) has just issued this health warning...
The rapid spread of the Zika Virus is an international public health emergency..

From its first  outbreak was detected in Brazil in May last year...
This mosquito borne disease now threatens in more than 20 countries....
Latest to join the strickened Latin American countries are Costa Rica and Jamaica.

The science behind the global outbreak of this disease is of much concern...
For the Zika Virus was first encountered in a rhesus macaque monkey in Uganda..
It is very worrisome, for this disease has jumped from animals to humans...

The rapid spread was in part due to the lack of immunity in our species...
It is after all a virus that profilerated before only in  the monkey species....
Its drastic spread in the Latin Americans now necessitates travel advisories...

Once afflicted, a human victim suffers 2-7 days of low grade fever, joint pains..
No fatalities yet, but symptomatic patients suffers a facial rash that spreads ...
Diagnosis is tricky, its symptons easily confused with other mosquito diseases...

But the greatest danger is threat of brain damage and microcephaly in new born babies...
And the spread of the virus through sexual contact and the blood stream is for real...
Prevention is better than cure, so is precaution before things get out of hand..

The common denominator in the rapid widespread of this scourge is a pesky insect...
One tiny little hellish insect with little wings that stridently brings victims into contact...
A little nip from an infected insect, the Zika virus is introduced into the victim's blood stream..

This dangerous little pesky insect is none other than the common mosquito...
To be specific it is the tiger stripped and blood thirsty Aedes mosquito...
Prevalently found in early morning hours and in the late afternoon daylight hours ...

Get the bug spray,  the insect repellant and out with the electric killer bat...
Do whatever it takes, so long you escape from the irritating mosquito bites..
Kill the Aedes mosquitoes, and save yourself from  Zika, dengue or chingkunya virus...

http://www.webmd.com/news/20160203/zika-microcephaly-link
http://www.futurity.org/zika-microcephaly-1115772-2/


Theater of Utter Charm - Part 30

in the language of personal amplification
you'd think it was all a scam
to make you drop your guard
and play patty cakes with Evil
job 3 was to rearrange your molecules
into an actual you
capable of withstanding
the outcomes you generate
from a lack of detail
where science is not to be found
there is no other description that fits
praise the panoramic vista
just around the corner
it's all about the pivot points
so fat chance
among the exploding galaxies
minus the swashbuckling pistoleros and
armchair Romeos and
prisoners of doom and
fairytale living sacrifices
victory is not always a given
you have known this for years
when the paparazzi scribblers
were the Freedom Brigade
where your body parts
take on a life of their own
and deductions don't necessarily
insure your survival
and the mystery remains
job 4 is to better organize thoughts
the game of influence
is the game of influence of judgment
and in sum job 5 is to look at our expectations
and their reliance upon
the letters of the alphabet
separate inputs perceived as one
is an angel
allow me to present you
with the keys to the code
two eyeball pictures perceived as one
within the freedom to inquire
the fanatics want to stop time
that is all there is to it
in which case
a mild dose of persistence never hurts
vision is numbers is evidence
we suffer the memory of past volitions
many of them not our own
we have been engineered to be throttled
yah I took the long way home
much to the disgust
of every entity in the Universe
the list of culprits is long
you have been reading it
no surprise relief on the horizon
police could show up on my doorstep
at any suspecting instant
but the obvious comes easily to me
when I am uninhabited
that's what you get when
you stop trying to be appetizing
for those who cannot tolerate self mockery
there is a train load of pity
to add to the weight on your arms
when in doubt go for the learning
do for the learning
be for the learning
rampant imagination may be
a low grade ore
but the nuggets will blow your head to atoms
enjoy your nodule of security then
keep in mind it can quickly vaporize
in a new modality of immediacy
a traveling mosaic of instants
the next one looking back on the last
(to be continued)


From "Theater of Utter Charm"
Available on Amazon

Bulletproof Vest Palpitations


It’s Faint Paddies Day
everyday,
from my oxy scarce commuter view

At this Rocky Mountain skin altitude,
death is always on the dispatch menu

Faint Paddies 
be sweating onion fear on a ghetto roll
Cry babies
be diaper blues potty wailing —  
Siren screams taking an asphalt stroll

Smurf Daddies
love talking wise guy tough 
to rearview mirror images of 
cowering suspects in handcuffs

Fraidy Cats
got a lot of Deputy Dawg courage,
when speed bumping 
on suburban perimeter patrol

Fear oozes thru those lynx pores
when their metal horse
flee chase coyotes 
across the Eight Mile border

Faint Paddies
flipping raw confessions
on a roadside interrogation grill

Tin star bipedal protection
got a twitchy finger condition
Bulletproof vest palpitations,
pulmonary trigger beats cowardly lethal

Skeleton key dirt cell slams 
given on a gutless command serve
Phantom guns found
in back-turned raised hands

Allegedly, 
the bravest of the few 
are fear-tested and duly sworn

Testimony given at the murder trial
is wrist slap fraternal suborned

Civilian low-grade paid to go do a thankless job
most don’t wanna do
Close call jugular boo ...
Tremor callouses builds on a pearl handle knob

Baby back blues got spineless, choke barrel nerves ...
rushing into terror laid danger zones,
with their faint hearts spinning on a swivel swerve

Faint Paddies
Bulletproof vest Fraidy cats
on creep patrol
Wielding their hollow metal courage,
cowardly so

Shaky words of brass sympathy
given bereavement cold
Widow morgue lamentations
are coroner orphan told

Blue smurf Lassies,
with pretend Bravehearts,
on a bullet hole roll ... 
firing palpitation tears of timidity

Faint Paddies Day
is always a green brew boo-hoo 
Last Mile holiday 

Faint Paddies
get no public pity hoisted cheer 
handkerchief pose
This is the fear profession 
they willingly chose
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Point of No Return

Written: May 31st, 2025, for contest by Kai Michael Neumann

       ***************

In the stillness of twilight, shadows sway.
and a delicate craft rests on the shore, 
embarking on a perilous, winding path.
Odyssey, its supple rostrum slightly widening
as if attuned to the twilight. 
Drifting on a warm breeze, such a leaf,
Its brittle hull swings.
In a katabatic void lies a sliver of moon.
Bright crescent casts eerie glowing lunette.
over the nocturnal landscape.
As fragments of splintered light,

Meteorites streak across the cerulean vault,
leaving behind trails of glowing embers.
A haunting, protracted silence seeps 
from the twisted, barren trees.
A slight breeze stirs the zephyr. 
evoking a curious sense of déjà vu—
an illuminating, transient bond 
With my repressed heart.
And the hardened, smothering cage 
It jolts me back to the present.
Broken, overwritten nerves 

Sustain high tension, 
a permanent low-grade hum 
that corrodes my senses; 
The caustic, metallic taste of affliction 
clings to my mouth, a constant 
a nagging presence that resists fading.
Exercises to release it only 
seem to weaken its grasp, which is maddening. 
awful refrain that still haunts me.
In the wake of that terrible evening,
The broken pieces of our lives are strewn. 
reflecting as shards of a funereal mirror,
collective soul.

The memories of that chaotic 
cacophonous scene—the fractured glass, 
The blood-stained floor 
The irreversible point of no return 
continue to plague me, a continual 
repeating nightmarish specter 
invading every waking minute.
There, in the evening silence, colors dance.
A little ship at the coast.
Starts a dangerous, winding road.
© Sotto Poet  Create an image from this poem.

Throw Away Bathwater, Not Baby

Gratitude attitude grow
Peacock attitude away throw
Though temptations line up in a row 

Pointless, heartless any soul you to hurt
Under no circumstances invective blurt
Because so doing grows you curt

Achieving trinkets, reaping limpets
As you blow trivial trumpets
Deriding, riding, restless strumpets

In your city where contempt
Fashionable in an objectional attempt
To parade low grade hair unkempt

For aeons under neon lights
Illuminating prudish, brutish fights
Meant to ignore the snore of plights

Street kids endure under the watch
You observe at close quarters to catch
Miscreants and recidivists who latch

Onto corruption
To catalyze the eruption
So blatantly witnessed in the disruption

Probity suffers as wafers
Vanish into thin air when quaffers
Poke fun at a senile souse who suffers

Ravages of loneliness
You regret in the context of silliness
Egrets and open secrets endure as holiness

Suffers its biggest reverse
To learn men of the collar deemed so averse
To child molestation in vows so diverse

Embarrass your church
Leaving doubting Thomases in the lurch
As for meaning and direction they search

Wondering if hypocrisy in this crisis
Should call and recall paralysis
To promote or demote dialysis

As a cure for the malaise
Believers suffer in the craze
That undermines set standards in a maze

In which a plethora of anguish
You bear as you strive to distinguish
Reality from fiction. Your faith don’t extinguish

Or else you throw baby together with bath water
In the church and in your quarter
To deny you opportunities for malfeasance to alter.


Premium Member Embryonic Time Travelers

Time travel has always fascinated man
Could UFOs be steered by human hands
Consider this premise before you say no
So called “grays” resemble human embryos

Evolution proceeds, gene pool depleted
Mind power expanded but bodies weakened
Future man looks back in a quest to erase
Effects of the technology we embrace

With smog blocking sun’s rays, skin has turned gray
Bodies thin as meat exits the food parade
Reproduction is challenged by low-grade genes
Sad Earthlings search the past and like what they see

Tan, healthy bodies adorned by hairy manes
Fertile women who suckle innocent babes
Men of great strength who clear forests with axes
Strong immune systems when a virus attacks

In sore need of genetic material
Large-brained grays devise a means for time travel
Abductees are beamed to aircraft by bright rays
Frightened while forced to donate their sperm and eggs

Time travelers say nothing, perhaps ashamed
To be stealing from ancestors in this way
Capacity for learning greatly enhanced
But the grays know nothing of sex or romance

When farmers find signs of mutilated cattle
Such evidence should not provoke a call to battle
If future man’s life is genetically revived
Meat may be required to keep humans alive

Don’t hide in terror when you see colored lights
Spinning in circles on chilly autumn nights
Close encounters, but abductees’ lives are spared
Returned to their homes by captors who care

Consider the fate of new generations
If you’re called upon to make a “donation”
Experiments grays perform may seem absurd
But they may be trying to save our own world
Form: Quatrain

The Musician

A LOW GRADE NAUSEA HAUNTS MY CONSTRICTING THROAT
FATIGUE CREEPS, SERPENT-LIKE, THROUGH MY VEINS
A DARKNESS SO BRIGHT IT BURNS IS SLOWLY CONSUMING ME...
AND ALL I CAN DO IS SCREAM, SILENTLY, 
YOUR HALLOWED NAME...

OH GOD AND THE DEVIL TAKE ME...
THIS AGONISING SICKNESS HAS BEEN EATING ME ALIVE FOR DAYS
I DON’T KNOW ITS FACE OR WHERE THE ANTIDOTE MAY LIE
BUT I KNOW IT STRUCK THE MOMENT I SAW YOUR FACE 
LIKE A SNAKE YOU SANK YOUR FANGS INTO ME…AND NOW I AM GOING TO DIE

I USED TO THINK SATAN WAS MY ONLY LOVE - BUT YOU HAVE DOMINION OVER ME,
THOUGH YOUR TOUCH LEFT ME ICY COLD, HOLLOW, 
AND THE DEVIL HIMSELF SITS AT MY RIGHT HAND 
WHILE YOU STRAY FAR AWAY...
ABANDONING ME TO THE BITTER CURSE OF ANGUISH 

LIKE A JUNKIE I HAVE BECOME ADDICTED TO YOUR EVIL CHARM 
I FED OFF YOU, A PORCELAIN PARASITE,
AND NOW THAT YOU ARE GONE I AM WRACKED WITH WITHDRAWAL 
PUKING UP ASHY LUMPS OF MANGLED LOVE 
AND MOANING IN UNBEARABLE PAIN

BUT OF COURSE YOU JUST DON’T CARE 
YOU ARE OBLIVIOUS TO MY LUST, MY LONGING 
WHEN YOU SAID GOODBYE YOU DIDN’T SEE THE ANGUISH IN MY EYES 
OR HEAR THE SILENT PLEA THAT RIPPED FROM MY LUNGS,
BEGGING YOU TO STAY...

BUT IT DOES NOT MATTER NOW – 
YOU ARE MILES AWAY, IN YOUR DESERT FASTNESS,
AND I LIE ROTTING ALIVE HERE IN MY STONE-COLD BED 
A BLEAK MONUMENT TO LOVE’S WITHERING RAGE 
THE LIGHT IN MY EYES SLOWLY EBBING AWAY...

(p.s. please don't be offended by my use of god/devil in this poem; it is merely inspired/based on a dimmu 
borgir song called Burn in Hell. since i am a metalhead i love that kind of imagery and use it a lot)

Premium Member A Memory From 2015-Contest

Thoughts of last year turn to the quickened beat of my heart
to learn that my grandchild was ill, and we lived so far apart.
"Mom, can you please come to us?" That's all she had to say.
Two hours later, I told my desperate daughter I was on my way.

She greeted me with flowing tears, with a hug she held on tight.
She told me of the illness that kept the baby screaming all night.
Blisters on his tongue, inside his little mouth was raw and red.
Nothing soothed his pain. It was much worse then I dared dread.

A viral infection; hand, foot and mouth and a low grade fever.
Poor little baby and my daughter, I knew I couldn't leave her.
Nothing to do to help him, it just had to run its course in time,
but doing nothing made me feel like I was committing a crime.

No food could he consume and with great effort he drank water.
To quicken his healing I would have given up myself for barter.
Two days before I arrived, this pestilence held the child in grip.
My daughter stressed from worry, her own health began to slip.

Three long days and nights, we tried our best to keep him calm.
Thankful for the moments he slept when we held him in our arms.
The morning he smiled, he must have wondered why we cried.
Prayer and faith in God got us through the time we had to abide.


________________________
January 9th, 2016
My Abiding Memory Contest
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Interstellar Space


                                     Space
                                   between
                                 stars is not
                                empty at all.
                              But vast quantities
                             of neutrinos, atoms,
                          molecules and dark matter
                        with photons from radiation 
                      ranging wide from highest energy
                 to low grade cosmic microwave background.

                  Bubbling plasma in interstellar space
                    contains charged particles all over 
                    embowered by soft cosmic glow.
                     Space between stars increasing 
                           as stars receding far
                              from one another .
                                 Universe on
                                   expansion 
                                      to run
                                        on.
Form: Etheree

Their March

Their March

So, you dropped by to learn where the Future soon will be
And what the fascist’s creed will ultimately decree.
Constructed oh so steadily by Republican traitor calls
The fascist acid seeping through our legislative halls

Broadcast destructively by media incompetent,
Misinformation besets the right-wing ignorant
Low-grade intelligence collects the rotted theme
So, votes are banned, Rights are canned to complete the fetid scheme.

While the Democrats administer the distractions fascists breed
Democracy’s chipped away - Constitution’s left to bleed
Can’t see the forest through fascist planted trees
But only on distractions do left-wingers work to please.


Our foundation’s being eaten while our building’s being cleaned
Fascist erosion’s fed while Democracy’s demeaned
Next time you “drop by” I think I’ll hear you say:
Why didn’t we divert our fight … go on to Save the Day?

But … by then, it’ll be way too late.


Medgar Fallon Roe
© Jack Clark  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

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