Long Marring Poems
Long Marring Poems. Below are the most popular long Marring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marring poems by poem length and keyword.
Death looks at a flower, screaming I am beautiful
look here I am, come eat me, alone.
Death hovers, smiling, never waiting, walking always
by, knowing that,
any thing that touches it will also soon, never die.
Death is love, love is death, why are you both, death
is your pet pink pig, and two flying pearls.
Death is a dry cracked nipple, sleeping, holding on
to the flesh untill it falls off.
Death is a bullet fixed, never moving, why does the
world move you through it.
Death is a voice always quite, sounding alarms to
walk across the street knowing you look while you
come running.
Death is a woman, who is crazy, thinking the world is
spinning into her coffee.
Death to all men who think they can save the woman
by marring death and eating her sandwich.
Death fingered you, you loved it, now you finger me,
leaving my bee exposed on the flower, you buzzed.
Death's own flower is always sweet and poignant on me,
It is always open for you to smell.
and it's red alarms, you ignored,
still here now it comes, alone, to see you as one.
Her heart has turned to glass
Broken shards that stab her from within
Lost in her sea of sorrow
She hardly feels the tears pouring from her soul
Melancholy reigns, marring her mind
She drowns day after day in her ocean of worries
Smiling, when there's no end to her problems
To whom can she open up?
Who really knows her real state?
To whom can she share her regrets with?
Who will pull her up from this dark depression?
This chasm that seems to consume her?
This chaos that runs amok, ruining her?
This speechless pain that silences every other thought?
Who can cure her heart?
Glue those shattered pieces back into one whole?
Take control of her lachrymose life?
Comfort her, hold her when she needs it the most?
WHO...?
Is there no hope?
Is there no answer to her cry?
Is there no rope for her to hold on?
Why does life have to be so hard?
SHE LAUGHS...
She fell from the light, into a world shadowed in gray.
~ by poet
An angel pouted to protest her punitive plight
No repentant redemption for her serious sins
Wings waylaid, the fatuous one was felled in flight
And from Heaven hurled; now banishment begins
Resentfully she roams in shadows of somber skies
An enraged expression marring her fractious face
A ranting rebel like the dastardly devil, father of lies
Dwelling in darkness due to her decadent disgrace
No earthly escape will she discover through death
Crows circle and caw, crying out in a clamoring voice
With crass words she crudely curses in banal breath
Wicked wrongdoer, condemned for her corrupt choice
With foolish folly she sorrowfully surrendered her soul
and delves within deep darkened depths for eternity
All alone, there will be no one to comfort and console
From shadows and suffering, she will never break free
She sulks upon sullen stygian shores of the river Styx
without a reprieve or relief from tormenting terror
There's no exit from her eternal eviction as time ticks
for Satan's spawn, shrouded in shame for her error
August 30, 2022
Alliteration Old or New Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Creeping Ivy
_____________________-____________________________________
fun
fun
fun
summer time is here!
iut's summer time
in the city!
---------------------------------------------------------------
Sackett
am Us ah marrying?
or ya'll just tryna
cat up some nibble?
Got no business ahmarrying!
Ding Dang hippies!
the does and I does!
A relationship that looks like a "marrying type" is characterized by deep emotional security, constructive communication, aligned life goals, and mutual effort, rather than just physical attraction or excitement. It thrives on a foundation of friendship, trust, and shared values, often featuring partners who see each other as teammates handling life's challenges together.
Ya'll's ah funnin
ya'll can't be serious
come on mister
guys like me want's ah marring!
you Egotisticail
and all!
The rose so delicately picked
Pricks and bleeds its life blood from the thorn,
The droplets marring the green grass;
Tingeing the blades with death.
Watch your hands,
Don’t get caught.
Life lessons are learnt
As lies are taught.
A world with no morals
And a hell with no bounds,
Luring the damned
As the demons dance round.
Petals turn to dust
As the fire of depravity
Turns morality to rust.
As the years unfold
The story is told
Of how the roses colour
Came to be.
A fair young maiden
In the fields does wait
For her brave young hero
Who has being slaying enemies in battle.
He did arrive, wounded badly
And hardly alive.
The maiden ran to him as he did collapse
And held him in her arms.
As his life slipped away.
Thru sheer despair
The young maiden did weep.
She cried for so many years
Her eyes had bled,
Making the ground so wet
That the flowers she did weep upon
Soaked up her stained tears
And that is why
The rose is red.
Form:
Flat pack Wobbler
Procured from mega shop, a straight-lined box amid a cardboard wall
Where jig saw chattels rise above the queues of flatbed wheelies
And underarm catalogues patterned with an iconic list of what they are
When the blocks are sequenced and affixed with laborious strife
A transformation takes place that gives the pack new form herewith
Long live the flat pack table and its tedious sway in frail chipboard
Seated upon upon a quartet of nailed on props that creak objection
It takes its varnished place in harmony with four bolted chairs that match
And for a while it serves to hold the plates and cutlery just grand
Until the careless etch of scratches weave marring patterns on its top
Forever to remain as though a work of scribbled art and wrinkled mess
No longer wavelets in the soup, a tidal wave is now the norm when the legs teeter
Today the food’s aslant and the drinks decide to slide and slither to the floor
The props have given way, they’re tired and now submit to glory
And the table returns again to flat pack with eternal gratitude
quartet of props
God made human beings into man and woman
And adorned them - gems into a gorgeous garden;
Never coloring them into white, black, or brown
His image, he poured into them, in-mold golden...
Humans created all casts, colors, creeds, and sects,
Filled the earth with injurious impurities;
Each looking another as suspicious objects,
Thus marring the beauty of God's priorities...
Realizing - sin against each one - ugliest
Human beings need to remove the filth in them;
Outlooks on persons and events must be honest,
Each human as precious as the Kohinoor gem...
When the law and the legal system is racist,
Who would citizens ever approach for justice?
Having not condemned the legal system fascist,
Could the system not ever care for the rustics?
People who oppressed are uniquely qualified,
Speak on behalf of other oppressed of the group;
Victims of racism and cruelties that abide,
Need exclusive interference of legal troupe...
And thus, may inequalities be wiped away,
May everywhere human cause and humanism thrive!
Everything that hinders human growth may give way,
To love, fraternity, and liberty to live...
11 July 2021
Critical Race Theory Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
The saddest tale that’s e’er been told
Is that of pencil Sharp
He wrote so dark, so brave and bold
The critics on did harp
Disaster struck one fateful day
As Sharp wrote down a line
His pink eraser wore away
So marring Sharp’s design
Now Sharp decays in health and mind
His purpose now so dull
And as Sharp fails, he falls behind
And publishers are full
No time have they for useless Sharp
A point without an end
So on and on the critics carp
About his latest penned
To greatness go the other pens
And those whose use goes on
To write of mountains and of glens
For Sharp all hope is gone
Do you beleive in: Horsorima?
Why are you speaking this to me?
Huh-huh: do the Gods of Heremes
frighten you: or have your religous
zealoity find you beyond such mortal
myths? Speak your words might they be
spoken: who's to say whether they have fallen on deaf ears or not.
Yesterday in the city of Groafpain a woman was standing with her husband
in the front of a bridal shop: waiting for both future bride and groom
to finsh there goown and tuexdo fitting. When they were about to eave the store
a dark powdery myst formed behind the father
and in a snap of the finger he and the black myst disappeared.
He was sitting on the couch when the family arrived home. TV cameras caught the hold ordeal.
It's beleived he is a shapeshifter from Hoboaira. It is beleived that men who have lusted after
certain women develop this condiition.
They are proned to changing there shapes and telleportation.It is a curse for marring under certain signs. So they would have you to beleive. I on the other hand no the truth of why they are shapeshifters.They are from Mars. They are ancesters to
the germs bought back from Mars during the Martian Sample Retrieval. It is believed that they infected the guts and intestates of humans. And were worms in stool. They became wasp-like creatures. and infected people and used there dna to clone themselves into human like beings.
Is there such a flower as a despised blue rose...
the one I desperately chose
to sign end under a sad story,
which had neither passion or glory?
With tears so rageful, she thought it was the final goodbye;
why I didn't choose a more charming rose with a different color,
perhaps not as red as her unfaithful heart? It wouldn't have been a lie!
Ever since, I have shunned and hated blue roses despite their splendor.
They tell me that the reason for my unbearable loneliness
is the urge for touching a face slipped from my grip and will;
if I am to blame...why did I love her with intense sweetness,
and nothing was returned besides a promise so brittle?
Let me see only red and yellow roses...but no tempting, blue roses;
I couldn't relive moments rejected by a woman so deceitful and ravishing,
and she smiled as they did, but that trust was distant from the beginning...
marring the lovely appearance of that blue rose standing out from others.