Long Millimeter Poems
Long Millimeter Poems. Below are the most popular long Millimeter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Millimeter poems by poem length and keyword.
The guy that talked a chubby boy such as I out of the fear of removing my shirt in the sight of
others
The one that saved me from the torture of bullying from kids
The guy was a saint to me............. o man all the good deeds he did
Yes he was a friend
Until now where he began selling drugs that didn't help a body but led to its end
So we parted , Until times he tried to start a fight in which cases he usually later woke up in a
daze
Then I'd cleverly exlpain to him that a fight goes both ways
He'd get in my face and say I got lucky and next time he'll bust a cap
I said "yo ur diaper is full so stop talkin so much crap"
But recently he asked me to aid him in his selling
And I began telling
telling him I want no business in being a dealer
He said ok but then threatened me with a nine millimeter
I looked at the gun and then at him
Then thought of every instance I forgave him for every sin
And felt the betrayal of someone i once looked as kin
So I looked at him I said and I quote " Never take my kindness to be weak
Remember this as a promise not a threat
Take this lightly and your maker will be met
Remember my name but keep it off your tongue
Freddy Francois , man i'm done
cause you must be the worst to get me this pissed
Your a waste of breathe, your dismissed" And I continued to walk
He said ok then cocked his weapon removing the safety
I kept my fear to myself and said a swift prayer
In preparation for the shot I filled my lungs with air
And out of the blue
The men in blue then came to my rescue
putting a bullet in his hand
And the destruction of his nerves accumalated from strand to strand
Out of relief i sighed
A bit of water drickled slowly from my duct down my eye
I looked up to the skies
and Did the sign of the cross
and I swear I saw a dove pass by
You can not begin to feel the slight but still present fear
Because he is being released from jail today after half a year
This is the truth, the whole story from start to finish
But go ahead call me a liar, i dont care
Cause all I know
My life was saved after I said that prayer and took that deep breath,
because November 19 would've been the anniversary of my death
Form:
Motherland…
I am a desert, barren and hot.
Hoping for the rain, which I forgot.
Once, I was green, golden, and bright.
Nightingales singing night after night.
My fresh breeze at dawn was ever nice,
Showered me blossoms like paradise.
Year after year, I dressed up in green.
Green and reddish with white in between.
Until I became older than old,
All I have now is darkness and cold.
I lost all of my glory and youth,
Hope death is not the end or the truth.
I had so many kings that were tall,
Now, I am filled with filth that they crawl.
Tired of being a desert that’s old,
Thousands and thousands of years to be told.
Cyrus and Darius lived within me.
Now I am barren; how could it be?
I am now desert far from the sea;
They burned my soul so no one can see.
Empty and lonely, thirsty and dry,
hope for the rain and generous sky.
Hope for someone to answer my cry,
Wash up my tears, and don’t let me die.
I need a hero like the old times,
Come and wash me from all the crimes.
Come to me, my love, my lovely rain,
shower me with love, get rid of pain.
If you come back and shower me, fine
promise I give you, I'll drink your wine.
For me, rain is love; love is my life.
To live without love is endless strife.
I want to become a jungle of love,
making love and being free as a dove.
I am now dying, dying of thirst,
Hope for a drizzle; first thing is first.
1/28/20 Haloo
Note: Motherland is Iran, the birthplace of civilizations, a country with thousands of years of history. In the past forty years, there is a great tension between the government of Iran and the United States. This tension has escalated recently to the point of an imminent war between the two countries. The people in Iran are suffering from an authoritarian government on one side and sanctions and pressure on the other. This humble piece is written to give you the understanding that under a millimeter of skin, we’re all the same, the same humans, and humanities are the same regardless of religion, culture, and geographical background.
in a room laced with gloom
his beats boom he dreams of wreckin' the mike
his momma's home she's alone
a sad song she struggles she fights
his lil' sis' is quite a miss
but them fives they do dis' they women so bad
but they alright except at night
for fives will fight you know a drive-bye’s to be had
in the ghetto he's a cello
if he's yellow he's bound to get played
his homies ain't no phonies
they drinkin' forties and lookin' to get paid
on the corner he's a gonna'
take lil' Jack Horner’s fo' they Christmas pie
sticks in his thumb pulls out a gun
ya' betta' run son he's one crazy lil' five
there's two sides to this lil' five
he's full of jive and has a heart of gold
if he jacks you fo' fifty don't give in too swiftly
he's kinda' shifty he'll want fifty more
his mom's on welfare nobody else will care
some fives they do stare at his lil' sis
on Sundays in church his soul he must search
at night he does dirt a childhood was missed
a baby born a bastard; things happen fasta'
the streets might cast ya' in the role of a wimp
a five from L.A. drivin' a six tre'
crime it do pay wants his name on the blimp
the U.S. government cannot prevent
this adolescent from goin' astray
not to mention juvenile detention
just another dimension of the American way
joined a street gang it's a ghetto thang
playin' the dope game he's a thug fo' life
original gangstas like this lil' pranksta'
he can't wait to shank ya' in the heat of the night
OG's got a mission some fives they dissed 'em
pranksta' can get 'em it's initiation day
the scene's a playground it's fin' to go down
babies they run 'round looks like a foray
closer and closer his heart grows colder
gettin' bolder and bolder his nine-millimeter jams
seventeen years old his body turns cold
his last episode hollow points rip his ass
a frontpage story didn't earn no glory
nature was predatory really dug his profile
he carried my name could not break the chain
he lived in vain he was my only child
Matthew's latest blank key
Impossible mission, nevertheless
I take figurative aim
to craft poem without
experiencing wrathful blame
avoiding explicitly, ignominiously, specifically...
referencing mine heterosexual counterpart
that infamous she,
whom did ruthlessly claim
yours truly as her husband
snatching mine happy
go lucky bachelorhood
two dozen plus decades ago
(revered singular status
belonging to me),
one latitudinally and longitudinally
i.e. height and weight challenged dame
during earlier years of our marriage
prone to prematurely ejaculate and exclaim
expletive laced epithets toward me
once burnt twice shy,
courtesy unidentified heartbreaker
nonetheless pledged
her troth and did coldly frame
wedded covenant predicted
on mutual (of Omaha)
perk hens pact regarding fidelity
abiding rules linkedin
with matrimonial adult game.
Henceforth any future
reasonable rhyme I crochet
with words must not mention
name of spouse lest she flay
these lovely bones
and verbally inveigh
husband hoot hook literary leeway
time gone by to broadcast blithely,
albeit electronically
which liberty not okay
the missus pointedly did relay.
No idea why personal details
(about myself) shared with zeal
(hoop fully to curry spicy reciprocity)
yours truly not exceptionally discriminatory,
when rusty cogs turn with much friction
barnacle encrusted cerebral
spongy bobbing square wheel
likened to (nails scraping
across chalkboard) -
which action evokes screeching squeal
an artifact of yesteryear school days
seen courtesy thirty five millimeter
black and white silent newsreel
portraying parochial
(baby boomer) kids
analogous to well trained dogs did heel
good luck heading toward
principal office filing lament better off
seeking devil (who wears Prada
or the latest couture) to appeal.
All About Cake-Alleya Joy Kolar March 2016
She looked at it like it was a masterpiece.
It looked as if someone had spent their lifetime on it.
A lifetime so dedicated to every absolute Crumb,
To every bite of which was about to be hers.
She looked through the window, she looked through the glass.
She thought to herself,
“I have to make it mine, I have to make it last.”
So she grabbed her purse and every penny and all her cash.
And then she went, to put her hunger in the past.
She opened the door so effortlessly, so ready for her tastey.
She said hello to a friend waiting by the pastry.
As she waited so eager and ready, she realized she was so anxious that she was sweaty.
The friend in front of her in the line was looking at the very same cake, and could become the beholder.
It was now the friends turn to order.
She stared closely, listened intensly.
She could hear every drop of sweat flow down her back,
she could feel the saliva appear on every square millimeter on her tongue.
They ordered a doughnut.
Relieved she walked forward to ask the cashier for the price of the delicate piece of marvelous-art of a cake that she had been admiring.
He answers and they exchange the amount due.
It is hers as time slows down she finds a fork and a seat to sit in as she joins paradise.
As she takes the last bite she smiles sweetly to the employee and leaves the tip under the plate.
It was the best cake she had ever had.
Age old wisdom scarred not flamed. A dozen baked bees in an hour glass perturbed. And left undisturbed as a minotaur sunbathing on a single blade of grass on a sixty acre lawn. At dusk. At dawn. Week by week. But no lawnmowers. And it is to be ascertained that a fish bowl is not a serpent pulled inside out upon a circular globular glass. Ok then. One for memory bank but no banking involved in a skyscraper skim. For skimming stones is neither a scale, an octave, nor is it a radioactive material that smothers a bed. Manufactured by a slide. Wee then. Go on shout weeeeee. Surely western interfere of an uneven divide. Two ended manuscripts bow and scrape through the screening. Such interface.....wow......such ideas are neither neutral nor neutrophil. Ok. Great. Now the buds are areas nowadays and obsolete as a spelling test of ten twenty sixty on a business bus balancing over two hundred and forty five fish on a circuit of shape. Wow. Fantastic isn't it? And all the time a two millimeter choir boy sings alleluia and then eats porridge. Great. Oh haha so funny the people have arrived on time. Wow. Ha ha the pig is running around with a giant bread which has many wheels. Hahah playing piano with a timed tuned washing machine is quite remarkable and profound. For it is a diamond dish of display on a deity dish of difference. No ship now. Xxxxx bibliographical xxxxxx hexagon calling triangle to make a square. Xxxxxx z z z z z
Form:
Age old wisdom scarred not flamed. A dozen baked bees in an hour glass perturbed. And left undisturbed as a minotaur sunbathing on a single blade of grass on a sixty acre lawn. At dusk. At dawn. Week by week. But no lawnmowers. And it is to be ascertained that a fish bowl is not a serpent pulled inside out upon a circular globular glass. Ok then. One for memory bank but no banking involved in a skyscraper skim. For skimming stones is neither a scale, an octave, nor is it a radioactive material that smothers a bed. Manufactured by a slide. Wee then. Go on shout weeeeee. Surely western interfere of an uneven divide. Two ended manuscripts bow and scrape through the screening. Such interface.....wow......such ideas are neither neutral nor neutrophil. Ok. Great. Now the buds are areas nowadays and obsolete as a spelling test of ten twenty sixty on a business bus balancing over two hundred and forty five fish on a circuit of shape. Wow. Fantastic isn't it? And all the time a two millimeter choir boy sings alleluia and then eats porridge. Great. Oh haha so funny the people have arrived on time. Wow. Ha ha the pig is running around with a giant bread which has many wheels. Hahah playing piano with a timed tuned washing machine is quite remarkable and profound. For it is a diamond dish of display on a deity dish of difference. No ship now. Xxxxx bibliographical xxxxxx hexagon calling triangle to make a square. Xxxxxx z z z z z
Form:
Blade so thin
you don't feel it slice,
until it's carving away a piece of you.
With every millimeter
exposed to air
new agonizing pain,
as if someone is stabbing a needle into your
over and over and over and over,
til there is but only your existence and pain,
the only sensation left to you.
My back grows wet,
and my ears are abused
by the sickly,
almost slurping like sound
of my skin leaving my body
and his staggered breath.
Every downward slice
stealing another piece of my innocence,
my perceptions,
my personality,
my being,
my soul.
By now my underwear
are soaked in my blood,
and urine runs down my leg.
"Momma ain't coming to save to save you boy."
And it don't matter how many ways
your dad know how to kill
he ain't stopping this.
By now I can feel the my pant legs
sticking to my skin
and as every dead leaf
crunches I realize
that I can't scream anymore
and the pathetic cackling calls for mommy
are actually coming from my throat.
As my shoes puddle up with my blood
and my ears are assaulted
by the grizzly sound of nothingness
I feel the darkness seep into my bones,
and as the chill grips me
in its sweet embrace
I know there is nothing,
shall be nothing,
and I am created of nothing
for my tears dried up long ago.
Pouring milk teeth onto a tea cup silence,
rasping over ceramic furroughs -
a harvest of unborn cries -
she shudders into the hollow of a throat
she can’t escape.
She’s already shrouded,
tapestries and bed-sheets and fences and
liquid walls, all white.
Bridal white, white as snow, cold to the touch.
She dreams softly, unassuming,
folded into her wrinkle of universe,
and dabs her weeping wrists with every
perfume she owns, hoping to reclaim her mind
with the memory-laden scents of what was.
But it all smells the same to her now,
like steel corridors and hospital-stillness,
and she can’t hide the decay even
though every mirror in the house is turned
inside out and left alone to reflect the wall.
She’s nothing now: a final breath
a kiss no one remembers,
a candle with a millimeter wick and no matches.
She’s imprisoned in one strand of mercury hair, torn and
bleeding around her finger,
and set free in that instant where vanilla tears swell
with his image on her face.
She held him for so long, but she’s on her knees
begging for more.
Inspiration: Pearl Jam's Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town
and
"Lucid, Nostalgic Perfumes of a
Deceased Love Permeate his senses."
-Conor Jordan
Here’s an interesting fact about the color of our skin:
the section that holds the color is unusually thin.
I imagine to our creator…it was a snap…a finger flick
making the section with our pigment only a millimeter thick.
I’m sure she had her reasons…perhaps it wasn’t even functional
Perhaps she just wanted to make our world a little more beautiful.
Perhaps even though he was the creator he was inquisitive
perhaps he wanted to see how people of different colors live.
Perhaps after creating in us similar brains, and eyes and hearts
he wanted to give us a simple way of telling each other apart.
Perhaps she wanted us to look both outside as well as in
and see there is so much more to who we are than the color of our skin.
Perhaps her belief in her creations was both resolute and strong…
and she never guessed there would be reasons we would not get along…
My guess is he didn’t think it important…the color of our skin
which is why when creating all our pieces she made our color part so thin.
Perhaps our creator hoped…from the moment our life begins
We would use our brain, our eyes and our heart…to see past the color of our skin.
After all, if our creator made color such a small part of you…
and such a small part of me
If she didn’t think it that important…
I wonder…
why do we?