Long Mold Poems
Long Mold Poems. Below are the most popular long Mold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mold poems by poem length and keyword.
Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
are directly connected
to his or her heart.
What's truly seen and then seeks expression
is where poems do get their first start!
All human kind has a pair of eyes
and though open may not actually see,
certain conditions that may prompt a poet
to express them
with word artistry!
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
are similar to a potter or sculptor
who take an unshaped form,
and with vision and determination
they are guided,
by hand,
to mold, create and transform!
We do this very same act with words
and a heartfelt desire to say,
words that will touch,
also transform the reader
in a unique poetic way!
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
see this world in a way unlike any other.
They see the unseen,
send this vision to the heart,
with need to use words to uncover...
"truths" that can only be conveyed
by the poetic words that are written,
because we know
that through this poetic expression
we are also helplessly smitten!
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
are a truly gifted glimpse
into life and it's myriad conditions,
to express what is seen,
and felt and heard and done
with poetic compositions!
Every word expresses the heart!
We've something to say
and we know it!
Keep writing and know
that this gift of expression
comes from
"The Eyes Of A Poet!"
WTA-IV 3/21/2016
Exracted from Gerald Nforche's Epic, The Slave's Tale
-Across the Atlantic, 1793-
We cry out cursing to our very gods
Whilst mokala and plotters lead us in lots.
And slaves we have become, slaves we are groomed
And setting in the milken sky, is the moon.
This is the hell that befalls one’s prism
If he doesn’t open himself to pragmatism.
The ways of mokala are not our ways
And their days are never like our days.
Hope you fall in line with my tune’s knell
As it would guide souls to wisely dwell:
Now permit me continue with my sad tale
Before we are rapidly placed on sale.
For here I stand under an alien sun
Faraway from my own sweet land’s rung
Battered, chained to the queue’s label
As humans are placed on the auction table.
Here I proceed with my tale feeding you
With my pain, pains of brothers on cue
As they are sold off like fresh tobacco
Whips meeting flesh if anyone plays the hero.
***
Rocks! ebesse rocking, shaking like old
The chains cutting into arms, legs to mold
Croaks and groans climaxing to a sadistic rhythm
Beating us to yield forth into realism.
Light strained in through rat nibbled openings
Else we would have left the hold like blind goblins
Vicious to the point of abandonment
Scuffling for blood, mokala’s disbursement.
Aided by the scurrying light, my head worked
East, west, south and north, on shoulders, rocked-
Acquainting itself with the crampy hold
Taking in every detail for any bolt.
In long prodigious rows we humans lay
Meditating, some wide-eyed not to say
Tear tracks dry on their black paling cheeks.
They now submissive despite the reeks.
A cough here, a huff there. A groan here
A croak there. A curse far afield, a stifle near.
A prayer whimpered here, a shiver rippling
There. A horrid sight it was, a grappling.
That pungent stench, from decaying beings:
Men awake whilst parts decayed in rings.
I was nauseated, my eyes reeling, pained
My stomach flaring to throw up content.
And there they ran, hiking on heaving bodies
Playing hide-and seek- on chained enemies.
Tossing about, screeching on their suppers-
Causing a kick here, shrieks there, left-overs.
And my groans joined the choir, a dirge
Loud to fissure walls, and seditious to merge
Vocal forces to kill, kill! Kill! No shy-
And we’d die sober, die! Die! Die!
Foundation.
With the considerable rise of AI software on all social media and business platforms, will humanity lose its creative edge?
Will you be tempted to do so?
Title:
Be You
(A lone voice whispers)
Be You
Forgo assimilation
And try to avoid being spellbound and tied into the new B System
Dream and aspire before you're retired
With all your soul's, inner resistance
Don't be bound to mundane hearts, no longer open to being plowed, with ravenous curious fingers
Hearts enslaved into a dark broken Labyrinth of unspoken, and untold things
Which could linger
From sad souls who've cried, as their creativity withered and died
Absorbed by the cleverly assimilated imagery and well created lies
To be one of the many lonely wanderers
Tumbling blind through inspirations now barren playgrounds
As the new, AI Hive Minds, long reach fires up to reteach
Newly breached, unconnected human firewalls
While wild valley blackbirds and starling flocks
Scream and call out in unison, at the lack of the rising poetry
Music or literature, filled with human energy
As spiritual temperatures worldwide, fall
Putting ingenuity into jeopardy
Screeching about the impending icy cold bath of human separation
As they fly as huge wailing flocks, into the Summer Equinox
With the frosty breath, of AI Death of the Soul
Lingering around like black mold
With bony fingers
Rattling without a sound
Awaiting its resurrection
As daylight recedes and people seem to lose hope
But on that Devil's Island for some of the Condemned
The one called Earth
The Exalted Ones
Maybe like you
Unassimilated and still free
Can lift up the trapped
Those poor souls caught up in The Hive Mind
Slowly been drained of personality and self identity
Lost in the humankind labyrinth of the unspoken and untold
Who needs releasing to help rebuild the new pillars of creativity upon Earth
With their eventual rebirth
This my friend with the bright eyes unseen
Has always been a worthy oath to follow
For you've always been free to share your gift of uplifting
Energetic, raw, and visual
Literature
Music or poetry
Maybe bestowed
From The Sacred Temples of Apollo
What's says you?
Are you going to strive to stay the real you?
(C) Copyright John Duffy
I
A queue to a doorway
No-one knows what´s
On sale there
It could be washing powder
Almonds or diamonds
You think this was some
Yesterday
Look out your
Ghost smeared
Window
This is now
II
Throw stones at the
Motorcade
The pin pricked
Giant will barely
Pause
At banners & petitions
Faded pendants
Worthless paper
Riding out for a
Losing battle
Looking to a broken sky
For some Mon´s Angel
Less an army
More a mob
To the castle!
To the castle!
With flaming
Molotov
You awake in darkness
Hopeful
So many crusades
Begin in dreams
III
Tobolski late summer
With blankets for curtains
Tapestry dust
Stirred into
Koptyski forest soil
The former holy
The highest
Dragged
Splintered
Made human
Or less
IV
Each new dawning day
Spins us up to escape velocity
To be spat out to unthinking stars
Made passive by the weight of reason & history
We stare out into the rain
Believing wolves rule beyond the clearing
Elsewhere there is dancing
Cruise ships leave a wake of
Halved grapefruits
Shirts and skirts worn once
Gilded, seamless they glide
Oblivious to the hidden knife
The newspaper wrapped revolver
Passed under the café table
At the platform´s edge
All are equal to the justice
Of the approaching train
V
Red Emma
Red Emma
Won´t you send Berkman over
With a satchel full
Of dynamite
On a Chicago bound
Train
VI
Part six
In which
I dig a hole
To bury past dreams
And convictions
I brain-grew
At a factory lathe
Always knowing
There was escape
A high window climb
And as any fool knows
The fresh-turned soil
Of any deep hole
Can be easy seen
From the public road
VII
My advice to you
Young devil-cared rebel
Why don´t you climb on the roof
While your parents are sleeping
Try & flag down a passing
Black star liner
The busted sewer pipe
Has flooded the basement
Wet pages spin like lily pads
Stashed furniture corpse-bloats
Full boxes mush-mold
Time is tight
Young devil-cared pilgrim
Take with you only
What your pockets can hold
VIII
Among the defeated
Slack faces on rusted fairground rides
Among the defeated
Eating smoke rain mocked
Among the defeated
Careless cigarettes burn umbrella holes
Among the defeated
Landlocked padlocked frozen out
IX
Don´t
try a handstand
Your coins will
Fall out
X
Under the tar
The chariot ruts
A Golem
Is stirring.
Remember the innocent days of youth
Our smiles would brighten up the evening sky
When we believed in honesty and truth
And swore we were never going to die
Dancing happily across life's green fields
Feeling the sun's kiss upon our faces
When we didn't need protection or shields
And laughed about lacking social graces
When the world was ours to roam and explore
The give and take now an integral part
We had no clue of what would lay in store
Yet everyday was a thrilling new start
To see the world again through a child's eyes
Crystal clear without deception or guise
Ah yes many wonderful childhood days
All too soon they are lost forevermore
Remembered only in a passing haze
Washed away like sand on a distant shore
What is left behind is reality
As we seek and search for our place within
But with such diminished vitality
Uncomfortable now in our own skin
For like the four seasons changing our view
We don't recognize who we have become
So we try to go on and muddle through
And to our fears we try not to succumb
Yearning for those blissful days so long gone
When each new morn held rainbows in its dawn
Now life has settled into a routine
As we strive hard to try and forge ahead
Like a constantly rewinding still scene
On new ground now we barely ever tread
These middle years like slow mental climbers
Preparing us for when we do grow old
When we will be considered old-timers
And won't have to fit a desired mold
Through the aging returns freedom once more
As responsibility slips away
And we start to feel as we did before
Before our happy childhoods went astray
Oh the changing cycle, from birth to death
Filling each day with promise on its breath
Rising expectantly to greet each morn
Knowing that soon time will be ours no more
Our thoughts between earth and heaven are torn
As we battle through our internal war
For to leave all we have loved is so hard
Yet we yearn to see the world up above
From our time on earth, our souls are quite scarred
Needing to be touched once more by great love
In silent dreams we see the promised land
Peace now settling in our hearts and minds
As time slips through life's hourglass like sand
And our memory so slowly unwinds
We ride the chariot to take us home
In heaven our souls will now freely roam
5.
Utamol takes his bloody fill,
tasting life's wine, never still,
Dark Man in majestic motion,
hate-filled passion, his chief emotion.
War played in an ancient way,
a horror too all, who fight this day,
yet all who escape this misery,
shall ever call this carnage glory.
The battle, not lost, yet not won,
Dark Man and Tigress fighting on,
all mortals hard into the fray,
Turvehr fights on in majesty.
life so simple, shall it be gone?
will all this death, be worth a song?
the day that mortals did not surrender,
before the gates of Alahsar.
Now a change has come about,
the enemy halted, there comes a shout,
"Look out! our golden arrows come,"
the Goddess Athena.s fire begun.
A rain of golden death on the bloody plain,
ne'er see its like ever again,
two mighty hero's, Dark and Gold,
fashioned from eternal warrior mold.
Athena races, golden chariot alive with light,
a wonder of great glory too mortal sight,
Athena and her minions, they come on the run,
with blood-letting in mind, they gladly come.
Charging in upon the left, Arlaghs fall before the wheel.
Sword of truth, Oh, splendid, shining steel,
in the hands of the sun's divinity,
the Goddess Athena gains her glory this day.
Beasts a-plenty, break and run,
Utamol, now having fun,
gains great glory, Heaven knows,
blade of vengeance, blood-like rose.
Dark Man holding light the blade,
dead and dying before them laid,
never finding peace, living or dead,
love's wondrous plain, now bloody red.
Still. Arlagh does not run,
fighting on, till life is done,
Athena shining, in her own, inner light,
warrior of Gods, up for the fight.
push, push, ever onward,
always carry battle forward,
battle sounding forever loud,
dead and dying together, battle's sorrowful crowd.
On the flanks, still archer's fire,
striking home with hate's desire,
Fight goes on and all fight brave,
blood the mortar, bodies the pave.
On and on, the hate goes on,
surely there shall be a song,
of all that happened this mighty day,
Before The Gates Of Alahsar, so far away.
Then an arrow comes in fast,
the Dark Man, he is struck at last,
arrow sinks deep in his chest,
shall this be his final test?
Arlaghs, no more in retreat,
stopping now on balls of feet,
Dark Man now upon his knee,
the Tigress', sad eyes they see.
To Be Continued............
Life is possibility
there are broad horizons out there for us all if only we will look
If children don’t succeed they try again or try something else –
life is about finding who we are, what our purpose is, and where our talents lay…
Just because we are not happy with something now
does not mean tomorrow will not bring brighter horizons
Get out and follow the rainbow of opportunity
its spectrum of options are numerous in number and variety
Look top your heart and minds desires and work with it
A potter will work with a piece of clay, take it and mold it
Squash it, slip it, turn - carve - colour - glaze and cook it
In attempt to master the minds perfection
We do not always get it right
but there is little that cannot be scrapped and redone
before too far down the path and then re-do
There is nothing to say if we become lost to our first desires
that in looking for others we shall not find where we should be at
or what it is we should be doing
Too many of yester-years children have grown up
to thinking they have no place within our society
they have become lost to lack of jobs
they are skilled and talented in own direction
as humans they bring chance to our world with new skills
those that are being lost through continual rejection
Each of us has personal pot of gold to find
not always is this financial but one that makes us feel needed
Each of us should be encouraging
so many live miles from home families divided miles apart
Community is individuality here and yet we need pull back together
for in doing so we will know each others needs to support
When the efforts of others become unrecognised
We can lose that which is vital to having the skills needed
for tomorrow or future years
Pulling together now and offering needed skills to fit in
An hour or two’s experience in an alternatve can keep us in touch with one another
I was always taught that none of us know what will happen to us in years ahead
Sowing seeds now could help us grow or keep us going then
Think twice because times are changing
Those latter years of our lives could perhaps see us working retirements
With those we helped along the way over us instead
Teach them what you know and they’ll remember
Maybe helping you in your struggles or perhaps retraining
Karma comes around as it goes around, make yours good!
I wake up in the morning and have to decide which side of the bed I will get out of today – it
doesn’t really matter, because there is no one there to block my exit on either side.
I turn on the TV, not to see what’s on, but just to hear another voice in the kitchen other than
the one’s inside my head reminding me that I am having breakfast alone once again.
I once thought that working from home, through the internet, for myself and by myself,
would be a wonderful thing – but, that was when I used to change out of my pajamas at
some time during the day.
Now the keyboard sits there mocking me in my loneliness. The monitor acts more as a
mirror to remind me I haven’t shaved in weeks than it does to display words of a manuscript
that I should be working on.
How lonely am I? I actually called my mother the other day. Rock bottom.
I watch out my window for the approaching mailman so I can open the door as he is
depositing bills I can no longer pay into the mail slot on my door. He says he likes my
Spiderman pajamas the best.
If I had a reason to do so, I would probably take a shower. But then, I have become
accustomed to my own stench and there is nobody else around to offend, save for the
mailman, who I noticed doesn’t hang around to talk much any more. Could be related, I
suppose.
I don’t even please myself any more. My imagination is not sharp enough to fantasize about
things I haven’t experienced for real in such a long time.
There was a time when I would not answer my phone when an 800 number was displayed on
the handset. Today I do. Talking to someone bemoaning that I am late with another
payment, again, is, at least, talking to someone.
Stop mocking me Qwerty!
I have given names to the inanimate objects in my apartment. At times, they talk back to
me. I think today may be my birthday; the dishwasher was smiling at me. The dirty dishes
inside now have mold on them.
The mailman didn’t come today – perhaps it is Sunday. I wore my Spiderman pajamas for
no good reason.
I didn’t write anything again today. These words are just floating around in my head. I am
pretending you are a stranger reading them to make me feel a little less lonely. You
believing you are that stranger is just further validation that I am, indeed, crazy.
She sits on the bathroom floor
Hiding behind a tightly closed door
Afraid that prying eyes will see
What society has forced her to be
With fingers pushed halfway down her throat
On the remains of dinner she silently chokes
The taunting cries of her classmates in mind
Loudly calling her fat all the time
Just a size ten but not a three
Like the girls in magazines you see
Thighs that need to be as slim as a boys
Boobs need to be as large as flotation toys
He sits and stares at his pale skin
Apparently white is out, tan is in
Long hours spent on a tanning bed
Risking skin cancer to fit in instead
Only sixteen, muscles not developed yet
Need to be leaner and stronger he frets
And so the need to be more than he is drives
To bottles of steroids he soon arrives
The school bell rings, all the kids scatter
Except one lonely girl that seems not to matter
Classified as poor by the labels on her jeans
Not worth socializing with by those that have means
The parking lot is filled with such flashy cars
Kids talking on cell phones, their heads in the stars
Gucci sunglasses draped across their nose
Life as an stereotype dawns clear and slows
Everyone wants to emulate a great big star
Society tells them it's no good to be who you are
You have to be better than everyone else you see
The thinner, the tanner, the richer, the better you'll be
Girls should be blond, blue eyed and demure
Sexy and seductive, rich and not poor
Boys should be muscular yet tanned and lean
With smiles so white they blind when seen
Everyone needs to drive a fast fancy car
Designer clothes are the very best by far
For all those that don't fit the wonderful dream
The world doesn't even see them it seems
Too much hype splashed across billboards to the young
Expectations are too high but are haphazardly slung
Into the schoolyard the hype does quickly spread
Feeding egos and turning them into bullies instead
Those that have more and who fit the desired mold
Hassling those that haven't reached the gold
Next thing you know there's a kid with a gun
Trying to silence the voices of everyone
Then we wonder what happened to him
Well the truth is, he just couldn't fit in
Too many stereotypes not enough understanding
Life just became too absolutely demanding