Long Mulish Poems
Long Mulish Poems. Below are the most popular long Mulish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mulish poems by poem length and keyword.
Trouble, trouble stirs the wind
ghastly ghosts rise and ascend
warty toads croak
vile spells are spoke
witches’ covens evil intend
Burbling, gurgling cauldron hot
with purple vein, red blood clot
virgins hopeful eyes
fear and dread belies
throw them in and stir the pot
Screeching, screaming banshee songs
garish ghouls with pointy prongs
mulish mummies
reeking rummies
to evil spirits the night belongs
Trembling, tremoring witches fear
townsfolk are coming too near
sticks and stones
fire bemoans
the end becoming too clear
Freaking, shrieking their cry drums
slicing the air with its thrums
unwilling to face
they cut to the chase
quickly flee to save their bums
I once had a friend iron-willed and rigid
she was uncompromising and stern
everything carved in stone
she was single-minded mulish
unyielding- unwavering in all things
I am an easy-going girl . . .
my hair a flowing river streaming- tranquil
oh yes, quite laid-back and calm, almost lackadaisical
but not weak or meek, or fragile
she never imagined my strength hidden . . .
I accepted her unbending ways (for a time)
her words- weapons trying to leave scars
never do I recall a person so determined and tough
so full of turmoil and self-hate
most of the time I tolerated her
but the wheel of time rolled and rolled
until I got sick of surrendering- I got sick of her
so, in the most delicate way
gracefully, kind and casual
and to her shock- I said
I have had quite enough of you . . .
___________________________
July 15, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/a friend- so intransigence
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1166-584-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Intransigence
sponsor, John Hamilton
Second Place
I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time;
Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme.
What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession,
Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression?
In swearing truth say why your sight-eclipsing wings
Party and feast and conjure merry over littler beings.
What sadistic banquets in spooky nooks yonder,
Turn your lot-dwindling schemes ever so fonder?
It's true your snaring turns I strongly loathe,
With damning sneers and deserving derision.
What's that blot against heaven's sternest troth,
Obliterating dancing suns on her creasing face?
To what main gain do your life-slicing edges fly,
Usurping innocent freedoms of humble breath?
Your mulish cruises along snaky course-ways,
Flare spite-perfected ills to slay slowing health.
With daring tropes I’ll yet trim hours’ blacking crime,
And I’ll chide the deadly glooms of carnivorous time.
Tomorrow
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
A beautiful night..
Raptures delight
Light's shimmers bright
Fresh and moist is the air
A moon a blushing
the stars they quietly take their seats
the waves orderly cleans the sea
everything sync together
to make another day
which GOD has made.
See it again tomorrow night
wherever you stay or stray.
Betwixt here and there
And in between there are
Miserable mulish miscreants hub
Those who want to close our drawer
Of our universe.
They are perverse
And temper bad
They headstrong, they err.
Too few pleasant mickey mice
And no more happy donald ducks
Once a time this planet was nice
When I was younger
Now war hungry men
With angry mind's
Are gunning down bullets
Blood everwhere..
Peace is out of touch.
Belly's with empty tummy's
In broken down dwellings and alley's.
They dread the beautiful night.
Their light's are out.
Gunsmoke in their air.
Another new day
They will not see again.
Give peace and love a chance
Today..
Live sensible and be around for
Tomorrow..
What a load of malarkey I just read...
befuddled in disarray inside his head,
but let me make it clear. The message I see
is a misguided statement left for you and me.
It's another 'Hey diddle diddle' moment
for the chap who writes in riddle.
Who gave women the right to breed, he wrote...
taking the chance of birth defects. What the heck!
That kind of mulish thinking I cannot promote,
but since it's his right to post as he may,
I shall take the opportunity to also have a say.
God gave women the right to breed,
in the ability to grow within them a seed.
If He wanted an embryo to proclaim,
"I'll risk being born with half a brain.
and risk the life of my mother, too,"
He'd given them voice before they were born.
Audacious statements made by those who oppose
the will of the Ancient of Days.
That would label them as 'one of those...'
A shortsighted man who'd take such a stand,
thinking he knows best what is wrong or right.
How would he handle having a womb with eggs.
Maybe he would consider soldering shut his legs.
A blowhard whose mother suffered giving birth
for she made the choice to feel the burden of pain.
If she knew what she'd bred,
would she value his worth?
Sweet is equally sweet to all mortal tongues,
Choice morsels sate all men's starved pangs;
Brilliant sights of plenty charm every eye right,
And friends against foes for shinier spoils fight.
Why then do many in want of fine things stand;
Or, how come keenest mouths on gravel feed?
What alters those picky looks on life's shelves
That tell the greatest from the blandest breed?
Sheer wishful cravings for tasty bites alone,
Can't tear sumptuous meat from obtuse bone;
Nor can mere oglings turn fate's mulish thread,
That pins all sojourners on the hardened tread.
Life's fortunate farers got loads of apt swag:
Maybe just a weird tooth for plaintive rhyme,
Or a bankrupt itching to benefit others' souls;
Artful ploys to outshine the sly guiles of dime.
Prized strokes of luck eschew the clinical type,
And smile on stony folks immune to their hype.
WHEN GOD CHOOSES
Who can be against who God chooses
Who can council the Lord God Most High
He does what He wills
Fear not, just be still,
To His will all men must comply
Who can lay a charge to God's chosen
Who can condemn one of His own elect
He was made guilty more than all
For us took the fall,
Of His own He was the greatest reject
Victory belongs to our God
He defends those the system abuses.
The innocent and poor,
their oppressions endured,
He will raise up who the whole world refuses
It's whatever pleases Him, no excuses,
the brazen, the stubborn, and the mulish,
He will take off a head
raise a tail there instead,
Confounding the wise with the foolish.
Let all men put trust in the Lord Jesus,
When God takes it out of our hands,
What God does is good
Whether or not understood,
God's ways are much higher than man's.
It is unnatural to start a war or a fight
Ladies and gentlemen, I know that I am right
Violence solves nothing, on the contrary
Chaos or violence makes things bad and eerily.
Soldiers are people too: they are our brothers
Sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins, aunts, grandfathers
Grandmothers, relatives, friends and visitors
They need to be protected all the time and at all hours.
If you want to fight, go fight your own stupid wars
Humans must behave better than wild and mulish tigers
If you want war, go ahead to get killed like dumb boars.
Only idiots, bullies and zombies behave like vampires
Let the babies and toddlers enjoy absolute normal lives
The world needs peace, love, harmony and fresh flowers.
Copyright © March 2026, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Away from the areas of complete ad nauseam
As political cases grasp a zenith of their corium
To utterly saturate the airwaves with information
Each other's obnoxious and feeble description.
I'm fully aware, listening to the unrelenting billow
My musings have been integrated into a rainbow
I lay, awake sketching vilifications of people's dignity
I dream of a gloomy sky shadowing the faltered fury.
As yet, they now sway the bulk of a mulish minority
Putting fervor on the beliefs is harming harmony
Watching the slivers of the sky inhale, I kept awake
It mocks and taunts the deconstruction for its sake.
Tumbling off, staggering forward, void and murkiness
It was benign alighting and utterly scatting aimless
The previous prone events will disturb our spirit
The harshness of the truth is infused to arrant inhibit.
While a million nights of misery had engulfed people
I'm startled by the screams of forefathers over beguile
I'm on high alert; grant heed to the rumble of my valiance
Where did all this anger come from that incited violence?
A significant alteration has been performed.
Concussion healing occurred as a result of a storm
Whatever happens, our promises will be crammed
One irksome outlay may entice us all to the lowland.
Written: January 27, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 28 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Written: December 23, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
*************
Castle Ravenloft looms—
a janiform crown of storm-light and stone.
Its spires protrude as if imploring
a cold, unanswering nimbus.
Below, Barovia lies—
a shabby village where cowslips squirm,
and daybreak, under mists,
offers only a brief farewell.
This land’s spirit is sacred suffering.
Hope and death entwine in chiaroscuro.
Symbiosis curdles into a curse,
and the living move with shadows
as though born to them.
Ubiquitous, gelid mists
embed xenogenesis in every breath,
Their jagged deceit conning the brave and mulish.
Dark, shriveled streets of Barovia—
laden with pale wisteria—
echo with inane, forgotten glee,
an odor of treacle, revulsion, and lost joy.
On the edge between night and terror,
a winsome child may hum a chorus—
a fleeting overlap of sorrow and mercy.
But the mists return, hostile and persistent;
after tasting music, street, and soul,
only the castle remains—
a riddle whispered against
a cloudscape that refuses to rise.