Long Noose Poems
Long Noose Poems. Below are the most popular long Noose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Noose poems by poem length and keyword.
What if we make it in time
Took my eldest brother of heart
I was age eight
Routing me through different foster homes
I could turn to nothing other than art
Script my life to a page, my newly designed faceplate
Registered me in school with hillbillies
Rednecks lurking behind oak trees
plotting to noose and conceal me
Troubles away from home
It’s all my fault, I’ll withstand the punishment
Take a recess, filter out the problems
Let you know how much fun it’s been
Street thugs want to beat; I’m no ones fool to beat
Pressure me and in my possession I acquire the tools to beef
As Lustful individuals we relaxed in our own deceit
Situations come to a stand still
I take shelter beneath the neighboring bridge
I’m grown and on my feet
Who could criticize my passion for success?
Here lately it’s become a fashion to stress
In these heated hours of liaison with we nest
I believe in me, myself, and nothing else
I’m out late in the night
I’ve got to get the rent
Trying to lead of life toward luxury
Another flaw in torment I resent
Plus I got issues with the police
The mayor and the presiding judges
So many scoundrels to enlighten my grudge
No one to stand beside this perched individual
Therefore I believe me, only myself
Wishing hard times upon me
Brush them off, time to study for my clinicals
The dirt shoveled, equals the nonsense I’ve been dealt
Put an out cast to ease
A touch somewhat seldom felt
Trailing my steps,
As I expire, you may have what’s left
And who knows, we might actually make in time
Peering through my blackened mirror in scenes
I witness the incessant struggles of individuals in spleen
Mortar over my nemesis as seen
The tower I build in an effortless climb
A have-not in time, this leprosy of mine
But you and I we have history in reply
Rest your thoughts next to this Charismatic character
On whom else could you simply rely?
The love letters I receive in kind
My colleague wants to know dearly
If you have a friend in mind
Paper makes misery worth living
Mother says her rapper insist I owe in him thanks in given
The humor in my latest statement
“By my ambitions only I’m driven”
I believe in me, myself and nothing else
But who knows, we might actually make it in time
In the void of my transitional mind,
the aimless scatter-shots of snapshot in kind
finding itheir way.through pokes in the brine.
Saran wrap bindings of biased memories, invent orys,
and tupper-ware leftovers tidings of dreams, kept palatable for the aroaming beasts.
I find the manipulations stirring like mercurial-gravy,
sardonical Last Suppers of my humanity at
the toppings station, insulting.
Where's the variety, where's the if there
is a will there's a way?
Where's the frikkin beef?
I heard that commercial say- (I agree,
where's our defense against the dark arts Teacher
or our non f'd with bandwith to have our say?
;My Atriuk-Consultants,
disappearing, through a buffet line
of suitors for my gun hand-as treason's malignant mercenary gland.
Stranger in a strange clan.
Now every thought is like a remembrance, a
severance to pay for it all.The tying to-me
in Gordian crossroads mocked silverly
by multi directional unabaiting winds
blowing adversarily.
Each pointing "this way you fail !"
"Every which way a noose !"
"This way you fall !"
Of on the loose this way dungeon echoes
a calling as dark corridor Shades
with no true form to call.
The past haunts, the future calls,
lost in the chaos urn, as time falls-
in diminished return,
for the base is nearly full to lay
as a squandored mound of time.
Like shooting stars across the sky,
my dreams flicker, then fade and die?
Searching for purpose, to see what sticks.
I fire all of my rounds at once
In this endless maze of day and night I pace
these walls, like those Demonic Shades,
who chant "hey Jude" and perform "Jude Law"
in Shakespearean play, "There's something about Mary...
whomever target to sway. Come wicked this way s.
But in the darkness, I find a kin-spark
guide in my self defense,
of cheerlead everence in reference to
hope belonging to everyone the same.
A torch in the deepening dark
to saber heroicly for my good name.
Iwill rise from the sullen ashes,
strong and brilliantly bright, aiimless no more,
faith in my sights.
Pull !
Let the scatter shot fall where it may,
I'll carve my path, come what may.
For in the chaos, I see the arts of strength,
the part I play,
I find beauty's confidence and vision
in the facets of my jaded heart,
that maybe I can help the World in some small but
contrite way.
The Culling
Happiness is a beautiful smiling word,
That soars the skies like a radiant black bird;
Culling ebony sheen downs from her sable breast
To fluff and cushion the crib of her protecting nest.
Murder and death are conjuring words too;
Sneaking around and stealing your children from you;
And though their bodies pile up in streets and on the bloody ground---
Like trees chopped down when no one’s around, justice hears no sound.
The long arch of justice has been bent backwards to times of old;
The streets have replaced the hanging tree and the noose by a bullet hole.
We now understand the strange fruits stories of which the ancestors once told;
One by one, our little sheep are being justifiably culled from the extended family fold.
While we cannot and must not substitute one tyranny for another,
We will and must protect the seeded child of every black mother.
Poetry Contest "Give me a Ghazal" Entry
No Other Way Out
So very still eyes cast inch by inch, still afraid of what's to come.
Not knowing how you got into this pinch, still afraid of what's to come...
Pondering your reflective time used to unbetter life.
A stone turns, a branch breaks, sudden flinch, still afraid of what's to come...
If only you were a good boy, a very, very good, good boy.
Your heart might breathe as your lungs unclench, still afraid of what's to come...
Saddened by your inability to stop the war in your head.
Thinking thoughts of the right way to lynch, still afraid of what's to come...
That's it, ending it, tie the knots like Michael's perfect braided noose.
Around the neck, standing chair, drop, cinch, still afraid of what's to come?...
A dog named Boy
What a Life the same life as the 1st person on Earth
Earth a much different place to go back to that time
Son forgive the plight the trenches of middle class
The high and lows have no fight
often impolite, you can exist further without
Without a loving family there was love.. in the beginning
All the love was wrong or something you couldn't absorb
Call it impossible but everyone learns
A quarrel a conquest of belief
To free the streets and spring a foot too loose
We exist for the pleasure of the gods
Who can live for 30,000 years and above
Is anything better now that women control the noose
I can yell I don't give a damn
It won't be heard
The rapid running water is too loud
I see the shore but without an attempt I will drown
The dreams have faded the purpose jaded
I reflex into fetal position and wait for my Love
She commands a trial
To what extent I will follow
To which heart challenges me more
I will follow
A funny thing happened on 2020's way to her hanging
She couldn't sleep day and night cos her head keeps banging
Though she's innocent of a crime she did not commit
But everyone roughed her up and got her to admit.
The face behind the saving mask said it was her
Anyone using those masks would be inclined to concur
She keeps all in a drawn prison-like-home with fears down the side
Thinking to myself, it will be my last ever ride.
Heading is unto grace then onto prayer's hill
To pray for dreaming a bank teller that I didn't sign still
Two miles from the town all hell did break loose
Unbeknownst to me I'd be dodging the noose.
For fifty who gathered would have to stop
Then ordered the guards, their weapons they drop
To apprehend all and never be set free
Forewarning is a term we all agree
This life no balance at all
Some trespass yet they stand tall
Better look out for your own
And stop acting you hadn't known
We were separated by fear
Out hearts skip the page of cheer
The world is never the same
Can we have our sins to blame?
We heard that a country framed it
Cos She wanna take over world power's
So millions have to cry and die of corona's flood
Why is humanity's sound so thud
When shall we start a new life
Settle down and find a good wife
God listen to our hearts says
And lay luck and peace on our ways
Please sing surely a safe song savior
To the earth and her inhabitants' favor
Oh Daddy please don't let my hand go
Please my Daddy please don't go
Daddy please don't go
Your all we know
Oh daddy please don't let go
What is to become of poor old mum
And Granddads girls
Oh daddy please don't go
You are all we know
Quickly
Quickly
I hear you say
Press record to tape the news
The Reaper's here to light the fuse
And were still drunk on last nights booze
The Blue bound Bible is of little use
To quell the grip on deaths noose
If gods the answer
God help him
You gave your only son
But I never agreed to loosing my Dad
Oh daddy please don't leave
As god is my thief
Where is the contract signed ink
This day in court protest contest
A stay of leave
Oh daddy please don't leave
If god resides upon this show
Hear my prayer
Let my Father go
Have you seen the morning moon?
She is not the cold hung rock
that swings upon the noose of night
that one is a dead face
submerged in a sea of darkness.
No, that is not her,
she is a lovely woman,
but pale and wane is she.
She has labored nightlong
planting seeds of light
beneath the fertile earth;
the work has made her beautiful,
the work has brought her to
this ethereal transparency.
Look at her form, how it changes.
Once she rode the sailing clouds
clad in an adamantine silver,
she was fierce in her becoming,
her youthful unveiling,
but now the long night dies,
and she also must pass away
to where oceans are teardrops.
No, she is not the dead moon,
she is our ghostly guest,
reflecting the Beloved herself.
Admit her!
She waits at the step of dawn
though pale and wane
she is once more becoming
the bright translucency of every eye.
His thoughts a noose round the neck
That betrays progress into better ray,
Prisoner self-chained to surreal wreck
Of diamond burdens beyond their say.
His pulses another swift drift away
From lanes of wit and clear sense;
Obstinate caudal slip in weird sway
Toward gaols well inevitable hence.
His bias-bankrupted soul's whims
Far defy practicality and her gists;
Tagging kettle black as old pot dims
In his eyes its erst death-dark twists.
His lobe preened to nab things null,
Throbs to tap vocular waves vacant
As shards of a myths-neutered skull;
More void and louder than airs want.
And his appetites stirred wild like tides
Over tempestuous seas wayward spill;
Milk's cream along filthy paths guides,
Honey's decoys his glances snare still.
who's got a tourniquet?
the world bleeds out of her limb.
she's anemic. the ship of world peace
has sailed; existential chaos reigns supreme.
recourse to arms now the go-to solution
for nations at loggerheads. bellicose,
sanguinary; they're way past handshakes.
who's got a tourniquet?
the world bleeds out of her limb.
just how friendly are the skies nowadays?
bombs now and then drop like confetti,
leaving rivulets of tears, sorrow,
and horrific bloodletting, all the while,
captains of complacency keep mum.
who's got a tourniquet?
the world bleeds out of her limb.
the side of death falls a brooding shadow.
innocent men, women, yes, children, too
- collateral damages of war - bombed
to oblivion; their dwellings reduced to rubble.
what's the endgame to this monstrosity?
who's got a tourniquet?
the world bleeds out of her limb.
as the stiff collar of cold indifference
tightens to an asphyxiating noose,
chin-stroking heads of state seem lost
in confusion; many have turned a blind eye.
oh, what to do? is this a new normal?
who's got a tourniquet?
the world bleeds out of her limb.