Long Oiled Poems
Long Oiled Poems. Below are the most popular long Oiled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oiled poems by poem length and keyword.
From the rising sun in the east
To casted shadows after dark in the west,
Our tribal marked faces show,
A timeless story, aglow.
Seasons come and go,
Hiding shades and dimmed sparks.
Beneath the sprawling swamps,
Cornering meandered mangroves,
Our roots run deep,
Anchored in attires of legacy.
Our heads see without light,
Guided by old wisdom unspoken.
Truth and strength wrap us,
Like leaves hiding the stem,
This binding keeps us to mother earth,
Fatherland, and to each other.
The river Nun whispers
Future tales of our past,
Her ebb and flow carry songs of joy,
Of resilience, of hope.
Wells oiled to bustle with life,
Echoing voices of a southern people united,
Crafting stories with each fishing net,
With each catch and harvest,
With each chant that shakes the air.
We stand with one another,
As trees in a forest,
Strong and steadfast,
Each branch reaching,
Each leaf singing,
Together in harmony,
Brothers and sisters fit to guide,
The new call of the river Nun.
Don't transfix me with a gaze that shakes
my complacency and threatens to resurrect
feelings I let die--actually bludgeoned to death—
eons ago.
Don't speak to me in that seductive tone,
reminding me that I am flesh, not a well-oiled
machine. Don't touch me with demanding hands
that seek the warmth and fulfillment I can't,
or won't, provide.
A final warning:
If you must try to summon forth a dead or
dormant thing, do so not simply for the challenge
of conquest.
Awakened things must be nurtured.
Posted October 16, 2017
October 29, 2018, entered in Julia Ward's contest--Favorite Free Verse
from October or November 2017
Entered in Brian Strand's Contest
Operation Barbarossa
the panzers start to roll,
Breaking out from Poland’s Baltic,
towards Sevastopol,
Ten million soldiers strong,
go goose-stepping east,
The Fuhrer’s Wehrmacht,
alongside his waffen SS elite.
No margin for error,
nazi Germany’s biggest gamble,
Get this wrong, and under
the red army might get trampled
But no need for worry, as
all before starts to collapse,
Generals believe be over by Autumn
or Christmas perhaps.
Murdering and enslaving millions,
as they overrun,
Reds burn their own cities,
denying shelter for the hun,
Hitlers well oiled machine,
begins to slow right down,
As Stalin moves his factories,
to out of range towns.
Nazis keep attacking,
as only they know how,
But stretched thinly on the ground,
winter has settled in now,
Can see domes of the kremlin,
victory looked so close,
May as well be a world away,
buried deep in Russian snows.
So nothing for it, must dig in
wait for the spring,
Writings on the wall,
offensive over, blunting their sting,
Then comes the counter,
sure as day follows night,
Red army attacks all fronts,
clad in cloaks of white.
The tide starts to turn,
in ruins of Stalingrad,
Germans are surrounded,
uniforms reduced to rags,
No food in their belly’s,
living off dogs and cats,
Paulus the general surrenders,
Throwing Hitler into a spat.
Killing still not over,
lots more bitter fighting to be had,
Stalin sacrifices millions,
in suicidal counterattacks,
Both sides face off daily,
in a mammoth slugging match,
prisoners were not taken
none left alive to catch.
So in the end Nazis crumble,
not beaten by a better army,
Never stood a chance,
once America joined the party,
Russia lost thirty million people,
Stalin did not care less,
Was only one real winner in
WW2 and that was the U.S.
By
David Kavanagh
In WW2 every life and sacrifice counted,
my poem is looking at the wider bigger
picture and is not meant to belittle or
negate any of the other allied nations
involved in the ultimate victory.
"AWOL in The Ixnayed Days"
Pieces of me
were stolen
long before
the war
cluster f****d
its way
into the
world today
The peace of me
swallowed
in the coma
that had settled
where the buried
mines and bombs
in the silent streets
of your mind lay
Triggers
for
The Others -
treason is a gift
never to be
considered
PSYOP
sleep walkers
trip wired sleepless
grenades shot
from a mouth
Spitfired Hornet
burns the well-oiled
Molotov hurt away
wired the triggers
to trip away in tune
tap dancing fingers
express
the internal glitch
a torn soul, split apart
morse code signals
over keys, notes attache
attempting
soft diplomacy,
Kalashnikov all the way
awol’d in the ixnayed days
with the poetic legion
and their gorgon demons
dreaming of a time
long before the poison
spoon fed from that monster,
Betrayal,
had its way
a note pinned
over the heart
X
target
for a clean mark
painting pictures
in numbers -
give it your best shot
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“I Appear Missing” / Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/C9OfBcjyxKY
"Shock me awake
Tear me apart
Pinned like a note
in a hospital gown
Deeper I sleep
Further down
A rabbit hole
never
to be found"
LYRICS/ "I Appear Missing", Queens of the Stone Age
https://genius.com/Queens-of-the-stone-age-i-appear-missing-lyrics
This is a collaboration I had been working on with a friend a while back. We might change the title. Her name is Rebecca Larkin. She started the poem with the first line and from there we switched back and forth. Wrote it at the beginning of the year sometime; forgot to date it, oops! Anyway, enjoy!
------------------------------------
Like dust in the wind, we are doomed to repeat ourselves
Mingling past with present, we collect on the grimy shelves
Of past’s hard keep, falling on repeat
We gain from the pain and strange bittersweet
Taking in the reality-split dreams
The etching pangs of truth bursting at the seams
With every glistening drop of clarity
We engorge on the reliefs of now—a rarity
Thoughts pool in a sludge of black, gleaming like oiled silk
Denials spread like fires; saturated, we bilk
Pain and tragedy strike their resonating, dissonant chords
A darkness and sadness we can only desperately afford
Pain. . .strife. . .repetitious like a swinging pendulum
Achingly perfected rhythms gainst the beating death drum
Slivers of silvery hope shine through darkened clouds
Only to be covered again in menacing, smoky shrouds
Faith is left dying in a pit of despair
As the rest of emotion looms helpless in the air. . .
Nothing seems fulfilling anymore
The replay button fools my mind and cuts me to the core
Round and round it goes again like the jagged tick of a clock
Striving for purpose—screaming for love to find the lock
But only silence escapes, beneath the skin torn lips- nothing remains
The aftermath of quietude aches, scraping against endless pains
hope falls away into a deplorable state; waiting—hoping—for resurrection
And the painful power of truth is forced to gaze at its reflection
Questioning whatever has happened to faith and belief?
And why are the cliffs of sorrow so steep?
Like settling dust we merge our present with the past
Leaving the future on the shelf—too empty—too vast
Squandering the sand of time with nothing left, nothing left
Nevertheless, I resolved to be a preacher
Waiting as a worker in His vineyard
As a Sunday school teacher for His call
To avoid eternal condemnation
And not been helpless fighting spiritually
Here I am as a teacher
Acting greatly like Bayard
Who is not afraid of the timing thrall
To bewitch code of conduct adulteration
For fairness and quality mutually
We are all different in thought
May be not specific in pursuit
Going will surely be tough
Lasting shall dictate our stand
Not all will stand to the end
Many are dreams we had blindly fought
One deals with it like a brute
Some will handle it very rough
Few gets to deeply understand
The motive behind inability to suspend
Chasing a dream like no tomorrow
Feasting for lent in prayer
To make out for the best per chance
Oiled by grace will
In its just and totality
Electrical engineering work is a course I borrow
Though, Nigeria has got me to pair
With teaching work to enhance
Living and paying some bills
A case study of most Nigerians duality
R. I. P to all the dreams that freeze up
Like a winter snow and get dissolved
Get well soon all dreams that dry up
Like a raisin in the sun to get resolved
Amen!
She rises above a pool of twilight blue,
The water glimmering liquid crystal
Fluid as an oiled navel which brightens her flesh,
That inside pure eyes, mist radiates
On her curve, and frost trickles heavily across
Dampened lips …blending with manly scent.
A gush shudders at the rhythm of her depth
While the anima of his raw grace, such kindness
Transforms her outline into a Borealis
Laying on a nightglow of lace and hemp …
Till male and woman become undefined,
Aligned through his surrender to a feminine
Seed , as the water continues bathing them
In the discovery of astral glow… like so,
The sweet vapor within her body rains
------ and his tears
Fall upon her quivering pores,
Honoring the fertile goddess within.
……………………
Anima- “ Every man carries within him
The eternal image of a woman.”—Carl Jung
----------------
Animus/ Anima –Part 1: Anima Contest
Sponsored by Tom Quigley 5/8/2016
Inside look, deep into my sea green eyes, swimming past
Nebulous matter, searching for the morality of my soul,
Tethered to reality, weighing out what others see.
Repentance of sin toward others and myself. Examination of
Ominous and expectant journey, my body’s
Sensate memories of soft and hard touch, the
Pleasures and crisis through sight’s reflection, an
Epiphany as the past meets the present, and I
Choose a better direction for my life, to be purposely
Thankful for the sum of my experiences, never
Ignoring my happiness or sadness, both release endorphins.
Originality of my soul, while serving others for their greatest good.
Now my soul’s anointed, well-oiled eyes can see clearly.
Thoughts of wisdom.
Now grandpa was a guy
A man I held up high
Everything he told me
I knew it was no lie.
All those facts he told
While lying in his bed
Waiting for his God
To claim that he was dead.
I was twelve years old
As green as green can be
But Grandpa always said
That I could see and see.
The stories that he told,
His good one liners too
They opened up my mind
I knew that they were true.
Do you want to know
What he would converse?
Like that backward poet
He always writes inverse.
He would often say
“you are like me son,
Just like an acupuncture
A good jab well done!”
Did I know that camels
Could always find an oasis?
Like Bakers only trade a recipe
On a knead to know basis.
Sometimes you carry stress
Until you feel encumbered,
But just you watch this space
A calendars days are numbered.
There are those that seem quite lucky
But they bloody cheat.
Just you think of this
A boiled egg is hard to beat.
Never go for credit
No matter how well dressed,
For like the Exorcist
It will end up repossessed.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
It did cause a commotion,
The silly bird was oiled
A poultry in motion.
Oh, see at Xmas time
You think that time it pauses,
But watch those Santa’s helpers
There only subordinate little clauses.
As for shopping centres
I know that they do sprawl
But once you’ve seen a big one,
I think you have seen a Mall
Never be a thief
Or take a quick backhander
You’ll end up with twelve months
Just like a calendar.
Grandpa he liked baseball
And going to the gym
That baseballs getting bigger
Then the ball hit him!
When it comes to writing
Don’t get in a mess,
To write with broken pencil
It really is quite pointless.
His last conversation it really was profound
Before he climbed Gods steps,
He said “Son,
Go get my Gin and Schweppes,
Appreciate the time you have
It is only Manana,
For Time flies like an Arrow
But fruit flies like a Banana.
Cheers Grandpa.
They called it
Allusvain Sandite
The layer beneath
The sircrete, which
Had used both cement
And tar to create a
Permanent seal.
They used bankrun gravelsoil
To cover the aircrete
And when dried they soothed
The surface with
A high quality concrete.
Ten inches thick in a
Reinforced concrete layer
Filled with sand and stone
The rooftop for the hobbit
House. A masterpiece
Beautiful, at a fraction of
The cost
Lumberyard scrap walls
Encompasses the concrete
Mass. Lumber, scorned and
Oiled.
The hobbit house on a rises
Slab, affordable under what
Is recognition for best budget
Living standards.
Friends and family unite to
Make the cost more affordable.