Long Ossified Poems
Long Ossified Poems. Below are the most popular long Ossified by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ossified poems by poem length and keyword.
And ignoble prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth
*****sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
There is a bounty for our hearts Luv,
gold and fame for the flat riders who dare lower our flame
seeking to steal our fortune of raw carnal currency, our soul gold,
Love's law has decreed our passion a sedition against tradition,
a violation of virtue, a willful act of feral freedom, unauthorized love prize,
the old and ossified Judges are corrupt with dry eyes
the flesh upon which these laws are scribed suffers from necrosis,
they allege we are prisoners of passion
they say you are my **** of seduction
they assert I am your beast of brawn taboo
they know not that you are a rose of fire within my heart,
they fail to realize that I am your lion of lust and trust,
they squawk and hiss in their chambers of spoiled embers,
jealous and freezing from forgotten romance
what do they know of our embrace and fury,
When we cry for eachother, when we touch like none other,
when we come for one another, when we battle with scorching thunder
our love justice soars supreme, our only law, to love with rebel youth, to never surrender -
J.A.B.
Kiss me when the sun sleeps
when the blazing sun doth rise,
hold my trepid skin timorous
with a requited reassurance
we’ve not been broken
of soulmate incarnate
ecstasy within our grasp
of this comes beautiful
hold me tight, my love
Nirvana’s desaturated shade, awaits
soft pink and warming gray, above
behind a burning turmeric glow
under an apocalyptic sky
brawn banished, lips silenced
after every word is spoken
sanctioned skeletal forms
melded are two mortalities
fusing into one metaphor
birth of man, woman, death infinite’s
earth, wind, fire, water embossed
no diener for dystopia
only death lives in destruction
crimson deserts recreated
ashen corpse servant
no hand his bones shall fall
sealed is our eternal love
our homeland a morgue
ossified cartilage caresses
immortalization in
pulverized sand dunes
touched by the flurries
of vaporized gold dust clusters
opportune eyes fell upon
excavating earth organs ripped open
evil befell the resilient relentless
by all that glittered gold
golden buried stones
by the arid drones
our existence erased
no genogram depiction,
not relevant to treatment
ashen of undying souls
are there more lives,
…what do you think?
A is for angry, a passion hot and burning,
B is for beautiful, always a damsel yearning.
C is for callous, the ungodly wicked act,
D is for doting, such love can so much impact.
E is for energetic, big strong pocket Hercules,
F is for foolish, an unwise approach to my exercises.
G is for greedy, synonymous to a glutton
H is for hot temper, a destroyer of virtues gotten.
I is for impetuous, the risk of irrationality,
J is for joyous, a state of delight of souls nationality.
K is for kind, rewarding act of helping,
L is for loving, found a synonym for doting.
M is for meek, angelic attribute and non-devil…,
N is for new, the same for the word 'novel'.
O is for ossified, father's rules rigid and fixed,
P is for peaceful, the calm feeling when kissed,
Q is for *****, strange like the itch from a peppermint balm,
R is for reliable, God's attribute in every Psalm.
S is for soft, the touch of a mother,
T is for tedious, boring, pants for another.
U is for united, one mind, a great entry,
V is for vociferous, my sister's repeated loud complaints to a tree.
W is for willing, not compelled like the call of saints,
X is for xenophobic, the fear of strangers' paints.
Y is for youthful, prepared to take on life's dangers,
Z is for zealous, the weapon of the power rangers.
So much fun learning vocabs of adjectives,
Like wielding magical powers of elves.
BIOGRAPHY
Ayoola Goodness Lanre is my name. Born 2nd of March 1989. I am a Nigerian. An
English language teacher. A poet and other genres of literature. Love children.
The Spectre of sex appeal by Salvador Dali 1934
On the right-hand bottom side, we see Dalí as a
child, dressed as a sailor, observing his monstrosity
I misunderstand, tell what is the plan
As I change from juvenile into man
Her formation intrigues and repulses
Instead of control, there are impulses
Her head morphs upon a backdrop mountain
Sack cloth breasts, stem flow of sandy fountains
Solid rock womb, born of imperfection
The spectre miscarries, sans reflection
Propped up and falls forward in painful lurch
Composite pieces, on acceptance search
Ossified limbs, mangled bone skewers stone
Destined to experience life alone
She poses in pain and reeks of decay
I stand with a hoop, brought along to play
Ignores my advances, falling apart
I’ll return with barbed wire to bind her heart
No more cushioned stumps or flailing crutches
Unraveling her knots, where flesh touches
I’ll fashion a cross and burial mound
Existence fades as parts crash to the ground
Parts don’t stay buried, so I light a fire
Warm them back up, on a funeral pyre
My god she’s beautiful, I’m overcome
We join together in flames, curse undone
Written: December 30, 2025, for contest sponsored by Tom Woody |
********************
I chose {Amy Winehouse} as the tragic figure to honor: brilliant, gregarious, recalcitrant, luminous, and undone by the fire that made her unforgettable.
Amaranthine Girl (A Tribute Song)
You walked the stage in chiaroscuro light,
a chatoyant soul who prowled through every night;
your voice—limpid velvet with a wisteria ache—
could rake the sky mist clean with every note you’d hold.
Behind the winsome grin, the weltschmerz took its claim,
your threadbare heart still doggedness in flame;
and though the world adored your sacrosanct refrain,
You bore a burden no applause could ever tame.
(chorus)
Oh, amaranthine girl, you sang beyond the pain,
Your luster never wilted in the dismal rain;
Though hubris and the hecatomb kept pulling you apart,
Your song remains ubiquitous—engraved in every heart.
Verse 2
You wore no tiara, yet you ruled the smoky bars,
a viceroy of sorrow underneath the broken stars;
your laughter—genteel, gamesome—masked the acrimony,
an erroneous joy and grief in faultless harmony.
You tried to evanesce the ache that writhed inside,
but fame can be a fickle, inimical tide;
and though your muliebrity shone bright through every fall,
The foofaraw around you built a Barmecidal wall.
(Chorus)
Oh, amaranthine girl, you sang beyond the pain,
Your luster never wilted in the dismal rain;
Though hubris and the hecatomb kept pulling you apart,
Your song remains ubiquitous—engraved in every heart.
(Bridge)
Spasmodically, the cameras flashed, officious in their chase,
Their meretricious palaver tried to strip away your grace;
Yet even as the world grew loud, your voice stayed halcyon,
a sanctity of truth no blatherskite could prey upon.
And when the final cloudscape dimmed, your light did not evanesce—
It lingers redolent in time, a sacred catharsis.
(Final Chorus)
Oh, amaranthine girl, though the night reclaimed your flame,
your melody still rises—never ossified by shame;
and yonder in the quiet, where the sky and sorrow break,
Your song keeps beating unabated in the world’s collective heart.
There is always
a dull longing
that goes unlabelled
and hangs a layer or two
below a joy, a pang
somewhere in the soul
that can't be coughed up
or cut out, just endured.
A nonsense to the skeptic,
no more than perhaps
a twitch of an evolutionary
relic left unemployed within
the brain, now ossified
into an irritant jumping
across the boundaries
of our troubled sleep.
Whatever its origin,
it's always there
be it a hollow left in our psyche
from an umbilical when severed
by God or a buffering problem
in our brain,
the longing never leaves.
We try and quench it
with beauty, love, art
and myth but it remains
unfulfilled, as if a speck
of the infinite resides within
us all, that can absorb
everything we have
and then ask for more.
Their names have become
hollowed out husks
blown about the graveyards
of history. Emperors who once
claimed divine favour
and the imprimatur of the gods
now seem profane, despotic
caricatures of their age.
Loud cheers have ossified
to a silence or a curse lodged
in the throat of the citizenry.
Power still seeps its poisons
into the body politic,
even now into Prime Ministers,
Premiers and Presidents
of so called united states.
I look for a place to find
a little peace from the crowd
and the howls of an angry world.
Where once churches held
a sacred quiet, they too
have become loud stadiums
for opposing forces,
doctrinal battlegrounds
between the lost and the saved.
I retreat to that private space
where like souls meet, a room
somewhere, a forest or a beach,
or a corner of one's own garden
and there teach myself to listen.
I hear what has always been there,
transcending the reign
of emperors, wealth, privilege
and the power of the State.
And so it is, I hold to my chest
a well worn book of poems
by that saint, Emily Dickinson,
and here - renew my faith
and find a little rest.
Cloaked like the righteous Saints behind the pearly gates, his
Labial whispers are hidden in the evening breeze. He, Deity
Of earth and sky is open in full view. Still we, sightless
Abandoners of all that is not concrete and ossified, refuse to
Keenly seize His Omnipresence and celestial girth.
Each and every one of us has been given the ability to transcend
Deuteragonist of earth, we are human made of flesh so why doubt ?
Affiliate soul you know that you are directly connected to Him, the
Nestorian Christ of light and love. Only Trust can show you the
Doorway to His heavenly home. He hides for no one and He is
Omnipotent and kind. Suspend your disbelief for He loves you with
Unlimited power and passion. When it comes to His children, He
Treasures them beyond all measure and time.
Open your heart and fold your hands in prayers, close your eyes my
Faithful one. Live in the knowledge that He hears your heart beat
Sail into His Sacred Heart and be at one with Him.
Identify yourself as one of His, and believe without proof
God moves through the air like a gentle breeze
He rises like smoke and He is an invisible force that can be seen only
Through the eyes of love. Where is God? Hidden, in full view...
Look for the bones in shattered statues.
Look for the missing, the mauled limbs,
do not blame time,
seek out the mob,
you will find then hiding in plain sight.
Look for the bones of the Yamaka,
they are there, look closer,
the persecuted, and their dead years,
all their ossified hopes,
forever restless,
they are the bones of their history.
Look to the monuments,
those stone gifts of a nation,
those communal bones of the bygone.
When they come for them
then you will be next.
Hide your own bones,
they are your cherished beliefs,
keep them strong and living,
dig them deep,
behind your eyes, your silent lips.
Know that the slavering wolves
hunt you for your bones,
or whatever else you call freedom.