Long Ousted Poems
Long Ousted Poems. Below are the most popular long Ousted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ousted poems by poem length and keyword.
*Image of Child Sad Suffering provided by Pixabay.
Not Of This Earth
Poetic Form: Narrative
Asymmetric mistrals warp speckled vaporous pallidness toward rhythmless voids. Obviates an evacuating azure as a midday star pivots to a twilight qualm. Numinous absent souls of supine prying pupils, yon ethers sinister obscurities, caught in stained oblique ocular whites. Drunken sanguineous veins to gluttony as impish tinkers sporadic doubts riveting telltale images. Metallic aerials ousted the clouds to unperceived iniquity.
Exhausting times since the alien armada infested Earth in a furrow of carnage. Abominable hordes disembarked, eviscerated whole metropolises. Hideous beings, an abysmal sight, smothered the remote vestiges of our civilized world. Cities ere their decimation had numbers reduced in fleeing desperation. The annihilation of life on Earth engrossed thoughts upon the scraps of humanity left. Ravenous creatures generating utter rampage to and abroad, slighting none to decay. Be they mortals or breathing existences of our lesser kingdom, perished in the bloodletting. Some kept as breeders for the succession of consuming time.
A cohort strung of plain folks, thrust as one in a nameless realm, sought ephemeral refuge in a subterranean hollow expanse. Bestill for the scarcity of fragile credence as the intrepid one, espy a grotesque glistening of crimson blood, secreting from the sheathed hoariness of fangs. Sentient rouses heedful footfalls per monstrosity exposed jawbone, that swapped shrill for snorts, neath laden eyes that had shrewdly scowling luminous orbs. Creepy anvils pierced hairline, afeared incus, sensitively measures close octaves, spurs the labyrinth's nerves. Alas, its vulgar pelt of bulky fur stretch hither and fro, bars clamors reach.
Cavernous chambered partitions mimic as trepidation ebbs nevertheless. Unceasing progress to that bemused destiny, as anonymous atrocities, plague each within their shells, e'er crucifying the last semblance of their true selves. Ardent impulses seeping via their lithe ruby channels, crossing neath the bits of their betraying skins, as they escape the nebulous sepulchral. Beasts at 6 o'clock, tho' what unknown lurks yon pits facade, save a future yet to be titled.
2021 May 12
After the passing of countless days, and stepping on the stack after stacks of many years, I came to the dusk gathering wilderness where no flowers bloom,
no fawns run, or doves fly as they once did. Neither found me a reflection of
the image of that handsome lad Narcissus in the ripple of that same water
where I visited whenever I felt lonely.
In such a desolate wilderness by the marsh
a lonely reed stands all alone reddened by the blood
that the thorn bird spits with heart-rending cry, and tells the story
that he alone kept in his heart for sometime, why he has to return,
though he said that he would never return at the time he was ousted
from this water’s edge.
The leaves scattered here and there in this deserted wilderness,
and the wind has no place to go, being piled up under the feet of a vagabond
who does not know who he was or what he will be, crossed the time infinity,
while kicked by and roamed with vagabond and before knowing, hanging
on the sky becoming countless stars of the night.
Amulet graced by gems
clad for stratum prow
tawny glyphs
margin of witticism
& quagmire
extravagant dictum
trivialize shores trails
summer ousted
& waves of wrangles
sundered the ocean
& swapped my spirit
in crimson burst
swirl to scatter
In demolishing ruins
& twilight crumble
slump of man
glittering Phoenix fire trail
scribble a cyan-xantos rhyme.
bore a shallow rostrum
defective soothsayer
haunts dreams?
hilltops & both
oceans & skies
cyclone of emotions
&
lethargic sadness
soul storm mulling.
5TH Place Contest winner
Written: July 19, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I am a Victim,
Lured by mascara, and by a pretext piety
Induced through lust by immoral vermin
I am a Victim
Blindfold through cunnings to fest on a plowed field,
“Whore scammed”, trapped in a net by the conspiracy of a blemished womanhood
I am a Victim,
Decoyed through the bait of an illusion to nurse the wound of another.
Oh! The Desdemona from whose path I avoided avowal
I am a victim,
Of marriage in Freetown, the offer of credit in dowry.
And the sharer chokes hastily by licentious and libidinous overwhelm.
I am a Victim,
Of a venomous revenge of a late marriage,
The brunt, the consequence of many abandoned lovers lurking still to watch my shame.
I am a victim,
Hauled from far off climes to be used, dumped after use
Suspended in the gale to fulfil an ambition.
I am a victim,
Of a clandestine unanimity of an unbroken vow,
Lust feigned for friendship dictates and plotted through covert text, my fall their aim
I am a victim
Of the conspiracy of “Exes” plotted by the bed lure,
Of hasty overturn to conceal the fraud by a blinded jury
I am a victim,
Defrauded, demonized, humiliated and ridiculed.
A bespectacled gargoyle masked the visages in the loss
I am a victim
They couldn't find in this clime, but must take a trip to seek,
and by secret oath through the court, concealed from affinity save one
I am a victim,
Semen sapped by a desperation to escape a stigma of nature,
And a sorrowing reflection of an impostor on my innocent seed
I am a victim
By revenges of many woes, still waited to plow on a stranger’s lap
Whose seed was taken through anger for mere gain,
I am a victim,
Bore the spatter of grim loss to a burying place and have since never ceased
I am a victim
Of this highest ambition in the vanity fair,
Ousted when a sincere investment was well worn by trickery
I am a victim
of their jeer, of a collective calumny of their bed tattling
of the usurping of fatherhood, of their banter and this grim gaunt wearied
I am a victim,
A reflective victim of conscience.
Of a story not fully told
16-bar blues progression
"There cackling could be heard
throughout the area
we smiled hearing joke after Joke.
They have a great repore,offering enough
time for both character and audeince
to hear and understand the disposition
of the actor and the joke."
Signed By;
"The Villinous Minion"
Mackinac;Mackinaw it is same as this is a jacket.
He then smiled, might he
tire from begging to then have you
lonely in need of one
to chore.
This in reference to her husband
who had noticed that she had become
withdrawn and lacked
interest in him.
He began to look to other people
might he relieve himself of
her romantic -tresonismist ways.
The actions of a whore is neither smart
or keen. It reflects nothing
and is sourced from the need of
being rebellious.
Prior to marriage he had been ousted as
the key-player in his then woman life
she thought he'd keep her as a woman
ply to say he had a wife, he thought she
was ridiculous and was receiving information on how
to treat him from those less attracted to him.
To undermine him was easy; to
reconcilable with him: "she loevd the attention said
one of these Women"Genshin the forbidden formula
for the most demonistic sound in song.
MEMO:
Happiness and Furfillment
can be acheived in Love
when two people who are able to
meet under their own conditions
and create together as one.
What Gets My Goat - By Noah Kidding
Though I shy away from drink,
an unexpected case
of DT's finds this ace
of spades (also known as the spadille)
bleating heart liberal,
airing how disgrace
full the Tommyknocker of zee prez
doth aspire with
Desperation toward efface
sing outspoken, knowledgeable,
intelligent, et cetera grace
full Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, sans
The Shining eyes of dragon light,
and self deluded Dreamcatcher
importance bulwark brace
sing, bullying, and spewing
pot shot vitriol toward
said neophyte lace
sing his blather with
spongy bobbing parrot head
of his papa, who hoop fully gets
ousted by Democratic
candidate from place
de resistance on pedestal,
he haughtily perches touting
himself as superior race,
aye pray to dog his trace
as human wrecking ball
expunged and reprehensible
brewed den mean ways vanishes
upon election day
November 3rd, 2020,
and his ilk (henchmen
one and all) in vase
sieve like Kudzu, or
other aggressive choke
king courtesy intolerable, inhospitable,
and ineradicable testy,
pesky, and grumpy folk
especially one bearded
Dudley Doright dressed dude
with gray flecks poke
king the brown grizzle
blindingly shimmering from
"FAKE" filal smoke
and mirrors Junior Firestarter
slicked back hair doo evokes a joke
lame Kujo, albeit
cheap tricks up pa's city
faux Taj Mahal sleeve!
Our God is a moving He never sits still
He's always has something happening but it's only at His will
Hold on it's coming God will restore
Hold it's coming God says just endure
On that day God will uproot all the bitterness
On that day God will display all His magnificence
Justice will be served God's grace will be assured
Hold it's coming God will restore
Those immigrants children locked in cages
Will one day be freed
Those corrupt politicians will soon be ousted
Because of their greed
The office of President will be reaffirmed
Once that malignant Trump is voted out
The river of racism running rampant in America
Will come to experience a drought
For nothing is hidden from God He sees all we do
The good, the bad, the evil and the acts of kindness through and through
As a nation we need to get it together so that we can be revived
With our faith and belief in the Lord God that which helped us survive
But first we can't be distracted by what it used to be and any doubts
We need a whole new mind set to allow God's wisdom in us to ring out
And we can't permit the unexpected turbulence of life
To knock us off our mission
As the road of life is hardly ever smooth
And you may experience a faulty transmission
So hold on it's coming God has a destination for you
Just please stand still and wait for Him to dispatch it through
Just remember to keep your eyes on the attitude indicators
That will signal strife
And stay focused on the road signs showing you
What God its doing in your life
Just don't look left and don't look right
Stay focused on what's ahead
For in order to go to a higher altitude
By the Holy Spirit you must be lead
Hold on it's coming
God's blessings are coming through
Hold on it's coming
God has a destiny for you
HOLD ON IT'S COMING
By the Spirit of Love, Creator,
Holy Ghost Is Mother,
Three Spirits like One Family, Over-Eternal,
For the Sun of Truth, the morning star,
Disillusion on the signs of false balance in that scene, stage with suicide for humanity,
Like the swastika is the false cross in particular,
Reddish signs of propaganda with pale and dark,
To seduce people, state, and the society,
Dark leader find fake charisma of doctor Lecter Faust,
Pale state of country, like mercury, do what wicked leader want,
And people and society are linked in murder by the reddish dragon,
The ill approach by narcissism, like an ant,
And become the spotted leopard,
Cry again the blood of Abel,
One and united, eternal Gospel in the hearts of saints,
Particularly, this angle of perception from the mission of Elijah,
Wings like the mantle,
Mantle stops Jourdain,
Shows the Trinity by the Baptism,
The outlaw on the right exhorts the outlaw on the left, and the assembly of humans,
When the good outlaw was young in the wilderness, he hid the Holy Family on the way to Egypt to lurk,
And he was always Robin Hood in his life,
Ousted by Caiaphas’ maid and Pharisee Satan from the safety of paradise,
And he returns to the garden and city of life, with body and soul alive,
Crown apostolic of true witnesses and judge in the mantle of Elijah and Elisha,
For Nabot’s vineyard like indestructible heritage,
Death empty, serpent abominable, who died in this dialogue,
Jesus with Job and Jonah,
Cherubim and seraphim,
And first in dignity is Virgin Miriam,
My flag, the scroll written within and on the back,
Sealed with seven seals, measure of the door to worthy entrance in the temple,
Who hear in seven churches of Apocalypse - is my army of last defense,
Natural rainbow of Noah
Against that albatross dinosaur pterodactyl,
Against his shadiest toxic cloud of pharisaic sacrifice of Cain,
By without third cheek Amen.
(The news of the death of dear and near ones reaching us on a daily basis has left me thinking of the transitoriness of life and hence this poem)
Is not our life a wave of energy coursing through ether
Just like flickering flames or fleeting gleams that fly
Which when stopped, like a weed scorched by the sun
Or a tree felled down by a merciless axe, we will die
Is not our life a theatrical performance,
Where we don the roles we are assigned
Some, playing the roles of tyrants or kings
While some act as meek minions consigned
Is not our life a voyage through rough seas
Where we paddle on and on over billowing tide
Never asking where we are heading to
Nor knowing through what currents we ride
Is not our life the footprints left on sandy shores
Washed away instantly by the incoming wave
Not able to measure their length or width
Or be traced as they immediately cave
Is not our life as illusory as the mirage of the desert
Staying beyond our grasp and endlessly deluding
Soothing like an oasis among the dunes of sand
Sometimes like a nightmare awfully distressing
Is not our life a little space lying somewhere
Between our infant cradle and our grave
Where we have struggled to secure our slot
But soon ousted by others who for our place crave
Still we live on, never in despair but in hope
That beyond this mortal life and its tangled ties
Somewhere for us, eternity’s mighty portals await
To harbor our souls when from deep slumber we rise!
The most sorrowful and gruesome story ever told
begins with the man who crossed the waters and heights
carrying thirty and some unquenchable suns on his head,
the man who walked in the rain and wind with thirty and more moons on his shoulders.
For he looked like a slim and tender early spring shoot
that is rooted out from a rough and dry soil, and, therefore,
having no beauty to attract others, he was rejected;
having no majesty worth honoring or respect, he was despised;
and because he was acquainted with no comfort but suffering
he was ousted to the hill named Skull at last under pouring lashes with a cross on his back.
Although the stories of his own that he told to the mountains were sad and painful, and written on the waters were sorrowful and lamentable, he enabled to hold himself by the faith he held
in his friends who were always close by and shared a day’s burden with him. Although the cup he took at Gethsemane was bitter and stringent, it enabled him to take it through friendship
he was reassured through a broken piece of bread and a cup of wine he shared with them, surrounding the last banquet table
that is beautifully shaded in red from the color of setting sun.
It seemed impossible though,
under a most disgraced humiliation,
he gave out himself to the pain that was unbearable,
he upheld a wooden pillar high in air with the spike pierced hands and feet at the hill called Skull. And it was possible only because he held warm memories in his heart, the remembrance
of a loaf of bread he broke and dipped a piece in the reddened evening sun and drank it from the one same cup with his beloved friends.
After a man of such tragic life has gone,
after a man who lived through such distasteful life had left,
the most sorrowful and gruesome story ever told ended as a tale that year after year,
since then, the man returns as a dew-landed lonely lily
in an early April morning on the other side of the footmarks
he left behind, smeared with a drop of blood darker than
the sunset ray.