Long Paralysed Poems
Long Paralysed Poems. Below are the most popular long Paralysed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paralysed poems by poem length and keyword.
Sometimes quotes are all that we leave behind... quote by poet
I told them I'm tired now
time stands still a casual acquaintance without breaths
death is not gracious just an unfaithful companion
sorrowful sombre soul slumbers
bound to uncharted waters I'm drowning..
loyal morning birds chant mournful melodies on repeat
strumming to heartbeats
mishmash medley of images reverberate repeatedly
regretful reminders
leave an emptiness behind
echoes float like ghosts..
I can hear a billion souls but I'm deaf free from those
bitter and remorseful ignorant uncultured
without realisation of words unspoken
what could have been should have been but was not
it's too late regret is an unfaithful belief
loved ones stare upon my grave shivers and silence
anguish and grief pain and relief
I'm paralysed
unable to rise
to wipe their tears and fears..
craving to have one more chance to make amends
to express my emotions to show greater devotion
it's too late nothing is immortal love we share only a memory
in times when my scent reappears smile that I existed
love with all of your heart..
I was never lost never found
misunderstanding led to impassive pretending
I became too preoccupied building walls
they failed to overcome and conquer
yet I was no fortress..
legacies left behind reveal with time
words written words unwritten surreptitious or controversial
unimportant for remembrance die with me
maybe grim reaper will listen...
In the morning storm
he hums like a bird,
but words do not form -
for he can't be heard.
Catatonic eyes,
reflect hypnotised.
As he holds back cries
he feels paralysed.
Anguish from the pain.
Suffering alone.
Wounds begin to stain
hurt he can't condone.
Empty from despair -
character forlorn.
Nothing can prepare
broken hearts that mourn.
He's miserable.
Lost and dejected,
so vulnerable,
feeling neglected.
Melancholic mind -
fragile like flowers.
Dismal days a grind,
he counts the hours.
Insecure with life,
for it makes no sense.
Inflicted with strife,
sorrow makes him tense.
He sits on the ledge.
Breathes one last deep sigh.
Looks down from the edge -
waves the world goodbye.
Silent One
Simple Musings
11 October 2017
Earth life, a hard school, dark desire cesspool,
Senses externalised, all objects sized,
No wonder then, we behave like a fool,
Truth dawns, when by Holy Spirit baptised.
Ego controls thoughts, so we’re ill-advised,
Body hormones rule, our instincts cruel,
Bemused by illusions, fleeting goals prized,
Earth life, a hard school, dark desire cesspool.
All hope seems lost, feral lust’s our fuel,
Though conscience speaks, as God Himself disguised,
We heed Him not, behaving like a ghoul,
Senses externalised, all objects sized.
Hypnotised by thoughts, our soul’s paralysed,
Chasing rainbows, we continue to drool,
Game of shadows leaves us demoralised,
No wonder then, we behave like a fool.
Discerning cause of pain, as pulse dual,
We cease thought flow, that ego’s vaporised,
Thoughts reassigned to their role as a tool,
Truth dawns, when by Holy Spirit baptised.
In timeless time, God within’s realised,
Heart lotus blooms, revealing soul’s jewel,
In-form polarities are stabilised,
Our free will’s liberated for self-rule,
Earth life, a hard school.
05-June-2022
A RONDEAU REDOUBLE POEM Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
After being bitten by a ravishingly hot Alien,
My body’s now host to her aphrodisiac Blood,
This tale is Cautionary to lustrous Vampires,
For indeed will not do your manhood any good,
I’ve become a guy of debauchery and Trickery,
A specialist in female vampish Abduction,
Just one drop of my venom, their Paralysed,
And Halloween is perfect for toxic seduction,
Unaware when I kiss them I’m actually Feasting,
But Diabolical side effects, take a pointed toll,
When finished must get home before sunrise,
Damn coffin lid won’t close, needs a glory hole.
Halloween Challenge Poetry Contest
10/21/2020
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
10 word challenge in order
stated below,
No placement N/A
alien, blood, cautionary, vampires, trickery, abduction, paralyzed ,Halloween, feasting, diabolical
Who knew you were an ammunition,
A camouflage with a malice!
I'm still numb from the revelation
No matter how much I try
I'm afraid that I might risk walking the path
that killed all my dreams I'd reinforced spellbound by your lies!
I'm locked in your cellar
For the crime of conviction
In the castle you built
And called our home!
There's a door on your side
I know l'd never dare to knock
The door wrapped in Bougainvillea
Hiding behind them
The thorns of your sweet excuses!
I know I must avert
And disappear into the fog,
Hoping you'd then realise what a loss feels like!
But, my limbs are paralysed by the venom of trust
That sluggishly ran through my blood
Tormenting me all these years !
Now,
All I need is an escape
Is that too much to ask for?
It starts as a thought,
a troubling notion far out
on the extremes of distance
making room for a lifetime
to occupy the intervening space.
Seasons come and go -
wildflowers ripple colour
across wide open plains
and inland rivers exhaust
into a shimmering heat haze
beneath an outback sun.
Fruits ripen and vines rush
to swell their sweet bounty
before the savagery of frost.
Love blossoms, grows, matures
into a silence, gathering all
that has been spoken
into an offering to transcendence.
Candles are lit in the crevices
of the soul.
It comes finally,
swallowing distance -
a whole lifetime -
and you stand paralysed
within your own sense of being,
powerless in the cross-hairs
of its sure aim.
We wake up every morning
To the circus we call our existence,
A chorus sung by a soloist and
Marathons to the next galaxy,
We go around in circles
Of never ending light
Panting for air wherever
It may donate itself.
We are paralysed by
Our own greatness,
The music we have composed
May deafen our children one day,
The miracle of technology
Might one day become
Our master and we the slaves,
The seeds we sow are
The blood and sweat
From our very own bodies.
These poor lives we live
Just another civilisation in universe
For there is something greater
Than all of us when we look
Just even an arm length away,
We are surrounded by
Many a splendour things
In this place we call home.
Issy was in first year at Exeter University,
Coming home from a trip to the cinema,
Travelling in a car at 60mph, high velocity,
When they were hit by another vehicle.
Six months in hospital, crushed five ribs,
A severed liver, and a badly broken back,
Left hand with impaired movement, no fibs,
And she was waist paralysed, she did lack.
The hospital was Stoke Mandeville, best,
And as part of her rehabilitation valued,
She did shooting. At Uni she’d had a fest,
In the sport of hockey which she’d shoed.
Someone called Vlad gave her a gun,
Set her arm and hand in a solid posture,
Said “Ok” and that's where it all did sun,
Her career in shooting began in pasture.
To this day she trains at Stoke Mandeville,
Lives in Cirencester in Glousestershire.
She was born on 19th of April in 1994, trill,
And plays badminton and rugby hellfire.
She took part in the Szczecin World Cup,
Poland, in 2014, just a year after starting,
And so made it to Rio where she did sup,
The atmosphere in the P2-10m shooting.
Mikey is an Invictus man,
Gets many medals in archery,
Sporty and keen he continues,
From his previous Army career.
In the Queens Dragoons Guards,
Whilst training he got stuck, fell,
From a rope bridge: broken neck,
Spine, and paralysed from chest.
Help for Heroes helped him live,
He joined the recovery programme,
Several sports took him clean:
Cycling and Ironman triathlons.
But the moment he held a bow,
He knew that archery was his,
To reap with and to sow, build,
To elevate his wins and attempts.
And he was so good at it, supreme,
That HfH asked him to start, set up,
An archery programme for them,
At Phoenix House Recovery Centre.
He took individual bronze, Invictus,
And also team gold. In Holland,
He won a solid individual gold,
And also the team bronze, in 2015.
In Czechoslovak Mikey landed,
The team with a bronze to boast,
And is determined a medal to win,
In Rio, at the Summer Paralympics.
He was born on the 20th of July,
In the year 1975, crude rock days,
And lives in St Martins, Shropshire,
Shooting at Scorton Archery Club.
Who Am I?
Because I was born out of wedlock,
My mum and dad taught me that the poor were good,
And that so many just needed a doctor,
To understand them when they were crook.
No-one else had ever treated them,
Doctors in Israel only attended rich people’s houses,
And the prestige of being wealthy,
Was derived from our interest in their happiness.
It was imbued into me that love was given,
From the heart by acts of kindness, not by money,
And that you could love somebody, anybody, anytime,
Out with social rhetoric or rhyme.
I was good at joinery,
But my inquisitive mind took me into medicine,
Into making people better, healthier, fit and able,
Not paralysed, dying or suffering from epileptic seizures.
Day one, and I just hoped I would have a cold,
But that was not to be you see,
So I took a deep breath and grit my teeth,
And in humility treated the first poor person ever.
Shock and horror and the neighbours talking,
Nobody there to wipe my slightly embarrassed sweated brow,
Only John my best friend hung around outside,
Whilst I bandaged up the labourer’s lacerated leg.
But soon after, when I had set my practise,
Luke befriended me bold and stalwartly,
Because he was just a normal Nazareth doctor,
And I’d been predicted as the people’s saviour from bad health.
Not noted as the original national health service,
But respected thereafter ‘cos they said I’d resurrected,
They gave me a voice when I was dead and long gone,
Said that they believed in me with everything they had.
Everyone knew what was meant when they admitted,
“I believe in Jesus!” because it was a stand,
For the freedom and life of the poor, for a just society,
Which gave these supposed sinners access to medical doctors. Grand.