Long Pillage Poems
Long Pillage Poems. Below are the most popular long Pillage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pillage poems by poem length and keyword.
Mother Earth
An ancient, elegant – once jolly – old Lady,
deserving of so, very much more then
the rape and pillage, the destruction and pollution,
the chemical alterations – poisons,
the theft of, the abuse of
all her innocent, naked, natural beauty.
This old Lady, who has been – who will again –
as self-destructive as any of her daughters –
of man kind – and without the help of man kind’s
selfish, inconsiderate, thoughtless greed.
Will She, ?, will we ?, survive the turbulent throes
of an uncertain, an unpredictable, veiled future -
even if we ( as capable human inhabitants ),
even if she ( the energy, mother of us all ), -
are able ?, to curb our insatiable appetites,
are able ?, to thwart what may be inevitable -
change and a world, - her life time of changes.
Is her ?, is our ?, relationship to this universe
a foretold tale of unavoidable doom.
Is our evolution ?, life ?, destiny ?, our development ?,
upon the breasts of Mother Earth,
to come to an end in a daze, a haze of gloom ?,
as we all ( Mother Earth, Life, human kind )
are destined to become ( once again ) cosmic dust
blowing in the winds of memories hoard, of time –
passing into - becoming spirituality adrift on cosmic winds
– ghostly souls, spirits - once again sailing, searching,
seeking solidity, - once again - of visible form
to walk upon the surface of a much better plane,
better then what has become of what we are now !
Next time around, will thoughtfulness ?, be the tought !
It has been thought of more that opened the door,
that – if we do not, soon change - will be closed –
Forevermore !
B. J. “A” 2
May 23rd 2008
Thomas was a cat who was born into a charming life
Once upon a time he had a gorgeous amorous wife
She disappeared in the middle of a storm one day.
He did not wait around, knowing her need to play.
He was a sage old dude, who could entertain himself.
He did not waste any time moping, did not sit on a shelf.
He developed his psychic abilities and oversaw the village.
Ready for all attackers, who came to accost or pillage.
He was the steady look out, the wise cat who knew the score.
He protected the kittens, the old maids, the widows and more.
They appreciated his efforts and fed him lasagna at his door.
He was known as Tenacious Tom in Tomcat County, forever more.
Enrolling as a pirate is much harder than it seems,
You’ll need to speak in present tense and chase your wildest dreams.
Well, once you’ve trained a parrot and been measured for your hook,
You have to plough through pages of the health and safety book.
The pointed end’s the bow, whilst your rudder’s near the aft,
Our crow’s nest has no greenery - that struck me as pretty daft.
We share the seas with submarines, with shipwrecks and blue whales
An’ there be umpteen ropes and pulleys with which to hoist our sails.
If we earn a jug of rum, we treat that as a gift.
The winds are strong and variable, I hopes you get my drift,
You’ll need to bring some cutlery and a deep enamel dish
If you want to get your ration of vegetables and fish.
You’ll have to learn to tolerate some rough-and-ready chaps,
Forget those childhood stories about chests and treasure maps,
You need to wield a cutlass to acquire the upper-hand,
So there ain’t much time for paddling, or playin’ on the sand.
You have to act as look-out when you’re sailing through the mist
But once you’re down the gangplank there are lassies to be kissed,
So be somewhat suspicious when they tries to hold your hand
They might be agents for The Revenue and want your contraband.
We hate the swarthy merchantmen, the Spaniards and the Danes,
We hate them water companies spillin’ sewage from their drains,
The noise of heavy cannon-fire plays havoc with our ears,
But that’s a strong tradition amongst us buccaneers.
Every job has downsides - it’s always been that way
But we get to see the sun go down almost every day,
And when you leave your hammock you may catch the sun a-rising
So sign-on as a pirate and your life will be surprising!
You should feel ashamed.
What are you an idiot?
The woman is standing there with a baby crying in her arms.
The train is starting and stopping, rapid, erratic, uncaring.
Get the hell up and give this woman your seat!
God, you'd think that Tufts education would give you even a shred of common sense.
Unbelievable.
You should feel ashamed.
He is your blood.
You don't turn your back on him.
No matter what he says to you, take it lying down.
Like a doormat with too many footprints,
he'd stomp you into the ground so flat you'd barely qualify as human.
Disgusting.
You should feel ashamed.
I am your elder and caretaker.
How DARE you be fresh with me!
(Smack!!)
There, now your shame is made manifest
in a handprint across your cheek.
Do not misbehave.
Deviant.
You should feel ashamed.
A sinful heartless monster.
She was just a little girl . (i was just a little boy)
All for gratification.
God you make me sick.
Perverted.
YOU SHOULD FEEL ASHAMED, BIG TIME
THE VILE HORRIFIC THOUGHTS IN YOUR MIND
I MADE YOU IN MY IMAGE
GO AND TELL THE PEOPLE
GO AND BURN DOWN THE CITIES
GO RAPE AND PILLAGE THE INNOCENT
THIS IS WHO YOU ARE
BECAUSE THIS IS WHO I SAY YOU ARE
IF YOU QUESTION ME EVEN FOR A SECOND
I SWEAR ON MY LIFE GOD WILL STRIKE YOU BLIND
A SINFUL HEARTLESS MONSTER
I MADE YOU IN MY IMAGE
DEATHWORSHIPPER
(ok ok i get it.
but i don't think i should feel ashamed.
because shame is misdirected anger,
and anger is another name for fear,
none of which are even remotely loving)
(so i'll tell you what we're gonna do...
you can all feel ashamed on my behalf.
you carry the overwhelming guilt, the recorded evidence...
i am a sinful heartless monster)
(just keep repeating that to yourselves over and over again,
and leave me the hell alone.
i'll be outside on a long overdue leisurely stroll.
believe me, i could use a breath of fresh air)
The Piratess of Love
(Children's Verse by Joan Donnelly Ellis)
If I could have my way today...a good pirate I would be
I'd wear a patch o'er my eye and sail the fickle sea
Rescuing ships and crews from wicked pirates that pillage and destroy
My Mom says I'd be called a Piratess 'cuz I'm a girl ...I'd name my ship Ahoy.
My crew would be courageous and skilled with dagger and sword
We'd turn in all murderous looters and equally share any received reward
All ocean inhabitants would come to know us as their trust-worthy friend
And might even help us in our goal to bring sea wars to an end
Yes if I could have my wish today I'd dance the hornpipe on deck each dawn
And with my royal crew we'd sail the blue singing ballads and joyful song
The Greeks figured Socrates to be a crock,
as he questioned their strongly held beliefs.
In return, they poisoned him with hemlock,
such dense, ignorant, amoral thieves.
Being right, meant all to them, no room for truth,
nor minds for learning
Just like Joan of Arc, declared evil, and died alive,
with her flesh still crackling and burning.
The centuries do not change man’s endless insanity
to be right!
Just kill, pillage and destroy, anyone who dares to cast
a beam of reason and insight?
Thus, civilizations have walked confused and blame any
and all who dare attempt to lead.
Never once realizing, it is they, who are the harbinger
for all problems, by sowing the first jealous seeds!
12/2/2021
Perhaps somewhere in a third world country,
or even in an American city somewhere near you,
there's a family short on cash, short on food, short on hope.
There are no chestnuts roasting in their open flame,
and they are not dreaming of a white Christmas.
On any given day or night, be it Christmas or not,
their lives are filled with pillage, poverty, and plunder.
Their humble abode is a shack in a war-torn village.
Their place of refuge is terror-filled among rival gangs.
She wipes her tear-drenched face and hides the pains.
Nothing is bright, and most things are sad and unsightly.
Their nights are mostly dark and neither silent nor holy.
Violence and fear constantly rule their streets,
and merry is a rare day when there's food to eat.
They have fallen between the cracks and all they
see all year, day in and day out is a life of lack.
There are no Toys for Tots in their home town,
and jingle bell songs never make a single sound.
All of their four children perished on Christmas Day.
Suddenly, an earthquake hit and took their lives away.
They have heard of The Christ Child and their hope is alive.
They don't ask for much and never blame God for anything.
121619PoSoupContest, The Darker Side of Christmas, Richard Lamoureux
Contest 2, Second Chance,(Dark Side of Christmas)Richard Lamoureux.2P
Approach of Wind, it chills
in a particular way.
Unexplainable, how it carries in competing tandem,
of unknown elements brought into the arena, bare.
Doctor's bag opened of winds,
surgical biopsy underway,
in new mandated trailways.
Membraned channels of envelope streams
holds aloft vapors of vial serums,
like a bassinet with black wings.
Intheorium sends it's postage.
It soothes the Cesarean Earth in her pangs,
for mankind's evil is great. How can it stand to be.
So he sends them a strong delusion
so that they may believe a lie.
Armies shall pillage the Family and
upend the carts in the Marketplace.
Souls shall be scattered to the four winds, looking desperately for a compass
that can find the head.
Delivery, once slow, has increased exponentially.
Magma rivers will haunt the landsape like lions,
Nemian.
Great forges looking for gold to smelt into idols of Pompeii.
For he shall stand in his Pomp in the Temple,
then sit, as if he is God.
I awake from a distant dream....
Thinking of all I'd seen
Remembering what was in my mind's eye
Sad thoughts of a time gone by
I remember the heat of the desert and dangers of camouflage men
of small remote villages.......and the people within
I recall a child.......I can still see her smile
Black was her hair, her hands they were oh so small
I can still see her face.........I remember it all
Erelah, yes that was her name
ever since I met her, my life's not been the same
She'd come to our station almost everyday
coming for her hunger, always to play
running round and round, hiding from us all
I still hear her laughter........ I remember it all
Such a small girl, born into a ruthless world
A world where men prey upon men, and life is simply discarded like sand to the wind
Sunlight and shadows
One illuminates while the other falls
Days become weeks, as distant voices call............
Messages of distress come over the wire
speaking of death, fire
of a small village, of evil men who rape, murder, and pillage
Cloaked with the tools of Azreal, the tarmac erupts
Awash in wind and sand, we are lifted into the air
Nap-of-the-earth quickly, mountains, valleys pass by fast
Distant souls burning, as we come upon the village at last
Pyre smoke engulfs the senses, swirling around and round
Hovering high above, we swiftly descend to the ground
Toils of men are soon revealed in the dawn's light
The departed are scattered about as we scour for life
One burnt structure to another
We find nothing but hopelessness and despair
Only the dead and the dying, Iblis has been here
I peer into a doorway, and to my sadness I see
Little Erelah laying by her mother, still deep in a dream
But from this dream she'll not awake, nor shall she ever play
for her innocence and life were taken, both on this day
Never to learn to read, never to learn to write
Never to run and sing again, due to man's mindless strife
I promised to protect the children ever since that day
And always defend them against man's evil ways
And never ever forget her
That angel from above, or her simple message
LOVE.........
To me she was a moment of Spring, in a lifetime of endless Winter
She is but a dream..........
Unbearable Beauty in Black
The light has fallen down the endless solid cliffs
dejected there it sparkles lures on impact’s flight
Gunshots from a black revolver six shiny bullets
one bright explosion flashes mindless radiance
The hangman darkly clothed in jester’s gown
mocks tarred and feathered un-dyed blaze
A dose of over un-pigmented pills and pillage
sweet dreams of quiet and one last muddy void
Black is unbearable the pastel brush demised
but after thunder slowly comes the rainbow
A sentinel cries crisis please do not head the call
the change of guards disguised in shining armour
Requires holding on to blackness’ shielding voice
until unbearable becomes bearable once more
Pitch-miserable epiphany shouts when you cannot
want not paint no more yet flaking scraps find colour
Once you resist seductive guile beheading escapades
embrace depression as your strongest torch of change
07th November 2016