Long Pincers Poems
Long Pincers Poems. Below are the most popular long Pincers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pincers poems by poem length and keyword.
Lock ruby ridden doors for roach ridden floors bleed without grace
Roused rounded wounds throughout nightly escapes
And gaping fields of endless escapades
And gaping seas my moses blade has wrenched to dictate.
Pace rotting church floors, so I merry-may await god to knock upon my door alike a loving mother
His guilty spires to sing and relapse my sorrows
Eviscerate rusted razors to lacerate a clean slate.
And in the roar of rain and reign of vines
That pin and pay homage to this chime of final time
To frou-frou odes oozing scarlet against saccharine skin
And touch and go chortles chilling curve brow'd kin
To Cupid bow'd lips agape with cherry tipped spit
Ribbed'n red ribbons t'reach 'round rust ridden gates to 6ft city scapes
Lay'n low below poppy pinned limbs
Lifeless Carcasses drowning in ailed acrid hailing wails,
Limestone limbs aground with grave grown pests, quilled acid arms armed with bitten black mitts
Askewed pinching pincers ripp'd the petty sinner's wings, now
Falling as fallen fallacies face fickle teenage fantasies
Falling as to fall affronted towards
Mother-made dishonor doused among sickly star shine,
Clutching contorted flesh wrung of blackened regret
hung 'pon the sinful spine of east borne wind where the church resides.
Mine spires spindle star swept sereneties
To cloth mine carcass
From candid claws, in a rust ridden razor haze
O' Lacerate and Eviscerate this crass phase.
Perhaps if I were to,
Rebate the mirror that faces the sinner's face,
Would I face the same fate?
3//8//2025
I am a self-portrait
portraying myself & second self
though, I am just of one flesh
one mind and soul,
I've expressions
of two psyches, dualities
two distinctive women
of two heritages
Didymous are the
liking's of Castor & Pollux
deluxe in statuesque, in alabaster
we are spiritual twinship
thunder & lighting, two-fold
from left to right,
in Victorian elegance
a wedding gown
On the right of me,
in Tehuana frock, fabulosa
I arose from the overworld
one of Northern celestial
the other southernmost
we are twins separately
by surgical pincers, bleeding hearts
as crimson seeps onto white cotton
it stains with the past & present pains
we share one main artery
torn up, broken down
yet are countries apart
with hands clasped
together, we are Gemini
The bricks were sweating, nervous. Icy slime
had soaked his coat-sleeve, much to his disgust.
Tall baulks of formless timber seemed to climb
towards the bulbous shadows. Guido, trussed
and pinioned, tried to scratch the saline rime
that nagged his upper lip (for scratch he must),
using his shoulder. Someone’s hand-held lamp
was scouring crazy patterns on the damp.
As Fisc officials fidgeted and fussed,
Count Guido, motionless, gouged free of Time,
stared at the torture implements. Nonplussed,
unravelled, unaware of glare or grime,
he saw steel jaws, unsoftened by stale dust.
The hanging chains, when brushed, gave up a chime
as sinister as that serrated clamp
which dominated all the waiting ramp.
The irony was utterly sublime.
They’ll “put him to the question”, as discussed.
As fitted the prevailing paradigm,
They’d tear his vitals, gouge him, drill him, thrust
their white-hot spikes quite through him, till his crime
was suitably admitted, as was “just”.
Some may withstand the pincers’ chew and champ,
but Guido knew he wasn’t of that stamp.
His eyes had hardly started to adjust.
Prolonging this perverted pantomime
would only satisfy the sadists’ lust.
If necessary, he’d recant in rhyme.
His knuckles scraped the carapace of rust
of some utensil, which this fetid clime
so soon engendered. Turning to decamp,
he felt no pain beyond necrotic cramp.
Some way from the Firth of Forth
A shoal of glittering mackerel
Swirls and sways
Swells with the sea from silver to black
Flashes white and back to silver and grey
A humpback whale
Juddering its leathery jaws together
With a throatful of panicked fish
For a moment it bobs in place
Then sinks down slowly again
To await its next prey
But some fish get away
Dash, dash, dash
Gannets with wingtips a-black
In fizzing copper-green dive bomb
Pinning their wings back
Weaving, spiral bubbles rising
They spear the blank-eyed fish
And paddle away
In the tidal pools by the beach
Where the tiny sea herds crawl
Hermit crabs pick at morsels
Washed up by the tide
Snipping with their pincers
To nibble mackerel tails
They ward off competitors with their giant claws
Crabby-crawl tiny sea herds
Squabble in the pools of the micro-sea
But steal when you can the more beautiful shell
Of a crab that is greater than thee.
Of all the world this century I see
What shimmers – artifice devoid of soul.
Pneumatic truncheons burying dreams of She,
The Mother, under satin sheets of coal.
If would mine eyes deceive me not I’d think
It just a putrid fantasy, from which
The shadows formed by tortured lids could blink
Awake into the rays from which no niche
Could cling like pincers holding darkness gripped.
Inverted it would seem the very Laws,
When God can’t stop in poison water dipped,
The baptism of Earth in fossil maws.
I pray that life – eternal Hope so fair,
Can snatch redemption from morose Despair.
I am a little tabby pussy cat, my master dearly calls me 'Paulette'
I chase the ugly rat that comes to gnaw at my master's hat
On my face I have pointed whiskers, but nothing as those of the tuskers
With ears sharp I catch all whispers, have claws as piercing as pincers
I am my master’s pet, he often pats me calling me 'cute little Paulette'
But my master’s jealous dog, 'Tiger' is my enemy , that I always forget
Once, in pitch darkness, as I was roaming freely, saw a pair of gleaming eyes
Never knew, 'Tiger' would jump upon me in ambush and attack me fierce
Badly hurt, when I meowed aloud, my master came flying like a bullet
In anguish he cried, “What harm has been done to you, my poor Paulette?”
Poetry Contest- Paulette-1
Sponsor - Julia Ward
Unswallowed lumps of lobster immodest
Crustacean returns to pincers persimmon
Waitress whisk indiscernible clears linen
Custom of one equates her eight hour day
Has It All Paul wipes away gourmet residual
Exhaustion frightened by frothy latte
Fingers in pies finance necromancer denies
Bulging funds fail to complete, coins conflict
Periphery rebuffs, enough is finite, endless leers
Goblet of gluttony grape broth overflow inflicts
Victim of vanished virtue, bon vivant declaration
Transmutes rules, outruns consequence
Guidance glued in buttery dough glides rhetorical
Yacht reined in quay quiver, another arrow for Cupid
Entertainment timed to change with shifting tides
Inglots tossed overboard drown in debauch
Drunk playboy Paul while vulnerable divulges
Disdain for greeds' steep scrag, perpetual pursuit
Outdo, prove prowess for those who never realise
Incongruent grapple for further forgets to cherish
Partners relent, resources force caucus to submit
Patronising Paul procures boardroom obedience
Inundating debt retards bombastic boon reward
Promise of association silences indulgent sin
28th June
Plenty Stimulates
Those who stretched out their chests like lions
in front of the pipes of guns are now the kings of highways.
Those who died helplessly jumping into the gape of the invading shark
are now alive in the din and bustle of life.
And those who escaped hiding themselves into the darkness
of their cunning are now mere oblivion,
mere broken graveyard surrounded by dreary emptiness.
Actually those who have learnt to contempt the eyes of vulture
have the right of living only.
Only those who have learnt like pincers to uproot the poisonous teeth of cobra have the right of love.
Those who know how to show thumb to the carnivorous animals
have the right of life.
Freedom and sovereignty are only for those who have learnt to play with life like chopper and spear
and who have learnt to shed one river blood
for flowers and poems,
for man and soil.
Behold, those who were alive are now mere ghosts
having died and got rotten utterly.
But those who sacrificed their lives in the inflame of love
are now reigning in the realm of life.
Truly the detestable death of man is in his foolish living;
life is only in war and death.
It was my first journey by train all alone. When dropped at the station by my cousin, I saw a huge crowd waiting at the station. Like a drop in the ocean, I quickly merged with the crowd, and patiently waited for the arrival of the train.
Soon came the grating voice of the loudspeaker, “The Rajadhani Express from Delhi to Trivandrum scheduled to leave the station by 9 pm would be late by one hour’!
I went cold at the thought of another long wait in the sweltering heat of a summer night. Amid an undulating mass and deafening holler and roar, it would be hell tied there for one more hour.
The cry of babies fell in my ears like the squeal of piglets. Youngsters busied themselves on their cell phones, sending missives to their loved ones or chatting with their pals. I sat away secluded, inhaling the soot and the dust, and looking vacantly at the curl of smoke from the grumpy looking man’s cigar sitting opposite to me lazily. When his red falcon eyes fell on me, I withdrew more into cover, regretting once more, being a woman! Drawing a deep desperate breath, I thought of the risks of travelling alone by a night train, and it made my guts contract.
Finally, when the train came hurtling, elbowing my way through the mass of men, I got into the compartment somehow, and found myself, among total strangers. Shoving my suitcase between legs of people, and pushing it under the seat, I sat near the window. All my former fears resurfaced with ugly pincers. Being late, all readied themselves to sleep. Though I lay down with my eyes closed, I couldn’t wink an eye, every little sound and movement, sending chills down my spine. It was the most nightmarish night I can ever think of!
the sky, inky black
moon veiled by stygian clouds~
ants of panic creep.
Allow me to address you child.
You've been born into the wild.
Listen to this friendly fowl.
While, innocently, you dream,
wake up and bawl and scream,
creatures crawl and scheme -
says I, the wise old owl.
Scuttling low, sometimes unseen,
you'll find something low and mean.
You must avoid this thing.
Pincers grasp and grip -
this fiend shoots from the hip,
his tail a lash or whip.
Sidestep the scorpion's sting.
The greatest danger you will meet
in the jungle that is the street
preys upon the young.
Slipping, sliding with a smile,
what he wields is guile.
His intentions are most vile.
Resist the serpent's tongue.