Long Prescribes Poems
Long Prescribes Poems. Below are the most popular long Prescribes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prescribes poems by poem length and keyword.
Mental health is messed but i do my best
depression and anxiety we just don't fit in society
schizophrenia and bipolar they just control ya
you have voices in your head and sometimes your better off dead
sweat dripping from the palms of your hands listen to the voices and there commands
you turn to the bottle jump in the car and give it some throttle
you load up on cannabis to change the mindset knowing perfectly well you will live to regret
you think about suicide and what it would provide away from this misery but is this all necessary
jump of the nearest bridge and go floating in the water not really thinking of my dad and that am his daughter
all this pent up aggression its become an obsession
spending money like there's no tomorrow
think about all the pain and the sorrow
in and out of hospital and jail
looing forward to writing my and picking up the mail
popping down the pills the the doctor prescribes not really knowing if it works how he's describes
delusions sets in and not sure what is real
can you trust what they say or how it makes you feel
people talking in corners whispering as they chat are they saying about me for a matter of fact
i cut mt arms and legs quite frequently no hesitation and not reluctantly
i feel the blood pumping through my veins as i cut so deep yet feel no pain
The clinical sentence was pronounced,
perfumed with the devil’s royal scent ~
a relapse that smells
like an ethereal remedy
as every restless leaf abandons
its luscious green to the grave,
where her heartbeat
still sighs amidst the sleepless sunrise
beneath the loam,
where gloaming once, upon a blood moon,
homed the valiant vibratos
of her laughter,
yet if the only way to remember
is to remain unhealed,
as russet strings
of a violin ring through,
carrying sweet nightmares ~
held within the dusk
like beloved nightingales,
letting my inner calendar
return to circling the date
when she last breathed my name ~
O divine darkness,
let me fade until the face
of September’s stars wane
and phase the sorrow
into soundless torrents of
rehearsed requiems
until hurt sounds like a hypnotic hymn.
I swallowed, O Griefversary,
my penance through turning time,
the italicised letters
chronicling the chronic memoirs
while the tongue of trauma
prescribes crippling anxiety
into my thoughts,
I have long bottled
blurred hope
and summer sonatas,
with every memory crushed
like an autopsy listed as an accessory,
weaving words
borrowed from archived affections
as I leave line after line,
no longer aching
for the dark to understand that
my faith developed a stutter,
my pulse filed pleas for Prozac,
my ink confessed unseen panic,
my skin carried fingerprints
of midnight fears ~
and I still walk through
the black rose maze of memories,
around the season of
her irrevocable demise ~
September, the soulful wraith
of ghosts I love beyond death…
I call you ekwensu
Because you are the witch doctor
Who conjures with paper and pen the oracles of the muse.
You are the pharmacist
Who knows best the treatment of heart ailments
And prescribes drugs for catharsis
In your many captivating stories.
O great orator
Today I still sit in dust and ashes
Draped by the night of your death.
The compound walls
Where we gather to hear your tales have fallen,
Termites occupy the house
And vultures hover at the top.
But no,
I shall not grieve forever
I have built a monument of you in my heart
And in every home, school, and office
The wreath of your books, the tombstone of your life
We shall preserve and imitate
To purge the sadness of our hearts.
at the doctor's
There are days when I feel bereft of the people I knew
are all dead and no one is coming to take their place
there is a sense that I'm a waterlogged tree floating
in a sullied inland lake where bathing is prohibited
my nights are full of ghosts from the past visiting
when not awakened by nerve pains traveling up and
down my legs and the burning sensation telling of
the eternal flames of hell
I'm sitting at the diabetic doctor's office complaining
about the depression of pain I suffer at night
the man has an ascetic face, a real doctor, not a product
of a mother's wish to have a son with the title DR
You are keeping your sugar level well-balanced
which is good, your weight is right! (at this point
I pull my stomach in
As for your discomfort, you have to see this as a part
of your illness, I think he calls my pain DISCOMFORT!
He prescribes prescription for Insulin pens and tells
me my blood pressure is perfect, with that he sends
me away with a friendly slap on my sagging shoulder
Milanda keeps the voice to herself; she likes the keening of it.
The wails keep her on her toes, as the poltergeist rules her.
The shudders are drawn, and there are ghoulish shadows.
This is as it must be the poltergeist whispers in spook voice.
Milanda’s parents are alarmed, they take her to a psychiatrist.
He prescribes lithium which she pretends to take. Ha Ha.
For they are not going to take her demon girl from her.
She has a life now fashioned against all of their principals.
She is eager to find out about the darkness of the world.
The poltergeist moves her on demonic strings.
She resists in no way, glad to blame another for her antics.
She used to be on her own, but now there are two of her.
What is happening? Her mother asks. Talk to me.
She is the enemy the demon girl hisses. She nods, understanding.
It is the two of us against all of these others. They paint the room black.
Lie in the bed, whispering things that would alarm the girl’s parents.
Her father comes in to speak to her. She is annoyed beyond her threshold.
How dare he act like things are normal, when he was the one who split her.
His antics are what drove her to develop a demon girl in the first place.
She sends him out, consternated, not understanding his princess at all.
At least he did not touch us, the demon girl poltergeist says.
Milanda had hoped that he would. She is feeling strong and savage now.
She would have torn him apart, gnashed him with her teeth.
She would be glad to destroy him as he had destroyed her trust years ago.
I’m not an animal or creature, I’m just a human being
but if the wizard can’t help, then from soup I’ll be fleeing
The wicked soup witch says my poems are dire
she declared I’m past it and that I should retire!
I’ve cried bitter tears until my eyes are sore
my muse has gone, I just can’t write any more
So I silently slink along the yellow brick road
hoping that the wizard can lighten my load
It’s way past midnight when I finally arrive -
I’ve had to walk as I’ve not learned to drive
Dorothy and friends all had their wishes granted
I'll beg the wizard for my muse to be re implanted
I climb the winding steps to visit the wizard
he reminds me of a scaly wizened old lizard
I said ‘Wizard please can you help find my muse,
she’s upped and left, so I‘m here to schmooze
I’m desperately trying to become a good poet
but my poems are awful and don’t I know it’
He said ‘stop the tears, I don’t want to drown -
write intellectual poems, stop acting the clown!’
The wizard peers at me over his 'say ban' glasses
and prescribes three tablespoons of dark molasses
I ask ‘wizard will that bring my muse back to me’
he said ‘don’t be daft, it'll sweeten your poetry’
So I’m guzzling molasses three times a day
and I hope my muse will come back and stay
Off to see the wizard contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
11/25/18
Dulcet scent of jasmine wafting through the air
As moonbeams daub the swaying trees with silver hue
Luna's glow prescribes romance, the twinkling stars
make love a happenstance, as the wind whispers passion,
perchance ecstasy will ensue.
I see her silhouette in shapely form moving
with the rhythm of the trees, my heart flutters
as she gets nearer, then she falls into my embrace
and our lips meet, and our passion blazes.
Was it folly to believe that our love would last forever
or would it sink into the dank realm of heartbreak
But that thought perished into the fire of our passion
as we blissfully drifted beyond the twinkle of the stars
1-31-19
Leaking pontoon predicts my departure
Impatient yacht chases nautical next
Mislaid terrain erases my history
Grim authorities in obvious places patrol
Timidity prescribes aghast of tranquil abiding
Windwaken, I'm admiring the Sea of Revolt
Remarked upon in wonder, venture presents
Treasure indiscernible beneath tumbled tumult
Bold abandon condoned by bow of rationale
Faithful lungs serenade the speed of sails inflated
Turning back causes hair whipped vision to opaque
Potential's yell propels me from return's persistence
Society's twine allured by Twitter lunacy
My social media expels expiring bubbles
Sunk with rusty ruins of past governing
Continents are considered impediments
Ballast beckons ocean of observation
Jubilation journeys my adjournment
Angels guide navigation wide eyed
Fleeing seabirds call for recognition
Wave over waves of sweeping search
Unlikely dream festered in slumber of time
Shaken awake by inspiration's finger nails
Carries message of necessary momentum
Voyage for knowledge graces me
Extremeties are empty, planets drift
Virgin space accommodates galaxies
Originally written April 2020
Submitted for John Hamilton's
Free Verse of 2020 Contest
Wind song rains dewlike intuitions
Through autumnal leaves and sunset’s peace,
Coloring the gentle seas in melancholy
Breathing light through the edges of nature’s prayer,
As she seeks to shelter all who know her worth.
Silent as the springtime clouds, journeying over soft caerulean skies,
Pouring out the trembling shafts of comforting light,
Playing hide and seek with humble hearts,
Those who hear her stories and sink beneath her light,
Remembering the joy that comes to souls who know this grace,
Falling over the spirit, reflecting the faded flames
Burning through the darkness,
Delighting in the rarest gifts, the joy that comes to those
Who feel her pull beneath the shadow of yesterday’s struggles…
As summer soars to the surface, creating a laughing charm,
Inspiring the stars to glisten and the heart to warm,
Melting away the darkest dread and remembering
God is love and He is there, amid the homespun stories,
Of joy, peace and light – all the love that comes from knowing
He is guiding every day and every night
He is the Great Physician and, often, He prescribes
Windsong and stardust, the music of nature’s breathless calm,
Singing the words of redemption, silencing the past’s affliction...
Playing a quiet song of love that exists when He blesses!
His creation is amazing, but it isn’t the reason I praise Him.
I praise Him because He’s more than a Creator – He’s more than the Maker,
He is the light that never fades.
He’s the love that never retreats.
He’s the answer to every question,
And, the hope of every heart.
He isn’t just the Creator – He’s the love so pure and bright!
His spirit comes to shelter us, so we always know wrong from right.
He offers grace that can save and hope of eternity with Him.
He is much more that I can explain…
He’s more than Everlasting! He’s the assurance that I’m saved.
He’s the reason I’ll go to my grave, knowing the end hasn’t come,
Knowing that His love has won – and soon I’ll be in my eternal home!
Obviated by passion
I could as much apply each person
Exfoliate my heart.
Such tormented fragments
Seeking reconciliation therein,
Where all refrains come subject to warm
And, as my oath prescribes, I first
Must “do no harm”
Each valiant doll’s cartoon
A variance, but
Only tall in child’s retrospect.
Murderous and hideous disguised,
As in each man is set a plague of vacuums,
A cornerstone set within each soul
And from which each will build their life
Of hesitated futures.
Frames of frosted flames;
Each sliver silvered by a touch of light,
Each prayer cast into foreboding night.
The surface of each die married to the eye
Of what is cast,
The only knee we will bend
Will end upon a concrete flooring
Without love; Then,
You will open your eyes again.
What is this, you will ask of each
And, to all, at last, it comes,
Grown with a vibrant moving,
We are stirred;
Having arrived as the prime
Ingredient of our life,
Tested and tasted,
By the fires of our making,
To step off
And claim our freedom
to be