Long Punished Poems
Long Punished Poems. Below are the most popular long Punished by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Punished poems by poem length and keyword.
In life everything around
goes awfully wrong,
And the road to happiness
may seem so long.
Sometimes our problems
may seem so cold like ice,
And even the sun may not
be able to dry the tears in
our eyes.
All our fears keep
tormenting us deep inside,
Making our joy and
happiness leaving our side.
Everyday of our life we
labour in pain,
And get beaten by the
unfavourable sun and rain.
Sometimes we get our
heart broken,
By discovering how much
of our joy that has been
stolen.
Tears of frustration keep
running down our cheek,
Even when we are so
humble and meek.
The cloud of nightmare
keep hovering above us,
Making our dreams as dead
as humus.
Sometimes we get
punished for things we
didn't do,
And get scolded for things
we didn't mean to do.
Everyday we keep praying
for a way out of our misery,
When to us our existence is
like a mystery.
We get betrayed by our
peers,
With a broken heart and no
hope of repairs.
We get frustrated beyond
our endurance,
And push to the wall
beyond our tolerance.
Sometimes we get beaten
by life blows,
Thinking that life is a bed of
rose.
Our heart been broken with
no remorse,
Pouring down pain upon us.
Sometimes life becomes so
bitter,
That there leaves no hope
of it getting better.
In the depth of our heart
lies a hope,
But the strain of our pain
makes it impossible to cope.
We just keep moving with
no direction,
Hoping for a better
destination.
Life making us go through
hell,
For many reason that we
can't tell.
We just can't stop
dreaming of the peace of
heaven,
That will help lift away our
heavy burden.
But one thing i know is
that,
We'll surely keep up the
fight.
No matter the battle we
fight to survive,
One day our soul will be
revive.
At her daughter's conference
I gave tiger mommy a brain-researched
print out about the value and
the benefits of free play to
help stimulate a child's mind
I was tired of watching her child
cry because she could not play
at home, for she was too old for it.
Her toys were gone because she was
too old for them.
Her brother could still play, because he
had not gotten there yet.
But she had work to do.
There were workbook pages to finish.
To earn supper she had to finish thirty pages each night.
Her mother was determined she would be the best.
She was not allowed friends.
She was not allowed freedom.
She was also punished after I gave
Tiger Mommy the print-out for sharing
the “family business”.
her favorite stuffed animal got thrown away too.
At eight she is too “old for play”
It is time to be serious.
Why as black women do we just have to accept everything
Can't complain just accept the bare minimum
Treated like mothers who didn't get a choice
Forced into a life of sacrifice
Treated like animals but stripped of dignity
Our lives were never ours just a product of control
Used and abused like some rag doll
Dressed to impress like a model
Except insulted and sexualised on the catwalk
Blamed for existing
Then punished for being angry
At a world that keeps us miserable
For the sake of their own joy
But then again why expect respect from the world
When we are not even respected by our own men
Who would do anything to attract white women
Even if it means betraying the loyalty
Of their own community
But I guess that's what happens when
They chase whiteness
Who are filled with self hatred
Transferred into colourism
A black woman's desire is to just exist
Not a life drowned in exhaustion
The constant looks over the shoulder
The being driven to psychosis
Gaslit until we are burnt out
Plagued by judgement
A standard of infinite perfection
And to always be held to an unreasonable standard
A singular question
Of when we will receive our protection
To them we are not humans
Just experimental tools
To be poked and prodded
And have our scars out in the open
Scrutinised in life and death
For us there will be no rest
Just a test
Of who will come out the best
Who dares to serve me tea with lemon?!
On my own plantation born in heaven
Flowing in the land of milk and honey
For the good of all humanity... SOMEONE
He, she, it or them must be punished
Perhaps eradicated is the proper term
Bring me a rope, a tree and a culprit
That they might dangle in the wind
Wrath is a wondrous thing...don't you think?
Who dares to come between me and proper tea?!
For this outrage someone must pay a penalty
It's an atrocity, a crime, a sin against all things green
How does one make a perfect day complete you ask?
Preferably with a lemon tree and someone swinging from it
The blossoms are so sweet...as my tea should be
Tea with honey, served with toast, crunchy on both sides
Orange juice, freshly squeezed and a smiley face is sweet
It is what we call justice here in the south
But now comes breakfast with a biter taste
With someone swinging by the ancient porch
Under the golden sun and canopy of love
To their biter end
Lemon flowers are so pretty and serene
In fact intoxicating as we watch the hired help
Dangling between the lovely branches
A hard days work for honest wages
Is what it is all about...here in the south
I went in for a minor surgery- something you have when you’re old and grey
which meant I had to fast…which meant I was hungry for a day.
For two days I went without eating…from early morning until the night…
By the second day my stomach hurt I was irritable…
trust me…it was not a pretty sight.
But when the surgery was over…when I came out from the anesthesia…then
the first thing that I did…was to go and eat again.
On the way home we stopped art McDonalds…and my heart began to ache
as I was stuffing my face with French fries…dipped in a creamy vanilla shake.
I was hungry for a short while..then my hunger went away
but what about the people out there who are hungry every day.
41 million people in America including 11 million children by the way
aren’t hungry for a little while…they are hungry every day.
What kind of country are we if we can’t find a way
to feed those 41 million people who are hungry every day?
So I decided to put my money where my mouth is…and I donated today
to an organization that helps fight hunger each and every day.
I’m not sure how much good it will do…but when the day is done
I’ll be glad if out of the 41 million people…I have helped feed one.
Glad to do my part to help…if even a little bit
For people who are being punished…for a crime they didn’t commit.
For our society will ultimately be judged on how we intercede
on behalf of our children, our elderly, our sick, our handicapped and
all of those in need.
And wouldn’t it be great to be judged, at least in part, on how we found a way
for no one to go to bed hungry…even for a day.
Wanna go back to my poetic cauldron, the ink boils within me, pass me the spoon, minds and souls have went long without. Need I be punished for starving the nation, sprinkling my artistic expression, the aroma reverberates with poetic reverence, tasting glands oozes ravenously, sauces of creativity fills my hand, edible to the soul too,
marinate the mind with creative expressions, like an artist painter, paint spots all over my poetic kitchen, in my artistic kitchen crockery and cutlery of spirit evokes words, fill the cauldron to brim, multitudes are to be served, a poetic meal, entice the smell sense, as appetites widens, one belly after the other,
I serve the voiceless, the trapped, the surrendered and those who left this this earth not fed, for in my cauldron ingredients of life giving, competes. Lemme put flesh to these poetic bones and feed life back to this poetic body, it's in my poetic cauldron I wanna go back to
#Poetic_Ink
Anesthetized, day one, I become her bug caught in the web
Asphyxiated, entangled and cursed, numbed to feel no pain
It was a Wednesday if I remember when we wed
She grew a beard and punished me for breathing
I succumbed to her femininity, her tooth
It was a pretty one to chew with. That's the truth!
It was a Thursday in the second day of Lent
It took seconds for my bank account to empty
Her power of persuasion left me blank
A testament to her awesome empty nest to come
Three days into marriage we finally went to bed
Precious consumed my brain and everything within it
Who needs condoms when you have your condiments
Mustard , ketchup, cheese and crackers please
When you don't have long to live you snack instead
Day four, she put me on a lease to walk outdoors
Dogs and cats make better pets than spiders
Sentimental to the end she took my soul and sold it
I succumb to her because she is my wife
Not because she held a butcher knife
By day five she grew fat, sprang eight legs
Became a nag, that's only natural they say
I'm not afraid of anything that screams at me
Because she says so
I wish six days a week to be united
Or at least to live another day intact
It is not wise to question honey's facts
Seven days in love must be our lucky number
Marital bliss numbs me to my knees
I survived to kiss the bride another day
It must be time to say Good Bye.........
Eight days a week I feel the love inside
Eight legs wrapped around my spine
A tingling sensation, sentimental spider
Before I die, before you eat my mind again my love
The alimony check is on the table, post dated for your pleasure
Don't get pregnant. Use protection
For your convenience before I forget
I will always be your prey before your friend
I pray you don't get indigestion
Reward and punishment,
God made not men made,
Hell comes a punishment and Heaven a reward,
Adam a reward,
Adam a punishment,
Reward and punishment,
God made not men made,
Right is rewarded and wrong punished,
Noble,for right things,
A reward!
Genius,for right things,
A reward!!
Genius Book of Records-
The big book,
Widely opened like the Sky,
All to read,
All times,
Never closed,like a cemetery!
Genius a reward for right things,
Men made not God made,
What is for wrong men made then?
.................?
Bring a big book like the Genius to record all wrong doings!
Bring to book all heads!
A Genius book to record rights,
A Genius book to record wrongs,
A reward,
A punishment,
Men to make not God!
I'm getting away from something
and denying it uncovers my shameless guilt;
and how weak I am facing the truth,
put some sense in me, a humiliating feeling!
I'm very good at lying, and you can tell I'm a liar
because I don't blush when I'm being scolded,
I deserve it more than mischievous children by far;
I should be humble enough to admit I'm wrong,
if I can't apologize with words, let me apologize in song...
is this the best way to convince you and amend?
I'm getting away from something,
it's too complicated to be explained;
if only pity could change everything,
I would be very happy, not this sad!
Bring me back to the stark reality,
let me regain my lost dignity;
I need to be forgiven and hugged,
that guy who showed coldness and shrugged
has left and he doesn't own me anymore,
do I deserve to be punished and still implore?
Vanished in death’s flames with Mani’s scriptures of life
Banished to mine for grey-white marble to fulfil Rome’s plan
Punished to mine in Phaeno, or die by Rome’s knife
Unvanquished through the endurance of the First Man
Valiantly working in marble mines, they now rest on diamond roads of light
Patently, those burned souls became our sweet remembrance and frankincense
Rampantly, inflamed Diocletian tried and failed to steal their pearls of pure white
Brilliantly, Mani’s burned medicine became our sweet myrrh incense
Poem about the Roman Emperor Diocletian's (284–305 AD) persecution of Manichaeans, which later extended to Christians. This is in honour of those persecuted.