Long Rampaged Poems
Long Rampaged Poems. Below are the most popular long Rampaged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rampaged poems by poem length and keyword.
The oracle leaps through no ruinous time…
Benjamin was the boldest of the four. And whether the four were
The Sons of Peace, or the Fathers of Pride, or the Sisters of Charlies,
Or the Mothers of all Milk Maids, a place to hide he would not find.
Benjamin and the Three rampaged through enemy gates.
But everyone had left. For the big River Festival.
Shame overcame the Three. Benjamin walked to the River.
Fear of the future is in it’s inevitability.
And the idea that it’s not coming at you, rather you
Are walking into it like a quiet immersion into cool water.
The festival was heard before it was seen,
Tangerine strings, frog choirs, and drum barrels
Filled the night. When Benjamin popped his head over the hill,
His nose was met with a croissant held by a mouse
Who introduced himself as mayor.
“The oracle leaps through no ruinous time,” said the mouse
As he walked with Benjamin towards the evening candle
Boats where the water got black and full of mystery.
"One Bad Apple"
Soft cool-aid breezed in
wielding her sharp peeler
skinning the first apple
Boss girl
begins.
Stewed apples
slowly eaten
swallowed, taken in
One way out.
Boss girl
begins.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
gvlm
"Raise Hell", Dorothy
https://youtu.be/cfKPobjPZSE
“She does not want the world
to tell her how to live her life.
She does not want the world
to put her into a category.
She will smile even when
not all is good with her.
She will believe
what should not be.
And she will dream wild!
She is a bird.
She just wants to fly
in the wide blue sky!”
Avijeet Das
“I am a strong girl
Someday I will win the world
Yes I will smile in the wrong time
I won't do what has to be done
Or what the world
supposes me to have done
I will just do what I want
Drop out from crowd
Pretend to fall where I don't
Smile even when not all is good
Believe what should not be
Dream wild
Look observe and not harm
Coz I just live
Let me live
Don't put me in a category
or a class
I am as light
as a glass
This world
this beautiful world
Oh how complex
has it been made by us
Just look at the bird
soaring in the blue sky
Does it even care
Does it even care?”
Suyasha Subedi
"My muse is my daughter
My strength is hers
My muse is my mother
Her strength is mine
My muse are my sisters
My strength is theirs
My muse is my soul
Our strength is eternal"
"I roared, I rampaged and I got bloody satisfaction".
Kill Bill
Excerpt, Script, Kill Bill 2
https://www.ivanachubbuck.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Kill-Bill-2-Bill-Bride.pdf
artist/artwork: Rose Freymuth-Frazier
"One Bad Apple".
https://www.freymuth-frazier.com/
Our amazing age has been called both uncertain and troublesome,
and with all the advances and discoveries,
many still refuse to believe that God exists;
gold is avariciously kept by the wealthy, not released to feed anyone!
They march to a warfare beat, to invade, to defeat and mercilessly loot;
and will their militia be strong enough to hold back the armies
of the glorious Christ appearing in the noon's golden clouds?
All the prophesies came to pass, and this one will, too!
The destructive forces, not yet known to Man's blurred mind,
can desolate entire cities and destroy disobedient Nations;
the Black Death that rampaged and terrified Europe can't be compared to this!
But to cause confusion and death, the Anti-Christ must usurp and fight!
What greater pangs are more real than the ones to come in the latter days?
The life-giving sun will sink into the depths of the inscrutable Universe,
and the lovely stars will not appear at night;
that total darkness will induce immense fright!
The prophecies that have come to pass...were completely ignored,
and others more frightful are unfolding before these very eyes;
how long can we not discern their real message and realize
that every Biblical event was foretold by the prophets of old!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
We come together with our lives and our secrets,
Two separate books
Waiting for each other to uncover
And discover what is inside.
My cover may not be glamorous or pretty,
But is holds much beauty deep within.
The story is not always happy but not so sad.
Each time a new page is read
A part of my life is unfolded.
If you become tired or bored reading this book,
You have the freedom to stop.
You do not have to turn another page.
But if you choose to read on, do it slowly,
And with kindness.
For this book has been
Needlessly rampaged through and tossed aside.
It may not withstand another thoughtless reader.
Most of us are too quick to judge
not knowing anything about a person,
and distrust is the outcome of ignorance
capable of setting us apart from civilization;
first gather the facts, not useless rage,
and the belief that anyone can change
draws ourselves to a truth so unknown...
Hear all the words they speak, use intuition;
do they convince you to continue listening,
or throw you off with idignation?
If that voice sounds too unconvincing,
and can't confirm the answers you're expecting,
come up with questions that are pungent:
transforming those ideas with a thought,
and always believe that anyone can change...
Empires have risen, giving the obsolute power
to fearless men who were made into legends;
some were deserving, but most were tyrants of unclemency,
and did shameful and cruel deeds:
torturing or killing anybody who used to dare;
are we learning something from History?
When Attila the Hun rampaged Italy,
Leo the Great...the courageous Pope,
persuaded the savage king
not to sack the city of Rome;
and he also believed anyone could change:
that any heart, with all its brutality and rage,
could replace its rampant fury and grim
with human compassion and mercy...
When Light needed a body to behold, and color to kiss,
as Darkness dreamnt to die in the dawn of depth,
when Soul lustered to lust for learning, and being learned,
as blood bespoke to bones for building a star of flesh,
when Time needed the umbrage of it's ubiquity to be understood,
the moment texture tempted touch to tease with a thousand sensations,
when laws of love sought a language to express the extremes of it's lips,
as romance rampaged through the ravishings of famished hearts,
when the seduction of sorrow made heros of loving men and women,
When Justice appealed to the instincts of intent for inscriptions of innocence,
as bravery found battle in basic questions of survival and conquest,
when war demanded a metaphor in the terror of it's diligent destruction,
as Faith found resolve in seconds small along with giant gestures,
Death singing melancholy for sympathy and Life haughty upon it's horizon,
when Angels chose to wear albatross of gold to feel the rue of rogues,
as the most perfect woman ambushed the ideals of rumored beauty,
when God wanted imagination to create immaculate reality
Poetry began, born in the instant of forever Art,
because, the only promise of a Poet, is Passion -
Dedicated to Poetry...J.A.B.
Like wild buccaneers
on a partying raid,
they came ashore.
Fierce waters and winds
wielding their destructive swords
grabbing defenceless trees by the necks:
viciously shaking their hair-like foliage heads;
bending their backs; snatching them up
and throwing them here and there.
With torrential forces,
the marauding buccaneering
waters and winds leveled mortared
and boarded constructions
as if they were thatched huts of shade.
Young and old beings
became like unripe and ripened fruits
consumed by the ravaging forces of nature.
Behind, lay skeletal fields and sandy shores
laden with rampaged debris.
Satisfied with the fun and booty,
the buccaneering twins
return to their seafaring sails
in search of more up roaring.
Meanwhile, the prodigal Sun returns,
reflecting dry salty tears
pasted on the faces of those
who must now iron out their wrinkled lives.
In the aftermath, Nature makes no apologies
and God can’t be cursed.
Cats go out then cry to come in.
A runt-end of shade wilts.
We feel the pull of a Lunar tide,
sense the off-center mewing,
of a dissonant aria.
Trembling dogs hide their body-bones.
The air is strained through fisheyes.
A clammy light gnaws,
while white-faced mice scurry
on twilit paws.
There will be an end of sorts,
a draining away. First, there must be,
this ailing after-glow,
an infiltration that wounds
the tender skin of reason.
A mad moon had broken lose,
from the cellular jails of fitful thoughts.
A dead Siren rampaged,
in a cold rage of silence.
The day may heal, a new dawn,
defeating all spectral trails,
all night-walking fears.
Until then we must watch
a pall-bearing dusk
depart on crumbling stilts,
observe from a dwindling distance,
a naked crone wanes,
turns in ever narrowing circles,
as she seeks for her life.