Long Ransack Poems
Long Ransack Poems. Below are the most popular long Ransack by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ransack poems by poem length and keyword.
shoes untied,
hair uncombed,
just a run away,
no way to belong;
walking the streets so all alone
tattered clothes, ransack home;
eating out of the trash cans day N night
no way to belong
Homeless
has a cold twenty-four with a runny nose
this is his father unemployed
mothers on the corner everyone disowns her
been a parent since she was 12 ???
no place to go
no one goes by her
right she's 25 !!!
He poses sitting on old card board boxes
while the alcohol mom trips and falls off of porches, door she's been knocking on
watching the people go by in buses
Hope less
He's homeless, but He's Got JESUS
She's homeless, but She's Got the Lord
He's homeless, but They Got JESUS
Although they're a mess, they our blessed
Cause they have GOD
Not fit to live but fit to give;
You go by him and ya hearing him talking to him self;
murmuring passages sounding like scriptures to me;
while she's pan handling
you see
Their homeless, but She's Got JESUS
He's homeless, but He's Got, He's Got the Lord;
Although they're a mess, they our blessed
Cause thank God almighty
They have GOD
Oh why or why is he so happy
why or why, why is she so glad
just a thought of suicide, depression, would make the average person mad. . .
Why are they so happy
Why are they so glad
No family, none that would admit to be
NO job no wants to employ them
Not even a place to stay shelter's keeps him (them) hid
tattered clothes undeserved
tooth's N D K (decay) underserved
why is he(they) so happy why do He (they sing and shout (a loud)
Where does the joy come from
seems like they're the only ones;
They HAVE GOD
no longer
Homeless
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
from "Something to Sing Praises:(c)2007
July 03 2007
Last good days of innocence
He did came
with no trace
with no chain no fame
no frame or mark of true repentance
In skeletons of liquid pawns
carved in satirical steer
Streets bubbling
enchanted in silence
men wailing,
choking, bundled like sardine
strong drink is a mocker
loneliness is a gradual death
hunger is a conquerer
of this earth
men quarantined
Khaki with arms walking
watching and searching to fight
disobedience
but men can't eat air,
hunger In the street lurks.
At night
men Of the underground
with silence they scatter
they ransack every nooks
and crannies women wrapper
opened lock wildly
from her Can of safe
are cowries bugle
she screams in pain
but to nobody
Innocence is to innocent
boys gone to obtain
for the belly
pockets must open
sachets
must be broken
with the matches
"Good she "gone bad"
Hunger don't taste nice
innocence is a title
men locked inside
with chains of fear
can't decide
what this tide wears
they stretch run with their eyes
while standing here with their feet
looking like a lion on a pouncing game
preying an antelope to eat
loud streets wraps in pretence
mosques sits quite
Churches gone with God in trance
clubs eat boredom as diet
Cono!! what have you done
to men of the west
confidence in them is gone
to den
conscience has fallen from
thier pockets
Innocence is a title
they tear the streets
from house to house
bungling every safe to feed
feed from the ruins of
the skeleton of the liquid pawn
23/4/2020
Pick -A- Title , Volume 16-free verse 2
Last good days of innocence
Edward Ibeh
Attila the Hun was a kindly old soul
He raped and plundered the land
With the aid of his murderous henchmen all
A truly psychotic man
The kind of man you'd like as a friend
If you love to ransack and pillage
Hitler was another of these murderous souls
Marauding each town and village
Need more of the likes of Benito Mussolini
Such honourable leaders all
But I harken back to Attila the Hun
His exploits leave me enthralled
May seem like I've tumbled over the edge
But I blame it on dear Eileen Ghali
She poked and prodded me into submission
Could no longer dilly and dally
© Jack Ellison 2013
Dedicated to my dear good friend Eileen Ghali!
Woman, don’t you come back
You’ve squeezed out all you’re gonna get
There’s nothing left to ransack
Leave me in peace, and just git!
It wasn’t me that was unfaithful.
It wasn’t me that was untrue.
So if you’re gonna point your finger,
Three fingers point back at you.
All the guilt points back at you!
Woman, don’t stick around.
There’s no reason for you to stay.
So if you see me, turn around;
Like a hound dog, slink away!
(Chorus)
Give me a break, don’t make no fuss.
Ain’t nothing left between us.
Take some other fool for a ride;
‘Cause all good feelings up and died!
I found a love that will be faithful .
I found a love that will be true.
And for this, I’m surely grateful:
I’ve got her instead of you;
And she’s not at all like you!
Woman, never return!
You’re just not welcome here no more
Being near you gives me heartburn.
Stay away for--ever more.
Feel Good Moments
By: Miracle Man
8/7/2019
As each dawn breaks thoughts I ransack,
In search for substantive things to say.
Often its past history that will spring back,
And sometimes my heart, emotions betray.
I’m sometimes engrossed in a younger time,
Before clock had recorded its mark on me.
Times were peaceful with less organized crime,
With no thoughts of protest by taking a knee.
But most days I rise early and sit pondering,
About those matters holding relevance to me.
Never giving thought to the time I’m squandering,
But time will progress according to God’s decree.
Believe it or not, their ubiquitous webs
Are everywhere; they are the dictators
Who kidnap, maim, torture and kill teachers,
Poets, ordinary folks and babies in their cribs.
They rob and ransack innocent citizens,
Steal elections and after a lifetime in power,
Categorically refuse to leave the tower.
Very often, they do everything to muzzle the chickens.
Monsters are constantly in disguise,
They are well dressed, they wear uniforms,
They know how to blend and to socialize.
Monsters, at every turn, want to control the dorms,
Manipulate the data, fool the media,
Hire henchmen and spread false propaganda.
Monsters behave like manipulative magicians,
They suck the air out of the innocent bystanders,
Befriend desperate and impoverished musicians,
Surreptitiously inveigle the nosy neighbors
To exteriorize their feelings, and they spy and lie,
At every opportunity; and at every occasion,
They bury their preys alive in the dungeon.
Believe it or not, monsters are like rats,
Their appetite is insatiable; they crawl under the mats,
Bite babies, steal millions, and hide the money in overseas coffers;
They rape young boys and girls, and destroy the future of many.
The revolution was not done right ‘cause the kidnappers,
The pick pockets and their accomplices are still under the tree.
Those raccoons, those bedbugs don't go away easily.
They outlive the exterminators. These goons are really bright.
Be cautious, because they are out there day and night,
Operating at every meeting and at every party.
Believe it or not, all bad things must come to an end:
The lies, the crimes, and the arbitrary executions of the church band.
Copyright© February 2012, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books:
shoes untied, hair uncombed
waling the streets so all alone
tatted clothes ransack house
eating out trash cans day N night
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
has a cold, twenty-four with a runny nose
stands on a corner everyone disowns ya
no place to go, no one goes by him
he poses sitting on old cardboard boxes
watching the people go by in buses
HE IS HOMELESS
BUT HE HAS GOT JESUS
HOMELESS
AND ALTHOUGH HE IS A MESS HE IS STILL BLESS, HE IS JUST
HOMELESS
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
not fit to live but fit to give
you go by him and ya hearing
you hear him talkin to himself
murmuring passages sounds like scriptures to me
and why oh, why is he so happy
and why oh, why is he so happy
Lord God why or why is he so happy
(HUSH......................there is a pause in this song a stillness
wait for it
wait
résumé???)
HOMELESS
not fit to live but fit to give
you go by him and ya hearing
you hear him talkin to himself
murmuring passages sounds like scriptures to me
and why oh, why is he so happy
and why oh, why is he so happy
Lord God why or why is he so happy
no! family none than admit to be his
no job no wants to employ him Well!!
not even a place to say shelter's keeps him hid or telling he they're full
tattered clothes undeserved
tooth's in decay why is he so happy pains everywhere
why does he sing and shout (a loud)
why where does his joy come from
HE IS HOMELESS
BUT HE HAS GOT JESUS
HOMELESS
AND ALTHOUGH HE IS A MESS HE IS STILL BLESS, HE IS JUST
HOMELESS
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
HE HAS God's grace and this is sufficient for him
Written Words by James Edward Lee Sr. & The Corinthian
Arranged music by The Corinthian
July 3 2007(c)
From Anthology "Something To Sing Praises"2007(c)
(lesson taught during the foggy night
of December 29th, 2018)
Right there on the driver side
front seat of locked car
(2009 Hyundai Sonata
if that adds mar
soup pea el uber lyft, heft,
distraction, et cetera),
but may as well
bajillion miles afar
happened to mocking me
braking means to
mosey along tar
nation (albeit via four wheels),
plus access to apartment impeded,
yes which plight found
yours truly ajar
to concern lest a kick
starter prowler burglar,
and ransack maybe even hotwire
sole mode of locomotion lowering bar
on being a lunkhead,
dunderhead, bonehead,
et cetera, where mind
went AWOL earning par
tickle yule early cat us strophic
topic for poem - ah betcha yar
laughing (similar to the missus)
at my expense, asper war
re: ring how to resolve dilemma
as if a mouse caught by Gar
field with mere seconds to spar
(okay a bit of exaggeration),
but then Char
Lee horse made
an unexpected appearance,
thus incommodious, I hobbled
slow as a caterpillar
part way in the dark
til finally reaching familiar
windows of unit b44
thankfully unlocked,
thus plucked courage, and
grabbed reachable bedpost insofar
as to hoist my (nada so lightweight
former youthful body),
where every intercellular
muscle creaked, groaned,
and protested forced to
stretch to unfamiliar
height, length, width, et cetera
nonetheless, the porpoise
accomplished, matter I felt like
a dolphin with missing flipper,
though once dramatic egress complete,
an influx of radar
love bombarded this cerebral
noggin, sans global surveillance drone
broadcast akin to shofar,
whereat this mild mannered man
suddenly found himself semi popular.
Today I awoke to my moment of truth,
I'm no longer as young as I was in my youth,
And perceived, later on, to my further dismay,
I'm not even as young as I was yesterday.
Oh, how and why was my youth so misspent,
And how can I find when and whither it went?
Was it hung in a closet, or tossed in a drawer,
Is Peter Pan really gone, boon companion no more?
As I woke up this morning, he was with me, I swear.
When I looked in the glass, though, a stranger was there.
Oh, I'll ransack each closet, every cupboard, and drawer,
But I fear I'll not find that sweet boy anywhere.
Now a new thought emerges, one not nearly so bleak:
I'm not yet as old as I will be next week.
So, Peter, adieu, sayonara, and ciao,
Please keep my youth with you, I'm too old for it now.
Oh, dear, golden boy, oh, bright symbol of youth,
We cannot remain young, that's the bittersweet truth.
Yet silver-fringed laughter hide-and-seeks in the hall,
And I smile for my youth hasn't vanished at all.
My mem'ries are young, I invoke them at will,
Like the spirit of Pan that remains with me still.
The Psyche aye seeks an end to sling
Its filaments wide across and all around ,
To ensnare it's weird, stray prey with a fling
And there comes the ominous web, ill- bound
To stay back and grab the first victim found ;
From out of the depth of the benumbed torpor
The creeping, coiling ,ruffling ,volatile thought ,
Ever entangled in plots beneath the stupor ,
Sneaks, to find it's clumsy, uneasy way out
Seeking some flaw or fissure along the coffer .
Despite the reach and the cold vicious win
The prize fetches not the full upright feel ;
No ransack nor test for the wrong or sin ,
As success above all ,reckons a good deal
And the wildness belches over the raw meal ;
The goal reached, only incites a new hover
As the impulsive sensors grab at one and all ;
While a little morsel, a small patch ,and cover
Suffice, needless is the trade so selfishly tall
That transacts the mode of contented survival.
Death ,destruction and fall haunt fear greater ;
Desire and greed dwell in selfish pleasure ;
Thirst needs only a satiable gulp of water ;
Pelf and riches, beyond being some treasure
Cannot buy real relief or intent in any measure ;
All wild pursuits, mere Quixotic , end in vain ;
Glamour and virtual success go sans form ,
Brittle trophies and awesome ravages disdain ;
One stands not even at where one began, forlorn
As the very ground beneath the feet is torn .