Long Raze Poems
Long Raze Poems. Below are the most popular long Raze by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Raze poems by poem length and keyword.
Sopheceles studs chorale the Martyrdom call 'ems
ant-chant Thyme dash and Cheyenne bled-cles
and Mud Squadrorns dove colorblind
Link on-a-role spiked with trail and errs past
Prosed Persident Mar. Argo near Key Bask Lame
22kay ears like Bugs Sunny and Share sin-Gold
may-jar-of-tea of her punched shingles made
class sick of nerds of those Stolen Wars
They kicked-dirt-eyed others
The Survivors Tell-A-Cast close familiars were
Cons in tents and I-glues and tippies of homelessness
that Pros address, re-Moat of the Capitol Hill
Masqued based on perverts of those floral nature
hyper-ethical breathes a gnu presence
that will halve all life kind existent
clueless to the verve climb
The prophetic reel cavity of the Whooping Cranium
hell-bent, Como tally vu: Straght dope,
Comme-ci comme-ca: Same-o same-o,
Je parle un peu francais: Do you speak French?
Heaven-sent, Das ist richtig meinen freunde:
That is right my friends, "Danke schon dahling
danke schon": Thank you darling thank you,
Sprechen si deutsch: Do you speak German?
Affect boredom-lain, racial sophistry
as skin tones raze issues tossing shade
a constant advent for hair-raising accidents
electrocution and the radio activate channel
Kamehameha lost his underwear
and feared the recent conversion of his mythological
ancient high priest HewaHewa of the old gods
heeded Missionaries to overthrow the Heiaus/temples.
My ohana/family Heiau Waha Ula/Red Mouth is Pele's
temple where human sacrifices were done by warriors,
placing those sacrifices' heads on a large rock in the middle
of the Heiau and bashing their head with a heavy club.
Waha Ula Heiau was the last torn down fearing Pele's curse.
After his warriors destroyed Pele's Heiau, on their return
to Kamehameha's Kohala home, several hundred
of warriors died in the lava pit, immortalized in Volcano.
OMG? Can I use MayDay in the month of June?
The Joy of Shopping for Death Tools
Oh the shopping spree
what joy what glee
how natures all in harmony
The moon full
Round
the belly swells fertile ground
From the seed spurted within
Dig it up raze it destroy the divisions before they multiple-- unsanctity!
Cherry red ruby cheeked frail pale white. Dotted mottled maudlin girl
Golden glistening scintillating curls-- mocking me with life!
Once twice wrap round the bag
bag goes over the head goes down tie you up
your wrist are bound
tighten the belt crush the chest
Petechia flushing now bursting beauties
Bit by the hair o' the Burke
Snuffin the animate oh what furious work
That furry beast howls within an attractive glimmer in the eye as the eyes unite one soul slips to that unconsciousness black abyss of dreams
condensation obscures ruby cheeked whiteness
Exhilaration thrilling pumping life force
Yeah-- that what its all about...
I need a woman who can dance on a diamond and who can curse on a candle with equal aplomb,I need a woman that can calm like a bomb,
I want a woman that can sew ginger stiches on a sad man's soul,I need a woman that can sing the sorrow sweet from unexpected defeat,
I need a woman I should trust like the sun,one that will find fun in the mud,carry a ton,laugh when its done,a lady that can rob a mob ,an old mom,
I want a woman that can slap a kid like shes petting a dog,one that speaks to spirits as though she was born in the fog,having eyes that compete,
I need a woman that can raze a nation,shun reservation,and raise the meek and weak to sublimation,a woman that could die with a smile,
I want a woman that can hug,shove & tug me,a fine lady that tells me " despite working for the world you are a king handsome & rude all the while " -
J.A.B. 2008
« In love, mother.. ! »
sobbing words
an echo, like no other
the chokes and the pain, I recall
who was to blame for all that did befall?
What if
that love made sense
and the doors of heaven were open
to the voice of ardour
that could raze every single fence
we would to emotions have given vent!
What if
I failed to see through a mind
“that road was not to take”
from a dream
I was told I had to wake..
What if
I had the power of belief
In the beauty of that love
In a sweet ache
that was so brief
and so harsh..
What if
I could into my safe keep
that treasure between his ribs
ever vibrant, a rich seep
I might have walked paths of wonder!
I wonder
what would that love to me have brought?
what would have been to change a lot?
What if
I now could see the one
that got away
that one
who stole my heart in its heyday
would I recognise that feel again?
the taste of loss, would it be the same?
the pain of love, I wonder
if its savour would remain!
“What ifs”
the power to capture the beauty of the past
and transcend it to the wonder of the dream!
The nature of soul would never stand still
as the river of serenity whose current unseen
flows to reach the ocean with a spirited will
So is a poet whose pen has been drinking
from the river of life
filled with true words to the brim..
The One That Got Away Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Written: September 08, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the realm of fearless pranks, we meet,
Where weakfish lump and teardrops greet.
A sluice of inducement we embark upon,
With words that excoriate as a lethal swan.
With a droplet of grit and a split decision,
We dismantle our panic with precision.
Such a weak swimming against the tide,
We defy expectations; we won't hide.
In this realm of a daring escapade,
We flare a trail, unafraid.
Raze the doubts, raze the walls,
Letting our spirit freely sprawl.
An escapade, a venture, a thrilling bout,
Shoots of adrenaline, there's no doubt.
Through each channel, we navigate,
Teasing danger, embracing fate
Each hint of chutzpah and boldness.
We tame fears if we're brave and relentless.
But beware, for along this path we tread,
There are lacerations that can't be fled.
The journey may leave us fractured and worn.
But in those moments, true strength is born.
Such a broken teardrop, we may feel the pain.
But we gather our courage, ready to regain.
Through the smoke of depreciation and doubt,
We emerge, displacing the fears that shout.
With chloropicrin in our veins, we prevail.
Indenting our mark, leaving no trail.
In this realm of daring escapades,
We find solace in being unswayed.
Even in chaos, we discover peace.
Plucked delight as lachrymator release.
There is a vast canopy encircling the entire earth and capped in skies of blue. Under that canopy, sometimes storms come up and raze in the form of
tornadoes, rain storms, or great bursts of hail, thurdering, and lightenning. When these things occure, the canopy may be hidden by the storms which blind our veiw of things immovable and encased by storms behind a cover of darkness as black as midnight at noon-day. The storms will invariablly move on to other places to wreck and ruin, but the canopy, undesturbed and unfeathered by any and all storms, ever remains intact and still. We were never promised a life without quakes and shakes, nor seasons of uninterrupted bliss, but we have been encouraged to be more like 'The Christ'. That's why when I grow up, I want to be like the peaceful ever-present and unmovable blue canopy.
072819PoSoup
Dun days? Clouds above in greys?
Sapphire? Purple haze?
Deterrence, dessicate, cays.
Buildings on the raze.
World around in twilight.
Months ahead a-grim.
Heart within me, burn with fight!
Crater, have thy rim...
Ocean, boil. Intestines, roil.
Ignite, O my soil.
Lightning, fry. My music, broil.
Serpents, time to coil.
Torment, grip each human life.
Quest, on edge of knife.
Fate and Fortune, seethe with strife.
Demon-sultan, fife.
Tyrant of tomorrow?
Of him I never heard.
Surcease sorrow, I borrow!
Tower dark, thy third.
Wind, tear down. Abhor, my crown.
Demolish the town!
Carnival chaos, thy clown.
Hope, see self as flown.
Flickering flame, explode. Death, come.
Doom, hover o'er all.
Chord suffering, play for some.
Family, how ye gall.
Terror, strike. O Panic, lurch.
Bake and flay, O life.
Silver were the trees of birch!
Wisdom, thou art rife!
It has stood for decades along the county gravel road.
Skittering mice and barn owls now call it their abode.
What was once a stately building is now a shambles,
Surrounded by barren fields and prickly brambles.
Where once its weather-boarding was a bright cherry-red,
Due to the ravages of time, they're now a silvered-gray instead.
Yet can be seen a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco sign on its weathered side,
And a rusty weather-vane twisting in the wind, though a bit cockeyed!
Seasons of howling gales have striven to raze its sturdy oaken beams,
But they've held the old barn together though straining at its seams.
Its cavernous lofts once abounded with fragrant alfalfa hay,
That provided children a playground on many a rainy day.
It sheltered horses, sheep and cattle on frigid winter nights,
And for lack of electricity, it was lit by flickering lantern lights.
It was built when neighbors helped neighbors who were skilled,
At wielding hammer and saw and cherished great pride in their guild.
(The old barn of which I speak still stands on Indiana's Farmers' Pike,
Where I spent many happy times as an unassuming Hoosier tyke!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Was Selected as Poem Of The Day by Soup 26 July 2016
We’d like to think some angel smiling down
will watch him as his arm bleeds in the yard,
ripped off by dogs, will guide his tipsy steps,
his doddering progress through the scarlet house
to tell his mommy “boo-boo!,” only two.
We’d like to think his reconstructed face
will be as good as new, will often smile,
that baseball’s just as fun with just one arm,
that God is always Just, that girls will smile,
not frown down at his thousand livid scars,
that Life is always Just, that Love is Just.
We just don’t want to hear that he will shave
at six, to raze the leg hairs from his cheeks,
that lips aren’t easily fashioned, that his smile’s
lopsided, oafish, snaggle-toothed, that each
new operation costs a billion tears,
when tears are out of fashion. O, beseech
some poet with more skill with words than tears
to find some happy ending, to believe
that God is Just, that Love is Just, that these
are Parables we live, Life’s Mysteries . . .
Or look inside his courage, as he ties
his shoelaces one-handed, as he throws
no-hitters on the first-place team, and goes
on dates, looks in the mirror undeceived
and smiling says, “It’s me I see. Just me.”
He smiles, if life is Just, or lacking cures,
Your pity is the worst cut he endures.
But hack him down and still he’ll always rise,
lifting his smile to the sun or the star-filled skies.
Published by Lucid Rhythms, The Eclectic Muse and Victorian Violet Press, then nominated by the latter for the Pushcart Prize
Most Beautiful Christmas Poem 11/25/22 Based on the Messianic Prophecies
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas Rose
The Christmas Rose bursts into bloom
As echoes of midnight’s final chimes resound –
Precious Bloom of Perfect Prophecy inhales a first breath
Of winnowing starlight foretold
The Prince of Heaven steps into our blemished creation
New lungs fill with aromatic fulfillment
With bursting refrains once heard in Eden.
Torrents of roaring grace
Smash narrow portals of garden betrayal
Eras, ages and eons of sneering dominion
Stumble sideways in vertigo
Temptation’s false victory turned upside down
Smug visages fade into imploding arrogance
The missing piece of the human heart
Vibrates again in unison of Emmanuel’s Eternal Beatitude
With the tenor of timeless oblations
Heaven’s trembling preparation of holy delight
Explodes in triumph with the New Genesis
Through the breathless comma of anticipation
Before defeated wraiths of wildness
Gorges shatter, valleys level
Avalanches of obliteration raze
Buttes, crumbling cliffs and ridges of desolation
Midnight’s last stroke of domination
Turns a beastly reign into a flailing whine
Gone the plaintive elegies of exile
Heralds of angels harvest flowers in the desert
Gates into everlasting broad highways open
First Born Mystery in swaddling clothes smiles
In desert blooms of sweet frankincense
With everlasting scents as joy blooms in Eternal Laughter!
Eden’s new age of Exuberant Truth strides into time
Writing beauty’s signature on mountaintops
Leaving incense where insolent decay
Abandons ashes of deluded victory
Sweet scented perfume of grace overpowers putrid
Baby conceived in Anointed Advent, gird in Gloria, arrives!