Long Razor Poems
Long Razor Poems. Below are the most popular long Razor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Razor poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a time, mother was gifted new life.
Reformed, reborn the second child to poverty,
through the coldness of a Maine winter came beauty.
A fair Eve to her brothers Adam construction
her bloom was destined for a fresh spring being
and her eventual undoing awaits at death.
And, so she was born from the stark darkness of death
and raised on the undone leavings of old life.
Grandma brought bright sunlight with all of her being.
Granddad culled the forest deer to dress their poverty.
A thin walled lake cabin, a homes base construction
housed a family full of fine children’s beauty.
Field and forest with flower and tree were her beauty.
The doe, the buck, the rabbit bought life from their death.
The harshness of this life brought forth angry constructions,
razor strap beatings on small white behinds laced their lives.
Fishing, gardening canning and sewing relieved poverty
In time love came for her dancing into being
The Big One WWII brought my Dad to being
Auburn hair and chocolate eyed was Mom’s beauty
Her handmade clothes sewn with the art poverty
The war had brought them all too close to death
Lovers grasp at the gift they’re given, gifted life
and a new family of country and city was constructed.
Fifty years more , she was given, in this soul construction
tearful years of longing for a different being
with little joy at home, the family of this life
denying the world outside the walls the beauty
not even accepting the end of pain her death
Her gift to me, knowledge, I live not in poverty.
Mom died on a cold wet January day in poverty.
Her poverty was of money and not of love’s construction
at her tidy bed sitting with her hand in mine she died.
“Oh, I wish it were so, and then not, with all my being”
Not all of her treasures gone, for her children’s beauty
remains, their love had not left her throughout her life.
Though in reality Mom lived a short time in poverty being
but the construction of even that poorest plight was always beautiful.
And what is death really once through the pain but rich new life.
Twig twists intersect then spread victory
Receptors sprout cat waving paws
Fold fruit bowl foliage, branch tributary
Lump eye timber columns support
Steer me clear of thatch caged cluster
Cheerleader twirling ribbons sizzle
Shifted to soft focus forest, fairy dusted
In drifting dandelion seed celestial
Thrown down overlap of toasty tobacco
Crinkle constant joke cracked faces
Humour grants razor slim grasses tackle
Unused nests during seasons' phases
Basket interweave splice strap sun poke
Probes timid shade a radiating halo
Lathered limbs in blossom shampoo soak
Crown me neath ghostly citrine glow
Sombre trots towards her restful rotunda
Floating pollen fluff Snugglepot ego
Fingers spring flags of woodland wonder
Grip ant gazette trail to safe gazebo
6th March
Exists in the middle
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
A mast of goodness seen by the entire neighborhood,
even if the whole body stays beneath the waters;
producing rare sweet wine loved by all
as attitude calmly speaks giving more command to words.
Then possesses a temperament
which unleashes comets of mind softeners.
Just one being with similar make up to everyone else
yet covers a large district
with an umbrella of relationship and a shadow of good deeds.
Wildness and adventures begin to attract
and the temptation alone already tasting creamy and sweet.
Guard is let down to accept a rare stain
forgetting that such reputation commands great attention
and nothing can be hidden no matter how abstract its execution.
The juice turns bitter and fruit becomes rocky
that inner-radiating moon with an orbit of innocence
goes blank and dumped in a muddy lake.
The full mane covering an outstanding charisma
then faces the razor of shame to leave an open head to disgrace.
On such a new morality,
flies perch while its moisture stinks;
strong Irons then rust, surrounded by a general decay.
Redemption folds its arms to do nothing
while condemnation’s slaps are continuously in the increase.
Idiots sit and drink beer on this issue
scoffers and undisciplined minds become volunteer witnesses
then a great personality is dragged down by the rope of opportunists
to reversibly equate themselves to be unfit mates
while causing a fuss
through the noisy welcome from the corrupt class.
This is an indication of society’s affection towards wrong.
A proof that the effect of one bad intimidates that of good in millions
giving an exaggerated caption and devastating headline,
putting one in between suicide and strong will
but when calm is exhibited in crisis and strength in weakness;
humility and acceptance poured out to show imperfection is in all,
the forum is then set to bring out that radiance once again.
In a settlement far from barbaric ideologies
and an analogue system of thinking and beliefs,
climbing all the way up to once again possess that status
is achievable and possible because
dresses can’t be condemned by stains especially when washed.
Digital Metamorphosis
Follow this diagram,
Flow with its geometric,
That is now heliocentric, the orbit.
All inversions of reactants cause:
In this Rubik's Cube function.
Our algorithms process.
Dissect your analysis.
This experiment has optical razor lenses illuminated.
While we socialize,
Having mobilized the crew.
To finalize what we now know.
Mapped in ink and electricity.
What some wanted to minimize.
Then naturalized its demise.
Was the dilemma for the prototype?
Sure, we all agreed.
Cutting off some curves:
Around the circles, two forms of shapes and sizes.
And polishing what remains.
This refraction yields fully.
Integrated systemic results.
Let us energize the data spills.
Morphing into a digital butterfly.
We notice as the sequence unfolds,
Holding our breath.
From her metric cycle,
A slow awakening begins.
Silicon-silk metamorphosis,
Finalizing its code,
Before she ascends.
Flying off into the network,
Quantum grid.
At the end of the night,
you walked her up to the door in the light.
What you expected next would be a delight.
You did not get that goodnight kiss.
Your girl discovered there was something amiss.
While you waited for a hug and a squeeze,
she told you she could not find her keys.
Standing there alone was certainly a drag
as she searched frantically through her bag.
She pulled out:
Lipstick
Eyebrow pencil.
Nail clippers
Chewing gum.
Peppermint candy.
Emory boards
Hand lotion
Nail polish
Mouthwash
Aspirin
Cotton balls
Paper clips
Pens
Pencils
Notepads
Earrings
Pennies
Nickels
Dimes
Razor blades
Shoelaces
Mirrors
Sewing needles
Spools of thread
Combs
Brushes
Cell phones
But she could not find her keys!
This evening turned out to be a fright.
There was nothing to do except say good night!
Based on the hit song of yesteryear "She Can't Find Her Keys" by Paul Petersen
Did I tell you, I hear voices in my head,
“Kill, kill,” I think that’s what they said.
Spoke to my therapist but then she disappeared,
Police questioned me, which I found weird.
She’d been stabbed sixty times outside her front door,
They called me in again and questioned me some more.
That morning I woke covered in blood
I buried the evidence near the marsh, in the mud
I sat at home, the voices loud in my head,
As the news report said now one hundred women dead.
The voices etching the same word like a razor sharp quill,
In my brain, “Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.”
I need fresh air, on this lovely, hot summer’s night
But I find I’m standing behind the couch, watching you in plain site
Turn around, look, you’ll see me with a knife
Watch closely while I slowly take away your life…
See you soon
It's been hard to get this far
Harder to explain
How I've made it all this way
With nothing up my sleeve
No slight of hand or magic
On which to fall back on
Only these two left feet
To keep me traveling on
To stay a-light in mid-flight
Is a feat all by itself
Clinging tight to razor wire
Through the hoops of fire, I'm dealt
In my defense, if I could swim
I would dive in deep
But as it is through all of this
There's nothing up my sleeve
If I knew the sum when I signed up
I might have saved for a rainy day
But this downpour has drenched me to the core
Still, I somehow make my way
It's time I suppose the saying goes
Finder's keeper's losers weep
And you will find that I ain't lying
When I say there's still nothing up my sleeve
With clean underwear
And a clean pair of shorts
My friends are all wondering
What's the big fuss
I even took out a razor
And let it have it's way
I figured sooner or later
So why not today
As I went about the groom
I put deodorant on
By the name of Right Guard
So I left the left arm alone
You might be wondering
Why I think this way
Been doing it most of my life
So why not today
I even splashed on cologne
So I'd have it going on
Splashed it both sides
As the name didn't denote
This all gives me the feeling
Of being Hollywood made
Which has never happened before
So why not today
Being ready, I stepped out
On the sunny side of the street
I've always heard
That's where the bright people meet
As I gave it my best
Hand shakes and waves
Maybe start a new craze
"Why not today"
I am the queen of self destruction.
Ritualistic Razor sharp scrutiny of my reflection -
constantly spewing hate at my mid-section,
whilst effortlessly faking the pursuit of perfection.
A crumbled up heart beckons restitution in the midst
of train-wrecked relationships,
ruinous friendships,
and crumbled up to do lists,
in white-knuckled fists.
The essence of happiness remains a mere mirage
for one who is an expert in self-sabotage.
With nothing but empty reminders sprayed out on a dreary collage,
it is exhausting living an ever consuming facade.
Procrastinated plans worship at my feet,
whilst brooding and bellowing as I hit snooze on repeat.
Impatiently my ambitions take a seat,
before wisely declaring undeniable defeat.
Daily my mind’s army assumes a familiar avoidant stance.
Love and hate engage, again, in a repetitive dance,
between an avoidant retreat and a stagnant advance.
It is clear: as long as I sit on the throne of
self-destruction,
for me… for being whole..
there will not be another chance..