Long Reaper Poems
Long Reaper Poems. Below are the most popular long Reaper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reaper poems by poem length and keyword.
I tried to pay her a compliment
But the message came out all wrong
I tried singing my own words of love
But I plagiarized his song
I keep looking into the mirror
But my future doesn’t look much clearer
I’m repeating the mistakes from my past
My enemies all seem to be laughing last
How can it be … I simply hate being me?
How can it be … I simply hate being me?
I tired to help an old lady across the street
But she hit me with her purse
I try being the best man I can be
But I don’t think I could get much worse
I keep looking into the mirror
But my destination isn’t any nearer
I want to be a big success
But I keep on failing the entrance test
How can it be … I simply hate being me?
How can it be … I simply hate being me?
I want to give the world all this love I have
But hate keeps stepping into my way
Tomorrow always looks so great to me
But I am stuck in yesterday
I keep looking into the mirror
Objects are larger than they appear
I want to make something of my life
But the Grim Reaper is getting near
How can it be … I simply hate being me?
How can it be … I simply hate being me?
NOTE: Don't read too much into this poem. This is simply a verse that I was singing in my head while taking a shower. If I could write music, you would love the beat.
When life parades a fine line
between alienation and rationality,
internal intruders of the soul shroud spotlights.
In my dreams
I'm playing charades with the grim reaper.
surrounded by selfish acts from satanic spirits.
Featherless angels of twilight need tender pearls,
as gifts from the elusive self-centred sun,
when a jealous mercenary moon manipulates murkiness.
Sometimes,
all I have is my shadow and me,
but it abandons me in times of darkness,
leaving me at the mercy of nature's invisible imitations.
Behind forgotten frozen gates of winter,
static stars have shunned black hearted skies,
refusing to flicker in their metallic beams.
I've become a nemesis
to the empathy of the elements,
personifying mimicking,
miming onyx coated raindrops,
sprinkling dust storms
with freckled shades of crimson.
Destiny drifts in wayward winds
towards contrasting crossroads,
hoping for soothing golden arms of dawn to uncloak
defrosting hearts with rainbow rays of gleaming light.
If the universe reversed its selfless role,
would some still be lost chasing clusters
within silhouettes of a waning crescent,
graphically illustrating illusions whilst crystal gazing?
Beyond where our fingers can sketch reality.
ignorance is consumed in our own
bubbles filled with hollowness,
reluctant to see the weariness
of the grey winged nebula.
Symphony of seasons are temporary like emotions.
Harmony harbours in harvesting heirloom roses,
among gossamer meadows of compassionate butterflies.
Colours of Earth's fabric never falter in a cocoon mind
resembling an eclipse's ebony and ivory tones.
Toppled by a bottle, collapsed upon
her painful past, asleep—but well awake!—,
unmoving, but for her mind stirred aquake,
the girl is yawning before her black dawn.
Alone, couched by a burning blanket drawn
over a conscience guilty at the stake,
slipping into the sly hands of the snake,
she sees not clearly the sickening con
which lures her slowly to her deathly state.
Unknowingly, she’s dozing, edging deeper
into the dreamrealm, into the hazy
murk of the promised land.
Her name was Daisy—
until, unexpected, said the reaper,
“Poor thing… if only you could now change fate.”
The Whittlers
The stately county courthouse was their usual meeting place,
a columned Greek Revival, and a lovely public space.
They sat upon their benches under lofty pecan trees,
wood shavings on their ankles and some cedar twixt their knees.
Those old boys were called the whittlers, but that was a disguise.
They came to talk of memories and hang out with the guys.
Born long before the TV went and addled peoples wits,
they could tell some stories that would cause your sides to split.
They'd kid me 'bout the pile of books that I had just checked out.
Said I was sure to ruin my eyes and fry my brain no doubt.
But I guess they got a kick out of their young devoted fan,
'cause they'd trot out all their stories and tell them all again.
There were stories of big ranches and oil boom shanty towns,
of work on rigs as roughnecks and touring rodeo clowns,
and how they used to ride the rails when no work could be found.
But the way they spun those stories had me rolling on the ground.
And in between a whittle and another spit and chew,
they showed me how to whet a knife and tie a buckaroo.
Though they had so many stories and lessons to impart,
I'd have to hear the cowboy code before I could depart.
"You give a man a good hard shake and look him in the eye.
If you mess up, tell it straight, never cover with a lie.
Always give a full day's work and live out each day with heart.
A man's no good without his word, so finish what you start.
Protect the weak and help them, and respect your elders, too.
Never leave a friend behind, nothing else will ever do.
And when your days on Earth are done, according to God's plan,
you can face up to the reaper, and meet him like a man.”
If that was all I learned from them, that lesson was enough.
For a kid without some guidance, this life can be quite tough.
Other folks made fun of them, and thought them no account.
For me they were the heroes I would trade for no amount.
The stately county courthouse still stands upon those grounds,
although now those shaded benches are nowhere to be found.
And where once the mighty whittlers carved and held their court,
the squirrels now gather up pecans and chase around for sport.
© December 28, 2013
Memories of a bookworm. Considerable poetic license taken.
Before my fallen wings I plead
Let me carry out this deed
Find a love in desperate need
Of a white knight on a steed
I already have a girl in mind
Are souls have met forever bind
Lost in chaos, torn in time
She is my melody for this rhyme
If you let me lover her now
I'll go into the lights shroud
Commiting no unspoken vows
Salvaging a princess leaving proud
In her unrest she might die
I feel compelled to save a life
There is no reason or a why
She can't be happy as a wife
A guarding angel I am to her
Send me to your beautiful earth
To enter a chance for rebirth
I am the remedy for this curse
I am speaking to the grim reaper
I need a miracle before I sleep sir
Letting you chase me creeper
Into the darkness ever deeper
Permit me to adjust my sails
Select a crew that never fails
Live through all the grails
Have a romance found in fairy tales
(her)He must be big and strong
Massive shoulders to carry on
The work that's hard and long
To keep me safe and right the wrong
I am sad to be like this
Crying moping and drawing a fist
To the sky, screaming a list
Of my problems little priss
Out of the shadows he came
Bearing white, massive the same
Hushing me to comfort and explain
His business here, also his name
(Angel)My name is Micheal a worrior man
Here to change your coarse of plan
Bestow upon you an awakening fan
That keeps alive with a tan
Escape with me out of this place
Hurry, run, lets make haste
You'll remain dignified and chaste
Where no one can hurt your darling face
We could live somewhere exotic
Live the dream with love erotic
Just be us, excluding the chaotic
To decline is said to be idiotic
Grab an extra shirt and pants
We'll leave right now, expose this chance
To take hold of something with a glance
Of humanity with a slight reminisce
(girl)Alright, we can go
Somewhere warm minus the snow
Sleeping by the fires glow
Seeing more than we know
Somewhere I can where a dress
Running wild without the stress
Enjoy having emotional sex
With a man big in the chest!
(Micheal)You have made the right choice
I admire your sweet tone of voice
The way you walk and your poise
This is our moment relax, rejoice!
To this day I do enclose
A vacation that I propose
You could wear little clothes
Pushing away all your foes.
Crushing and deystroying all your demons!
--Reapers Dreams--
Met the grim reaper in my dreams. Tried to put it on pause and he used a chainsaw to hack off my legs.
Death always finds a way to make sure I don’t walk into the light.
I look unto the abyss. Without surprise, the abyss looks back.
Infinity, as a dead star…Limitless potential, devolving into a clutter of nihilistic absinthe. Liquidating the insides of materialism. Yet, remaining in the prison.
The realm of vision.
Extraordinary imagination. A cosmos of gravity, the weight takes hold.
May one ever have a moment of silence, in the fireworks of oblivion?
the illness clung like poison ivy to the foundations of her resolve
poisoning hornets injected her wings and she was stung into arrest
Maria did not know what was worse the cancer or the failed cure
the proud woman now gaunt and cachectic stopped to care which
would give her the final release from suffering in dying and beyond
the advent of secondaries spelt the death sentence and hope receded
as a pragmatist she thought about damage limitation and self-control
had hidden a stash of Morphine solution and a few surplus Valiums
a gun would be too messy but 'I shall pull the trigger of a giant syringe'
I need to survive until
Linda’s birthday
Anna’s graduation
my wedding anniversary
have to stay strong for Cecil
a few more days
won’t hurt me
although nausea
delirious confusion
suggested otherwise
she had arranged her final affairs planned a funeral party and cremation
Highway to Hell instead of Stairway to Heaven for she would not change
her atheist beliefs because of the threat of a punitive reaper that disgusted her
after death I shall be survivor in memories only and the show must go on
she remembered
that first kiss
tying the knot
the Harley in India
the memoirs she wrote
saved files and photos on a computer's eternity after the hardware would crash
I -cloud her link to the past and the future an un-changeable PDF document
as much as they can for narratives write themselves in of posthumous beholders
her last concerns were that she'd be too weak to connect cannula and plunger
that kidneys liver heart gave up before she would call in the ultimate sojourn
that somebody deposed the body folded her hands of course not in any prayer
but for she valued symmetry balance harmony over doubt and contradictions
Maria won her
terminal battle
right of her passage
proud in victory
had the last laugh
when the hypodermic needle eased her beautiful consciousness into nothingness
12th June 2021
The Burning
It was seven days and seven nights
Or there abouts, I was not so sure
Life was shrouded in the darkness not at all pure
I lost track of dawn, of dusk, of realities fight
To keep me conscious
To keep me right
Comatose, delirious, unmoving slumber
In this dream like state
My desires still existed
Thirsts to be quenched
Passions flared
She was seductively dressed
I, with the eye of a tiger
Wishing to devour her being
To be with her, in her, be her
To taste her very soul
I smelled her nectars inviting scent
The bed sheets become drenched in sweat
The heat of the night ensconced me
A thousand candles and yet one more burned
The heat of passion mixed with the heat of the night
Flames rose from the desires within and without
My subconscious has played evil tricks and fooled me again
Lighting the candles that shall bring me to the beyond
The sheets became brimstone, the fire engulfed me
My mind in hazy confusion smelled roast flock of some sort
A meal after the passions was a succulent dessert
I became dizzy with the lust and the love intermixed
Somehow I am sleepy, dreamy, so very tired
The heat blankets me and I feel a strange foreboding
The reaper is grinning, staring down on my face
I try to wake, but I haven’t the wherewithal
I feel the burning
Painful for but a moment as the smokey flames take me
For one last dance
Burning, burning, searing heat
Blackened and burnt
Dreams
No more
Sunday, at 24 minutes past midnight, firetrucks arrived at an apartment in Dublin, Ireland 24 O’Connell street, and above Murrays pub, a lone tenant was found burnt to a crisp, apparently by a fire cause by candles, the remains have not been identified, and the building is a total loss.
Arthur’s Day in Dublin
Posted on September 24, 2009
To celebrate Arthur’s Day, From 17:59 to 22:00 All Pints of draft beers were €2.50
When I saw the Grim Reaper
pull out his peeper and pee on the patio,
I yelled, "Hey Jack!
Can't you use the facilities out back?
That's what normal people do, you know.
I always said I wasn't afraid of death,
till one night, Death tried to rob me of my breath.
And as I was gasping for air,
he said with a cold, penetrating stare,
"Next time they ask if you're afraid of death,
just say 'Yesth.'"
I came to this hospice to die.
I see Mister Death standing by.
He's consulting a note.
I thought he did everything by rote.
What’s with that quizzical look in his eye?
When Mister Death had me firmly in his grip,
I pleaded, "Sir, can we please make this a round trip?"
He said, "I'm sorry to say,
this trip is only one way.
But we do serve drinks, and chicken wings,
with a delectable ranch dip."
When it got to be close to seven,
we were still a half-light year away from heaven.
I said, "Mister death, one question more.
When will we get to heaven's door?"
"Oh, not till tomorrow morning, Sir,
about a quarter past eleven.
When I reach the pearly gates with the grim reaper as my guide,
I hope the question of whether I get heaven or hell is only for Jesus to decide.
Because if Peter is allowed his opinion, and then that apostle Paul,
I don't think I stand much of a chance at all.
When we got to heaven, Saint Peter said,
“Hurry in, quick, so I can shut the door ~
you were being closely followed by the Babylonian whore.
And if she were to get in,
God only knows what trouble I'd be in.
Heaven would never again be the same as before.”
To folks staring at a screen in a brightly lit room,
I said, "I have arrived in heaven, right, I presume?"
"Yes, yes," they replied, my soon-to-be heavenly friends.
“But until this gosh darn epidemic ends,
there's no other way to do heaven but by Zoom.”
Heaven is not at all what I expected.
It’s hell to be stuck in a place with the boring elected.
They do nothing but this goody-goody-two-shoe stuff!
Believe me, after half an eon, I’ve had just about enough.
Oh, where’s the escape button? I wanna be ejected.
The end
We think that by keeping busy
and having a million and one things to do,
the Grim Reaper will walk on by and forget us.
By keeping our nose close to the grind,
our eyes won't meet and lock on his,
meanwhile ignoring the bell that sounds
for other unsuspecting souls.
In the meantime we keep on keeping
our nose to the grind and our eyes
locked on the targets of tasks at hand.
No end in sight to jobs to do
No time to die today
We're way too busy
Plans are endless
The list grows longer when
it should be winding down
It's a race to the finish line
and time is the stopwatch
with a fickle trigger finger
AP: 2nd place 2025