Long Recoiling Poems
Long Recoiling Poems. Below are the most popular long Recoiling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recoiling poems by poem length and keyword.
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
Do you still call me in your dreams?
Fetus pillow ,how I miss your feet
Alarmclock flashes through molasses
Teary pillow tangled sheets
Recalling conversation
Questioning the answers
Recoiling in retreat
C'mon coffee, stay awake
Time to face the busy street
Time to walk the depro beat
Laughs too loud and sleeps too late
Tattle tale twin- duck taped inside
Dodge the cars avoid the bars
In case Im forced to laugh
About their weekend aftermath
Prying lies sniffing eyes
Stick to shadows when you run
Dont u get it? Do I have to spell it?
What a klutz , walking retard
Exposed in headlights, and hates the nights
Ha ha lookit him
Tries to nurse his broken heart
Suckled on time's lifetime of pure sadness
where through my life's years were various wars
the men who died were killed by the madness
those who survived have scattered across shores
this darkness of hate comes without warning
inside men's hearts, a cauldron is boiling
men create dispair, women are mourning
while hate seeks power, peace is recoiling
my soul has yearned for a life filled with peace
the wars of my years are over black oil
the reasons are many, war will not cease
I cry for those who suffer this turmoil
born in a time beyond understanding
my wish for peace is not so demanding
1/21/23
contest How Do You Feel
sponsor Mystic Rose Rose
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fluorescent buzz hums
like a choir of tired angels.
I hold a plastic-wrapped loaf of bread
and think about miracles~
how mine don’t quite materialize.
My hands, soft from keyboards,
have never split a sea
or pressed into a wound
without recoiling.
I flinch at the sight of blood and
the weight of my own shadow.
The clerk sighs,
counting pennies like regrets.
I want to tell her that
the Kingdom is hers,
but my voice cracks
into something small
and human.
At home, my love
is measured in teaspoons~
just enough to sweeten,
never overflowing.
I keep my rage
neatly folded,
my mercy rationed
like discount wine.
God must get so tired
of my arithmetic.
timing is everything
pretty much anytime
anyhow anyplace
morning noon or evening
whatever the birth date
no matter the season
or how tight the G-string
victuals and drink
the chiefs of a good diet
this old woman could not be quiet
she wiped her clammy hands
on a mellow yellow chiffon dress
Circa 1959
timing is overdressed
always never again
maybe sometimes never thrice
the aging colors
of dusty dreams
invite us to frolic
but only briefly
now that it's technical
there are no more heroes
this old lady only waved
when she was yawning
where had her archives gone
into a lifetime of sea
timing is to blame
cooks faster than bacon
doesn't stop and carries a knife
hour after hour reaches out
blinds us to see
takes us half the way there
days tripping over rock stars
nothing is by accident
in adjoining rooms
that old lady never listened
had many years of unread messages
lost the keys to the Jeep
waited for the next available rep
timing held its breath
up-to-the-minute
it was no small matter
prior days posted
atop one another
stealing sunshine
never recoiling
yesterday at sundown
she crashed the ATV
this old lady lived to skål
joy rides at the speed of sound
backward and past the contrasts
always in a leopard pill-box hat
timing had meant everything
still in response to yesterday
it was no grand prize
a gray higgledy-piggledy shrub
below the tidal noise
standing in the doorway with poise
blocking the Entrance
that's what ^tiempo_ was
cowbells and castagnettes
this old lady kicked it
in an instant such as this
cursed by seasons of glare
life kissed her feet in recompense
timing and it's belongings
had paced past and present
and lasted but a moment
in the vestibule by the portal
there is a possessed clock
it stages lifetime shifts
every step you take up or down the staircase
days weeks months years decades
a life-span of keeping your eyes on it
Pulsating honor doth corroded hearts impound
A blustery breeze echoes cries from each, preceding battleground
A recurring, eager parade of reporters, gawkers freely roam distant mound
Below, fatigued, tidy mass of steeled infantry; to death's throes bound
Neighing horses conditioned to mayhem the pageantry doth confound
On opposite ridges, mounted turrets prepared hell's fury to expound
On signal, a synchronized, concussive chorus doth its dark melody propound
Scraps of metal shards initiate; commencing another, toilsome round
After lengthy barrage, wits collected a more lethal volley to stound
Familiar, urgent order to charge christens hallowed ground
With youthful ardor a wide-eyed bugler doth the bridled expanse unbound
Shrieking rancor from recoiling rifles; a familiar anthem doth resound
Recurring cacophonous medley, weathered nerves drowned
Once more, a mass of flesh surges into the abyss with mortal hopes crowned
Anon, shattered limbs; gory wounds misery's cache compound
Cul-de-Sac
Quick steps slow to hesitate
The sudden curve of a straight white line
Into the mists of detour
Lined with haunting facades
Of blurred addresses
And faded street signs
Where echoes of curiosity bluster -
Magic or madness -
In proverbs of warning about blind alleys -
Mayhem or mystic -
Bending the lane
Like the nautilus inner ear
A flat arc where light searches
For the sacred
Past faceless abodes lining this curlicue
With a come-on to remain
Yet the heart knows to follow
The flamboyant contours,
Like angel’s wings,
Into the loop – not a dead end
But a recoiling boomerang
Leaving knots of doubt behind
Arms open wide to inquisitive's marathon
Then ride the hairpin rail out of gossamer inkiness
Leaving behind the rags of repetition
Into a rosy borning road.
2-21-23
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Theme chosen – Cul-de-Sac
Unscrewed
She led me upstairs where I’d sample her wares
For a fee we had negotiated
She looked pretty stunning, my heart it was gunning
I longed for my lust to be sated
She sat on her bed and she patted her head
And that’s when she took off her wig
Still she looked glam with her head bald as spam
Though her forehead was really quite big
I wasn’t recoiling, my ardour was boiling
And this girl would not make me beg
The saucy young flirt then slipped off her skirt
I gasped when she whipped off a leg
It beggared belief when she took out her teeth
And then un-clipped her rubberised breast
She popped out an eye and she laid it to dry
With her ear in a purpose made rest
I got a bit spooked, it was like she’d been nuked
And I felt like I might come to harm
I know that’s outrageous, she wasn’t contagious
But then she unscrewed her left arm
I sped from the room like a witch on a broom
And I made a bee-line for the gate
Upstairs a sound made me swivel around
And I saw what was left of my date
Monocular glares from her window upstairs
She yelled, ‘There are more girls in town,’
‘But you haven’t had yet, what you came here to get.’
I said, ‘No problem, just chuck it down.’
You’re a hollow tree, listening
to the tapping claws of am exposed sky.
You sit sideways staring over your shoulder.
A rib cage full of naked troglodytes
looks up into your throat.
Wintery seas leak over ice-bound rooftops.
Bedsheets stiffen into ersatz snowdrifts.
You find yourself observing the world
through the top of your head.
You find yourself observing recoiling raw endings,
the pale blue veins upon buffeted window.
Roads might be passable. Wind-whales plow through,
pushing insomnia ahead of them.
The cold is a color yet to be decoded,
but you breathe through it, see its fractured tinge.
You count crow-calls, shiver when they stop.
The passage between you and the chill floor
is umbilical, you may have to bear down.
You skirt around yourself,
letting your mind thaw under parked cars.
My tongue curls in on itself,
an unreasonable fist
too stubborn to unclench.
Pulling punches, muscle memory
it never owned, saves
what little flesh hasn’t folded
to thicker skin in the game.
Yet here it is, unraveling,
slowly surrendering to necessity—
callused, unwelcome softening
in a mouth that remembers
nothing gentle, nothing easy.
The grip loosens only to recoil,
a reflex meant to protect,
now an ill-fit for the words
meant for escape—
stripped of venom, too tired
to be anything, but honest.
And still, the flesh twists,
contorts to dodge old habits,
words that never leave clean—
teeth sink in, a reminder
of what stays hidden underneath
a thickening hide, each
unspoken syllable
recoiling back, gaining weight
until the tongue
is too heavy to lift—
its heft like a bruised knuckle,
an echo of every blow held back,
then finally, the weight snaps,
and the tongue lashes out,
too late, too raw—
spitting truth like broken teeth,
each word a splintered bone,
sharp enough to bleed,
but swallowed back down,
leaving nothing behind but the taste
of iron and regret—
a quiet that crushes the chest
with all the words that could have saved it.