Long Rubble Poems
Long Rubble Poems. Below are the most popular long Rubble by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rubble poems by poem length and keyword.
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
What happened?
I bolt awake, the heat of the fire
Still burning in my brain.
Oh, it was just a dream.
Or was it? I look at my skin,
Realize it’s black and bloody all at once
Cracked, peeling.
I sniff,
The whisper of smoke still in my nose,
My hair.
A tear rolls down my pitted cheek
As I remember, like I always do,
After I wake up.
Reliving that night.
The last thing I remember,
I was
Home, entwined in your arms
(your fingers were entwined, too, in the hair I’m stroking now).
The heat between our bodies
So strong, that I pushed you away;
I regret it now.
(I just wanted a little space.)
Because the heat then became suffocating, consuming,
As you rolled over and said
this wasn’t the same anymore.
I couldn’t breathe.
Soon, I was sweating,
100 degrees and climbing,
as you got up and packed your things
then left the room.
The slam of the front door
Was the catalyst.
My heart was the match,
And I the fuel....
I exploded from the inside out-
The flame ripped me open,
My skin started to blacken and smoulder.
Stop drop and roll?
They never taught us what to do
In a human inferno.
In desperation, I laid there on the bed
You and I shared
My tears nothing
but puffs of smoke
as they fell uselessly upon my skin.
The tears I’m crying now
In the hospital bed
Remembering
Are no more productive...
But my dear friend sitting next to me
Who pulled me out of the flames
Is there to dry them
And to console me
Telling me I still look beautiful
the wounds will heal
And that you aren’t worth them anyway.
I now know what I have to do
once I can leave this place.
Months later,
My burns have closed, now only scars remain.
I walk up the street to the house you and I once shared,
Now only a pile of rubble.
Picking my way through the charred remains of our bedroom,
A curtain scrap there, a chunk of headboard there,
A stray blackened sock,
I stop, and kneel down in the ashes.
I begin to sift through the ashes, the memories, with my finger,
Both erasing the past,
And bringing it to life all at once,
Until I have found it.
A blade of grass.
One.
Standing tall, strong,
And unapologetically green.
In the middle of the ashes,
With the ruins of our life together all around me,
I delicately clean the area around the blade of grass
with my finger, and
I smile.
If you've lived in outback Queensland just as I have,
you must've faced at times the scourge of drought.
You'd have watched the senseless dying of your livestock
and felt completely drained and numb no doubt.
Did you ponder on why life can bring such sorrow,
when other times you’re dealt a joyful hand?
Though the bitterest of blows is when the children
express, "Dear Daddy, we don't understand."
How I hate to see the hurt upon their faces,
but more so when they give your hand a squeeze.
And the question that forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
Then one balmy morn way back there in September,
my children settled down upon the floor,
as they planned to watch Play School on television,
but little did we know what was in store.
How they sat perplexed at seeing the explosions
of buildings there upon the tele screen
and the aftermath then left the children reeling -
left wond'ring at the images they'd seen.
Though I sensed the children's minds took on the notion,
that things they viewed were happening overseas,
how that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
Hosts of men, who searched the mountainous piles of rubble,
live vividly within each young child's mind,
plus the endless walls of pictures of lost loved ones,
placed there by anxious folk now left behind.
In their classrooms children talk about the horror
and can man stop the threat of war somehow?
Though our home is miles away from New York City,
our children know that life is altered now.
As my children leave the light on in their bedrooms,
lock windows which exclude a nightly breeze,
yes, that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
We had planned to fly the children to their grandma’s,
who lives just north of Brisbane on the coast,
but the thought of going on a 'plane is not on,
as flying is the thing they fear the most.
So as parents we have organised this summer,
a camping trip with some of their close friends,
but I fear the world will never be the same place,
though live in hope the terrorism ends.
All I wish is for my children to be happy,
that innocent young minds can be at ease.
Though that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
It was a day that started out just like any other one
We never dreamed America could come under attack
It seemed an enemy had slipped through a crack
Who knew they would come from behind our back
They sucker punched us, this was a fact
A day Americans thought could never come
No one thought for a second America could ever come undone
For we all thought America was the mightiest one
We never stopped to think it could actually be done
Two of our own planes came crashing down
It certainly was a horrrendous sound
People running for their lives all around
No where to run, No where to hide
Into the twin towers they did collide
Taking with them some of America's pride
Thousands of people still trapped inside
Not even having a safe place to hide
Hundreds of firefighters and volunteers rushed inside
To them it wasn't a matter of pride
Only did they think of the people still inside
America now was in a shear panic
This was much worse than the sinking of the Titanic
We watched the towers as they fell
We knew that all inside were going through a living hell
For as of yet no one could tell,
Wether or not any would make it out alive and well
Leaveing all of America to wonder why
So many people that day had to die
The day those planes came down form out of the sky
Our only unanswered questions, Who and Why?
Not a single rock in the rubble was left unturned
Not a single thing left unburned
For all our lost loved ones America still yearned
For this was a lesson that must be learned
Our hearts go out to each and everyone
We all knew now what must be done
We knew the job wasn't going to be an easy one
Osama Bin Laden must now pay for what he has done!
We must fight the enemy one by one
We must join together now,,,,,,,Everyone
We all knew our government had glitches,
but we never thought it would leave America with so many stitches
As for time, we know we can't turn back
We know now is the time for our government to act
For we know now to always watch our back
We must be ready, if there is ever another attack
For all the lost souls on 9/11
We pray each one of you made your way to heaven
As for all Americans we must stand together
Face our enemy even in the stormiest weather
We must stand together as one
Fight the enemy until it is completely done
Then and only then, will America have truly won
Putin said he wouldn't invade, but then he's known for his lies
So when he sent in his murdering scum, it came as no surprise
It will go down in the annals of history, as Putin's great blunder
And if anything it's united Ukraine, and not tore it asunder.
American President Joe Biden has now found a way
To make that despicable war criminal, Vlad Putin pay
To Ukraine he's sending lethal predator, and reaper drones
That will help to build stocks of dog food, of Russian bones.
Russian soldiers are not human from what we have seen
You've read and seen the evidence, so you know what I mean
They're gutless and have yellow streaks all down their backs
And scurry down to the sewers when Ukraine counter attacks.
Russians fire from a distance and let their lethal missiles fly
At hospitals, nurseries and any innocent civilians passing by
They only kill unarmed men, women and children, who pose no threat
But Russia, the civilised world is watching and we will not forget.
Red flags are what the Russians are using, to justify a crime
But the world is not stupid and it can see through the grime
A Russian town on the border was shelled so they could blame Ukraine
Then used it as an excuse to inflict, more misery and pain.
Every Despot who commits war crimes will always pay the price
Putin the war dog will be put down, Ukraine will not think twice
He'll have to surround himself with thugs and be lucky every day
But an avenger will only have to strike lucky once, to make Putin pay.
No tears were shed when he lost his flagship, in the black sea
It is one lethal weapon less to use, against that war torn country
The west thought sanctions alone would bring this war to an end
But it hasn't really worked, so more arms the west must send.
The battle for the Eastern Donbas region is well underway
And for those brave Ukrainian defenders, we must all pray
They're fighting to defend their freedom and sovereignty
But only military aid from the West will ensure their victory.
The horrific scenes we've seen on the news of towns reduced to rubble
Are because Putin knows he's not winning and that he's in trouble
At his forthcoming military parade, he's hoping to announce a victory
But if he was an honest man he'd tell his country, that he's failed miserably.
Written on 20th April 2022
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
Clouds close in
Now darkened skies
Filled with fear
And many cries
Children shouting
Men are scared
Mothers doubting
People died and no one cared
Once in danger
People become selfish
Everyone became a stranger
And the world became hellish
Loneliness now sings from above
And anger echo’s from below
Everyone abandoned the ones you loved
Now it’s raining pain and sorrow
I feel watched
Surrounded indeed
Buildings notched
Everyone is filled with greed
It’s now our life
Or our sanity
I’ve already died twice
And lost my humanity
I lost my life
My soul is gone
This endless strife
Why do I bother to carry on
A flock of crows
Forgiving none
Fetching souls
No one can run
Here I stand
Full of fear
Left with few hand in hand
I just wish I could disappear
This is a slaughter
Filled with laughter
Why would you do this to me
Will this last for eternity
The world is now rubble
Reduced to ash
Breathing alone is a struggle
Everything looks like trash
I can’t explain
All this pain
I swear I can’t be sane
Hatred now will reign
The gust of wind
I’m swept away
Have I sinned
Is this the price I pay
Ground is shaking
Tearing now
My heart is aching
And now gone somehow
I can’t explain
This searing pain
I can’t contain
It doesn’t matter, I’m not sane
The rain is blood
The lakes are fire
My face is to the mud
And the flames keep getting higher
It’s getting hot
It’s hard to see
Flames are everywhere
This cannot be
My eyes are melting
Draining from my skull
This pain is overwhelming
And I can only sit in this flaming hole
I have died ten times now
I don’t know why, I don’t know how
But every time I die
I go through it all again somehow
Flames surround me
Yet I feel so cold
Does no one feel sympathy
Because my pain is now tenfold
Everything is gone
Though my eyes are back
It’s only black but feels so wrong
Why am I here and for how long
A heavy pain rushes over me
But now that’s nothing new to see
I’m now drowning in tears
Flashbacks, memories and fears
I close my eyes
Cover my ears
Everything’s quiet
Everything disappears
As my eyes open
They are flushed with white
It aches my eyes but feels great
Maybe Jesus will give me a clean slate
I lay floating in this room of white
I don’t mind at all, not even slight
I will rest till something happens to me
Cause there is nothing to do till there is something to see
Could this be the end of my agony?
(Gen. 2:7 / Jer. 10: 23 / Matt. 4: 4/Isa. 45: 22/John 3: 16/Heb. 4: 12, 13/2 Tim. 3: 16, 17)
Would You Jump Onto The Point of A Sword?
Would You Jump Onto A Live Grenade?
Would You Drink A Whole Bottle of Poison?
Have You Lived Your Whole Life & Not Prayed?
Would You Open Your Mouth Wide To A Bullet?
Or Cut Your Own Veins With A Razor?
Would You Hang Yourself With A Noose & Fall?
Do You Not Want Eternal Life's Favor?
Would You Put - You & Your Loved Ones At Risk?
For Some Science Guess or Thesis?
That Life Got Here By Hit & Miss
& Means Nothing But Biological Pieces?
Are You One of Those That Fear Nothing?
Even As Your Own Life Ages & Fades?
At Powers & Forces Beyond Your Knowledge
Are You Not Just A Little Bit Afraid?
Would You Put Everything That You Value
and Hold Precious In This World ...
and Any Future It Could Have Had
Into A Tornado's One Final Twirl?
If You Knew You Were Going To Die
& There Was Nothing You Could Do To Stop It
Would You Live Life Like An Aimless Rocket?
Or Trust It To GOD's Powerful-Purpose-Pocket?
Do You Think That Humans Are The Only Ones?
The Only Intelligent Beings In The Universe?
Or Do You Know That We Are Not ...
& Just Don't Care Who Was The First?
And What If A Christian's Belief-Based Views
of Life - and Hope and Faith Proves To Be Truth?
Are You Prepared For The Consequences of Disbelief?
and Your Own Disaster? ...Well, Really ... Are You?
And If People Can Really Live Forever,
If There Was A Remote Chance That Its True?
Wouldn't You Make Sure & The Time To Find Out?
Or At Least Try To Get A Clue?
(If People Will Live Forever - Why Not You?)
And If Your Life Is So Terrible & Tragic
and If Your Life Is So Bitter & Bad
and If You're Ready To Give Out & Deliver It Up
Then Why Are You So Spirit-Sad?
And Would You Still Take Your Vague Chances
Not Caring About All The Particulars & Facts?
That If You Were Wrong About GOD ...
Now, Wouldn't You Want To Know About That?
Would You Jump Into The Deepest Ocean
if You Really Don't Know How To Swim?
Would You Let Yourself Sink Deeper & Deeper
if The Only Raft & Rope & Rules Was From HIM?
If You Were Buried Alive Beneath Boulders & Rubble
With Dust & Death Pressing In Every Layer
and With Just One Last Communication
Would You Still Ridicule Your Only Savior?
(Part 1 of 2)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/18/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
Suddenly everybody was awaken by the strong tremors
of the early April's earthquake...walls falling all around them,
dust suffocating them as they ran out to the debris-covered streets;
with no slippers and shoes on their cold feet;
people of all ages with their robes and pajamas on...screaming,
running scared with horror-stricken faces, not wanting
to be buried alive and actually die in the rubble!
L'aquila, the mighty, has crumbled into the dust,
and by the dauntless spirit of its people, it must be rebuilt:
as it arose from destruction and returned to dazzle;
the earthquakes that preceded were unpredictable,
but this one was announced by a concerned scientist,
who warned of the disaster, but authorities ridiculed him and didn't heed
the warning, but rather called him an imbecile!
O L'aquila, unless your bells hadn't rung, not everyone could have been told!
This medieval town of L'Aquila was besieged by armies,
but they never conquered it and its invincibility angered its enemies;
now, it is crumbling, shaken by the fury of the inclement Nature;
devastation is seen everywhere: churches with a toppled bell tower
or cupola...castles and historic buildings heavily damaged;
corpses strewn along the dusty streets...people searching for survivors:
digging with their bare hands to save lives, and some are found alive!
O L'Aquila, highest eagle on this devastated hill, see all the tears shed!
A dog, limping and bleeding, seems lost among dusty stones and faces not so recognizable,
is he looking for his owner; and over two-hundred fifty bodies not yet excavated...
how can he find him? By Heaven's mercy, someone lead him to the piles of rubble,
to let him sniff in the spot where he is buried...hoping he'll be alive, not dead!
And why should everyone despair?...Isn't life worthier than those lost art treasures?
L'Aquila, the mighty, has crumbled into the dust and light is erased from the taciturn sky;
I weep like others, and my lamentation echoes in the doomed valley when peace was audible!
O L'aquila, more glory awaits you: arise from the ruins and your greatness won't fade away!
This poem is dedicated to the unfortunate people of L'aquila and those of the surrounding
villages that were devastated by the earthquake of early April.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.
(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.
When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool,
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.
(Chorus x2)