Long Sabotage Poems
Long Sabotage Poems. Below are the most popular long Sabotage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sabotage poems by poem length and keyword.
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
flesh rotting alot.
A self-actualized fringe benefit
as I racked up
orbitz round sun -
with increased measured,
(albeit neglected) ragged, and
shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -
sputtering third eye blind, sans
hindsight surveying extensive
emotionally frenzied groveling with
a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
foisted upon formerly entrenched
hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,
viz long stretches of
time irretrievably gone with the wind
found me averse toward
commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
precincts of Lake Woebegone
joyus kneaded livingsocial
natives, now visa
vis (nee this past
and present atheist)
discovered the healing power
of powder milk biscuits,
when accommodated within Norwegian
bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
imposed kickstarted mandate
to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
the sub weighted psyche walls
(over time) easily read
across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
years of existence
pitched yours truly
figuratively teetering upon
precipice of abyss gave vantage
written in telltale creases
countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
schlepping psychological Matthew
Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades
worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
sans recovered anorexic
(NO...NOT... NEVER
bulimic), but feebly
endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
towed riddled rattle trap ship
of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
moxie succombing unrelenting
weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
changed growh opportunities
forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
vehemence doth rage.
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …
UBA!!!!!
Help! Help!! Help!!!
A race in none specific landing
Rolving round like the platnet on the space
In a beautifying rag of a helpless lion
Though roaring but its voice is silent.
Who is in the jungle?
Making a blast as such
That there might be no end.
Oh! i know
They are the workers of our masters
No wonder no one dares touch the anointed
You're better gone in their hands
Than you deleting anyone of them
"Afterall, their agitation is for their right
While slaves dare not try to own a riffle.
They need to "survive".
38 were rescued, none was arrested
For their anointed children have "complied"
As if there's no law governing the society.
Help!
Our land is on the verge of leaving us
While we might be the sacrificial lamb
Self defence does not apply to the annointed
Yet they are laced with the best gadgets.
Sangoooo!
Oooguunn ooo!!
Ooyaaooo!!!
Sanponna ooo!!!
Where are you?
Hope you've not left us yet?
Eesu oooo
Do not let these blood sucking palets
Take away your heritage
As our land is ravelled in their quest
While our adobted bastards sabotage our heritage
For the sake of their belly.
Nowhere is a place of refuge
Even the place of faith is a compromise
Should we await the second coming of christ
For our hope to come?
Our hope is lost
And the our land is crying for our loss.
Rest on Uba
Rest on the victors
May our land stop bleeding soon!!!!
©?olorunleke olorode
The month of August brings with it memories of the Beirut blast. Beirut is once again under attack. I wrote this poem as a tribute.
The Rape of Lebanon
My darling, Lebanon, do not be fooled
What they feel for you is lust and not love
You're scented cedars and your hills, bejeweled
make you a piece of heaven from above
You soil has soaked the blood of martyrs brave
Your claim of independence is not true
The blast at port took loved ones to the grave
Now rumblings of war are coming through
The lust of nations will not let you be
They'll strip you of your clothes, and each by turn
will take their fill, ignoring plaintive plea
They'll take and take, and then they'll let you burn
Your beauty is the cause of your demise,
and though you try to hide your naked form,
you're still exposed to greedy, hungry eyes
There's no escape from rapists' brutal storm
And what of us who live in your embrace,
who've loved you long and stayed right by your side?
We grieve to see your foes try to efface
your name and history, the nation's pride
Withdraw your hands! Let Lebanon be free!
Don't fight your wars upon her blessed lands!
You sabotage her bid for liberty
Her innocence is marred by traitors' hands
Oh, Lebanon, our tears will not suffice
We see you ravaged time and time again
You are the victim made to pay the price,
and though you try, you can't remove their stain
I weep, to see what they have done to you
I've heard the sound of blasts rip you apart,
and yet I know no matter what they do,
they cannot still your precious beating heart
My darling, Lebanon, you must be strong,
You are beloved of God, of this I'm sure
Our Savior will one day right every wrong
His blessed grace will help you to endure
Be strong. Be brave. Be courageous.
My darling, Lebanon, please...be at peace.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
This is my heartache,
To be a witness and listen.
The cries, from the heartbreak.
Make the sound on inside pain.
The saddest music of our times.
Drowning out the sound of joy.
A pause breaking up the games.
By negative policies employ.
The compromise gives us all a chill.
With an era of wasted energy
Sabotage binge waiting with despise pill.
To give time the thrill of fantasy.
Where are the crowds?
With feelings able to connect with.
They are the drowning cords.
Singing with heartbreak drawn breath.
Where are the crowds we knew?
Lockdown in their homes.
Under preference review
Participating in research measures.
Select silence to generate an audience.
When the crowds are gone
Much smaller, adrenaline stays the distance.
Prove there is more talent yet to come.
Misery can only last while it's wrong.
We do not know where the crowds have gone.
Or why the torment has taken so long.
But at the end, the truth will come.
What if we feared happiness as we fear pain?
To flinch at laughter, to tense up when a smile appears,
to hesitate to step into the light, as if joy were a fire waiting to burn us,
a fire lurking, ready to turn everything to ash, to leave us without memories.
To sabotage moments of peace, to run from love before it embraces us,
to retreat before warmth settles comfortably in our souls,
just in case it doesn't last, just in case all that's beautiful is merely an illusion,
a flame that flickers only to extinguish abruptly, leaving darkness to embrace us.
Perhaps that's why we do this anyway, perhaps that's why we destroy beautiful things first,
because losing happiness hurts more than never having had it,
because the memory of what was haunts us more than absence,
a void that stretches beyond edges, an echo of a laughter that no longer exists.
But what if we learned to fear our fears and embrace the moment,
to let the flame of joy burn us, even if only for a moment,
to lose ourselves in the light, to feel warmth and love, even if we end up with empty hands,
for sometimes, even a moment of happiness is worth the risk of losing it.
She smiles like a mission statement—
all vision boards and decaf compassion.
Says she’s rooting for you,
then plants rumors like heirloom tomatoes:
carefully spaced, watered just enough
to grow wild in someone else’s yard.
You know the type.
Squeals I'd never
right before she does—
but soft, with mittens on.
The kind of sabotage that
leaves no fingerprints,
just your name
smudged under a headline
she pretends not to read.
It's embarrassing.
She curates concern like a lifestyle blog.
Screenshots your grief as hers
for group chat empathy drills.
Leaves the door open on purpose,
then texts you
how sorry she is
that someone let the cold in.
You never asked her to stay.
But you notice—
she always stands in the same frame,
just close enough
to gobble up the good lighting,
to crop you out.
I am a nurse. It is a difficult job, very stressful and emotional. The patients need
us to be at our best. Nurses are required to be dedicated, caring, responsible and
compassionate to others. Nurses need tons of empathy not only for their patients
and families, but for each other. Now, I have met some mean people in my life
so far, you know friends who disappoint, even family members at times. But I was
shocked to find a nurse who was the absolute worst gossip and bully. Imagine
that! She would join groups to degrade, gossip, insult, sabotage, be mean and
spread lies. How can there be team work with bullying going on? Each person even
if a newbie should be treated with respect, after all everyone was new once! It
always appalled me and from my very beginnings I have never been part of gossip.
Once, for fun, I told the big gossip a story, that I was having an affair with a
older, well off, married man, and I whispered, "PLEASE, don't tell anyone!" Well,
that spread like wildfire. Seriously, a nurse being so cruel is something no one
would expect but trust me she is a pretty good talker. " Oh did you see her
flirting at the Christmas party with every guy!( I think that one was TRUE) Did you
see how much time she spends with her patients and with talking to the families,
REALLY! Oh look at her playing goody, goody with the head nurse! Did you know
she is having an affair with an older, well off, married man, yes, its true she told
me herself!"
this girl was brand new
I did not understand why-
my t e a r s gave me strength
_____________________________
June 15, 2016
Poetry/Narrative with Senyru/The Pretty Talker
Copyright Protected, ID 16-800-637-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Pretty Talker,
sponsor, Skat
Fourth Place
It's prime time for the new Raj
Facts & acts must just sabotage
All baloney with no camouflage
Racist fascist pacts back in charge
De facto crypto crony arbitrage
With an aristo phony entourage
Ipso facto know who's the sarge
Nige does show pony dressage
Truth and proof will just massage
Aloof uncouth ranter going large
Just pub banter a bit of badinage
Trump leader of hit populist collage
All aboard greedier tech T-Rex barge
Seedier far right sh*t media montage
Vent at the establishment's espionage
Decent and democratic only a mirage
Bet just cover for yet another barrage
To other bigots & despots pay homage
An abhorrent torrent he does sparge
Hilarious no it is nefarious persiflage
Nutter's not butter but cheap marge
Spread thin in the gutter Nige Farage
If you dig six feet under and then go under the coffin and right before you get to hell you will find what's left of my smile
I once wore my smile like the joker dripping with bloody tears
But this isn't one of my sad poems because it's not about what I lost but what's still left
Because my concrete interior from all the hard times can still let the softness of a flower breathe
I will no longer suffocate from self-sabotage
So, watch me turn this smirk of pain into a Texas smile born in Tennessee
Country heart that lives the city
You can have the best of both worlds when becoming a 10 isn't about being perfect
But finding the one weakness where you have zero confidence and adding it to consistency for the best results
I will survive because I was born for a purpose beyond my feelings
I will be strong because the past doesn't define me, but it did shape my future carving away the roadblocks into a marble sculpted rose
Now joined with optimistic company
p.s. I wear my smile like a bouquet of roses watered by perspective...