Long Saddark Poems

Long Saddark Poems. Below are the most popular long Saddark by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Saddark poems by poem length and keyword.


Trapped In a Swamp of My Own Creation

My nighttime world
Brought on by dreams and nightmares
Subconscious fantasies 
Hidden away by the day’s light
I wander through it with no guide
No path to lead my way
Only dimly lit by a waning moon
A dark green swamp
Moss hanging from shaded Cyprus trees
Like the hair of an ancient hag
Destined to exist in this world
Murky brown water stands stagnant
Beneath a slowly shifting grey fog
Snakes droop from low lying branches
Blending into the foliage around them
Waiting for something to pass by
They hiss and snap
Issuing a warning to all who listen
I am the only one who hears
Maybe if I listen hard enough
I may find my way out when the sun rises
But I know that that cold moonlight
The light of the waning moon
Grey and cold
Lacking shadows or definition
Will once again trap me
Hold me in a world of my own creation
And my hope will die
And I’ll become part of my own subconscious fantasy
Never to again escape
Trapped in that dark green swamp
Swallowed by the hanging moss
And I will just simply cease to be
The question is
Does it matter to anyone but me?


Premium Member Never Again

Silently, she lies there listening to sirens off in the distance, 
On the bed where they just recently enjoyed each other’s passion.
The neighborhood dogs, barking at the noise in the night, are taken inside by their owners.
Tears streak down her cheeks knowing that never again would she make love to him.

Never again would they kiss and make up;
Never again would they laugh together until it hurt;
Never again would she stare intently into his deep, dark eyes;
Never again would she cuddle with him in the dark of the night;

Never again would he strike her in anger;
Never again would he leave bruises all over her body;
Never again would he overpower her with his brute strength;
Never again would she lie about how she got another black eye.

She loved him too much to find fault with his behavior;
Surely, somehow, she must have deserved the full force of his wrath.
She hated him too much to continue to endure the pitiful look in his eyes
As if asking, why do you allow me to treat you like a whore?

Flashing lights of blue and red reflected off the corners of the bedroom wall.
Neighbors, dressed in bathrobes, pointed the police officers to the window of her room.
The gun which pierced the silence of the night with six rapid, successive blasts
Slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor next to the lifeless body of her man.
© Joe Flach  Create an image from this poem.

Ferry

FERRY]

FERRY.
-----------.
At dark of night,gentle touch on your body.
lying on home span leaf of date palm tree.
hatred mind, deep that hungry.
though i shall make a ferry.
gently touching on that beautiful till he is reluctant.

at dark of night like a sailor of my ferryboat.
my boat is ferrying on that dangerous river.
but the taste of same, i did not get ever.
no there is no blame of a man.
why take risk at dark of night,boat may sink than.
hatred eyes till waits with hungry. you will enjoy with hungry and take that chastity
SAROJ KHAN
SAKHA
READ MY NOVELS AND POETRY BOOKS
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Form: Imagism

Iv: the Rioters

(for the unfortunate students slaughtered in my country)

Sir – darest V.C.,
The dark hours of the night
Received no crows of the cock;
And like owls, the boys made violent
Hooting, waking us like sleeping cocks.

Of course, dear V.C,
At midnight those strange faces 
Buried in dark cars: these strangers,
Like hooded saints of ancient stages,
Ah! gentle messengers of merciless gods:

Their pocket-guns woke the day;
Their barking silent steps woke the boys;
The innocent babes of sleepy stay;
Up and down the caged streets rushed the boys!

Now – dear V.C.,
While the day slept with twilight stars
The dark messengers are gone!
Like little fragments of the devil’s stars
From those lost battles for heaven –

O! Sir – noble V.C.,
Heaven knows … faces, legs, hands, voices
Of boys, of girls, of birds, of objects:
Ah! everywhere: nature’s kids are rioters!
Called forth from sleep by strange faces.

Yes! man, beast, flower, & all
Are made victims of a sea of rioters;  
Soldiers marching without the famed gun,
These children prevailed after the storms.
© Canny Amah  Create an image from this poem.
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