Long Salting Poems
Long Salting Poems. Below are the most popular long Salting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Salting poems by poem length and keyword.
You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,
It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion,
J.A.B.
This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.
Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
"The Fresh Blooding of a Sexton Grin"
Guns ...
are for p*ssies
you know, short for
pussilanimous plural
Words …
are sharper
more cutting
more lethal
clean
concise
quill slicing the lucid flow
you can taste the blood
as you turn them
twist them further in
with valour
war cry bitten
you drive them deeper in
you unsheathe love
as a hard win,
victorious, won
ink blooms
potent power from
your stellar wounds
darkened roads
shining home
lux vitae dei vox
Home ...
morning star
quod scripsi scripsi
turns the light on
to birth puissant
in the majestic
seat of third eye
commanding
the truest titulus
initials glowing
arriving on cloudy tomes
perilously igniting
new fiery caims
swallowing
ouroboros tales
hear the battle cry
you were built
to withstand the fall
to more mighty again rise
the gauntlet
now well
and truly thrown
something
more darkly formidable
than shady insult sown
sink your new teeth in
fresh biting warrior
I christen you Boadicea
blood cup possessed
razor mind in you conjuring
the tongues of hearts to speak
there is no escape
for in you, I am and
I will always live
crucifying
all the wasting yesterdays
with fresh blooded promissory notes
staking claims of assurance
in the terror firmer
here to stay
sharpening
words taken
from a stone
n'ere a flowery
verbose drip
wasted
salting
the new cuts
to feel something vital
smiling within
fresh blooding
the Sexton grin
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Come as You Are”/Nirvana
https://youtu.be/W2QeQ9ZufAk
“The Black Art”/Anne Sexton
https://allpoetry.com/The-Black-Art
“Her Kind”/Anne Sexton
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42560/her-kind
Sexton. noun
titulus. noun
Caim. noun
Sanctuary; An invisible circle of protection drawn around the body with the hand, to remind one of being safe and loved even in the darkest times.
"STRONG"
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/strong_1192970
LYRICS/"Come as You Are", Nirvana
https://genius.com/Nirvana-come-as-you-are-lyrics
Brutus Iulius Trois page 08
Suddenly stillness all sounds silenced the last pirate slain.
From the bowels of the Tireme came cheers that grew louder
From men newly freed from their enslavement to the Thracian oars
Phyrgians, Scythians, Mysians and Lycians
all hittite clansmen, kinsmen and allies of the Trojan tribes
also were heard loud laudations from the surviving Phoenicians
with softer lamentations for those they had lost.
The Phoenician Teresh, the purple merchant of Tyre
swore blood brotherhood to Brutus
binding the Trojans to the Sea people in perpetuity
giving his twelfth son Tursha to squire the Trojan
Tursha terrified in the sea battle had hidden in the hold
praying to Mercury the patron of merchants
Brutus renamed the boy Turonus and proclaimed him a Trojan
Brutus sent this new nephew to tend to Imogen
In the sad sea green eyes of this foster child
Imogen saw echos of her own recent woes
comforting him she found comfort herself.
When the Trojan siege had ended by trickery
When the city was sacked and the Palladium taken
The Greeks left a land salted with blood and bone
The Greeks left a desolated city with defiled temples
The Greeks left cursed with their own profane deeds.
The Greeks left the Trojan traitor Antenor king with nothing to rule
To abate the Greek curses caused by Locrian Ajax's vile deeds
The Pythia at Delphi declared a thousand years of atonement
with two Locrian priestesses sent as sacrifices to Troy
sent to serve Minerva's temple in Troy, bearing the Ajaxian curse.
As the oracle demanded Diomedes returned the Palladium to Aeneas
Then did all Greek suffering cease, Ulysees returned home.
Hesione's son Teucer founded a new Salamis in Cyprus.
When Antenor rebuilt Troy's walls, Neptune shook them down
sending waves that washed away fields, salting the gardens again.
Apollo plagued Antenor with mice which ate the harvest to the seed.
Scamander's golden spring lambs, sickened and died
Afraid of what Minerva would do if they killed the Locrian Scapegoats
Antenor and his sons soon abandoned Troy to the Phyrgians
They sailed off seeking shelter far from this thrice cursed homeland
Twilight bleeds her darkness over the earth
breathing offerings of shadow, reflecting
the trembling joys – poured forth by the fireflies
who restore some semblance of the spirit’s dance
rising beneath the winds, softly whispering
this is the night’s last chance to penetrate the edges
of darkness with a twinkling who reminds us
there is hope, there is faith, there is love and grace
promising to reveal to the soul – a song so alive
striving to abide on the inside of the heart who knows
life has only just begun when the peace who comes
is known by His everlasting truth, His kindness, His wisdom
and the selflessness that reassures the soul – He is the One
who created the sun, the moon, the stars, the glowing
fireflies who arise in the dusk to remind us of a hope
that is ever a part of the time we spend on earth,
time breathed out through the amazing that is no secret –
it is the graciousness of a love that never ends,
the promise of a light that simply is… soundless as the seas,
but more beautiful than the most beautiful dreams
a spirit of light that follows the wind, remembers the friend
of time is more than just what the eye might find
it is love that is more alive than the heart’s sigh
love that cries out to the night to take her time
to color the moments in the presence of Him
who is life, love, lasting beyond the stars and moon
lasting despite the sky of fireflies who seem to agree
with the heart who can surely see… He is the answer to every need
He is the light that assuredly seeks, and brings the heart its greatest relief
a forgiveness that prepares the light to bleed
through the edges of darkness, through the night’s melancholy
into the moments who hesitate to see – joy rising
through the glittering trees, the glimmer of peace,
the flickering lights who tremble on the seas
salting the night in echoes of heaven’s sanctity
The cliffs were the only place she could go to find the edge of love
the only boundry between up and down, of faith and fate,
a frontier where tears scratch slate with bursts of pearl pain
and blood speaks to the sky for signs of passion's flood,
sea below, blue as sapphire lonely glow
churns the tide of romantic violence
salting silence into a sizzle of desire's uproar,
prehistoric granite a partner in the thunder
of her wet tides and his solid lift of sheer ridges
where vertical and horizontal make love in sharp contrast,
horizon rich in ransom of freedom's sweet space hovers
split by a sad pulse within her tired and pretty body,
night moves into day like a prophecy
born in the indigo of her cool inferno
auguring only one thing, high speeds
of love from comet's entrails,
on the precipice of self diagnosis
a vigil begins, ceremony of naked consciousness,
gathering the raw material of her soul
she lights a fire that burns like liquid crystal
waving into the shy truth
of shadows that no longer stand still,
the cliff dance starts, influx of instinct
imparts an innocent intuition
foretelling with ferocious accuracy
the survival or burial of they're love,
pouring vinegar and wine on each breast
she howls to the heights of His affection
and crawls towards the flames
to feel the sweat of lust in her veins,
the animal in her rises to hunt
through the heat, into passion complete,
life and death move her feet,
the pull of gravity gripping torso
closer to the drop of dreams,
a star breeze lashes and lifts
her hair and limbs calling for ascendance,
in a moment of reckless roundabout
she hears His husky whisper
of love with no doubt
nibbling on inner ear,
her heart won't lay still
when His eyes see her as mystical,
there is only one law of love
that she lives by, kiss or die,
only she knows the next step...
J.A.B.
You can twist the way a man sees the world.
Do you think that sounds ridiculous?
What if you did it over time with subtlety and diligence?
The audience is largely uneducated, so remind them of their impotence; tell them any other source of facts must be regarded with suspiciousness.
Whisper to them over breakfast and slowly introduce corrosive dissonance; outright lie to them at dinner,salting in some truth for spicy antithesis.
Those who run the country are up to something mischievous; their lives, their fine America, have been eroding with precipitance.
Remember empowered yesterdays with a sad and tearful wistfulness; twist the needs and rights of others with pernicious lies and maliciousness.
Invest their government with conspiracy and its policies with wickedness. Remind your audience that freedom was torn from kings by well-armed militias.
Introduce the savior as a shining instrument of religiousness; defend his faults as small and frivolous and his right to rule as unambiguous.
When shocking reality dares assert itself, denials must be vicious and officious.
A rescue mission must be launched and certainly they must be participants; banners from the gift shop will form a team identity and a certain moral equivalence.
The leader will whip the angry crowd, stoking resentment with fabricated incidents, swearing, “I will be with you on this great crusade and you will be my instruments”
As the mob storms off he will slink away; he was only there for stimulus.
Hear the old republic creak as the President flexes his insolence; he’s seen that no blame can touch him, so he’s filled with proud ambivalence.
What will it take to rein him in? What kind of obvious stimulant, with thousands already dying every day and our society marbled with brittleness?
Sure it comes with shoveling,salting,sanding,scraping,snow plowing and snow blowing
It also comes with so much more beauty that's well worth knowing
Snow blockades for snowball fights
Playing king of the mountain on a blanket of white
Explore tunnels into snow made forts
There's snow angels in shapes and sizes of all sorts
Take a break for tasty marshmallows in hot cocoa
Hike back up to the top of the sledding hill and go
Have fun on tubes,saucers,sleds and skis
Watch out below for beautiful snow covered trees
Snowboarding can give you such an adrenaline rush
Enjoy watching the sled dogs mush
Build some snow sculptures or a simple snowman
Take a ride and enjoy snowmobiling,ice fishing or to the crazy outhouse races because you can
Take time to catch snowflakes on your tounge
No matter your age it makes you feel young
Try out some snowshoeing or perhaps a kabogum run
Ice skating and ice hockey can also be fun
Hunters appreciate snow for tracking their deer
For the U.P winter is a wonderful time of the year
Tell stories sitting cozy with loved ones around a fire
There's so much about winter in the U.P I desire
This is only a small list of what makes winter in the U.P so super
It has so much more to offer, yah der ay I'm proud to be a yooper
Slip on a wet suit and surf the waves of Lake Superior
Being the largest fresh water lake in the world she isn't known for being inferior
Jump in a hot suana to get out of the cold
So many adventures and mysteries in the U.P to unfold
End your chilly day with a hot pasty, bowl of chili and a hot bath
When you wake up tomorrow you will probably have to shovel a new path
The U.P in winter is worth visiting, it's a beautiful sight
The U.P in winter is a beautiful winter wonderland delight
You can't imagine what it's like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' physical promise to a Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor,
wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scripture and stone
with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissension
inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview,
methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty,
we were Legio XV Apollonaris
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo,
the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other legions led by General Titus
60,000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through the Jewish guerilla ambush
asymmetrical urban warfare welting our progress
like a pirate pestilence,
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacrificers
their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets ankle high with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery
a torch was tossed,
flames rose in a rush,
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box,
our grief agape with horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent
with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man
aware of error in his ill plan,
the insurgents had men we called fox tails,
desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number
they would run into apartments
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge,
these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos
screams salting us with panic linger,
J.A.B.
This patch of dirt, this womb of earth, organic
black and aromatic with compost and
coffee grounds, receives my
spade, but soon my hands
are digging there, putting roots
in place as seedlings, kelly green and
delicate as sparrow wings, fill the garden bed.
Relentless sun
draws sweat like rivulets
on walls in a leaky house, salting
my eyes and a skyward supplication:
Dear God dismiss both drought and deluge;
create instead a harvest bursting like the heirloom,
deep red and overdue for picking.
On the morrow, with work behind me for a day, I drive
to town and join my neighbors in communal song: we praise
the One who watches over home and field and commands
his son to rise along with daily bread.
Heading home through glacial ghosts, on asphalt
softened by an early summer, and though the
wide horizon invites redemption, I’ll not
realize what I’ve done: prayer engaging
as an echo
(the cry of hope in cloistered air...)
prostration pleasing to Apollo -
and all the patriarchal gods -
praises poured upon an
ancient father, Abba,
unable to embrace a
child or climate
refugee.
I’ll not remember my mother, how she shaped
bone and sinew from the black dust of
burned out stars, breathing, from
florae exhalations, oxygen into
lungs, benefiting when I
grow wise enough to consider
the lily, to celebrate her gift, now
trampled beneath the gilded idol, how she
suckled me with milk as rich as the soil in her veins.