Long Savaged Poems
Long Savaged Poems. Below are the most popular long Savaged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Savaged poems by poem length and keyword.
SHE AWOKE WITH
A SENCE OF PRIDE
NOT KNOWING THAT
HER FAITH WOULD BE TESTED
AND HER FEAR…
AS THE SUN WAS BLAZING
DOWN ON HER WEAK AND
DEHYDRATED BODY
HER THOUGHTS OF SURVIVAL
TURNED INTO STONE
HER FEET COULD NOT
TAKE THE RAGE OF
THE SCORCHING DESERT
SAND AND HER BATTLE
FOR LIFE BECAME FLAGGING
HER TORTURED BODY
COLLAPSED IN THE
MIDDLE OF ENDLESS
SAND DUNES AND SHE…
SHE WAS LEFT TO DIE
AND FOR THE SAVAGED
VALTURES TO FEAST
ON HUMAN FLEASH
SHE LAY THERE WITH
NO STRENGTH…
SHE WANTED TO GIVE UP
SHE WANTED DEATH
TO COME AND TAKE HER AWAY
BUT JUST BEFORE SHE
COULD NO MORE…
SHE FELT SOMETHING
INSIDE OF HER…
IT FELT LIKE FREASH
AND ICE COLD WATER THAT
SHE EAGERLY DESIRED
FOR SO MANY DAYS
ALL OF A SUDDEN
SHE WAS FILLED
WITH NEW STRENGTH
AND HER WILL POWER
WAS FILLED TO THE MAX
SHE COULD NOT UNDERSTAND
WHY SHE FELT SO POWERFUL
AND ALIVE
AND WHY HER COURAGE
CAME BACK TO PICK HER UP
WITH A NEW LIFE SHE STOOD
UP AND CONTINUED TO
WALK UNTILL SHE CAME
TO A VILLAGE…
TO HER AMAZEMENT
SHE CAME TO REALIZE…
IT WAS HER VILLAGE,
HER HOME WHICH SHE
HAD TO FLED FROM
IN ORDER FOR
HER TO STAY ALIVE
SHE THOUGHT THAT
THERE WERE NO SURVIVIOURS
DUE TO THE ATTACK
WITH OVERWHELMING
DESIREMENT SHE
RAN TOWARDS HER FAMILY…
SHE AWOKE THAT
FOLLOWING MORNING
WITH A SENSE OF PRIDE
KNOWING THAT HER FAITH WAS
TESTED BEYOND
HER BELIEVE
AND HER FEAR…
WAS BURRIED UNDER MILLIONS
OF SAND GRAINS
IN THAT TREACHEROUS SAND TRAP
Form:
Each ivory tower needs so much power and water
Society is the fall guy for the pie in the sky AI lie
Cultures savaged ravaged caricatures by vultures
Slyly trying to deflower mother nature’s daughter
Dodgy dealing resources stealing planet’s reeling
Preach each data centre like a cultural placenta
Layers peeling players say mentor no glass ceiling
Am a lamenter of break neck tech wreck dementor
No healing waste from haste paste without feeling
We’ve heard it before the computer is our future
Smoke and mirrors AI on the fly the latest suitor
Us all just a data commuter for a leech not tutor
Beseech purloining then coining no way to teach
The conceit of the deceit is an elite cheat ripsnorter
Train bots brain rots turns us into tots & lots of have nots
Only glower of people power can stop the slaughter
THE STORY OF BLULA MAY…
Oh!, She was so very humble,
She was Blula from the asphalt jungle;
Improvised, trapped in scorn;
Misused unadopted, a captive of ****;
Ghetto-fabulous inching in style;
She was the first runAway child;
In the 70’s she had a man;
His name was Mr. Dan;
A solemn oath she did swear;
As he would blacken her eyes;
This Nubian queen a red bone;
Was positioned on the corner streets, on loan;
In poisoned beaten and thrown…
Did I tell you she was on loan;
When it came to counting the tasks…
Often her dinner was left over trash;
Human trafficking was without cars;
Often she’d glean men from retail stores and late night bars;
One day Blula May decided again to run away.
Inflecting pain on her sleepin john
Far, far, far away did she run, run, run
To a church in revival she did make;
Onto her knees instantly she’d pray O God please take
Take away the bondage
Take away the pains
Free me O God, my Lord
From the savaged sins I’ve did
Cleanse me so, and make me whole
I want to be new again like in my mothers womb
Grant me thy mercies grace, give me another chance
Have mercies on me
So the prayer completed she was amazed as the congregations people with arms hands open
Came running not judging some in tears
For sometimes even when we no better and we sin
God’s open arms yet still provide His will
This the first part of the story of Blula May
8/25/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
( It seems the only thing eternal life has left me is eternal tears.
For my lost son Christopher; named after the god who suffers. )
I knew you before I met you
cage crossing through mad books
your stainless leap
forcep-blessed
matrix-reprieved
weaving bled-shred
embers to god-pled
braving
the cairn of night
to do full
dubious ends
god's just
flung to hijacked earth as
after-thought
of finer stone
slashed lash skin broke to Moses hues
whose mode struck cursed
to sudden wander
to tower-armed berths annexed next in
your voyeur's finger rage
to run abducted through heuristic sunk-end heads
and sacrifice your brokered queen
prove your tongue-burning tears
a strangled pen
inched favor from chain-shell shouts
sieved by sheltering friends
savaged the race-card feeds
fouled in chilling fidgets
glyphed everyman's advance
to cherish one ascending
giving divinity thought-shadow charges
to dodge doc's sunny reparteé
finally
bipolar glue-power unclogs the gash
cherish your psyche's wormwood-hack
your peace-ink cooling blue
your snow-truth judgement bridged
with one bank and a gun
whose prophet
son of none
_________________
Notes:
1. A journalist once asked the Dalai Lama if he had to reduce the teachings of Buddhism to one word, what would it be. His response was; "Compassion".
If asked to do the same for Christianity, my word, similarly, would be: "Kindness".
Deprived by country and elsewhere
For deeds and actions I didn’t do
Suspicious here, not welcomed there
You can imagine my worldview
You’re privileged to move around
Your peaceful countries waged no wars
I’m privileged to go without
The double standard world of yours
You think of nation seeing me
Though it’s not me but your projection
You’re talking to contemptuously
I only mirror your reflection
In Wonderland founded by bandits
Stands a glass house where I live
Break it to shatters, I won’t mend it
Just bear in mind I cannot leave
By circumstances I couldn’t manage
And to be honest, no one could
I am dehumanized and savaged
And you all set and understood
I’m not complaining, but just telling
The facts of living that I find
Funny enough to rhyme, compelling
Your short attention to unwind
I am a laughing man of August
I am a crying man of March
When spring blows off the winter dust
I click some photos to enlarge.
I am not a stranger to the dark.
Yes, Im strong to bear the light,
Even if the darkest of nights bark...
The best in me will keep up the fight.
I am with you, dear friendly black--
The land of frustrated loyalists;
Where tyrants rule without attack,
From the few vibrant populists.
If eve was the mother of human species,
Africa was the father of all nation,
Where we started the learning of ABCs
Before others come to its adaptation.
Africa was the mother of Eve,
A land of golds and diamonds!
Reason colonists don't wanna leave,
Rather become civilization's legends.
Real definition of friendship,
Which cannot be found anywhere else,
Started in my gracious township
In which we never have others suppress.
Black! thou have done yourself proud.
What a perfect anti racist!
Thou are so endowed-
A drummer boy perfected a bassist.
Where else does humanity and woman hood begin?
Is there any mother who dares abandoned her baby?
Even under the influence of pure gin,
May be if suffering from the touch of raby...
Black room, dark souls.
Fearless heart, triumphant mind.
Broken wings, flying wholes...
Savaged humans, free blind*
The broad street, daylight illuminate.
The narrow express, moon crystallize.
Populace satellite, leaders indeterminate planet.
Sorrowful joy, all in all I idolize!
I
My life has been ravaged,
I have been to the top of mountains;
and in dark pits savaged,
but life is a forever streaming fountain.
And I am a victor- so I have managed,
have re-created me so many times;
I know myself and my power,
blooming again and again, a flower;
removing past tangled vines.
II
Moments in life so painful,
they could have crushed me;
but for lessons learned I am grateful,
a fathomless inner strength I see.
Oh, why do some have a life so fateful,
some say- I have a lovely aura;
a bubble of energy that protects,
in this short journey, I want no regrets;
so I make my life a sweet Pandora.
III
Oh yes- I could be bitter,
for a life full of sorrow and tears;
but I prefer to be better,
I have been this way all my years.
Each death- sadness makes me greater,
so although you feel tired, weak and battered;-
overcome each hardship with pride,
I could fill an ocean with my tears cried;
but I am strong- not weak or shattered.
______________________________
September 9, 2016
Poetry/Ode/Victim or Victor
Copyright Protected, ID 16-826-909-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Victim or Victor
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place
Doomed are the meek and weak as they seek
simply not hard enough trying to feed and succeed
Money and glory does not grow on trees and
there only is hope when the forests are savaged
You cannot eat money but bulk aids digestion
and sloth unhappily impedes instant gratification
Instead lust for more there can never be enough of
a good thing so try bigger higher faster and accumulate
The new God and Goddess does not reward humility
modesty is never exposed when love replaces sex and
six heavenly virtues in this sense are truly quite enough
Set targets and drive performance to new heights
don’t forget to be envious because it allows motivation
No place to resent jealousy for desire inspires incentives
Covet everywhere and every when it must be yours
crave fancy and multiply because whatever is present
should be out there and in there right where it counts
Without competition markets won’t prosper and reap
Implement plenty of anger for it aids to shift blame
It helps to lay judgement and charges scathing critique
Take pride in your achievements because it propels
further effort whereas merely taking stock breeds stagnation
And last but not least in the wonderful feast remember
that gluttony is a misnomer for well executed consumption and glory
If all else fails redefine your taste be courageous and indulge
A true gourmand experiences with novel ideas and adventures
Eat the bastards skin them alive dissect their lean bodies
human flesh is quite exquisite fatten them up if you must
Whether they die in self-righteously imposed famines
sow your luxurious garments in sweat shops and factories
sift through rubbish and scraps they are meant to expire and
never too soon in an ethical quest to replenish your needs
Overpopulation will cease to exist and you are doing a
wonderful service to humankind and most of all to yourself
So get going and don’t be a lazy indolent and apathetic sloth
26th October 2018
Inspired by the song Doomed by Perfect Circle
Fierce fighting raged, but surprise was gone,
the Americans rallied and pushed hard,
the Indians fell back, out of the ravine,
the patriots driving them that far.
Hand-to-hand combat broke out brutally,
with knives, clubs, and rifle-stocks,
Iroquois would wait until patriots fired,
then while they reloaded, charge with tomahawk.
Herkimer saw his people being killed,
so he ordered them all to pair off,
one man would fire, the other would load,
now It was the Indians who felt sharp loss.
The killing continued, on through to morn,
until a thunder storm broke over the field,
the fighting quieted but neither side budged,
neither side put down powder or steel.
But as the storm passed, back at Stanwix,
the garrison heard of Herkimer’s plight,
they charged out into the near empty camps,
putting the few British still there to flight.
They plundered and pillage all that they could,
ransacking and stealing their supplies,
when word reached the battle, the Indians turned,
now it was their turn to be surprised.
The broke from the field, ran for the camps,
but when they arrived they saw it was too late,
the garrison had retreated back to the fort,
with their spoils behind a barred gate.
At Oriskany, Herkimer held the field,
so by the standards of the day he had won,
but neither side had gained that much from it,
despite all the bloody work that was done.
The patriots were too savaged to continue on,
to damaged to hope to lift the siege,
they retreat back east, to Fort Dayton,
to see to their wounds and their needs.
St. Leger found himself in a terrible spot,
supplies dwindling, his camp ransacked,
to make matters worse, mad Indian allies
started slinking off, not to come back.
Not long after another relief column,
led by a general who’s name won’t be said,
marched for Stanwix, convincing the Brits
they had little chance of not being bested.
St. Leger ordered his forces to retreat,
back to Canada his troops did go,
and the British plan to split the colonies
suffered from its first heavy blow.
Herkimer didn’t live to see that day,
his wound quickly became infected,
when the time came to amputate his leg,
it was botched up, and quite freely bled.
At least the brave man got to die in his home,
and his name is recalled in glory,
he remains a hero in upstate New York,
for his courage at Oriskany.
Old Man Forest, way past prime,
ravaged by the test of time.
Savaged by rot and decay;
scarce thought it would end this way.
Strong, he stood for years and years;
now, enough to bring to tears.
Rotting from the inside out,
how much longer, much in doubt,
till he falls to forest floor,
stands in beauty nevermore.
Acorn to a mighty oak,
there to bask in sun and soak,
high above the canopy,
sheltering beautifully.
Insidious parasites,
death by multitudes of bites,
chew his marrow, strip his strength,
termites run from length to length.
Creatures found in him a home.
Soon, he's resting in the gloam.
Rising up from the decay,
the next giant grows one day.
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a little different, in that all lines are 7 syllables