Long Scalped Poems
Long Scalped Poems. Below are the most popular long Scalped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scalped poems by poem length and keyword.
(This is a fictional poem)
When I was thirteen, I got a pair of glasses.
People called me four eyes and I kicked their #####.
They thought because I wore glasses, I was a wimp.
When I got done with them, they walked with a limp.
My teacher called me four eyes too and I was appalled.
He was lying on the floor after I used my slingshot to shoot him in the balls.
The principal gave me a swirly in a toilet because my teacher was his son.
Several hours later I scalped him while he was sleeping and he thought I was an
indian.
People regretted what they did before.
After I kicked their #####, they didn't make fun of me anymore.
Form:
High on remote cliffs,
wildflowers huddle
between
wind scalped boulders,
heads kept down,
their roots weaved
into crevices
where a little soil has been
won from rain wash
and wear. They grow
surrounded by a constant
howl, just above
the clawing fingers
and thrown up fury
of waves.
Deep
in their creviced home,
they snatch only
a brief, upward glimpse
of a passing sun,
life confined more
to a damp sliver of shade
sandwiched between stone.
No broad vistas
but a claustrophobic crush,
a cramped space
from where they gasp
for freedom.
For centuries
they have lived like this.
Generations have come
and gone, the living
nourished by the flesh
of the dead.
Countless human wars
have been fought, lost
and won. Year after year
they bloom, yearning
to be noticed, fed
on the merest ration
of light shed
by a merciless sun.
Thank you, they cry,
Thank you.
Inspired by a storyline from a show. The Native American tribal culture is beautiful. This is written in honour of their Light.
Death of a warrior
By Michelle Morris
11/08/2023
Lay me down
Under the big sky
Where my ancestors
Can see my soul fly
I knew it was always
Going to end this way
I've lived my life
A warrior brave
Shot and scalped
By the dark one
The death of a warrior
Is on his conscience
We all make our choices
We all live our fates
Our destiny and lessons
Are left in our wake
My honour and peace
My legacy for my tribe
Our bodies may stay here
But our souls dance with the Light
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Time is of the essence, when I get my hair cut,
Impatiently waiting in turn, gives me dandruff,
Barber’s damn slow, chatting, making small talk
Oh hurry up man, I’m in need of a new Mohawk
Three more ahead of me, staring at the walls,
At least two of them, already suspiciously bald
But the other one, he has me seriously scared
Wears a big long coat, his hairy feet laid bare
At last it’s my turn, barber asks what’ll it be
A fantastic punk style, nice and spiky suits me
So off he goes, razors and scissors a blazing
Going cold on top, I’m sure I feel him shaving
Ok we’re all done, that’ll be twenty five bucks
I look in the mirror, to see a scalped Friar Tuck
What the hell I yell, that’s nothing like a punk
Oh dear thought you said, a monastic monk
I’m a holy show now, of that you can be sure
All I require is a robe, go with my new tonsure
By
David Kavanagh
A cow is goaded roughly, into a big steel box,
Eyes bulging from sockets, nose puffing snot,
Butcher pulls a lever, trapping its head tight,
Takes out big heavy pistol, aims it right,
Presses it BANG between, the beasts eyes,
A bolt shoots out, no time for cries,
Cow hits the ground, like sack of flour,
Blood pumps from its head, in a shower,
Pulls release handle, No messing about,
Immediately draws his knife, bleeding it out,
Slicing throat open, draining blood of life,
Puts a long spring into head, fits just right,
Rams it up and down, to snap the spine,
Cow kicking like mad, until finally supine,
Body goes limp, puts shackle upon hoof,
Head is scalped, then decapitated aloof,
Hoisted up along, now ready for the rest,
Skinned and disemboweled, to request,
Already another one, waiting in the box,
Can see it’s fate, eyes bulging in shock.
By
David Kavanagh
There was a Red Indian Chief
his name was Raging Waters
he lived a pleasant life
surrounded by his four wives
They took care of all his needs
gave him strong sons and daughters
he ruled mainly in peace not war
apart from raids on the Black Hawks
It was one of his joys to sneak up
and steal their very fine horses
and to capture some of their squaws
these he could trade for guns and whiskey
As time went on he grew very troubled
he consulted with the medicine man
who sent him to the hot bath teepee
there smoking his pipe he relaxed
Soon the visions started to appear
war was on the horizon he could see
also a squaw so comely he lost his heart
he left the teepee and sent out scouts
They scoured the lands searching for her
at last one came back with the news
she belonged to the Crows and was promised
gathering up a raiding party, he set off
At dead of night they sneaked into position
then rushed the camp catching the Crows off guard
they killed the warriors and took the squaws,
children and horses too and well tanned hides
Now there had to be a comeback from this deed
Mighty Hawk gathered his tribes of Crows
and set off for Raging Waters camp for revenge
barely escaping he fled for the mountains
There with just a handful of warriors and squaws
he set out to build up the tribe once more
when at last they had enough warriors
he set out to recapture that beautiful squaw
Never had he forgotten her soft lips on his
driven wild by his desire, he lost all caution
warned by his medicine man it would end badly
he paid no heed and set out to make war
The Crows soon heard he was on his way
and set a terrible trap in between the hills
Raging Waters and his warriors were cut down
the unlucky ones were scalped then given to the squaws
Who beat them and treated them harshly as slaves
thus a lesson was learned do not take promised squaws
Raging Waters name was in time lost in the annuals
his tribe no more, just forgotten ghosts in time
inspired by soup mail chat with Sandra
I write the saddest things just to see if I feel.
This is real
Depression
Repression
The world holds us back
Words on the attack
My imagination does not lack
Love hate
Different aspects of the same fate
Why it comes and goes so fast
Words that forever last
As times slowly creeps past
Then life's a blur
No heart pure
I love you, I hate you
Leaves one so blue
Hello is the beginning of a broken heart
Feeling miles apart
My crazy mind
Nowhere can I find
Something so kind
As no first kiss
Lonely, so much more bliss
Love at first sight
That is the start, of your first fight
Everywhere I see
wounded knee
Massacred heart
Scalped soul
Which be love goal
Bitter tears
Too many beers
Truthfully denying
To yourself you be lying
Spend your nights crying
Then go out and look for more pain
To increase loves stain
Was not once enough
Hearts are pretty tough
I stay alone
From what life has shown
You go back for more
Us smart ones done closed that door
Nailed our hearts to the floor
Now my crazy words come to an end
Got chores to tend
I walk the streets of heaven
all alone
blinded by the alabaster
GOLD
searching for the God
of endless names.
The streets are empty
under quarantine
the clouds all closed
no angels in the fluff.
While hell is flaming still
in merriment.
I wonder - was I chosen
or just sent?
There are no children here
they took a pass
refusing to accept
salvation's splash.
All the flags are white
no rainbows here
wherever GOD went to
he isn't here.
I somehow breeched the barriers
of faith
and scalped a season ticket
to this place.
The angel's wings are tied
behind their backs
cuz they refused to wear
the foolish masks.
They say the thunder's
just GOD getting grouchy
Because he's not as powerful
As Dr FAUCI.
John G. Lawless
5/31/2020
Ghost Santa Stealth came upon a dead night dreary,
His intention was madness and I was quite weary
He took bits of my mind, but not in the usual way
He chomped it out of my fleshy brain dendrite gray.
I felt him chewing, his masticating was angry and mean.
He was a destructor, a Christmas devouring, ugly machine.
He took my ideas and threw them outside in the snow.
He burned up my house, not fast, really slow.
I was trying to tell the firemen, but I could not speak.
He had eaten the part of my brain where language doth peak.
Might as well have scalped me. He chewed slow and gave me a fright.
I was terrified of this devil, that Christmas Eve Night.
We loved the land
We tilled the earth, under sun we toiled
We pledged our souls, to nature’s whim
The King of France none to pleased
We took the sacraments
We held our faith, mournful to fates embrace
The British demanded a new oath we take
And scalped we were, both sides did partake
Our villages burned, our fields afire
Our woman and children, in hunger perished
We feared Monckton, a hunter of death
And from him, to ships hold, deported at best
We preyed to Canada, to lend us a hand
Evangeline an angel of our land
The darkened forests, to where we fled
Became bloody in battles, and turned to red
For Redcoats wandered in search of scalps
As Father Le Loutre preached unheavenly deeds
He was bloodthirsty and in skirmishes his evil flourished
His Mikmaq warriors helped rivers flow to blood
We lived along the rivers edge
We fought them all, to no one did we pledge
As serfs we served, to whom did rule
In the end, the forest sang our quiet eulogy
The vessels sailed from Halifax
With their human cargo of Partisans
Off to the West Indies, and a new land
Disease triumphed where Lord Laurence failed
And so the voyage, onward went
The traditions of Grand Pre, to Louisiana was lent
And there they settled, peace at last
As angels of their battles, in sacrifice did rest