Long Scalps Poems
Long Scalps Poems. Below are the most popular long Scalps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scalps poems by poem length and keyword.
...But while talking at a diner on day
Autumn happened to make a remark
that being a woman meant giving life,
that pregnancy could bring joy to the heart.
She didn’t know a tranny sat behind her,
a man who pretended he was a girl,
he/she reported Autumn’s errant talk,
and down cashing came Autumn’s whole world.
She was arrested for assigning gender,
her intentions served as no defense,
saying the womanhood may mean children
was deserving of strict punishment!
Autumn protested, she tried to make clear
that she counted herself among the left,
wasn’t left enough to silence the mob,
they wanted scalps and scalps they would get.
Worse still the prisons, now overflowing
with souls convicted of heinous thought crimes,
were not enough, so works camps were opened,
she was sent to slave in a copper mine.
Ten hours a day, just bread and water,
doing labor that made the joints hurt,
no chance for a lawyer, she was now ‘fascist,’
things like justices such ‘kinds’ didn’t deserve.
It got worse still when the guards noticed her,
decided that they wanted to play,
now instead of hauling ore all the time
she was merely brought aside and raped.
By the time that first awful year was over
three times had poor Autumn miscarried,
between the rough treatment, and not being fed,
she had lost so much weight it was scary.
One morning she went out to the pit’s edge,
staring down eight hundred feet below,
with not a single emotion on her face
she stepped forwards and let herself go.
They tossed her body into a mass grave,
acted as if Autumn never were.
She wouldn’t defend the freedom of others,
so none were left to stand up for hers.
Our oath is our soul keeping
our joys are from smoking and drinking,
from the cannabis we cultivate a seeing
a laughter from the suffering
a tear for the living memory
from the raw uncut winery
We feel the flesh more keenly,
our trophies include skull cap revelry
imbibing the blessings of the enemy
from the roof of their mind's sanctuary
a treasure merrily grisly,
the scalps of our competitors a salary
making for cloak and horse bridle history,
from the trauma we make victory,
From the trauma we make victory
we showed the world how to whip and ride
how to love liberty,
paper and stone do not decide
the way in which we remedy
iniquity, only in Truth do we confide,
as our kin conquered steadily
from Kushan to Hispania's Atlantic tide,
Rome relinquishing the keys to Destiny
from Atilla to Theodoric's tribe,
the nomadic warriors and traders remained free,
Visigoths vanished as their independence atrophied
the Ostrogoths succumbed to sedentary treachery,
our songs remain sung strongly,
Our songs remain sung strongly,
as Christ was cruxified
for crucibles carried by the Family
we gave sanctuary to many a preacher stigmatized,
Toaists tasted the terror of our primal domain
Buddhists bathed in butterflys' blood
as the Jews jumped on the caravan coin,
Hindus knew Indra lived in the Aryan Hood
while the Nestorians never questioned our sin
and the shamans ate the shame of life,
Mohammad's ginger genetics made him kin
and his Jihad made us grin at the strife
his armies hired us and paid better than the Byzantine,
sometimes faith lives on the edge of a knife,
J.A.B. 2020
Fantastical monsters. Real or imagined? No difference.
Gangster style, their grim gargoyle faces head straight toward me.
Served with a bit of terror, they surround me.
Devils? Demons? Anti-Christs? Does it matter?
Wicked and evil, they crawl up my body.
I feel them on my back, ripping into my spinal column.
She screams, but no one cares.
The hairs on the back of my neck are saluting,
Waiting for them.
Preconceived notions be damned.
Life as I knew it is over.
They are slicing away at my hardware.
My software is shrieking in abject fear.
They do not stop.
Sinister?
Are furies from the bowels of hell sinister?
They begin to devour my gray matter.
My heart howls like a wolf.
One of them scalps me.
Rips off the top of my skull.
Which one?
How the hell do I know?
Does it flipping matter?
I.
When he was born he was named Reid Gibson,
and his parents weren’t the richest of folk,
didn’t have money to buy land back east,
so off to the great frontier they did go.
This was way back in 1823,
and young Reid had only just reached age ten,
his father found farming prairie a chore,
he had never been a diligent man.
When in town one trip, buying some supplies,
he heard tales of trappers in rocky peaks,
starting daydreaming of some quick money,
and more news of beaver-trapping did seek.
Reid’s mother thought it was all a mirage,
but Reid’s father cared little what she thought,
it wasn’t a woman’s place to judge men,
so new rifles and beaver traps he sought.
He took Reid with him, saying it was time
for the boy to begin learning a trade,
Reid was afraid, and wanted to stay home,
but his pa pushed him along anyway.
They crossed the plains and by some miracle
avoided the Plains nations on their mounts,
somehow got their way to Fort Kiowa,
where the fur trappers told them, “Turn around.
“The ’rees are raiding any who go west,
taking scalps from any whites they find there.
A man like you will not last very long,
for you child at least, you should take care.”
But Reid’s father was a confident man,
too much considering what he’d achieved,
he’d come all this way to make his fortune,
and balked at all who told him not to leave.
So they went out as the fall settled in,
searching the mountains for ponds and for plews,
they found one but didn’t have that much look
since neither of them knew quite what to do.
A week had gone by, the tension did rise,
Reid’s father’s frustrations gave way to rage,
his father’s shouts gave away where they were,
the Arikara came, and not to trade…
They ran down his father by the pond shore,
struck at him with lance until he fell,
then leapt from their horses, cut off his scalp,
and celebrated with a piercing yell.
Reid tried to hide in a nearby forest,
but these warriors were good at their craft,
they found him in moments and dragged him out,
at his struggles they let out belly laughs.
One of them held a hatchet to his throat,
the other spoke, then the man abated,
they bound up his wrists, threw him on a horse,
Reid realized he would be captivated.
He picked up the cloak that had fallen from Elijah
and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan.
2 Kings 2:13
A gang of youths jeered at Elisha,
Elijah’s protégé…
“Go on up, you baldhead! Go on up, you baldhead!”
(From 2 Kings 2:23-25)
BULLY OF BALDHEAD
how serious is it to mock the prophet?
before Elisha ventures forth
to Mount Carmel, he calls down a curse
two bears lumber out of the woods
hungry as all git out—
the crunch of youths
forty two wise…
the remaining ran away
by the skin of their scalps
would the bullies change their ways
or change directions—
find satisfying morsels
they tell their parents—
“What did you do son?”
their parents git them too
or does the fool pride
fall from the tree—
father to son
“The Father” looked down
Son nailed to cursèd tree—
all are invited
to leave their sin
at Jesus’ feet—
the cost of salvation
snarled skin, blood, tears,
death— hearts broken
until three days later
who was worried
after dayrise—
two angel bears atop the tomb’s rock
2/1/2022
In the setting sun the Sioux Tepees look like vandalized pyramids,
the Tetons themselves appear as though angels raped
by the savagery of centuries yet noble in barbaric beauty and warrior ethos,
a Scalp Dance is begun, torches up high on the outside
a bonfire big and heavy be the center spirit,
the drums awaken from the caves of ancestral courage
and the voices of a thousand Mothers plead for the pride of their sons,
drumbeats raise the heartbeats into the heat of glory
as the rattles rake the mind with the cost of blood,
warriors enter the pit with bravery to prove and fate to appease
feet pound the earth and scalps shake on power rods
the currency of victories swing wide and thunder smacks the stars,
Afterwards, Chief Partisan presents us with squaws
pretty in young passion and fertile to the touch,
there is a custom of strength transfer through intercourse
they desire the seed of our spirit,
indulging in their spells of native kiss could leave us vulnerable
to capture or even assassination
we can't afford to be reckless in pleasure or mindless of morals,
I am unwilling to father a hybrid pioneer amongst a probable enemy,
embracing these temptresses gowned in scanty furs
could even politically bind us to the Teton against their traditional adversaries,
we must avoid inciting intertribal conflict at this juncture,
Morning has arrived with a think fast attitude
the messages between our nations is unequivocal
the Teton are intractable in their belief of invincible independence,
they have their arsenal, warriors, and horses,
feeling that they own the thunder and the fear of their neighbors,
the Chinese and New York fur markets
along with taxing river passage have to date guaranteed them wealth
and the British have armed them for profit,
however, the arrowheads of the United States are aimed to strike their arteries
and we won't stop until they bleed out into oblivion,
the Sioux shenanigans have resumed as we gather up and get ready to push off,
exasperated, we convince Black Buffalo that it behooves him
to persuade his people to let us leave without hostilities
and they do as we toss them some tobacco sticks,
once on Destiny, anchor up,
the southerly winds lift our vessels towards autumn's genesis,
J.A.B.
The wicked souls like gasoline light up
Afire without remorse sorrow and heat
As if Hiroshima Nagasaki
In bright atomic pillars of fire burn
Unquenched like a mad lunatic bonfire
The judged the condemned the damned all around
Without mercy are swallowed engulfed by
The supernatural fates and their white-hot
Enraged furies as if to disgrace men
And fallen angels at war against earth
As gamma-rays consume their calcified
Bones they cannot withstand resist before
Megiddo's Jesus Christ whose burning light
Flash-cooks their soft moist fleshy tongues in
Their mouths like steaks as the sight of him melts
And liquefies their eyeballs into ooze
In their sockets as heads and scalps ablaze
With radioactive fire's decay and heat
Whilst ashen clothes like death's sackcloth robes fall
From rude and roasting flesh such that even
Thews sinews ligaments and tendons of
Flesh melt in the wrath of the Next Advent
Until they are gently slain by his love
Without forgiveness hope or the grace of
Redemption and salvation and are thrown
Into the lake of fire forever where
The damned are “weeping and gnashing of teeth!”
snakes on a wall
rattlers all three
no pictures or any
pretty things
just demon scalps
no
they're not evil
I ate the big one
he was old and rough
three days from pay day
half a tank
two shotgun shells
no mourning doves
and there he was
yuck
they're better young
taste like chicken
and not so tough
won't shoot 'em anymore
just shoe 'em off the porch
little bullsnake last night
on the patio under a box
picked him up before the dog
got his scent
tossed him gently
over the fence
I see 'em crossing the road
and stop to help them
wherever I roam
not to get crushed
maybe a snake is
what I was
or maybe a snake is
what I become
All aboard the Fantasy M/S of Carnival
for half a week’s vacation time of fun and falderal.
Hear greetings from your captain, his director and the crew.
Ready, set, get going. The Bahamas wait for you.
Bon Voyage! There’s Reggae music playing on the Lido.
Dinner is at 6 or 8. Hold off on that tuxedo!
You could eat a pizza by the Windows On the Sea
or go beneath to dine on shrimp and meet the maitre d’.
Gamble or see comedy; reflect upon the ocean.
Late to bed; relax your head; sense the soothing motion.
Rise and shine in Freeport where the ship will dock all day.
You can disembark to take a tour, or you can stay.
On board the ship, take a dip; lounge or dance Calypso.
Get yourself massaged; work out, shop or play some bingo.
All day long, you can find folks doing funny things
like contests for the men with hairy chests or knobby knees.
Day two when you waken, you will be in Nassau.
There’s stuff for everyone, from your kiddies to your grandma!
Little ones may stay behind. Folks will entertain them,
or the kids can tag along with the adults. No problem!
If you like adventure, visit lovely Blue Lagoon.
For snorkeling with sting rays, the boat leaves right at noon.
You can pet some dolphins, but extra you should pay
if you want to swim with them. That’s one special day.
In town you might be nabbed by a plaza beautician.
Getting braids is all the rage, so people get their hair done.
Get back to the gangway before the ship sets sail.
If you‘re still not having fun, you must be a door nail!
“Day at Sea” arrives as your trip is winding down,
And the biggest night is coming; women wear a gown!
That final evening dining perhaps with a new friend,
you’ll wish instead of ending, it were starting all again.
Gals and guys with braided scalps; everyone looks nice.
Ah, that midnight feast with pretty sculptures carved in ice.
The ultimate for leisure if you’re after more than snoozing’.
In the laid-back natives lingo: “Mon, you best be cruising!”
NOTE: (this describes a vacation I took about 12 years ago, my first
and probably last cruise ever, unless I come into money. haha.
I'd seen Europe in my youth but as vacations go,this truly was
the best one.)
For Carol Brown's Contest: "It's Time for a Vacation"
Be dark or fair, folk have pride in their hair
Although often hair leads one to despair
Finding it's tousled and tied up in knots
After sleeping upon one's precious locks.
Or when hair has been lovingly blow-dried
Getting caught in the rain and tears are cried
For you and me hair’s our crowning glory
Without hair on head tops, what would life be.
Hair enhances one’s looks, protects one’s fun
Stops scalps from burning when out in the sun
It keeps heads warm when the weather is cold
Hair's certainly worth its value in gold.
Through the years my hair has turned shades of grey
It can't be helped, it's simply natures way
I don't mind the grey, I treasure the gift
That brightens the day, giving one a lift.
My humble blessings may have you appalled
Because of them who happen to be bald
To me being bald is beauteous too
What's in the heart, not on the head, makes you.