Long Scapegoat Poems
Long Scapegoat Poems. Below are the most popular long Scapegoat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scapegoat poems by poem length and keyword.
When the Autumn Leaves Fall...
Blossoms bloom red
Your pretty smile falls beneath your head
Brunette flow
Healthy glow
From then on you hid in my sheets
The thing you were running from I never got to meet
I rushed in
Not knowing it was a bear’s den
We got married
I thought I was what you would need
We planted seed after seed
To grow a tree
But time went on
And you were slowly on your way to gone
I figured out pretty fast
That on your heart’s list I was last
Every day you woke
Around the house a dying smell poked
My affections were true
But you not loving me was something I knew
Don’t wear that disguise
I’m immature but a little wise
I know all your lies
We share the same lives!
Eventually destiny hit in the autumn leaves
With the foxes you became a thief
You threw out my wedding ring
Mascara covered eyes; you were a mess
I didn’t have to guess
You were accompanied by a luggage bag
I watched you leave not knowing you left with all I had
Where do I turn
What lesson is there to be learned!
I am so confused
I’m not walking in my own two shoes
It’s been about a year
My own life I can’t steer
I know I was not in your view
But I’m troubled because I think I stuck onto you like glue
I’m drowning because
These memories are not fading to fuzz
There all a little to real and alive
Dark realization you were all I strived
You were what I sought out
Why I am still teary eyed and missing you remains about
Well I grew that tree and carved our names
To you our love was all fun and games
Then I scratched them out from pain and regret!
My chained emotions had to be let...
Let go
This I think know
But why is letting go still something I am pondering
My heart still does ring
I’m still coming across the past
Your still what I had last
I remember the first time you said hi
I still ask why
Why was I the scapegoat?
Being with you, was it not an authentic lump in my throat?
I stare at the sky so dark
Clarity on mark
I clear my brain
My heart’s stain
My intentions are now in sink
I take a deep breath and blink
Your gone like that
This time I know it’s a fact
I stepped out of the thorn bush and onto the path
I satisfied my own wrath
It took a while for everything to be white
I left you with the fire it took forever to light
I left it all behind
To burn with my battered mind
You may say that I’m crazy,
Deny I’m a Christian,
But I say our lives are just what we have chosen,
Though my logic seems hazy
And message seems Faustian,
If stuck, you should think if you want to be frozen!
Do you have to be right then,
With whom lies the verdict,
The world falls apart then will you be the scapegoat?
Does God handicap free men,
Did devil give edict,
Are you only one who is fearing a cut throat?
Now on first glance my premise
Might seem pretty silly,
Though it's also simple, 'Life's Always My Choosing!’
I can visualize grimace,
(Reception is chilly),
“A meteor hits my house! How's that me losing?”
You deny that you took risk
And odds went against you?
Were you just unlucky? Your choice made it happen!
My conclusion may seem brisk
But how can you argue
For all that I’ve done is make logic my weapon!
You should note I’m not saying
My model's not crude! Still
A pragmatist's sense is it could be the answer.
Goals accomplished by praying?
Most futures are landfill!
But trust in God’s Grace and feel light as a dancer.
Yes, a good life is easy,
Just don’t wait for rescue
For fate favors sailor who repairs his rigging!
When the trade winds are breezy
Help friends to continue,
Don’t settle for sorrow when choice includes jigging!
Long Tooth
May 11, 2017
Poet’s Notes:
In this poem I intend "Goals accomplished by praying?" to be ironic and “Most futures are landfill” to be an exhortation to action on your part as opposed to depending on the Almighty to fix all of your life’s difficulties. Christ died on the cross to prove His love and to reconcile us to God. That should be enough, though He may, in fact, give us more, we should (and can) handle most things with the talents, the gifts He has already given. It may not be true that we literally “choose” everything that life throws at us, but what I am in fact convinced is true is that life works better for those who do take personal responsibility for whatever happens to them, even if they are not responsible in fact.
We should always be careful what we pray for, I think! God might give it to you! When you acknowledge God's Grace though, it frees you from "false guilt" which cripples many people and strengthens your bond to your heavenly Father (who absolves you of real guilt as you live in faith in Him!)
When I go home damn
Its really quiet
Never thought I'd find this amount of white noise
In the pitch black face silence
As I flip scenarios of something like self inflicted violence
making, my room, look....just a lil more stylish
I'll douse the walls with my wrist's imitation of your red fingernail polish
Seems like
The riot in my mind may have leaked out
Some sound and the floorboards of this house still creek but a paddle im
without
Drowning
In my surroundings
Thought my flow would let me float on but ya boy ain't so buoyant tho
Fall in to the blue sky's reflection as I plummet into my foe
I'm a machine, can't have water get too close
Not afraid of water, because I can't swim
Scared of depth and darkness, and oceans will force me to give in
I don't wanna share my lungs
Lemme breathe for me
Please
Fraid uh water because I've coasted the trans-parent sea
It's weird when you can say "my parents see right through me"
Custody war
But I lost every battle
Reached for anything
All I got was a broken handle on everything
Vices
Sex life flowing down south with her g string and sex appeal
I need to
but cannot feel
As I challenge my demons to a battle
Im kind of like the scent leading the pack to the cattle
Never really see me coming
But I'll lead you to something that'll have ya bowels runnin
Digestive tract star
Ingest every bar
And when you're done im the ****
Even if you ain't really like it
I mean if you want,
Glance at my ego leave a scar
Or get impressed call me a star
My stride the only thing between me and going far
Serpentine with your actions but I call you baby
Cold-Blooded
Now I see why you stay so shady
because to me it seems like you've got nothing but an innocent rattle
Blinded, because I let my lap become your saddle
Your reflection yelling at me im surprised you couldn't tell
Treating me like I was the first Angel sent to hell
If Jesus was a lamb I can be your scapegoat at the very least
Sacrilegious sacrifices, looked past the fact I'm actually a feral beast
Shook, like a Harlem shake rattlesnake attention deficit rook
Playin the say it wit ya chess game and I wrote all the books
King disguised as a pawn
I'll put myself on
Competition going down
South
Hit that nae napalm expellin from my mouth
My fire...
In the deepest shadows of life,
we threatened to disappear from inside and die from outside due to an endemic or experimental weapon designed to kill or perhaps a designated terrorist sent for a mission from behind closed doors in a lab, who knows? crawling and moving around the world killing. What did they? what did we? And What did I? ever do, to be a scapegoat of your ruthlessly executions, ask me no questions, I will tell you no lies. To some level we tried to contain and mitigate, you disappeared
for a short while Oh! relieved we were!
You reproach in another move
more complicated, hybrid, degenerated and more touch-and-go,
rather perilous enough to clear humanity from the face of the Earth
orphaning many children, widowing a peck of mothers, killing quite a hatful of fathers, robbing off a wat of children from thy mothers and fathers, killing thy sons and daughters, fathers and mothers of this world.
East to west and west to East,
tanks of tears flow for your atrocities. North to south and South to North,
echoes of the grieving hearts are loud heard,
a reflection of the mournful and bleeding world due to your flagitious crimes.
You kill the young and old daily in biggest… some survive you perhaps the lucky who are living like they are dying?
thus, their hearts bleeding for thy cuts of you.
You’re are a lethal war with no guns or ammunitions, Perhaps world war three, a weapon Or designated terrorist hiding and striking with spotless character in our amidst, premeditated terrorist I presume!
Moving in the streets hunting for contacts, killing without empathy and compassion but just cupid and thirsty to attack
leaving families weeping and grieving
while their long faces lugubriously reflecting hidden and unexpressed pain for the uncalled suffering and their throats
gulped with a plethora of vengeance.
Psychological tortures and insanities you bring, we recover No! No!
Our profound supplications are heard by our benign Parent whose hands we are, on Earth to fight knowing that one day you will drop to quietus, that one day we will be just as brilliant and ready for any other attacks of your-like,
but for now, we just blades of grass trying to reclaim the normal, because before you were, we were. I wonder as I wander so God help.
Copyright © Abol Andrew Moses Chrispus 2021
Elusive pursuit endeavoring to craft a great poem
I (analogous to a rolling stone)
confess, no deliberate intent, yet often wonder
what spurs me to nudge, goad, coax, et cetera
semblance of reasonable poetic rhyme
despite modesty regarding
ably linkedin words for others to ponder
more often than not experiencing nonresponder,
nevertheless share mine writing
with folks cyberspace out yonder
or aliens occupying
beyond the pale of outer limits
amidst the twilight zone,
where dark shadows
looming near the edge of night
hint of spooky forebodings.
Without lofty literary ambitions,
more so stream
of consciousness abandonment,
yours truly rests content
to cobble, gamble, noodle... courtesy
swifty tailored stylishly harried element
mild mannered modest gent
bumbling along boulevard of
broken (po' whet) dreams intent
far less superman than Clark Kent
exercising mental cogs and wheels meant
merely to liberate momentary overconfident
zealous spontaneous inspiration,
albeit ordinarily quiescent
ex post facto concluding
equals time most salient
direct object lesson learned
lame, insipid, feeble resultant
effort generates undercurrent
aghast how rapid
(think lightspeed) went.
Yours truly his own worst critic ad aware
how avast mein kampf replete with bare
inducent to tap into latent fledgling clear
propensity to express creatively, I declare
bonafide potential to join pantheon excelsior
reserved for established authors within their
respective canon, genre, league...,
nonetheless an obvious flair
seemed evident perhaps coalesced
when in utero biological gear
yielded wiggly, ugly, scrawny,
quirky Harris heir
(sole son and second of three offspring)
an older and younger sister,
which introverted brother bullies
did constantly jeer
token scapegoat suffered
one after another kingly leer
pushing psychological state near
precipice off into dock side of moon,
who sought
(wharf far art grim reaper) to pier
without naked qualm evincing
one very bony rear
without sympathy for the devil
merely spells severely
pockmarked psyche therefore
impossible mission to set tattered self esteem
tacked toward in opposite direct where
dark shadow of doubt doth not veer
me into apathetic, horrific, pathetic...
suicidal mental state of yesteryear.
Memory houses soul asylum vestige...
where complex edifice once anchoring
venerated Glen Elm demesne once stood,
now nothing except vinyl city!
I recall breathtaking, expansive, incredible
numerous, tremblingly awe inspiring views
billion miles (slight exaggeration) heavenly
sights comfortably ensconced, while perched
high atop sadly long since demolished complex
edifice anchoring Glen Elm demesne – summer
mansion property captain Leiper (circa early
nineteen hundreds) more'n century ago once
encompassing hundred plus acres whittled to
approximately 2.42811 hectares upon purchase
February twenty eighth ninety sixty eight by
papa Boyce Brandon Harris, insync with help
courtesy paternal grandpa Aaron Harris, the
former who invested blood, sweat and tears,
when not yoked, tethered, obligated... to
incumbent duties consonant with assignments
linkedin, when gainfully employed as top notch
mechanical engineer at General Electric, he
slaved away gentrifying neglected fixer upper
(matter of fact single handedly reshingled roof)
that same exterior hideaway offering solace
against imprecation, ostracization, ultimatum...
damnation, humiliation, laceration, (albeit verbal
lashing against yours truly), when exhibiting no
motivation to work (courtesy thank debilitating,
immobilizing, paralyzing anxiety/panic attacks),
now though still plagued with same understood
as congenital (possibly in utero) malady, yes an
abominable, execrable, implacable..., nemesis
which unpleasant memories haunt me even to
this day, whereby nothing but utter failure cast
dark shadows analogous to edge of night oft
times accompanied with suicidal ideations,
whereat damned, continually bereft, abysmal
bereft legacy testimony marginally functioning
as the token "scapegoat" throughout twelve
torturous years yielding absolute zero aptitude
unable to comprehend, (I strongly suspect die
hug noses along high functioning autistic
spectrum - case in point youngest of two sweet
progeny (both daughters) afflicted with yepper
aforementioned cognitive learning disability,
she benefited social services since birth, and
can attest to much more positive academic,
and socialization endeavors well on her way
living clear and free empowered at twenty
orbitz round the earth.
You know, it is rather difficult to discuss mental health
The simile of the racing thoughts is a swift flight
Swift, and Intrepid like an Arabian horse,
Sometimes, too hard to decipher, even.
I face the past,
and I talk.
and I keep talking about many, many issues
And you heard me there, silently.
Then, you whispered into my ears, “Un the lib.”
Did you utter the word, “Un the lib?”
Or, was it a call for another scapegoat,
with the name Andalib?
My understanding is getting clouded, and clouded enough.
Vulnerably, and abnormally.
But there is no problem.
Neighborhood concept runs into such difficulties, these days.
They are yawning and dribbling in so many places,
chilling effects...
With the metaphor of a prophetic narration
with so many broken chains, harder to trace even.
Understanding.
It whittles down to an empty bottle of pickles, decisively.
Never tried to forget “Un the lib” though,
Never tried too hard to break free, nonetheless.
Word abandons me along the way, cult of own whims too.
Let us come to the points,
Closer enough to the bullet points,
A poet’s life, bohemian, unpredictable
A very fine line to decipher between irrationality, insanity
Nothing more than this. Just this.
“Hallo, microphone testing, one, two, three, hallo?”
Nothing more than that,
not even a one liner.
Please do return to your beloved dream.
Find your imagination in your beautiful enigmatic lover
You may fetch her, even from the farthest corner of a poem
And, please be sure that you may.
And you may do so, for me
On and on.
Is it too much of a task?
I saw you both, together, already.
Wandering around, streets imprinted you both.
Footsteps.
Muddy constellations.
Guided me through. Meticulous coldness.
May I perceive it
as a stigma?
As a cliché?
As a bubbly snow? Whistleblower?
crawling with the irrationality to linger more?
Perhaps, just so, because,
it never served me enough.
Or are there anything?
To digress with any of these?
Yes, it is better that way
Do return, please do so, earnestly.
And lame excuses are in abundance,
It will find me too, sooner or later, anyhow.
“Un the Lib,”
how far are you there, with your two cents?
In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor,
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin,
So familiar, so resonant and never faint.
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground,
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound,
In retreat from a world he cannot understand
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.
It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips,
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip,
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend,
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size,
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend.
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct,
Perched perilously with nothing to lose,
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes,
Dropping pebbles and stones to the
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below,
Imagining if he may fall in their stead,
What then would be left to know?
The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.
Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong,
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on.
People thought him shy, with head bowed low,
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself,
Denying the threat of another blow.
He was not shy, just hiding and biding,
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.
Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief,
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve,
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief,
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.
Take me out of here and,
Never bring me back to this dungeon
Hell for the monkeys
What eyes could see what i have seen without going blind?
What mouth could speak of where i have been without going
dumb?
My legs wobbled and trembled
Hands held high in defeat
I have been through hell
And it rejected me, begged for my leave
Devastated, enraged, shattered and desperate
Who could believe it was caused by a friend?
Most trusted and honoured among all
It pays to work with an enemy rather than a friend.
My eyes are dim and weak.
Love and passion gone to exile
Strength dashed away sadly
She betrayed me, authorities took over
In a trickish violated manner
I became dumb, never allowed to say a word
Became the morning and afternoon scapegoat
Feeble after the hundred metre race
To save a bereaved life.
All she had to do was sit back
Watch the harvest song play out
Then, i follow
Once i stepped in and fall
She got an instant scape goat.
Out there, the air and people molested me.
A sharp fire ripped a hole in my stomach
I'm not sure whether a rage or pain but it hurt so much
Always in a dead silence against my right
Behind this bar, i felt blood drained from my face
Each seconds i looked at her
She's breathing heavily_panting through her sobs.
As a friend and liar
A lunatic and a lover
As a bored rich kid, a fear nothing thrill seeker
An odds defying gambler and even,
For the briefest of moment, as a perfect daughter in-law
I have seen her every where in between
But never as a betrayer
I reread her names half a thousand times
The calmest among us zubem
Thus fear a silent man
A fist of nausea punches in the throat,
And my chest caved in
With the taste of freedom on my tongue
Inside my chest, a volcano of rage explode
But in all dear do take me out of this dungeon.
1/27/21
"Styrofoam"
It's not hormones, testosterone
Or Pheromones
I was at the crossroads
Moved towards what was familiar or unknown
Never did any good to postpone
I can really feel it in my bones
Nearby all these Madrones
Time has shown
In and out of all these biomes
The elements shaping the land and stones
Hung up the phone
Then came the dial tone
I've sinned, and I've atoned
I regressed, and I have grown
Sippin’ out of Styrofoam
In and out of different tidal zones
Had to get it on my own
It almost always was homicide if their was a broken Hyoid bone
It was always kept a secret or widely known
They're really focused on drones
And clones
Yet they also want to continually probe
And spy on the entire globe
Was close to the cosmos
As well as the locker of Davy Jones
From here to Nome
Always been a rogue
After the motherlode
Sometimes I was on paved streets, or often I was on dirt roads
Staying composed
Solving problems with or without the use of codes
Before the doors are closed
Meanwhile, people still having continual episodes
Got it done smoothly, or I just bulldozed
Those
That attempted to oppose
And stick their nose
Into my business, that's a no
Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe
Catch a tiger by the toe
Took them out with the undertow
Quickly they sunk below
Or by going blow for blow
A.K.A. Toe to toe
The same could be said for many, including so and so
The flesh and organs beginning to decompose
Food for insects, vultures and crows
It's not a hoax
Did the least or I did the most
Put it out there or was a ghost
Got it done easily or cut it close
It's gross
Far too often was comatose
Because I overdosed
Couldn't stop myself, or follow advice from my folks
I know, what a joke
Even though I've been woke
I couldn't stop my addictions, or say "Adios!"
More than just words being wrote
It'd do you some good to take note
Humans at each others throats
Quick to gloat
And to go right for the throat
Especially over your affiliation and how you vote
I either did or didn't have a rain coat
Humans quick to find a scapegoat
We either were or were not in the same boat
Stood sturdy like an oak
Behind continual clouds of smoke
And enough alcohol to make a moat
So that a boat could stay afloat