Long Scimitar Poems
Long Scimitar Poems. Below are the most popular long Scimitar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scimitar poems by poem length and keyword.
The house is boiled cabbage
goose fat, gizzard stew, and beets.
Windows steam and simmer,
you can write your name on the glass
winter or summer.
If you can live among rutabaga
or borscht; if pickled eggs haunt your palate
then this house becomes air in your lungs.
The landlady was Polish or Russian;
she spoke with a burly churlish tongue,
she moved like a Turk, her walking cane
was a scimitar. She supped a tarry tea
from a Serbian samovar.
We shared a toilet with a slim man
who was slinky and still in the closet,
he would saucily wink over strong drink.
His lips were rosy not pink. He washed
argyle socks in the kitchen sink.
There were others, they left early
riding pushbikes into the grey streets.
The lady groused, patrolled perimeters,
barged prying hands into private matters.
Hairclips and rubber bands fell from her curlers
as forewarnings and threats.
The Bulgarian or Croatian crone
had broad bad hips and liked me not
for back then
I used a substance to ease my mind.
I would smoke in the shared toilet
leaning my thin mouth through
a small slanty window,
she absolutely knew, and threw
passing daggers
with tightly curled Estonian lips.
We stayed like that for months
until the city regurgitated our lives
once more.
Once more seeking low rent rooms,
from those cosmopolitan guardians
of small city spaces.
VERSE I
she brushed across my shoulders
the bedroom light broke
a breasted scimitar—dancing thoracic throat
what I once outran—now presses my lips
she carried no black-wing omen
yet every breath drew near
purple velvet summons
Murdering me with Cashmere.
PRE-CHORUS I
kiss drawn, the walls slant inward
and rouge, the dark-root took shape—
as if her inborne blackwork
could make the night a colourless drape.
CHORUS I
Murdering me with Cashmere
tugging at my countless heartbeats
stripping me down to bare nerve
Murdering me with Cashmere
touch that lifted a ceiling curve
a birthright that denied me standing
VERSE II
the air lost a beat near her
piano shuttered its strings
her keratin ruled its hidden kingdoms
where songs outlived clipped-wings
one quick brush of softness
could tilt the atmosphere—
an unquestionable sovereign reign
Murdering me with Cashmere.
PRE-CHORUS II
marrow-sapped, my bones bleached white
and oooh, my will to power grew thin
her presence pressed antique velour
against my browning-paper skin
a blue-litracution mocked my manly core
CHORUS II
Murdering me with Cashmere
negating my defenses
melting my deep fear
Murdering me—only Cashmere
mist that would not recede
a spell that outlasted me
BRIDGE
she stood there—the verdict given
queen without a crown
her secrets a crashing thunder
hinged to pin me down
and I—
climbed, she was higher
and her hemlock closed in—too near
I fell into her ghast-lit shadow
Murdered soft by Cashmere.
FINAL CHORUS
Murdering me with Cashmere
kindness with a strangler’s grip
a calm that finished the work
Murdering me in Cashmere
queen in vestment of highness—
Lady Caledonia Blue— cyanotic.
OUTRO
she brushed across my shoulders
the world skipped a breath to grieve
softness that occluded on my lungs and stayed
refused to let me leave
her after-mint lodged in my vertebral mind
thorn in every flowing tear—
the night she claimed my arrhythmic heartbeat
Murdering me with Cashmere.
Glancing down from breathless heights,
Amidst climey sighs,
The looming colossus awakens from slumber
And stretches across Thelwalls linear skies.
The hot engines hissing steam -
Recalled from fond memories long back -
Tumbling like huffing little rain clouds
Down from the lofty metal track;
Wherein brightly painted carriages:
The publicans daughter, the verger,
The magistrate, the chief executive -
Seated first class, all habitually sat.
Swift grandiose arches, a celebration
Trumpeting the artful masons cunning devise,
Boast loudly of the great towers
Parallelogram of terrific forces:
Crossing over in giant leaping strides.
Here below, like Hercules reclining,
The stoic gates of Latchfords black fortress locks
Lift to brace against the immense swell
Far and beyond the chimming remarks
Of Greenhalls absolute, mechanically proven,
Georgian bell;
When, ensconced within a purpose-built,
Purple brick tower:
Strikes the centuries old brewery clock
On the twelfth
Of every God given hour.
A rich bankers cantilever
Pushes doggedly against opposing, sheer,
Red Sandstone walls;
Again the mauve and azure rock pigeon claps...
And then...coo, coo, cooingly calls.
Dry buzzing heat blurs over
The hum of a high noons imcumbent midday;
The coup-de-gras scimitar wing stoops -
To fasten onto its slower-witted prey!
Steeped sides slipping amidst tumbling yellow
Gorse and sporadic flowers
Balk at the foreboding waters edge,
Where, over the denizens swirling bowers,
The resolute little rusting lugger,
Puffing and chugging,
relentlessly dredges and scours;
Churning the murky Eastham silts
That drab Manchester draw:
Into the vast hollowing quays
On beachless, concrete Salfords industrialized,
High-rise dockland shore.
Through the deepest part of the black
Channel
A salt grimed hulk smoothly slips...
Attached by a twisted hemp to the tugboat
That hauls the great ships.
Stirred by the bow waves
Flowing and ebbing like currents in time:
From the trough to the peak
The jettison and flotsam climbs -
Before succumbing to powerful undercurrents
Of irresistible designs!
I often wonder at a knife-edge.
I thank, for this, the master craftsman;
Shine or dull; sharp; or blunt like a wedge,
Within them, hides vast arts a million.
Assortments of knife-edges I know.
V edge: for veggies! Tool of mothers;
Convex V: splitter's sharp stiletto.
Scimitar: beloved of butchers.
Chisel-edged: Japanese Acetone!
Sushi knife-edge - Awesome! Rudely spiky!
Serrated-edged: bread-knife, common-known,
Without which my home might look empty.
Macbeth and Caesar deadly daggers,
Had edges worth catharsis crisis;
Atrocious murderers and gangsters,
Used them for their cutthroat serials.
Fights brawled; won and lost; at knife-edges.
History has witnessed man's follies;
Chopped heads, hands, mutilated organs;
Yet, graves bejeweled with white lilies…!
Slash fruits! Slit vegetables! Slice bread!
Shatter shackles! Free all the enslaved!
Think once, twice, thrice before lives you shred.
Lives lost cannot be re-assembled.
“Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.”(Hebrews 4:13)
18 May 2021
This or That, Vol 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Bestial History Recycling
by Odin Roark
School years found him library prone,
Glimpsing pages of barbaric times,
Centuries ago where death and executioners
Lived out their realities,
History’s training ground for ancestral inheritance.
So easy to thumb through pages,
Gaze into the pale faces described
Like their judges must have seen
If they looked.
But who sees eye to eye in such moments?
His focus rose from such pages,
Allowing forgiveness for such atrocities,
Accepting the norm of those days
To calm his senses.
Now older,
Removed from the voluminous archives of bound studies,
He sat in his favorite chair,
Held tight the newspaper,
Allowed today’s pictured headlines to sink in,
A demonic breeding he once thought was past.
As if by sacred duty
The turbaned head held steady,
His left hand with scimitar,
His right about to yank the victim’s hair,
A grip of cruelty above innocence,
Atrocity bearing down on civilized…
He glanced up at the fire needing another log,
And allowed the emptying of his sorrow,
Imagining the blood drenched sands of what he once thought
Was reserved as teachings from long ago days,
Now but festering doubt of whether civilization had advanced.
How could he think otherwise.
Then was repeatedly now,
Alive,
Hungry,
Knowing nothing of satiability,
Only the gluttonous hatred
Their twisted theosophy thrived on.
With eyes closed,
He could hear Nature’s whirling sands,
Wanting to cover this,
Bury that,
Save the mothers from it all,
From bearing yet more
Of savagery’s black over orange,
Humanity’s unanswered shame
Of glittering blades made dull,
With death’s crusted blood,
Inciting appetites to sharpen once more,
To hover over slumped heads,
Tied hands,
Bended knees,
Final breaths.
With recycled history out of control,
When would its savagery rape his shores?
Protean nucleic processes
polemic yield
explosive diversification
punctuated equilibrium
Stephen J. Gould
Paleontological hypothesis
spawning sudden flora and fauna
competed against diametrically opposed diatribe
pairing diehard Religionists
versus Doubting Thomists
which Creationist advocates
threatened non-believers
with damnation and eternal punishment
spake brotherhood of God brethren thru tongue did wield.
Pompous empiricists
fire and brimstone sermons on the mount
excruciating punishment of soul would yield
claimants who refute intelligent design theorists
to explain away biological gaps
extant within evolutionary field
said Biblical creationists belief
pitted dogmatic atheistic crusaders
to fight tooth and nail
with scimitar and shield!
Enroling you a worm (cumbersome and)
hairy, you- scimitar of leaves
Knows the pain ,writhing pupae
Abandoned and convicted
Constricted hanging straightjacket
Squirming like a jackrabbit
Gagged nocturnally - blindfold humility
Rejected by those mocking moths
and jealously believing left the key
Both found our grace on bended knees
..left there dangling from a tree..
Unhinge now those spinakers of glory
Pretty - flaky- flinder
Streaked in splatters paint
Dust of the fairies
Gaze at me with criss-cross eyes
Innocent beauty oh ye butterfly
Spiny antennae, stretching out transmitters
Taking flight so easily
Flitting off with no goodbyes
To a newer afternoon over there
Dashing in the sun
Kneeding and gouging all those zinnias
Joy! Slurping up the nectar
Whisky! Tequila! Brandy and Champagne!
Swops them for a chorus of pansies
Dancing blooming flowers
Crazy blessed colours
Bouncing delight.- erratic in flight
Dodging in between the bees
O enchanted mystic butterfly
Only pausing for a while
Hold me in your spell
For you walked that crooked mile
Linger in this dream
So seldom comes to see
Just as you, my timepiece too
Is coiled in spring
A dustpuff within the wind
Specked all over pollen confetti
Envied now by every moth
Suicidal circle - one kamikaze candle
Seared and singed and slowly fried
Getting what theyre vetted for
But the sun his laughing in his sky
Beseeching all the yet to open flowers
Awake !Awake!
An angel is coming by
tender petsmart impact, where world wide web populated
with sacrificial pacification sans deity
via oblation, immolation, flagellation appeasing Dominatrix
borrow wing, vis a vis amalgamated viz Roman sol invictus
wrought fiery brimstone tempting those who dared
assert contrary fledgling jambalaya outlook
provoking regally supreme sacerdotal wiseman
punishing opposing incorporating
novel modus operandi explaining sacrilegious worship
such heretics pitched headlong
into fiendish frothing furnace
forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the mountain king,
whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths
sanctifying twisted brambles via sprinkling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter
unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises
trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed group think
disallowing cynics,
diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant recommended recourse
faced torture amidst throng of madding crowd
as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak
taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and whyfores, which accepted traditions
controlled each green day
and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres
lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman or child with flaming torches
licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.
A luminescent scimitar
cleaves the obsidian
firmament,
An ethereal calligraphy
traced upon the cosmic
element.
Suspended in quiet majesty,
a vestige of celestial grace,
Shedding a shimmering,
iridescent glow across time
and space.
This iridescent sickle cradles
the penumbral sphere,
As whispering constellations
gather softly from far and
near.
A mesmerizing emblem of
the twilight's quiet, transient
art,
Stirring a melancholic
wonder deep within the
dreamer's heart.
Through the subterranean
expanse of the everlasting
night,
She glides with incandescent
elegance, a beacon of pure
light.
An ephemeral,
phosphorescent crescent,
beautifully designed,
Casting a captivating,
tranquil spell upon all
humankind.
I entered the game…
And was confronted with Wraith
It was my job to avoid the Death Shriek
Which I did
But next came the Gargoyle
Which was elemental
I slid from his tactics
An undead Ghoul approached me
Must look out for his bites and claws
Then with an attack of +7
Came the Rat Swarm
I fought for the experience points
Oh no vermin! Spider
The web is the worst
Can you even believe an undead Zombie
Armor class is 11
Reptile; Kobold Skirmisher
Damage only one
My greatest fear…
The Blazing Skeleton
But my dice tops well
The skeleton only though
Has scimitar and slice
Yielding two experience points!
And lastly is the wolf
With bite or pounce
It’s okay. I’ll defeat him too.
And win this game.