Long Scorched Poems
Long Scorched Poems. Below are the most popular long Scorched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scorched poems by poem length and keyword.
Her marital ring gleamed on her left hand,
Yet lust was what she had carefully planned.
Her beauty, stunning, left me wanting more,
But lechery weighed heavy at my core.
I spoke, though words fell silent in my mind,
But what she heard left her in tears confined.
Her tears, a blush of crimson faintly dyed,
I never knew why she had cried, and cried.
Days dragged, her elegance tormented with glee,
I spoke little so lust begged to flee.
Till one night, a moment I won't forget,
When fate rewarded me with her hot sweat.
Where was this beauty before she was chained?
She seemed truly mine, yet my heart is drained.
Lust suddenly drove love far from my sight,
Though sweet, it was definitely not right.
The door of secrecy soon left unlocked,
The hush-hush brought by lust no longer knocked.
A wild wind blew it to the ears of shame.
Lechery scorched us in a low blue flame.
Two inept crooks robbed my house while I was on vacation.
They left my water running and they died by strangulation.
Besides robbing me, those idiots also made me have to pay a two hundred dollar water bill.
They were already beaten by my neighbors eight year old son, as crooks, they had no skill.
I decided to go to the Police Station and post their bail.
Before I was through, they wanted to go back to jail.
I shot them in their crotches and burned their heads with my blowtorch.
Those dumbasses were screaming in agony because their heads were scorched.
Before strangling them, I used my shotgun to blow off their kneecaps.
Everybody had better start to learn that I will not take people's crap!
(This poem is based on the 1990 'Home Alone' movie.)
Sunshine Poets
We are the ones who write in gold,
who dip our pens in liquid dawn
and spill it across the broken world—
not to hide the cracks, but make them holy.
They call us naïve, these sunshine poets,
as if hope were a weakness,
as if to see light were to be blind
to all the gathering dark.
But we have walked through midnight too.
We know the weight of shadows,
the taste of ash, the way grief
can hollow out your chest until
you’re nothing but an echo of yourself.
Still, we choose the sun.
Not because we don’t see the storm clouds,
but because we’ve learned that light
doesn’t erase the darkness—
it reveals what lives inside it:
the shape of your own endurance,
the outline of tomorrow,
the seeds that only split open
when buried deep in earth.
We write of resilience not as escape
but as the hardest work there is—
to tend the garden when the floods come,
to sing when your voice breaks,
to believe in bridges while
the world is burning them.
They say we’re foolish, these sunshine poets,
for speaking beauty into the void,
for insisting that a single flower
pushing through concrete
means something.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe courage isn’t the absence of fear—
it’s planting words like seeds
in the scorched ground of now,
watering them with stubborn faith
that somewhere, someone
will need this light we’ve left behind.
Inferiority Complex As A Kid And Adult!
I recall father, (now behold
at near ninety years old - maintains stronghold
on life, cuz born of sturdy mettle -
rumor claims bullion – ne'er did buckle nar fold
meaning bull + lion rolled
together and processed
April 9th, nineteen twenty nine),
fortune teller foretold
envious longevity, perhaps
just shy of eternity
older than anyone polled
occasionally got a bit
short tempered as patriarch
( ~6'2” ~ 200 lbs at prime)
over any five members of Harris household
with me, and timid, meek,
and fawning did scold,
and mother, (who passed away
after completing seventy plus orbits, all told,
sans November 13th, nineteen thirty five),
no matter both parents (more mom)
did abhor applying stronghold
tactics vis a vis corporal punishment,
though the late Harriet Harris, not so gold
din as totally carefree disciplinarian
confessed many moons ex post facto lost hold
of her appreciable tolerance,
than quickly crumbled like broken scaffold
after she spanked this monkey upon bony posterior
(an endearment, but NOT spanking
ever since mama did withhold
though kept pet name, which
ideally suited me as a little boy),
both her hands went limp and cold
apology immediately iterated,
cuz she felt mortified, and sold
reparation with self restraint
against further instances tubby brazenly bold
possibly contributed,
fostered, and inculcated mold
ding mine shy characteristic.
Me, this twangy nasal kid
(courtesy of split uvula we did
discover rather a speech pathologist
six grade minor congenital defect
i.e., submucous cleft palate), aforesaid
I experienced interminable
relentlessly psyche burning acrid
tormenting, teasing, and talking funny
this vulnerability compounded amid
my undersized and socially withdrawn demeanor
whereby every day akin getting scorched
by some "NON FAKE" ironclad grid!
Here I stand in this godforsaken corner
under a forgotten, sun scorched land
beneath an expansive, desert sky.
I squint in the melting sun at high noon
my proud, deeply tanned face is lined
like a road map, carved and etched
from years of exposure to the elements.
A hot wind swiftly lifts and carries
large tumbleweeds across the dusty
roads of the reservation.
I can see old paint peeling around the
edges of a trading post sign,
rusted out cars with their hoods open
gathered like a weary convention
along the arroyo canyon,
and a lone roadrunner scurrying
among the saguaro cactus.
My ancestors were a proud people
once roaming freely over this vast
country. They loved the land and
respected it.
When the white man came, we
welcomed them, until we saw they
wanted to take our land from us.
Then we fought like warriors, but
were soon outnumbered.
Now we have been relegated to
these largely barren swaths of land
on the outskirts of society.
Here we languish, yet we will
rise again once more.
I am a Native American and
I have been put in the corner.
Written on 3/25/2017
I can feel this heartbeat, gentle rhythm deep
under my feet, I can feel the blood seep…
I keep it clean, I can feel the scorched earth weep,
what have we done Dear God, this earth reeks…
are the Kings playing for the throne
as the destruction is nigh, the media alight
I can feel this misplace holy war
the suicidal tirade of adolescent apes...
Burning tribes living in turmoil
long are the days on this fleeting earth
the righteous are holy in immaculate rebirth
only to find a cinder of ash, cold at last
A faltering distant earth, holy are days
scorched burnt black, as attrition’s warfare
breaks this crust of a lost infinite earth...
I can feel it’s heartbeat, gentle rhythm creep
inside my mind, I can feel the blood weep…
I keep my thoughts intact
I can hear this scorched earth seep,
what have we done Dear God, this earth is bleak…
An Orange King is enthroned, as the destruction is nigh
I can feel this misplace holy war the suicidal, high.
Betrayed by love, I sip the bitter nectar you provide,
A chalice transfigured from black ink, your verse a river, infernal.
The burn grows in my throat, no choice do I have, I cannot flee,
Each gulp slowly tears from me a sigh, a prayer in a soft decree.
Do you watch as my dry lips trace the hourglass of pain,
Knowing you shall never taste this end of joy's wane?
For I cannot imprint, nor force into my palms the sorrow you've cast,
This vicious cocktail, of betrayals and venom, how bitterly you've amassed.
Your eyes laugh, witnessing the agony nest within me deep,
You think each sip a torment, but my heart whispers its keep:
"I love you, do not betray me, I shall not lose you, it can't be dire!"
My tongue is scorched, yet still I drink from that chalice of fire,
For I hold this mad faith that, despite it all, you would never truly disown.
The cup in your hand never empties, it's a wellspring of mists that moan,
I gaze at you through waves of tears, transient, paths on a map that bend and break.
Because my heart, deaf to the mind's hesitations,
Refuses to believe that this love is dead, that it's all just air and pretensions.
An echo, how our wings that have flown moment by moment have shattered,
In the spider's web of time, rings upon rings have been battered.
A canvas of melancholy unfolds, for love - a flame, a spectacle, a pyrotechnic blaze,
Fades in glances, something immovable, something immortal, akin to an offering's grace.
Tansy Roekaerts
12:35 AM (12 hours ago)
Mirage
With eyes as parched as the desert I travel,
I thirst for my loss, yet do not unravel.
The sun it scorches with merciless rays,
Though heart not skin it brutally flays.
My life before me: a vast expanse,
Empty and scorched infernal sands.
Traveller dropped in foreign terrain,
Totally wrecked, blindsided by pain.
‘Not all is lost’, swears false apostle,
So now I believe, for relief so colossal
Gleams right ahead in sparkling silver,
Joy so intense, my tears form a river:
Our faces awash, in joy so sublime,
I feel such hope, imagining what's mine
Returning to me. That long cool sip
Shimmers ahead, into relief I'll dip
A desire so great. I count the days,
Striving to reach that scintillating haze,
So full of promise, till deceived I fall -
Nature lies too. Still their names I call.
Beaming eyeballs,
and orbs,
from first blush,
offspring frolicsome,
as they dot,
geosmin odoured pavement,
whilst shrieking impishly,
with infectious,
cuddly cheep,
parents shepherd,
yet they exude,
at bounce captured,
cordial conducive,
in electrifying,
picturesque swathe,
orange-scorched oriole,
with coal-black plume,
on urban shade tree,
townscape as hub,
endowed cosmopolitan,
brimful brio, ginger, dash,
kundalini wakened,
as sultry vault,
vigilant ambience,
ample alignment to,
ice tea mint gust,
aroma mediating,
splash of amber sun wash,
neath navy welkins,
that taunt and sketch,
wooing ambit,
extracts of,
aroha’s
indigo index
Will you come and share this room with me
And keep my company, will you come and listen
To the village sound and the mongrel dogs
invoking fears at midnight in their winter gown
Will you come and listen to the birds sing and
Listen to my heart moving to a silent rhythm
Stand in front of me and look directly in the sea
Watch the waves as they climb the banks and fill
Your heart with a musical song from the depth of the sea,
I can see the sea gulls pining after thee and
Feeding upon the memory of long ago
When you just began the evening show
You did not know which way to go
But the early morning lusters breathe courage
In your soul and wisdom takes you up the stairs
and you could finally inhale fresh air,
I can see you standing on the rock over there
Gazing at the horizon with strong mountains
Around you that have stood the test of time
And somewhere in the midst of space
An empty room stood up straight
With gravity holding hands and destiny singing melodious songs
I can hear a radiant music playing in your soul
And the spirits of love moving towards the shore
With a bright light in front searching for the room in the distant
Come and share this room with me and unravel the mystery
Lift your heart and come to the sea and tell me a story about
Your history; tell me the tales of Christendom of how the pilgrims and the weary travelers met and honker down
and scorched in the burning Sun
Come and share this room with me
And write the next chapter with me.