Long Screaming Poems
Long Screaming Poems. Below are the most popular long Screaming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Screaming poems by poem length and keyword.
Can' can't can-can
Mum won't let me, 'cos it's rude,
She has always been a prude.
Dad would faint if he could see,
A little bit too much of me.
High-kicking in a bawdy show.
Men cat calling to dancers
Go girls, go,
And go they did, at a frantic pace,
Holding up their dresses,
To hide their face
Screeching and screaming as they danced,
Putting the men in a trance,
Except for a few
Who passed out when they saw the view.
Faces started turning red,
As the girls threw their dresses over their heads,
Mum was shocked, horrified,
Grabbing me and throwing me outside,
The door of this despicable place,
Saying the girls are a disgrace to the human race.
And I CAN'T CAN'T go,
To join a bawdy CAN-CAN show...
Original poem - For Grandma
You died grandma and my heart was broken,
At your funeral I stood there trembling;
And in the name of love words were spoken,
I needed to speak words without weeping.
Me, standing up front holding my papers,
There was a soft breeze caressing my hair;
I looked at your coffin and the flowers,
Oh, how I wished this was just a nightmare.
I started to speak in such a sad voice,
And then, I felt your great strength within me;
I spoke of your life so all could rejoice,
So filled with your love that I spoke so free.
Then, I felt the papers go fluttering,
And in the name of love, I was speaking.
___________________________
New poem - Always For Grandma
And in the name of love, I was speaking,
As they put your coffin into the ground;
I looked calm but inside I was screaming,
Staying, until birds were the only sound.
Then, I went to the quiet of your home,
Wandering, I touched all your precious things;
And even to the attic, I went to roam,
Oh, grandma, your strength gave my poems wings.
It was you who gave me my first journal,
And you said, write it, write down all the pain;
My love for you grandma, is eternal,
And at last I wept, and outside was rain.
I lingered there for hours with memories,
Within me grandma, safe are your stories.
______________________
February 28, 2016
Poetry/Sonnet/Always For Grandma
Copyright Protected, ID 16-765-513-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Famous Last Line
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
That day was forever.
It was finally time,
For us to move out.
We found old card-boards
From our neighborhood
Chose the best ,
Carefully packed our stuff .
Our old home stood ,
At the center of the town,
Where we grew up;
With chaos all around.
The terrace gave me company,
Keeping my little secrets
and carved names on the mosses.
The rock bottom of the deep well
Found me screaming out,
The voices within and listen.
The walls held empty pots,
Once chrysanthemum grew.
The cherry tree stood nearby ,
Which never bloomed, though
Caterpillars found home there.
The mango tree in the backyard,
Dwarf enough for one to climb,
Gifted its shade and not a mango .
Guavas, we did grab,
From the terrace, ripe and raw.
Star fruits hugged the soil now,
For we ignored them fall.
Hibiscus leaves soothed my hair
And henna leaves, my hands.
And the verandah, void
With its circular chair,
Wrapped green.
Grandma used to sit there,
Observing her town with pride.
I taped the card-boards,
Wrote my name and date,
Sighed for the days of
Hard work and choosing.
And waited to move out.
The place was a mess,
So were we, though
We deserved better.
Looking back, I will regret
Packing my childhood apart .
Card-boards resembled
Tombstones with my name.
Never did my dreams fail
To lead me back home.
And the pain of watching
As a stranger passing by,
Never faded away.
A haunted house, it remained.
Yes, moving out was hell.
Life was never the same again.
A Wordsmith’s pen
Is mightier than the sword
For he can turn a tricky word
Into a verbal weapon
And win the day against the hoard
The words of the Bard
It’s not very hard
The turn of a friendly card
The changing of the old guard
The wicked witch is feathered and tarred
The sky above is dark and starred
It’s feeling out loud
The dancing of spirit abounds
The singing of the soul
The mind and body are whole
Although sometimes it makes no sounds
Manifestations of mental visions
Put to paper by steward, or vassal
On cotton, leather or papyrus passel
Seeing illusions and derisions
Inside the book, the bookmark’s tassel
Of words and dreams, and fantasies
Muses and fancies
Blissful and blithe
Demons and monsters, and zombies alive
Somehow the dead come back to life
Shadows and shades of torment
Ghouls and ghosts, and wraiths
Humans tear at their at the clothes and lament
And prophets forecast and forebode advent
Fortune tellers and soothsayers say
The mind screaming in pain
Devotion and emotion
Evolution and convolution
The sane are temporarily insane
The brain suffers erosion
To purify what has been defiled
Or deride what is pretentious
Celebrate what is momentous
Of the humors; blood and bile
Are both infectious
Soul speak
Affirmation of thought and deed
The lookers seek
All of those who have a need
Reap of the sown seed
Strong encourage the weak
Travels in time and place
Exploring inner and outer space
The Children of the Is
Sing the songs that were once His
Though the Old Man’s dead and gone
His legacy lives on
From dusk ‘till dawn
Memories in tome eternal
Glimpses of Heaven
Thoughts of Hades infernal
Rolling sevens and elevens
Immortal mortals
Of a limited time
Speaking in riddles and rhymes
This poem a babbling run-on thing
Pondering, wandering and wondering
A beautiful mind
It should be dismantled and dismembered
Fuses blown, circuits fried, wires unwind
The Dancing divine
When remembered…
I want to go home courses through my head
Even while next to you in bed
We do not fight, not even yell
Yet the silence will not quell
My mind is screaming
And the tears will soon begin streaming
I send you a text
Which I think you swipe next
Then you go to sleep
Without saying a peep
Other than a muttered 'I love you'
And the voices become few
Those words are my kryptonite
Now I'll be able to sleep tonight
Without fear you'll leave
Giving me a reprieve
The first poem in awhile I've written
Once again I will begin
Reflection beneath an overturned leaf
Will not be brief
For improvement is necessary
If I don't want to continue with this misery
This lovely fruit that clings to tree:
it beckons shyly, just to me.
Not an apple to pick, alas;
nor a fine pear--I almost pass.
But then a perfume fills the air,
almost too sweet for one to bear.
And so I pick this lovely fruit
and give to one in my pursuit.
She thought it beautiful, at first.
I wasn't ready for the worst.
The face she made was new to me,
her screaming fraught with witchery!
She threw the beastly thing at me,
and ran away: I watched her flee.
What smells so sweet but tastes so sour?
That, I now know, is lemon's power.
What a faux pas I had just made.
But it unmasked a grand charade.
As lemon and the girl portrayed
that which lies within and not displayed.
ALONE AT THE HOLOCAUST MUSEUM
rose early in the morning,
indulged in a lovely quiche lorraine,
ventured out
alone.
silence has a sound of its own.
yes, there was the film, my first exposure -
Kristallnacht – the night of broken glass
S
H
A
T
T
E
R
S
the sterile space…
alone, i enter the “gas chamber” -
no one’s there, no screaming naked bodies.
the only fear is in my mind – i
must get out, feeling claustrophobic.
exiting and to my right, a setup -
a dummy behind a machine gun
my pulse quickens, throat is dry.
then to my left: hair cuttings, glasses, teeth, clothing -
my eyes hurt as i read – many children were thrown
into the ovens A L I V E.
the horror constricts my brain. horrible to imagine
one crazed serial murderer and this was an entire country.
cruelty has sharp claws, hidden behind breath and flesh
gifted by God. monsters have lovely hair, straight teeth,
families preparing dinner, friends cheering with
CLINKING CRYSTAL.
going home, they smile, swing loved ones around,
kiss their merry cheeks,
and they R E E K with death.
10/14/2016
In the past we had to rip them from their mothers
screaming, crying ... afraid
and remold them in our image
antiquated traditions to be discarded
minds and values to be upgraded
by the Machine
Oh! The Glorious Machine ...
But the smoky, grinding beast of old has evolved itself
Glistening, oiled, sleek ... and quiet ...
Pure power - now alluring, irresistible.
Now they leave their mothers of their own choosing
Caught up in wonder of the Machine.
Oh! The Glorious Machine ...
All shall serve for they are served.
All are used up as they learn to use.
All must bow before it ... or break
Oh ... The Glorious Machine ....
2024-09-15 finished quickly by 10:51 AM inspired by article "Sacred places" by Phillip Whiteman Jr.
Tom is not the father
No Love, No Affection Plenty of Misdirection No Love, No Comfort, No Embrace Just That Constipated Frown Face No Love, No Warmth, No Lullaby Only Screams That Split the Quiet Sky No Love, No Talks of God Everything a Total Fraud No Love, No Connection, No Family Meals Just the Cold Ache of How Rejection Feels No Love, No Safety, No Sheltering Wall Just Waiting for the Fists to Fall No Love, No Quiet, No Place for Dreaming Just Constant, Nasty, Demeaning Screaming No Love, No Truth, No Others to Bother Only the Narcissist and Her Secret... Tom is not the father
Tom is the Father
Yes Love, Yes Affection Plenty of Clear Direction Yes Love, Yes Comfort, Yes Embrace Just That Contented Smiling Face Yes Love, Yes Warmth, Yes Lullaby Only Whispers Beneath the Quiet Sky Yes Love, Yes Talks of God Everything an Honest Nod Yes Love, Yes Connection, Yes Family Meals Just the Warm Ease of How Acceptance Feels Yes Love, Yes Safety, Yes Sheltering Wall Never Waiting for the Fists to Fall Yes Love, Yes Quiet, Yes Place for Dreaming No Constant Nasty, Just Gentle Beaming Yes Love, Yes Truth, Yes Others to Gather Always the Mother and Our Secret... Tom is the father
My bed is next to me.
It’s not enough.
Carpeted floors tickle.
The fan is making me dizzy.
My parents are in their dreams.
I pretend to dream as well.
I suddenly jolt.
I could do it, I could walk into their room and start crying and screaming, out of control…
I take out my phone and text them.
They can check their messages in the morning.
And learn that I lost my mind.
But I don’t want to bug them for now.
“Hey I’m transcending reality, the fan is painful, my bed is crazy, I hate this room, it makes me remember,”
I hit send.
“Love you.”
I hit send.
A smiley face.
I hit send.
And feel a little better.