Long Servile Poems
Long Servile Poems. Below are the most popular long Servile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Servile poems by poem length and keyword.
She has red lips and dimples
round rabbit eyes
brushing hair
waving over a broad forehead
is coming
her slender legs are long
The ends of skirt sway over lap
Her waist is an ant's
Her breasts are making the softest curves
Her neck is neither long nor short, neither thick nor thin
Her face is as round as an egg
Her nose is neither arrogant nor servile
she come closer to me
moment passing by me
But my eyes still following her
i fall over I stand up without shame and raising head
Then a woman standd in front of me
sat down clouds from the blue sky
her head and saggy shoulders
Broken and worn jacket blowing in the wind
and hold in her right hand
She leans on an old cane
She takes a step that is difficult to take even one step
catches a breath for a while
she talks to me
a furoshiki in left hand
As she lays it down at my feet
she talks.to me
"Can you deliver this to my daughter in front of us?"
i get her gift
I take her hand and start following her
keeping the best distance.
In the absence of complication,
trials and tribulations become distant memories.
Above sapphire skies delight sanguine eyes -
inspiring forthcoming musings of the mind
Why, had the circumstances been not so
You would have listened to my frail voice
As it strives to step on life's pebbles
Merely to cross the river willed to us by God!
Pray, you would have yourself asked me
To recount to you of the many insights
That the skies bestow upon me,
Merely because your heart feels alive
Only when connected it is to the mysticism
That surrounds our bond!
More, you would have believed in me
Desiring me with the strength of an earthquake
Seeking solely to see my ocean bed flood
Ravaging lands and killing life
Merely to show to the rest of the cosmos
Of how moving me remains your sole duty!
Had there been not so many complications between us
You would have been the gorges
Ready to swallow my flooding waters
Merely to calm the unease that flows in me!
I remain mere woman
And in my gaze,
You remain my God,
Willed to me through the whispers of the skies
In the depths of the night!
Without you, the consciousness inhabiting me
Will turn into dust,
Easily blown off by gales and typhoons
While yours would roam around,
Hurt and angry at yourself
For having failed to believe that life on Earth
Could be imbibed with the sparks of the divine!
The complications are merely due to misunderstandings
And maybe to a bad timing,
Pray, simplify them:
Lower your swords, speak to me, listen to me,
Make of me your main concern,
Love me, forgive me and embrace me!
See the truth in my meaning
Understand that complications are merely ploys
Of the darkness surrounding us,
Seeking solely to foil God's plans!
My eyes seek to see their reflections in yours
When after whispering of my poetry to your soul
You shall lay, spent and worn
Wanting me to indulge in more of my art
Merely to please you!
In the absence of complication,
My hand would be yours to rule
My heart, yours to cherish
And my soul, yours to inspire!
In the absence of complication,
You would accept the position of God
That I give to you,
Wanting to see me snarl at the rest of the world
But,
Becoming all servile and submissive to you!
Freelance wanderer carefully navigating the vast expanse
Shadow warrior doth stealthily advance without
remonstrance
With bartered lance, pawned knife; abridged parlance
Shuffling in tantric harmony o'er unforgiving terrain;
nuanced eccentric
Camel cavalcade, entrancing spectacle across glistening
sands prancing
Shrouded by the frantic wind; each, cloaked itinerant a
tenured mantic
Trading the rationed provenance of open spaces for
gratuitous providence of flowering oases
Prudently forming each tribal alliance; deviously skirting
terms of compliance
Hearth covering from servile herd exacted; animistic
seams redacted
Burdened traveler in psychosomatic trance; by warming
flame, pyromantic
Each tenement provisioned by industrious wives; lofty
presentiment
Hospitality granted to imploring drifters; enmity shown
to extorting grifters
A merry band to profer hope in the land
A lute, fiddle, drum to make brigandry grand
A staff, bow, arrow to strafe the noble strand
A sworn oath to lawful king; a sword to gentry's overbearing hand
A pruning staff to fleece corrupt shepherds, who saintly flock's fodder have panned
A bow and arrow to poach servile game from royal tableland
A fealty to nature's law; a license the privileged class to brand
A Kangaroo court dispensing arbitrary justice to tenured gentry in the lowland
A pauper's lease, tattered remnant to expand
A squatter's right, doled penury to remand
An opportunistic syndicate confiscating hoarded supplies to reduce growing demand
A marauding troop of mercenaries liberally sharing their contraband
A providential broker, allocating pilfered alms poverty to withstand
Now they’ve done it, this is real,
Trying hard my job to steal,
Why they’d want it no-one knows,
This frenzied pack of feeding crows.
Impeach for this, Impeach for that,
A sirens’ song that just falls flat,
They little know I planned the lot,
Goading Biden to this spot.
I may be brazen but I’m not dumb,
To simple traps I don’t succumb,
A life of deals, of double talk,
I choose the prey I want to stalk.
Let them rejoice, exchange high fives,
Parade on air flaunting their knives,
While all the time I’m hard at work,
Piling dirt on that servile clerk.
Six feet deep or even more
Is how I’ll settle this one score,
And then who’s left – two commie fools,
The one just blabbers, the other drools.
So bring it on, I wait with glee,
For all the world this show to see,
Four more years with me on top,
All their efforts one huge flop.
In the terrane of deplorable deprivation manifested
in the wasteland of wretched desertion,
the obscure tufts of the subdued slender grass
struggle to rise through the cleavage of stony destiny.
The frail faces shaping the artifacts of spiteful fate,
flicker with the fading smile of residual innocence,
borrowed from the remnant rays of the forsaken sun,
already sunk in the depth of desolate dark horizon.
The children when they should be blooming like flowers,
stray to nowhere, uncared and soiled
in the harsh squall of the juvenile servile servitude.
Under the fair freedom spread by the unbound sky
the infantile dewdrops devoid of pristine patina
no longer bejewel the puerile grass of our meadow.
Tarnished by the muck of our malevolent times,
the deranged dreams of the dew dry premature.
In the twilight hour on the penultimate journey,
I wish I could give the last rays of my setting sun
to the relics of the dewdrops so they can glow awhile.
I wish I could drip the last drop of empathy from my oasis,
so their innocent smile doesn’t desiccate in inimical desert.
Just one thing I’d like to change is to stop child labor,
show the children of the lesser God
the dreams of dew that would never die.
A time came when a vital organ of mine began to fail
And I thought that was the beginning of the end
The miserable mind plunged in the abyss of hopelessness
As the course of modern medicine didn’t find its way.
As I reached the delusive edge of fading optimism
Receiving destiny’s unmistakable signal for departure
I surrendered to the benevolent power of the Almighty
Praying for His blessings for a miraculous recovery.
Tormented by the gloom of the dismal nights I found
His light illumine the darkness of the doomed future
My soul swam to the supreme savior in the sea of faith
Perceived that His grace always protects what He creates.
As my servile senses felt the essence of His omnipresence
The belief of getting assured protection in His benign shelter
Invigorated the mental strength for incredible rejuvenation
My organ got the healing touch through divine intervention.
December 28, 2021
Contest : Divine Intervention
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Those New Gods
evacuate the violence
simulating patience
they were once created
to guide us, they overtook us
snapped our heads off
every time we thought of violence
Those New Gods
came to reconcile us
with the act of servile silence
we lay down let them take us
like we were beacons
hearts captitulated in black boxes
without god heads or sirens
Those New Gods
with voices like cured codex
placed us like cellos
between steel tight legs
we were smaller violins
our bows vaccuous and vain
crushed on Love
from the Tree
we were plucked
divineless
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Unsatiated cravings open the floodgate of suffering,
the surging torrent of torment tosses the servile soul,
for in the karmic cycle of being born and reborn,
desire doesn’t die, but it’s a blink between life and death.
In the wasteland of the scorched and deserted life,
chasing mirage and clutching my desiccated desires,
I walk listless on the tormenting trail of strife,
pained to the bone marrow, I submerge in sordid mire.
Released from the clasp of the providential destiny,
I try to transcend the expanding limits of time and space.
From the closet of mortal being I strive to set my soul free,
perpetual peace I embrace with the song of my heart.
Distressed mind extracted from sanctum of sense-response,
stilled in the quietude of silent mindfulness pervasive,
finds the rays of divine light at the end of torture tunnel,
where the righteous life gets the insight of unveiled wisdom.
As the innate pristine petals of my soul vibrantly unfurl,
blooming the divine lotus of blissful awareness,
I perceive the shower of His graceful endowment
suffuse me with aura of salvation and happiness.
In the sanctum of tranquility of seamless conscience sky,
I become a bird soaring free, not flying back to old nest again.
As on the wings of timeless bliss my pulsating soul flies
to the halcyon eternity horizon, the euphoria of nirvana I attain.
To the downtrodden, the marginalized, and worn,
Is this the fate that's yours to mourn?
The bourgeoisie, a cabal of power and might,
Gather to crush the poor, and snuff out their light.
The poor, in turn, unwittingly join the fray,
Oppressing themselves, in a vicious cycle of disarray.
Since time immemorial, I've witnessed this sad refrain,
Rarely seeing the rich and poor unite in love's sweet refrain.
For the wealthy fear that if the poor rise to power,
Their loyalty will wane, and their grip on them will cower.
So they indoctrinate, with subtle, deceitful guile,
Enslaving minds, and keeping the poor in servile trial.
By night, the rich and powerful conspire and plot,
While by day, they wear masks of deceit, and hearts that are not.
How many meetings do the poor convene to break their chains?
Will they forever remain silent, and endure the pains?
The upper class imposes taxes, a burden to bear,
While they themselves pay less, and live without a care.
But I ask you, dear oppressed, how long will you remain mute?
Will you not rise up, and demand your rights, and your freedom to compute?
No one is indispensable, your voice matters, don't you see?
Break free from the shackles of oppression, and be the change you seek to be.
Speak out, rise up, and shatter the chains that bind,
For your freedom, your future, and your dignity, are worth the fight to find.