Long Severe Poems
Long Severe Poems. Below are the most popular long Severe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Severe poems by poem length and keyword.
*Authors note: Be prepared for the inappropriate use of a fork. (Shelter your children.) Proper and Improper soup matters and manners are explored. Legal interpretations and fears surrounding the viewing of and consumption of soup are lightly touched on and on display for the shock value, pleasure, entertainment and amusement of all. (The author here is lobbying for the use of spoons...as well he should.)
I Hate Soup
I hate soup!
No I don't
I love soup
Get your story straight
We are going before the judge today
He or she is probably judgmental
If they hate you more than the soup
I don't know what They'll do
If they love soup you can only pray for leniency
Claim insanity
It is only a lost day in court
Stay away from name brands before the law
Keep it simple
It is safer not to say Campbell's
Lipton is forbidden
You are being charged with complicity
Watching a full fledged felony in action
In broad day light is more than a misdemeanor
Someone dared to eat, to slurp their soup in public
Sipping it in plain view is a capital offense
On top of that a fork was used
Why oh why did you dine at the Greasy Spoon
What bad timing… What bad news
Now you have to pay
Soup crimes are severe in the light of day
Penalties for watching are much more graver
Not reporting it is simply crazy
I hate soup
I love soup
It does not matter
I'm being sued
Risking it all
at the edge of the cliff-
edge of the water-
edge of life.
Debating,
replaying,
like the song stuck in your head
circling around and round like that pendulum-
the one you choked around your tainted complexion-
the blood blended,
colors of your true self
true revelation
revealed.
Then there was no longer a lie present
a lie encrusted within the dank sorrow-
buried beneath your organs
behind those abusive eyes-
the one's that would yell and caress my blonde hair,
the one's that cherished the memories and fought for the future,
a lie so asserting, it testified
and unraveled your past.
Your insecurities.
The one's that make you run-
so fast you're running from your awaiting death,
like the coffin is chasing your terrible lying eyes-
I see them through,
like a lie detector,
blunt,
accurate,
honest.
You thought you knew me,
yet you are soon to know you failed.
Rumours shouldn't talk
and they ultimately should not decipher whether somebody is loyal or not
or if they take chances-
because I jumped,
a swan dive,
deep into the depths of the frosty air,
beneath, the clouded waters of doubt.
They stimulated my senses,
giving me some hope
some confidence that I'd be saved,
like in the movies as the damsel,
like the hero who nearly dies but can't.
And then,
I smack the frozen waters,
knocked out, cold,
hammering the thing called chance,
something I spontaneously attempted,
something you told me to do
and you didn't even save me.
You didn't even latch out your hand,
you didn't even look.
Instead you had your back turned,
walking away ignoring,
hiding,
just like you always do,
and just like it's the last time.
Then, you come running back
after time passes,
after I'm gone-
dead.
It was you who left me there, stranded,
paralyzed.
There wasn't even an opportunity to move on
only the opportunity to accept.
And though you came charging back,
ripped open the doors
you're alone.
And this time it was your lesson,
this time you have to learn that though the consequences are severe
you have to be willing to take chances,
risk a little,
because if you don't, you'll be alone,
stay alone,
all because you weren't honest to yourself.
I wonder if the “gods” have a union
a collective bargaining unit of sorts
to protect the language of their contracts,
mediate jurisdictional disputes,
proclaim that “all gods shall be compensated
in direct proportion to their minions devotion.
The “god” union would also have to discourage
any of the “gods” from breaking off to start another union
offering better or more lenient conditions.
Perhaps less severe response to crossing jurisdictional lines
allowing the minions to decide what union to join
which “god” to serve.
But wait, wouldn’t that open the door
for “open shop gods” who recognized no unions,
compensated “their” minions unequally,
offered little training, or job security?
But wait, shouldn’t all minions have the right
to work for any “god” they choose?
Who are these entrepreneurial “un-gods”
who choose to go it alone,
demand a slice of the celestial pie
and become a “god” unto themselves.
John G. Lawless
©11/24/2021
Cain was so angry with Abel
His face expressed a downcast look
God noticed his countenance at once
Told him that tone would make him a crook
Cain called to his brother, "Come".
Then said to his brother (thinking bum).
"Let's go out in the field my domain,"
Then in anger, Abel was slain
Anger, jealousy, and greed fueled
Negative emotions inside.
Cain was ready to fight a duel
Repentance would have calmed the tide.
Why do men kill each other this day?
Revenge, frustration, hate, money
Greed, sex, jealousy roles all play
Personal vendetta not even funny
Forgiving and asking forgiveness
Clean and clear the heart every day
God is a meriful God who forgives
Ask him and repent when you pray
Contest: You Say You Want A Revolution
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzie
Partly based on Genesis Chapter 4
I never saw where Cain said he was sorry for what he did only that
he was sorry that his punishment was so severe..
In a mass of black out there in the beyond
Planets we know are in mirror respond
This vast we know as space in our time
All the planets are round symmetrical in rhyme
Will it's orbital allowance defy negative stream
Or is it back to the drawing board for man to again dream
Spaceships cubed with edges severe
When Warp allows will our technology wear
We live in a streamline, a streamline world
Our planet in decline but will our future be heard
The lucky ones will see, out there
For the unfortunate, saying goodbye in stare
And all they will see, is the moon in their sight
As their earth will become, another sleeping satellite
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/space.php
(After the rape, and for the rest of her life,
Artemisia turned out canvas after canvas
containing disturbing images of women
beheading men - with obvious phallic
castration undertones.)
Judith and Holofernes
There’s only one way to be free of them.
The only good aggressor’s good and dead.
But should my righteous blade head for the stem,
or does the jeopardy stem from the head?
Sweet and severe, the certainty of steel!
I love its coldness, clarity: that sheen
which says, “the damage I dispense, I will not feel:
the pain you’ll take is curative and clean.”
There’s that in Man which is incontinent.
He seeps, exudes, secretes. He oozes filth
which is, once free of him, mere excrement.
Best cauterize him, to preserve our health.
So, pull him taught, for cleaner cut. Lay on!
For I demand the head of Jokanaan.
David stared at the vintage
portrait hanging in the local
historical society museum.
The woman smiling back at
him possessed the exact
facial features of his wife,
Clara.
Clara had mysteriously
disappeared into thin air
exactly twenty years ago
this very week.
In the photograph, she sat
happily beside an unfamiliar
man and three young children.
The museum placard dated the
portrait to 2011, a decade after
Clara vanished.
Determined to find answers,
David contacted the local
historian who archived the
collection.
The historian revealed the
family in the portrait lived in
a secluded mountain valley.
David traveled to the remote
town, carrying Clara's old silver
locket in his pocket.
He knocked on the door of
the house where the portrait
had been taken years before.
An adult woman answered
bearing a striking resemblance
to the children in the photo.
David explained his quest and
showed her the old picture of
Clara from his youth.
The young woman gasped,
tears instantly welling up in
her wife, familiar eyes.
She confessed that her
mother had arrived in town
twenty years ago with no
memory.
Clara had suffered severe
amnesia from a car accident
on the night she vanished.
Unable to find her identity,
she eventually built a new life
and raised three children.
The daughter led David into
the backyard garden where
an older Clara sat reading.
David gently opened the
silver locket, showing her the
matching inscription inside.
The familiar engraved words
triggered a sudden rush of
long- lost memories for Clara.
The twenty- year- old mystery
was finally solved through a
chance museum visit and love.
The two families joined together,
healing the painful void left
by the tragic past.
It's the pathetic adversity that divides men,
it has to do with the doubt of God's existence;
if we all came from Adam, our ruddy forefather,
why are we still carrying the weight of sin:
seeing each other different,
not coming from the same source:
from the Northern,Southern,
Eastern and Western Hemisphere?
We are made in His likeness,
despite the looks and traits so diverse,
but many dispute this...making it all too adverse;
and division has bred a malignant disease,
which runs in our bloodstream,
to attest to the shameful perception of how we feel:
rebelling ourselves with expression of hostility and hate,
putting aside what truly matters and makes us thick!
If we are made in His likeness, from heads to feet,
why are we set apart and not confront our diversity?
And we follow in the same footsteps of all mortals:
a cherished birth and a cursed death,
seeing ourselves as gods...flashing glances of vanity,
engaging in bizarre behavior and taking on another lethal risk;
making wrong choices by inviting the plagues that destroy Humanity:
lusting, stealing, cheating and killing to reap the bitterness of our deeds!
Unconcerned world, succumbed to economic decline and sin,
go back to the root which caused much unwanted grief;
open your closed gates and let the blessings flow in!
Be that shining symbol of strength and morality with eyes so meek;
and who can condemn you for being undefiled and strong?
Let others praise you and remember you in their joyful song,
because you, too, are created in His likeness;
and in due time, you will be put to a severe test!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
MILWAUKEES BEST DOMESTIC VIOLENCE REVENGE IDENTITY FRAUD UPON A DISABLED TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURED MOM THIS CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT BEGAN WHEN I CONTACTED SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH MILWAUKEE FBI BECAUSE I WORE WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI WITH HIM FOR YEARS I REPORTED MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND AND HIS STRIPPERS WERE PLOTTING MY DEATH RESULTING IN MY WITNESSING AMURDER AT MY FEET SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH FBI SUPERVISOR SENT MILWAUKEE BEST PORNSTARS TO SEDUCE MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND IN ORDER TO HAVE ME MURDERED FOR BEING AN FBI INFORMANT SPECIAL AGENTS DECIDED TO ASSASINATE ME AND ASSIST MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND IN HIDING HIS MISTRISSES HIS STABLE OF HOOKERS TURNED GANG RELATED FEMALE AGENTS FROM MILWAUKEE EXPOSING ME TO GANG LEADERS TO BE KILLED IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE A CAR BOMB IGNITED MY FACE MY SKULL THE TERRORS OF TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND BRUTALLY BEAT ME AND MY CHILDREN AS I LAYING BLEEDING THESE FEMALE AGENTS DEMANDED HE EMBEZZLED MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM TO FUND HIS STABLE OF HOOKERS WITH BADGES THEY ACTUALLY BEGAN PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON ME APPLETON WISCONSIN MINNESOTA WHERE HE FIRST SON LIVED WITH HIS MOTHER MS. MILLER DEVESTATED I FLED FROM HIM THIS HORROR BUT HIS AGENTS WERE NOW AFTER MY DISABILITY INCOME DUE TO MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND OLDEST SON COMMITTING CRIMES IN MY SONS NAME MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND AND HIS ELDEST SONS MOM TOGETHER PLOTTED THEE UNTHINKABLE RESULTING IN THEIR SON NAVANTE B JONES KILLING HIMSELF HE COULD NO LONGER PRETEND TO IMPERSONATE MY SON CRUELTY UNREAL A VICIOUS FEMALE CULT JHORE JOHNSON DANITA DELMONT AGENT TALISA SHAW ALICIA HILTON MS MILLER MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND SADLY IDENTITY FRAUD UPON ME WRAPPED NEATLY IN A BOW IN BLOOMINGTON MINNESOTA WITH NAVANTE B JONES DEAD BODY THIS OPERATION BEGAN 8-14-2003 MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND HIS STRIPPERS **** STARS SLASH FBI AGENTS SLEEPING WITH MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND TERRORIZED MY LIFE WITH THREATS SLANDER HATRED TERRORISTS THREATS BECAUSE THEY WERE BLACKMAILING MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND TO EXTORT HIS OWN WIFES TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM TO FUND THIS FILTHY FEMALE CULT OF CORRUPT AGENTS EXTORTING MY IDENTITY PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON ME FINALLY SENDING MY STEPSON TO HIS GRAVE SEVERE SLANDER HATRED FROM ABUSE OF POWER JHORE JOHNSON PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON ME WITH MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND Y JHORE JOHNSON IDENTITY FRAUD
The den in the hollow at daybreak
Ripped by the hooting owl
The owl's very last chance to hoot
And be on his nightime prowl
Liquid apricot jam now coats
Pale gray of morn's spring sky
Churned earth there from the accident
Thoughts turn to why, why, why
Could it have been prevented
Maybe a slow down and live
Only God knows the answers
And to me he chooses not to give
A bad accident in front of my home
on Saturday afternoon..It was prom
night for the high school here and
a mother was taking her daughter
to get pictures made..She ran off
the road and lost control of her car.
Both suffered injuries severe enough
to be transported to hospitals out of town.