Long Shabbily Poems
Long Shabbily Poems. Below are the most popular long Shabbily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shabbily poems by poem length and keyword.
Men of the Flame
Men of the flame,
Basking in the aura of fame
So confident with signs and wonders
Proclaiming to raise the dead and heal the lame.
They cast, bind evil spirits tame
One even said; "God is game"
Is this offerings for God or the priest-
Whose deceit thrives under God's name?
They feed upon the people's emotion;
Men who believed signs and wonders was the only solution.
Shabbily clad in penury's pad
Those offerings dropped; just to seek God's attention.
To them they came like men heavily laden
And to those they came their minds hidden
Winning the poor man's soul to messiah's gate
While theirs was the devil's haven.
Hallelujah! Voices echoed loud
Strange incantations ransack the misty cloud.
Tongues twisting, bodies falling
Only God alone knows what lies beneath their mystery shroud.
Deceit must thrive over religion
Tell the truth; there goes religious rebellion
So, trick will do the trip
An antidote to amuse the desperate congregation.
Prosperity opens the sermon's door;
"...He never created you to be poor"
Cars donated, empty bags with cash impregnated
Still they filled it more and more.
I thought salvation was free
That we need not bribe our way you and me.
"Thou shalt not tell lie;"
But why do these men refuse to call a bee a bee?
The air around us is dosed with sin
Followers in rags, leaders draped in suits covering their skin
In seclusion alcohol and fornication is no longer ungodly
But to us they are forbidden.
We have heard of your festival of fire
And the cars and jets you acquire.
The veil of servitude as blidfolded our thoughts
Hoping for divine favour when we retire.
Men of the flame
The world knows your name
carved in devil's corsive
someday, you shall go back to the fire from whence you came.
Used to jab the raggedly tagged faggots b/c sad crabby lads have had their tags grabbed badly yet wagged their drab as stag shabbily as it was dabbed from what came from the tab that came from the lab too reserved to gab at the slab of the drab of the somewhat cab like scrap that gave somewhat of crap before it shat itself after meeting the scapula that became like Dracula before it whacked half a spatula sized radically habitual, mystical ridiculously perpetual medically perpetual cyclically repeating ritual that happens to coincide with the Tik Tok enabled cellular tested, wrestled, meticulously meshed, caressed, messy radical, half-hazardously sexual, wrecked ineffectual, critical, still not quite literal, but mimical, of a cylindrical, syntactically, sporadically, lackadaisically, unanimously, fastened to the meticulously dastardly, massed, blasted, gassed, wrestled, brass, brash, bastardly, bass-like, mass mighty, hat-having, hiss-heaving, bereaving, belief-bound of a be more than beneath the beat up and bleak beak bitten breezy bean and cheese pile of raked leaves style bowl of chips and dips script that the lady with the bloods and crips lip gives as people sit with a ship to New York style trip seem to forget as they lose their because of the tip that hits one when instead of their mitt that would grip somewhat of a catch in a fit that would lick the one who sits with the kit of the fictionally fit mystery that blissfully bit into a tic while it in turn was lit with the mix of the hysterically, rarely, heretically, medically dissed fizz of some **** that would knit a new tit because of an antipsychotic, moronic blip on the screen of some that geographically, sporadically, masterfully admittedly mentioned, could cause retention of some invention, that one would mention if only and if one was sick, with a little grit left abreast a messy Mexican directionally challenged malice but talented callous chalice wielding balanced rally style for a carousel encampment trampled on and possibly tampered with tampon treated, bleached, beaten...
They flocked to church and sang the Christmas carols.
Loudly and proudly, flaunting their Jesus pins, and their pretty children.
Many were annoyed with the shabbily dressed beggar who asked for spare change
As they walked up the hill to their star white church.
Some spoke of him in whispers and laughed in the vestibule.
No one invited him to join them. He was not familiar to them.
The new Samaritan gave him ten dollars for a cup of coffee and a hot meal.
Gladys Know-Everything saw this and reported it to her women. They cackled about it.
Samaritans must be naïve.
Too bad, they thought, thinking this weird man had been taken advantage of.
Jesus saw all of this and more.
He shook his head sadly.
Dropped the ten spot into the hands of a child
Who was walking up with her mother.
She squeezed his hand and smiled,
knowing Him instantly.
I have been broken
Like a man left without a token
Staring surprisingly at the cruelty
Melted out on my fragile soul.
Here in my solitary state
I try to patch up my heart's pieces
To forget about the pains
And let tomorrow heal the scars left by yesterday.
Broken! Like a marooned sailor
Broken! Like a traveller in the desert
Broken! Like a lover rejected by a loved one
Broken! That's simply the words that escaped my lips
So I watched the wind blow the dust on my face
And yearn so much for a saving grace.
Helplessly I wandered like a raging spirit
In shackles of emotion I staggered all along.
Oh! I look shabbily claded
And the hair on my head seems overgrown.
This look, like that of a taunted soul
So devastated, crying out foul.
They are the traumas of being broken
Left to the cruelty wrapped in mortal flesh.
Trampled upon by hatred of men
Sent down to languish in a disastrous den.
Broken; like a building shaking to its core.
Left with body and soul to carry on.
Staggering helplessly for someone's arm to lean upon.
Jazz piano scale skip quick notes implore me
Siphon symphony verve blurred by saxophone sass
Floated lilly pad leap frog spring legged surety
Splats on brass buttoned soldiers dedicated amass
Bulbous glass swirl burgundy grape stem bitter
Absorbs oak barrel sentiment, forested persuasion
Ace praise expires, a swiftly swallowed splinter
Comical dive antics of cork fragmenting abrasion
Dissolving Elizabeth, shabbily written character
Simmered limply submissive, a nouveau improvisation
Vat of pursuit poured by Stu picks a passenger
Chords hover mahogany piano cascade syncopation
Composition three minute summit misconstrue
Violins textured crescendo vibrates bow tight strings
Apron strewn, Libby leaves her rolling pin askew
Butter heart hails harmony a true companion brings
22nd January
Stu calls me Jasmine
She stood in line holding a loaf of bread,
so I motion for her to go ahead.
Thanking me, she started counting her change
and I must admit she looked somewhat strange.
She had a hand full of pennies she'd found
outside, where I had thrown them on the ground.
She looked hungry and was shabbily dressed,
but the busy cashier was unimpressed.
They didn't add up; she was three cents shy,
it broke my heart when she started to cry.
While I was throwing my pennies away,
this poor girl didn't have enough to pay.
I offered her a hundred-dollar bill
and told her to keep the change from the till.
And I thanked her for opening my eyes,
leaving her shocked, with a look of surprise.
I questioned my hypocrisy that day
nonchalantly throwing money away.
For I found out that even a penny,
is a treasure when you don't have any.
(Rhyme)
7/17/2021
Touch My Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Walking the local area coastline,
Cup of coffee in the local Café
Sitting, observing people passing
Checking on dress sense today,
Shoes, where did they purchase them?
Spotted a homeless person
Shabbily dressed and looking unkempt
He appeared increasingly in the landscape
Popping up in unusual places, staring at others faces.
I realised the picnic area was his hideout
Sleeping bags, plastic bags neatly stacked
He lay asleep on the grass.
Voices woke him from his slumber
Gave a glance, no words spoken.
He walked the village streets, locals avoiding him,
Winter set in, he lived in the cold of the picnic areas,
Spoke of his life when sitting in a comfortable home
The conversation always finished with such a shame.
One cold winters evening near Village shop
Aware of a homeless person sitting near
Huddled, sheltering from the cold wind on a street corner.
Decided to approach him, enough of wondering
Checked on what money I could share.
When approaching he stood as if frightened,
Standing close enough to touch each other
Weariness on his face, easily seen.
Eyes met in silence trying to understand what it was I wanted,
Asked quite bluntly, what and why,
No answers forthcoming just a shake of his head
His eyes showed such torment, emotions coming to the surface,
Never or ever again, seen such pain behind a gaze.
Reached to place money in a tattered trouser pocket
We shook hands, his hand having problems releasing from mine
His grip was quite strong as we exchanged this greeting
For an instant, a wry smile crossed his face.
Realised that he was a young person
His face showed his daily survival
He spoke a thank you, as goodbye was spoken,
Walked away with his eyes following.
The memories of meeting with this homeless soul
Went on and on and even visited dreams.
Not seen since this meeting
Moved on, looking for somewhere else safe to stay.
Positive thoughts of what he was doing
Imagining, what life was dealing him?
In love with Pirates
When titanic sank,
we were on the deck,
The boat did rescue us afar,
destiny had in store a new avatar,
The ship we asked help for,
lately been captured over,
Pirates killed kids and men,
sparing only few women,
Ugly faces, red eyes and shabbily dressed,
killer instincts, hatred be guessed,
Tears down the cheeks, my heart bled,
Days in captivation, breathing half fed,
Agony put to end with new pirate friend,
all different stories I could comprehend,
The day captain said his sad tale,
Catching up, I was no more frail,
Months passed as I lost my cool,
Tough ordeal, life dwindled in blood pool,
Countless shots even with my gun,
Pirate captain now is my only son !
Written Sept 17th, 2015
For contest "A pirate's life for me" by Kelly Deschler
Walk down the streets and roads past closed doors.
Many with curtains or blinds that are drawn.
Study the various facades as you stroll by.
Give each house it's own story, big or small.
The one over there with the yellow door,
such a tall narrow house with blinkered windows.
Are the people living within the same?
With narrow life's and narrower minds?
This one here beautiful with elegant lines,
surely its owners must be someone famous as
they dress in latest fashion with presence
that shouts, look at me, I am someone important.
Next is one that is squat and rather ugly,
untidy grounds that shout of neglect.
Kids running around shabbily dressed
stunted in growth from a lack of food.
Pictures that may or may not be true,
Yet each with a life all of its own.
Impressions that linger in the mind.
How close to the truth is your vision?
You will see me alone, dining.
Always near a window
Watching people hurrying outside,
Or well-dressed patrons
Frequenting the five-star diner,
My favourite eating place.
Alas always alone.
Still one lady, impeccably dressed
Always visited the place every Saturday.
And always with a different escort.
I wondered who she was,
But I could hardly ask her, could I?
Her escorts seemed rich and elegant.
Not that I was shabbily dressed.
But I was not the handsome type.
Then one day she came in alone.
She had no escort as she ordered her food.
What could I do? I approached her meekly
And asked for her company.
"Finally, you came," she smiled.
We never dined alone from then on.
FICTION