Long Shackle Poems
Long Shackle Poems. Below are the most popular long Shackle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shackle poems by poem length and keyword.
by Sashi.Prabhu
(17/2/2012)
Shrouded and festooned with quaintness i try to elucidate the trips of mystery,
T’was dark and it was then I realized that the morn and noon was history.
A smooth trip on mother nature’s bounties rolled on neatly into a joint,
It felt all day as me and the bard within went on a trip from reality the shackle disjoint.
Rendezvous point was at the foothills of the zeauoxian Milky Way
Way beyond my mind can comprehend I see myself move fast and dwindle away.
Away, away and far away through starry paths, the galactic colonies and black holes
Yesterday seemed like tomorrow and today like the near future, written on ash scrolls
Tornados, galactial storms, raining meteorite, planets, and stars I beyond them travel,
Oh my body is the ship and my mind the deck console for the paths to ravel.
There at a distance I see us approaching Venus,
Hovering above hostile mutant colonies with mammals, moth worms and flora genus,
Earth behind seemed afar & beautiful and I every moment growing creative and ticinus.
Ship trips and galaxial flips,
Tardy nites and the dark nicotine stained finger tips,
Annular eclipse occurring in my mind’s eye as the white light zips,
Rummaging my mindly scripts for notes of melancholy strains as the notes dance on,
Slammed by the downer, my trips are done& for another, on ganjain I count upon.
When the mind's disease is hate,
it flows through veins unchecked.
I'm just a voice in the midst of darkness, striking a match.
A light for minds seeking refuge from storms,
to lift a crying child above the swollen stream,
that may sweep us away.
People are angry, the Earth shakes, lightning flashes,
a child cries, crowds move as rivers,
their murmuring sounds become louder.
Confusion fills cups they carry, fear fills lung's every breath,
between rage and reason.
Demons rise to shackle the fragile soul,
bringing evil from those claiming purity.
Frightened hearts beat louder at the source,
bubbling from wells of self-righteousness,
marching in step with flags unfurled,
demanding all follow their graveled path.
A scythe they wield sweeps, cutting the marrow of all who question.
The multitude moves swiftly, confiscating freedom in freedom's name.
Who dare stands, to lift the crying child from the crowd's grasp?
Giving hope, from madness. as the stalk of democracy burns brown,
withering from a drought of common sense.
While a mob demands to rule.
"Bliss like thine is brought by years;
Dark with torment and with tears."
Emily Bronte - Sleep Not (1846) st.1
_______________________________
often, I am in the throes and agony of my mind
I am tortured and each day I grapple with sad thoughts
that pinion and shackle me to the past
with anchors unyielding, yet beautiful
with memories vibrant and ever and immortal . . .
and in meditation, I look beyond the firmament
to a heavenly utopia where there is only stillness
a celestial unearthly place divine
a paradise, tranquil and lovely
where I sojourn in serenity . . .
and there, lissome and graceful I glide- a butterfly
I float and drift among ethereal emerald trees
yet, the foul besmirch of my past follows
all those shadows that restrain me
but the beauty beckons me . . .
I wish for silken repose and to rest my mind of thoughts
to dream- to sleep and slumber in total stillness
but, in dreams I struggle with the past
so in blissful contemplation
I find my peace in my quietude . . . .
______________________
May 21, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Vibrant, Blissful, Quietude
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1024-942-21
All Rights Reserved, 2018, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Eight Word Challenge
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 2018
Second Place
Submitted to the Premier contest, Vibrant, Blissful, Stillness
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 02/25/2022
Fifth Place
Heavenly Mother,
How could you bear to lose your son?
I weep reliving your agony.
Born from anxiety and despair, beneath
My stomach the babe which the State
Will judge and find guilty.
To shackle, beat, enslave, and murder against
My motherly will.
Beginning with you, beloved Mother,
Inherited from mother to daughter
My damnation of motherhood.
Praying constantly unable to stop.
Perhaps my child will be spared?
As I am their mother,
There is no guarantee.
Cursed inheritance, an unbroken shackle,
Hated fate, branded into the flesh of the heavenly son.
Reborn in children who bare his image, thus branded.
The child peers over a shoulder awaiting punishment
Whether they committed a crime or not.
It matters none to the State.
Devoted Mother, how could you know
Your son was not to be the last?
Centuries after his crucifixion, children following
His death and mothers overwhelmed with agony.
The scars on soul and flesh echo over the centuries.
Fresh and deepening, your trauma’s lifespan grows.
Fracturing my heart.
I am blurred
lines circling
in spirals
into the
deadly depths
of darkness
taste of
my remorse
is flavored
with seasoned
cream cocktails
of regrets
I've been
caught on a
honed knife edge
as cobwebs
of fading
onyx Dreams
savor burnt
poisoned thirst
to let go
of every
smoke and ash
that blinded
my senses
from seeing
the dirt you've
fed my soul
in the name
of bloodlines
that never
existed
as all your
recipes
I've learnt through
the menu
of decayed
white lies served
in sweet disguise
staining faith
within a
heart shaped void
where demons
devour me
through midnight
now I'm my
own savior
concocting
an essence
to relish
and revive
without
iron schemes
to shackle me
Here I sit at the table of The Lord
with emblems to the elect grafted in -
my old faith in God and mercy restored
by the love in he who died without sin.
I sojourner, in the walk to the truth
cleansed by the holy waters of baptism -
to beseech, if not by your own reproof,
to rise again like Your son has risen.
For soon you saints in Christ the hour will come -
all who tarry in His tabernacle,
and behold the King of all Christendom
in he who no grave could hold nor shackle.
The Word made flesh who in last dying breath
had lots cast and died a criminal’s death.
Written: October 2010
My Freedom is,
Looking at the world,
with child-like wonder,
compassionate loving and
Spiritual eyes.
My Freedom is,
Watching dandelion seeds
Blow by me on a
warm Summer's breeze.
My Freedom is,
Listening to music and
Dancing in front of the mirror
I brush my teeth
Every morning and every night.
My Freedom is,
Looking up at the rain
and feeling The Divine's
Tears of Her Joys and Her Sorrows
That soothes my darkness
and awakens my Shine.
My Freedom is...
Closing my eyes
and remember how
my lovers' passionate kiss
rests on my trebling lips.
My Freedom is..
Laughing so hard from a joke
That I only know the punchline too.
And someone else joins in and laughs
My Freedom is,
Looking in my childrens' twinkling eyes
and seeing love, light ,and laughter
and reflecting it back to me.
My Freedom is my heart
My Freedom is my mind
My Freedom is my soul.
They can shackle my hand and feet,
They can put me in a cage,
they can try to dehumanize me,
But they can only take what give to them
My Heart Mind Soul is Mine
My Freedom belongs to Me
me, you and all of us, are sparks of His brightness,
a brief moment for him- but for us an age,
a breath for Him, an eternity for us!
a speck in his creation in the vastness of boundless,
but giants in our ego stride!
our life, one amongst his many,
but trapped in tiny ignorance of self.
self that feels higher than others,
but a blip in time - now and gone!
elements that recycle from life to death,
only to spend eternity without life form!
find reasons to hate when given utterance,
how foolish the day we are born!
no religion for trees, birds or beasts,
but why this shackle thrown upon?
Lies about heaven and hell,
one of many ways truth we misspell,
who cares for religion when we are gone?
Religion is an invention of devious minds,
for no Prophet ever taught a religion,
only the path we should tread on,
we stamped their words in to books,
created divisions to rule upon!
He rules with love,
we rule through fear,
He rules by forgiveness,
we castigate and punish!
a glorious world we inherited,
but have made a slaughter ground of it all!!
what have we done with our beautiful minds?
Minds where His divine thoughts shine…..
we have blinded that mind with darkness,
in the black paint of religious opine!!
Written 15/05/2021
Religion or Spirituality poetry contest
Unseeking Seeker sponsored
I carry the ark of my heart
Upon Your tabernacle
As open as ocean does part
I leave it to your tackle
To redeem the rainbow's pledge
Before time comes to its edge
Almighty God the father
With You, I gat no bother
I lift up with grace, Your prominence
Upon Your tabernacle
As melting as honey milks eminence
Incomparable to spackle
Unlike men whose prominence fade
Over time but Thou can't be weighed
Loving God the son
With You, I do won
I rest my worries cum Your shining glory
Upon Your tabernacle
For my anxiety can't sustain this life lorry
When troubles shackle
All efforts gearing victory against defeats
For retreating fear that fairs to beat deceits
Comforting God the Spirit
With You, I got an advocate.
Frigid metals twist like
Banshees in shriek,
Making all who hear it fear it's threatening speech.
Cognitive cogs, turning out torture-
instigating further madness noir.
Pale green and gold in it's likeness.
Promulgated sickness.
Rusted iron dust to waft in the air,
wasping the lungs in claustrophobic-
sheer.
Gnatly obstructions, of the mocked- so mockingly unpure.
Extra sauce, nuts to soup djour.
Petrified trees claw at the air,
are the dark cathedrals amidst these nameless.
In this place there is no pollen or seed, and no blameless,
only despair.
Only Faceless Dryads, in blank stare.
Phallic Monoliths of suggestion
to gulp down and digest arears.
To guess reason and future to
their care in characature.
Erecting perversely as the devils own gnarled spires of spur and spurn.
In a place of infinite execution,
executing, excommunication-backward-absolution.
Leviathan shadowing, the fruits of nothingness.
The Goliath bloom on the throne of Judgment-
and these petrified, stalk, loom,
as pillars rooted to this testament.
Rockbeds garnish the landscape,
some as giant skulls mouths
agape in horror.
Others- the appearance of
ruptured, long-barren wombs.
Harpy hatchlings, in undead rapture-
aborted to the bed of cold's tomb.
Metaphoric to Human Nature,
Feng shui in ruin, in stoic capture.
To accessorize the cold sea of powdered tourniquet that cut in to the skin like a shackle, a manticore of manacle-
Coat of arms, insympateco.
A Bridle hard bitten down,
pre-set to the endowment of harm.
As wraith statute rides sinners like broken ponys-with glass saddles-till frothed,
and buckled down, eyes rolled back white and CROSSED.