Long Shackled Poems
Long Shackled Poems. Below are the most popular long Shackled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shackled poems by poem length and keyword.
To my left it stands weathered by seasons of time
Memories so many, absorbed in it's walls
Even a fire could not deny us of it's history
Ones thinks of the efforts to save this once fine structure
Now ram shackled to ruin, it brings tears to ones eyes
Built just before the Civil War, it hid many a lost soul
Many a storm caressed her wooden frame
Whilst sheltering beasts remained safe from nature's anger
Summertime's were so joyous with barn dances
Even weddings were celebrated within these walls
Sadly economics became it's downfall
My great grandfathers red barn, a shadow of it's former
As you travel through the mid west
There are many eyes like mine, viewing and sharing similar memories
The wizened hunter had but one cartridge
remaining this was no trifle matter.
For he’d been attacked by a hungry horde
of rats when he took shelter in this cave.
And now a mordacious wind was morphing
into a severe storm and he was scared.
Yet he had to layover until dawn
for the blizzard’s wrath had imprisoned him.
The mere thought of his starving family
elicited nightmares and pangs of guilt.
For he felt shackled to this loathsome cave
unable to hunt and provide them food.
Setting the horizon afire Sol rose
as dawn's first light pierced the black of night.
And with one shot starvation was diverted
for a buck stood dead center in his sights.
Because i said i love you
You declared your war on me
Like giving permission to bring to ruin
The heart inside of me.
People who dont know me
Would never treat me as you do
But its ever since i said i love you
My soul is black and blue
Ive become your personal whipping post
Shackled by a promise and a ring
Now it seems vowing to love you
Is a very dangerous thing
We are supposed to share in everything
To give and take in comprimise
And though i say i love you
I see the rage seething in your eyes
Ive learned there are givers and takers
I clearly see where you made your stand
But i can no longer say i love you
For youve changed the man i am
Through my years
its always been
one of my fears
to have my poetry
fall on deaf ears.
I am a fountain
you have only to hear me and drink.
Taste these words as water and think.
While I live to find the right words.
What is a poet that can’t be heard?
I feel like a man screaming
in a sound proof room.
Looking for the right words to open the door.
Words you have and haven’t heard before.
I feel like the Hoover Dam.
Dry cement on one side
with Ocean title waves on the other.
Inspiration invades my dreams
like a roller coaster ride of screams.
Surviving earth quaking epiphanies.
I should be in a hospital attended by nurses.
I’m awakened with hole paragraphs and verses.
Complete poems ready for print.
I’m like a race horse chopping at the bit.
My legs are shackled
but I still need to sprint.
I wanna stand on a rock
and scream at the world.
Please! Can anybody hear me!
Poetry’s ponderous tree
has fallen in the forest
and shook the earth.
Do you remember the day,
you spoke your first poetic verse?
Was it written in ink
on a piece of paper?
Spoken out loud on a stage.
Expressing a gift for all your worth.
I ask you,
Do you remember the day,
of your poetic birth?
Something stirring, twisting, darkening in my mind
I wake to see myself through the faded windows of time
Still in this place of cold metal and stone
For too long now it seems that’s all I have ever known
So now I lie down and wait for tomorrow’s next big fight
Knowing in my heart an end to an Almost Endless Night
Crowded, Shrouded faces everywhere
Eyes growing cold from nothing left to share
Shackled down by the weight of their own enormity
Without Grace from the one their souls twist to deformity
But to those that believe a new dawn springs light
And an endowment of strength to challenge this Almost Endless Night
For a life unbecoming a man such as me.
A family awaits him patiently to see what he will be.
No longer wishing the road that desire brought him down.
Wants of the flesh give way to Gods, a harder road is found
A multitude of apologies never uttered to this plight
And never again shall I go down into this almost endless night
Exiting, vexing my mind screams freedom
In my minds eye I see the banner of Gods kingdom
Knowing that now all the prophesies ring true
Of freeing all the captives, the door I go through
Will take me now from this lands painful blight
And enter me now into the Sun of his never ending light.
alternately titled: 207th leap year since 1582
the year Pope Gregory XIII world leader
(i.e. essentially paterfamilias among
Roman Catholic flock)
timely maneuvered around calendrical rock
and hard space implementing
viable system tracking years ad hoc
out of sync and lock
step by one day
with astronomical calendar,
slated more'n acceptable tick tock
off kilter around the year of 4818
after common era making mock
re: regarding mankind organizing and
witnessing global chockablock
Democratic celebratory anniversary party
millenniums after Republican dynastic deadlock
thoroughly walled imponderable gridlock
worse fate than quaffing hemlock
practically snuffing out lock, stock
and barrel constitutional birthrights
thirteen original American
founding fathers ghosts experiencing shock
how initial inalienable rights
activists sacrificing life and limb
united with linkedin armlock
said freedom fighters shackled
within crowded jail moldering cinderblock
cold upon hemorrhoid riddle buttock
diehard libertarians unified, pilloried, denounced
legion with repulsion as Shylock
purported, reputed, touted playwright
(William Shakespeare's sited anti semite
The Merchant Of Venice) doth mock
Judaism in vogue four hundred plus years ago,
smoldering think white supremacists i.e. skinheads
violently aiming to knock
non Caucasians upside the head
courtesy pistol whip,
and/or emptying gunstock
into human flesh disenfranchise scaring up
one after another racial and/or ethnic aftershock
aforementioned celebrated bard unwittingly
strictly opinion of me:silly poet -
despite hashtagged as laughingstock,
(plus vitriolic objection taken)
voiced by Shakespearean expert defenders,
yours truly reckons mine thought provoking
regarding storied, lauded, and feted Globe theater
literary King my interpretations not crock.
Suffocating
By my own hands.
Falling apart,
I’m my own demise.
When last did I breathe?
Why can’t I now?
Falling off
The edge of the cliff,
Failure to grasp
Onto something;
anything.
Beneath the water
I plunge,
Sinking down.
Should have learned
How to swim
When I had the chance.
Lungs filling up
With water,
Air stolen from me
By the thieves
Of the sea.
Shackles weigh me down,
To the bottom
Of the ocean.
Not a breath
Of air
To be found.
Body trembling
In the ties
Around me,
Muscles spasm,
Tensing
With fear.
The need to
Get free,
To find an escape.
But I’m drowning
And shackled
With no one
To save me.
Blessing In the Shadows
Shackled and battened by the restraints of humankind
Hounding ego, gnawing the essence to stay behind
Reverence for soul lessen, protruding unkind
Assigned to desolation, fulfillment confined
Dying hope slipping, clutching the foundation of fate
Only feeling torment, loitering till the final date
Accepting all righteous acts to come as bait
Unknowingly unearthing a hand deterred from hate
Awakening to a notable entity, driven by solicitude
Fearful to the unforeseen, but ready to be renewed
Weaving potential realities, leaving behind the unfavorable until ensued
Released ultimately from the ocean of inhibitions to conclude
Obstinate eyes, worn I, dart shadows wished pretend,
Spun ‘round by carousel, too quick for lines to bend,
See only empty space no shackled dare transcend,
Beneath dishonest moon, short innocence to lend;
Well mannered hope once held from schools raw fish attend
Has turned against me now, caused youthful dreams distend;
And though none hear my cries, enlightened thoughts suspend
Then clamor angrily, “Pure lies, this sinner’s penned!”;
Rebuttals cower, lest again their words offend
Long worshiped Deity, who claimed I do impend
Her right to happiness; begged justice apprehend
Love’s punished prisoner, whose hell shall never end.
1/16/2017
Submitted for: 12x12 Monorhyme
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
How long will this dreary night go on
Seems years since the dawn of morn
Why does anxiety keep me awake
What is this burden I cannot shake
Heartbeats too fast within my breast
Too quickly to grant needed rest
There's no moon above to cast light
This crepuscule gives birth to fright
I smell the wax of candles burning
but something keeps me from turning
If this be a dream, I pray, let me wake
for I've a thirst and hunger to slake
My eyes are open, and yet I cannot see
the willow outside; my weeping tree
"Fear not," I warn myself in voice aloud
the moon must be cloaked by a cloud
I call out for Davinia, in angst and fear
but my dear wife is not sleeping near
I long to glimpse morning rays of sun
Harried for never-ending night to be done
Only sleep could bring a measure of peace
and from shadowed night to have release
but I seen to be shackled to the beast
who fights the dawn's rising in the East
Of going insane, I fast approach the brim
tortured by thoughts, dark, dank and grim
Whispers I hear, mawkish murmurs dim,
"What will become of Davinia without him"
Who speaks of me in grammar, past tense
Someone who's lost all sentience and sense
Fragrant air 'round me grows warm and dense
Could that redolent odor be flowered scents
A memory haunts my sleep deprived brain
It's of a brutal nature, and cold falling rain
An act of violence, like the angry sin of Cain
A man's life taken; from a dagger he was slain
Motionless in rest, but not on my feathered bed
This unnerving moment is one I most dread
In a sepulcher, on a satin pillow, rests my head
In eternal darkness am I to dwell, among the dead