Long Shrilling Poems
Long Shrilling Poems. Below are the most popular long Shrilling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shrilling poems by poem length and keyword.
It's only 2:00 am.
I even waited to take the drugs
till midnight,
so I wouldn't have to fight
an extra 2 hours through the night
Not that it makes much of a difference.
In 4.5 hours my alarm will go off
(not that I really need one)
and I'll continue to just survive
each torturous moment.
The only difference is the daytime
doesn't have the shrilling loneliness
of the darkness encasing me.
But soon I'll be on my way
to my first doctor's appointment of the day.
I think I have 11 this week.
Despite seeing every specialist I can think of
not a single one has known what to think
My dad was a doctor before he passed away.
I used to trust doctors,
used to believe in what they say.
That was before.
Most of them don't have the time of day for me.
I can tell some don't give a crap,
and none have an actual clue what's going on,
or how to help.
I feel so helpless.
I feel so hopeless.
If they can't help,
how am I supposed to live
in this hell?
I guess that's where God comes in.
That relationship's been wearing thin too -
been hanging by a thread for a while now
Shoot
I'm at my limit.
I can't stand to write
much more explicit content.
Memories of minutes turned years
of torture.
Forgive these horrors.
I can't stand to write them,
though they write themselves
into each chasm of my soul.
I'll try to hold on
if you will
with me
Yamaguchi Seishi haiku modern English translations
Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Ceaseless chaos—
ice floes clash
in the Soya straits.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Having crossed the sea,
winter winds can never return.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
(The haiku above was written in October 1944 as Kamikaze pilots were flying out to sea.)
Banish the snow
for the human torpedo
now lies exploded.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The sky hangs low
over Karafuto,
as white as the spawning herring.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Green bottle flies
buzzing carrion—
did they just materialize?
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Finally
the cicadas stopped shrilling—
summer gale.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
As grief becomes unbearable
someone snaps a nearby branch.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
As grief reaches its breaking point
someone snaps a nearby branch.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Trapped in the spider’s web
the firefly’s bulb
blinks out forever.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Trapped in the spider’s web
the firefly’s light
is swiftly consumed.
—Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Haiku, Translation, Japan, Japanese, Nature, Season, Seasons, Animal, Animals, Grass, Train, Locomotive, Ice, Sea, Winter, Wind, Snow, Autumn, Fall, Grief, Branch, Spider, Firefly, Light, Flies, Fish, Herring, Cicada, Cicadas, Turbulence, Rough Seas, Storms, War, WWII, World War II
10/13/12
Trails of your tears are seen on the grounds of time
Twice removed; I see the sheer impact of the grime
I didn’t even try to stop it; I would only add to the pain
I saw their eyes glaze over when they realized you were dead
And I hated myself for all the things I had said
I put on the sheets of endless sorrow—what we call rain
I fled from the living, an early retirement
Giving into the darkness of my solitary confinement
I scratched the scabs of dry tears building in my disclosed eyes
Only to open them to a deplorable land
A land and people I have never come to understand
Now I can never silence the shrilling cries
Tears everywhere—tears filling my heart
Piling on emaciated stillborns in the familiar death cart
I see women, children, grown men screaming in rage
And the crusty eyes close again, not knowing what to do
I am merely a coward—a faltering fool
Every other quality I had once possessed is hazed
Raise the sun on my darkened gloom of today
I wish only to take all of the self away
To make room for others in this solitary state
For the next time hate rains down upon the ground,
I will take all of the blame without a sound
For no one deserves my distilled, dark fate
Some guys many skills have mastered,
I blush when I try to tell little lies
and shaking I reveal my fakeness;
quite a few girls have slapped me hard.
Cindy went on vacation heading South,
she warned me priming up her mouth,
" Don't mess around with my girlfriend,
don't touch her! " I kept quite and grinned.
I refused to listen and promise I wouldn't;
her look expressed a plausible doubt,
I was a playboy in search of a hideaway
and while she was gone, I could surely play.
And fun I had through those two weeks,
Chrissy, the girl with pink and yellow hair,
asked me for a date, I couldn't refuse her
we headed down to the nearest beach to kiss.
Other nights we went to the movies,
we stuffed our mouths with buttery popcorn
and laughed hard spilling our drinks;
cheating on Cindy never induced guilt or scorn.
The time came for me to be slapped hard in the head
for being such a naughty boy, a liar without guilt
who cheated with her best friend to start a conflict
and ready to face embarrassment, I seemed not afraid.
One July evening when Chrissy and I were kissing
on the velvety sofa, I heard crackling noises coming
from the kitchen, heavy footsteps started approaching...
" Who is that? I hollered while my fret was increasing.
" It's me, pretty boy! I am back! You will regret this a lot!"
her shrilling voice was a rumbling thunder incurring fright,
" We are watching, " Friends "! I made up a silly excuse,
" You kissed Chrissy! You promised me you wouldn't have cheated! "
" Blame her, she tempted me! " I couldn't resist her! " I exclaimed.
" Silly boy, enough of your games...you have much to lose! "
" Ah, shameless liar, get out my sight! " And dashing towards me
she slapped me in the head making me feel her hard blow, " Come Chrissy,
she's going crazy! If she thought I was untrustworthy, why did she
she go on vacation? To test me? " I condemned her action with asperity.
Written on 7/3/2016
This, is where it began
A scream
Blood curdling
An amalgamation of acid and iron
Coagulates my blood
Mother
Instinct seizes
Heart racing
Legs race faster
Thoughts race out of hand
A gun to her head?
No time for weapons
Fists will do
Around the corner
My eyes catch glimpse
five golden corners
two solemn eyes
Mother
One word resounds
From shrieking lips
No
Over and over
Over
And
Over
That word
His badge
Her sobs
His gaze
Say one shrilling word
Her lover
My father
My father
Gone
Mr. Leeds was an Englishman from across the sea.
In the New Jersey Pine Barrens he would soon be.
Here he settled down with a local wife.
He wanted many children for a fruitful life.
Mrs. Leeds gratefully accepted the man’s wedding ring.
This couple was blessed with many offspring.
The children they had amounted to a dozen.
However, with a thirteenth, their troubles would begin.
“My baby-making days are going on the shelf.
If I have another child, may it be the devil himself.”
These words Mrs. Leeds said she would later regret.
What happened next was not easy to forget.
A boy baby was born as child number thirteen.
However, its presence became a horrible scene.
This boy had goat’s feet, bat wings, and horns like a devil.
The baby’s grotesque appearance looked inherently evil.
At the moment of birth, it gave a shrilling cry.
The creature left its bedding and began to fly.
It flapped its wings and flew out the chimney.
The horrified couple never again saw this baby.
Periodically, this “Jersey Devil” appears in the night.
Its mere presence to witnesses causes great fright.
Some believe in the creature, and others say it is folklore.
After three hundred years, it comes around some more.
He wasn't like any other ordinary boy
of his own age, but an explorer so passionately
enamored with the sea,
which once almost drowned him;
he was criticized and mocked for his idea,
and yet he tried to persuade them
that the earth wasn't flat, but round...
and they called him crazy!
The redheaded explorer, with a rugged face,
continued to persue that dream,
through rejection and impatience,
he pushed forward to accomplish his mission
with his brothers on his side,
and God to guide him through his struggles;
after years of persistance and persuasion,
he was finally granted his wish!
He had an unbreakable trust in God,
and often asked his men aboard to pray,
and a miraculous circumstance
suddenly hindered his munity;
visible weeds from the coastal waters,
and shrilling fowls flying overhead
had sure and immediate signs of land...
and Columbus looked to Heaven in praise!
The redheaded explorer lived in a time of constant change,
and he changed the destiny of many
by discovering a rich land...
different from the one he had ever imagined;
and he was certain of having found
a westward route to Asia...
but he wasn't aware that his discovery
was another continent later to be named," America."
Night rain on the window pane is the night sweat of my fevered life dream. Time bloats like the reflection I try to avoid. Tears on the bedroom floor for however many minutes or hours. I crawled in here, felled like a sick elm, sickly scooped-out, hunger hollowed, word emptied. Hands...hands that feel like they don't belong to me any more. Something moves within them, puppets them: a tingle like lightning.
icicle fingers
too cold to hold a teacup -
wrists are winter twigs
Fingernails mauve-mottled, heart struggling to pump, circulation slow-crawling. Hands are too blue-numb to grip, and I'm watching the teacup slip...
white pottery shards
mosaic of tannin stars -
the carpet is stained
I found an anthology of short stories I first read years ago, before dream winced into nightmare. Opening the book, a slip of paper floats out, white-dazzly as a snowflake. My hospital admission letter, the sudden white shock of it bookmarking a favourite story.
Bedtime stories. Sweating between the sheets with Ray Bradbury, electric singing sentences pressed to my skin. The push and pull of his prose singing my body electric, giving me a word-**** I won't forget.
Ray Bradbury's everywhere, he's in the air, his words rearranging themselves into kaleidoscope patterns; strange lexicon of snowflakes, of stars. But voices are reassuring me It's just a little fever dream.
Strange how the memory sea floods me as the mind becomes ever more disconnected; the past's wisps floating like feathers through the fog. Fever flicker of faces: Sarah's, silver-shimmery through tears, her blonde hair haloed in teardrop light.
Tonight, anorexia's voice is the knife strike in a slasher movie: a killing, shrilling eardrum drilling. It's the chainsaw buzz scything corn, the shadow knife behind the Psycho curtain.
My immune system is failing, body breaking down.
waves of nausea
crashing on my body's shore -
gastroparesis
slow fast slow fast slow
stutter stop start slow stop start -
arrhythmical heart
Sibilant strobe of whispers, voices, the past's echoes, floating through fever fog...We don't think you're looking after yourself...You're a risk to yourself...I'm sectioning you under Section 2 of the Mental Health Act...
The minefield mind-trap closes on a single word: How?
How has it all come to this?
Estephania was the Spanish horse,
with a chestnut coat and mane
and a lighter long tail...and she ate
alfalfa for strong teeth and bones.
She was domesticated, losing her liberty
and neighing she showed keen ability:
to spot dangers on a perilous path...
Estefania even stopped for a stranded cat.
In summertime she fed mostly on grass,
but bees stung her many times to protest,
and struggling to get them off her tail...
she hit a shrilling raven in the head.
And feeling sorry for the dying bird wincing,
Estefania licked his semi-open eyes...giving
him a little comfort as he folded his wings;
and whinnying she wept a river of tears.
Winter has left, spring has arrived;
day has the same duration of night,
this astronomical event is too unique:
earth orbiting sun is utterly mystique.
a change of season is announced;
swallows engage in acrobatic flight!
Winter was only a bale of unhappy memories,
melting snow creates brooks that quickly flow;
look up, shrilling eagles and pretels fly so low...
how glad they are to return to their old nests!
Winter has left, spring has arrived; the lovebird's
happy song has been reawaken, and heard again
in the rustling trees and in the frantic, warm winds
that scatter white clouds across the brilliant Heaven!
Spring has lovely sunsets, the ones that thrill the senses;
sit down and contemplate them a while with true revere.
This vernal season has beauty and is a delight to the eyes;
watch the Equinox slowly illuminate the above Hemisphere!
Written on 3/29/2016