Long Sicken Poems
Long Sicken Poems. Below are the most popular long Sicken by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sicken poems by poem length and keyword.
(Chain Poetry)
I hate to see what's taking place all over this planet here
Here in this world are happening just too many bad things
Things that make me truly concerned and very worried
Worried and very sick to my stomach all the time
Time and time again I hear all these horrible and very sad stories
Stories so bad they sicken my heart and soul and truly make me shiver
Shiver with fear and concern for the safety of all the children
Children are in extreme danger all the time, anywhere and every day
Day in and night out we all need to protect the life of our precious children
Children all over the world need lots of love, attention and hugs plus understanding
Understanding, shower them with all your loving care and protection
Protection we should provide them and give them no matter what
What we have to do for them to receive it as we bring them up and they grow up
Up too soon we see them go, tick, tock, tick, tock, the clock never stops for you or me
Me and you should never stop saying "I love you" or not showing for our children our love
Love for God, love for family and friends, love for people and love for all of the children
Children need us to teach them and guide them all about God's awesome love!
Love through God is so beautiful, true and awesome and will turn them into better adults
Adults they will be one day and more matured if we just raise them with morals and right
Right from wrong we have to and need to teach them all the time and everyday you see
See now and make sure that they never get hurt or abused in any way by anyone!
Anyone could hurt them,so be careful,be good to them,protect them and love them all!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2009
August 2,2009
With present great, O’ gracious hate
O’ hand in heart, neither tripp’d nor fear’d
Doth thine conquer, by thine of corrup’d lips
O’ Sicker thy pour’d thine sicken canst
Thy chanc’d on seated heart
Hath thy slate nigh single sinner hips
Wither’n hither if b’yond, where’n nought
With’n ernst wouldst prove best
O’er hung upon the dislocate
O’er hung ‘mongst the rest
O’ implor’d thine harvest
With thine of wicked hand
Thus thou shalt do, howst thou shalt plunge’n.
Murth’ing sex hold at thou’st darkling sight
Dost seem plung’d thou’n thy thick night
Night form foretold milk’d thine breast
Thou shalt b’sworn, bitter’n crest.
In swinish sleep, O’ grace of gurnish hell
Trammel’n surcease, deceit upon brow
Unknowest known, tak’n eye upon foe
How’st for, thou played’st most foully for
Give solely sovereign sway, sworn o'er swell’n,
Poison’d chalice, O’ in wanton fullness
Fall’n O’ fallace upon th’other
In punitive hail, O’ fall,O’ fail
How’st dare’st do’n all, O’
Doth crown’d th’thorn t’prick th’law
Thus thou shalt do’n, Thus thou’st forlorn,
Esteem’st th’privy procreant cradle
F’rapt fools of foolish valour
Succumb f’certain tongue’d desire, thou
Shalt reign ‘pon th’heavenly galore
For th’Christened babe
Wept ‘pon the cherubim whore:
“Great Glamis! Thou art shalt be, slain th’head ‘pon the Heaven’s decree!”
Hast form’d a kiss’n heaven,
Doth thou callst th’pure
Why hath th’crown crowd me by livid, in my stir
Ever hath thee crown’d withal
Hath borne a light,
So to withdrawal.
You sicken me
those eyes,
the blueness turns to grey
and that grey is adjustable
it can wipe the moon from the sky,
erase the memories of you and I.
But one thing they cannot do,
is lie.
Mine green.
Oh so green, they scream
and fight,
frightening, calm eyes.
They can see right through you're grey ways,
they see right through the truth.
Because deep inside those dreamy eyes,
there's a curse.
A curse so dense, it's hidden
deep in the ground, beneath the tree's roots, beneath the worms hole,
to the core of existence-
and that is where it hurts,
when you bleed inside out, you try to cover up
thinking I'm some sort of idiot,
dumb.
But you don't think I get it,
you don't think I can puzzle it together
and all I really think to say,
I feel bad for you,
you're about to see the worst,
you're about to witness true greeness,
the kind that doesnt protect dirt, give shade to life
the true kind-
and I don't care if it hurts.
Têtes
Je vois, Aristo, que tu les as mis à l'épreuve
Alors qu'ils se battaient entre eux dans les rues
Tu t'es gavé de gâteaux somptueux et de pains raffinés
Alors que les enfants de cette ville n'ont pas à manger
Tu peux acheter leurs âmes malades avec une pièce d'or
Mais tes richesses ne suffiront pas à te purifier de tes péchés
Et ne pense pas pouvoir échapper à la justice
Quand la révolution en marche commencera
Ta corruption s'est propagée comme un cancer
De la Nef jusqu'à la Reine
Alors tu peux compter sur ton rendez-vous
Quand viendra le temps de rencontrer notre Madame Guillotine
HEADS
I see, Aristo, you have put them to the test
As they fight among themselves in the streets
Gorged yourself on lavish cakes and fancy breads
While the children of this city, have not to eat
You can buy their sicken souls with a gold piece
But your riches aren't enough to clear your sin
And don't think you can run a hide from justice
When the revolution on it's way, begins
Your corruption, has spread just like a cancer
From a Nave all the way up to The Queen
So you may count on keeping your appointment
When it's time to meet our Madame Guillotine
"Idling"
Cool cold froth
slides across their pages
they whirl their congratulatory comments
like pucks across ice crystal cut sharp and precise
waiting for return compliments
basting their words with oily accomplishment
slick and to strict recipe
baking like fat turkeys
with temperatures
mild and appetites easily
assuaged
How does a person come to this?
They think of words and throw them
to the wolves like sticks
for return
Wolves will take their words
strip all bones ragged of stories
bury them
and then silently,
without a backward glance
never return
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“Their pooled emotions wouldn’t fill a teaspoon.”
“They sicken of the calm who know the storm.”
“That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone:
Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.”
Dot Parker
"What Fresh Hell is This?"
"xanny"/Billie Eilish
https://youtu.be/OYyyce8K_c0
"Purgatory is a Poem"/ LadyLabyrinth
HAIBUN
You are electron microscopic size, but you possess infinitesimal power. Just a single strand of encapsulated RNA, yet you and your brothers SARS and MERS can sicken and kill more complex life.
Covid-19, virion unseen
Bring humans to their knees
Cowering and trembling
You spring up suddenly from nowhere and spread like fire in a parched forest. Devastating stock markets, stopping sports teams, halting concerts and forbidding gatherings over 250 souls. Quarantines of ships and planes. People greedily grasping, fighting and clawing for the important things in life: toilet paper, masks, cleaning supplies, paper towels.
A boon to corporations
Johnson and Johnson, Proctor and Gamble
Secretly happy you are around.
World wide you spread, showing no regard for race, boundaries or politics.
Italians, Iranians, Chinese,
Americans, Norwegians,
Japanese, Brazilians
The world caught unprepared. Scientists scrambling to develop a vaccine. All will breathe a sigh of relief when you cease your rampage. That is until you return, mutated, the same but different and we start all over again.
You were like the proud king lion,
Strong with thick main,
No hair out of place deliberately.
Constantly parading by your pack;
Commendation stood tall in there,
No questions, phraseology or rubs,
The podium harmonised plans,
To scrub up for an alighting,
Before medium light settled;
Hereward stood better than the rest,
And all needed to agree with you,
Then you roared at me with jesting jaws.
You were like a bird,
Not specifiable,
Except by the RSPB,
In a crowd which could only brake,
Under a focused eye,
One son too unstable,
Flying through the clouds,
In a flock,
Only falling for a reason.
You were like the hawk’s eye,
On me, all the time, relentlessly,
To see if I wanted to follow,
Or else love the arm amputee;
My friends were not yours,
Your mind was not mine,
I was your perusal,
but I was also your feed,
To sicken or to satisfy.
You were like the bear,
Dangerous because you swear,
Calling people skanks,
Just for walking able-bodied;
Separation has its faults,
And Hereward students,
Were only assisted anyway,
To love able-bodied people,
For their sameness to us,
In mind, body and fashion,
In heart, beliefs and views,
In vision and in choices.
You were like the sheep,
Most truly, conclusively,
With secrets and shyness,
Insecurities filled your vision,
Until the leader in you died:
You resided within your norm,
Of wheelchairs being normal,
Mounting the ewe in incest,
To your sacred inside.
But you were frightened inside really,
If the truth is to be told,
Of enrolling in Coventry University:
Your Hereward lane,
Of educated brains,
Of medical people and care staff,
Of other disabled students,
Who had been in physio like you,
Made you recline into your sleep,
Didn’t let you live or jirate.
But you were my sheep,
And you lost your white coat.
Abuse casts long shadows...
Twilight's purple fingers reaching
through the fog of restless, rowdy dreams.
I thrash and lash, sheets wet with sweat,
and shudder apart at the seams.
Shadowy tentacles of my father's abuse
reach deeply inside; his castigation
an ineradicable stain, that monoxide flame
of gaslighting aimed to shame.
Shadow banned within the home.
Three months pregnant, and shadowy, spectral words
rise up, billowing, like choking smoke
from my own mother's throat:
You'll be no good, you'll never cope.
Shadow darts through the heart.
Hemlock shadows locked within.
Sable-shaded fingerprints on flesh;
violent violet stormclouding my skin.
I sicken as sun coils delicately round daylight,
fade in the tainted shade of rape.
Night-tinted footprints follow me
through soiled streets of shame.
Will I ever outrun these shadows?
Can I escape my own shadow?
Will I ever rest in the velvet violet caress
of my inner evening's soft-petalled shadow?
In my heart, I know I have made a mistake.
Yet the pain of reality does not sicken my mind into the fairest decision.
I am but without envy.
I am a coward, to seek not love but passion.
Truly in hopes of future love that one day true emotion will wither its source straight into my lover’s heart and for once he will look into my eyes and see himself, as he should; as my heart’s truest desire.
I am mistaken for a mistress and he for a companion.
I am lost within the meaning of this love.
Cruel, more so, the devil has had me covet more than I should ever ask for. Grieving, as I am, I am a shadow in his future, my definition blurred beyond a tale; never will I surface in the history of his years to come.
Time has seen me reduced to a past time and silenced to a mistress.
He leaves me without a promise of honor and an empty womb.
I look upon my predicament and wonder, how I made this mistake.
I have granted my heart to a mockery
Some get over a bad childhood,
they rise to the top of a hill
to set fire to the bloody rags of a choiceless youth.
The beacon flares, below a forest
of wide-eyed animals
watch as the sacrifice, now a smoldering fawn,
blunders among them, its throat cut and bleeding.
Others drag around a blind doll,
day by day the macabre manikin grows larger,
its face a picture of apathy,
for apathy is the ghostly dress of
all long dead ballerinas.
That hand-stitched doll
gets too heavy to bear, and so daily,
they must give it away to beggars and saints,
The doll is insane, its pain is a robber's key
that returns to unlock any cardboard castle,
or iron fortress.
When the wild dogs come
to scavenge among the bones of a childhood,
throw them something raw and still wriggling,
let them slaver and chew it over,
until they sicken,
then chop off their gray heads,
one by one.