Long Silver bullet Poems
Long Silver bullet Poems. Below are the most popular long Silver bullet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Silver bullet poems by poem length and keyword.
I
Turned into something of a wolfman.
(Sometimes beauty will do that to a man).
In
a dream I was told you lived in a motor home.
Somewhere on the continental divide (so unlike you).
In the frothy whirl of a dream, I was at your door and howled.
It was obvious you weren't home for quite some time.
I stepped inside as if I'd been there a thousand times.
Everything {Just like your mind} in your place was in great disarray.
A single silver bullet embedded in a wicker nightstand.
I never did reacquaint myself with that angelic face.
That turned a man into a howler on a forever chase.
Yes it looks like you're late again
let me guess
you missed the bus you missed the train
then 'Bang!' I heard the front door slam
when you walked away
taking the life out of who I am
here we go again with the same old story
I've already seen this movie and it's oh so boring
not the first time you've been busted
and caught out
with your excuses and can't be trusted
when 'Wham!' I heard the car door slam
then you drove away
driving the life out of who I am
here's that same old song and dance yet I still care
but why do I have to relive this same nightmare
there's always something
drama trauma tragedy no matter what you do
saga stigma calamity no matter where you go
always something with you
wish I had a silver bullet like cupid's little dart
and if I had that magic slug I'd shoot you through the heart
I'm searching for a poetry that’s a hotbed of immense danger,
A spell that unleashes deep fear into every soul.
I want poetry that shakes the universe of old ideas,
Banned in bookstores, sites, and antique shops.
My poetry should be palpable, like a Glock in the dead of night,
Like a gleaming blade in the darkness, a bat striking mercilessly.
I want verses that don’t just heal but hurt profoundly,
Opening wounds that no one has ever felt before.
In my words will vibrate unseen terror,
Like a storm of arrows piercing the veil of reality.
Each stanza will be a thunderclap in the quiet of noon,
And each rhyme, a lightning bolt burning in deeply buried minds.
My verses will be like an ancient wizard's potion,
Mixing the essences of dreams and nightmares, of hopes and despair.
The reader's soul will shudder at their touch,
And with each line, feel bound to an invisible fate.
I'm looking for poetry that purifies through fire and pain,
That awakens everything buried and forgotten.
It will be a cry in the night, a swan song,
An echo that resounds eternally, endless and frightening.
The blades of my words will cut through the fabric of time,
Like a soul surgeon, revealing unknown wounds.
In a mad waltz, fear will fuse with ecstasy,
And in that experience, the reader will be reborn, frightened and liberated.
Each syllable will be a silver bullet, coming to cleave the darkness,
And each metaphor, a pantomime lock that reveals the truth.
The poet will be the wizard of shadows, invoking hidden forces,
And in those dangerous verses, true magic will be born.
Thus, I want poetry that elevates and topples equally,
That shatters conventions and feeds unrestrained flames.
To be both balm and poison, to be sacred and cursed,
To be poetry that shakes worlds, leaving only the ashes of dreams.
And so, in the dead of night, at the edge of reality,
My poem will take form, a creature of darkness and light.
A call to the souls who dare to feel everything,
In a world where magic and melancholy intertwine eternally.
(children's poem)
Ten little frogs were not feeling fine
One went to the hospital and then there were Nine
Nine little frogs went out to play
One got hit by a ball and then there were Eight
Eight little frogs were named Stephen
One died by a 'Silver Bullet' and then there were Seven
Six little frogs went for a dive
One stayed at the bottom and then there were Five
Five little frogs were on the floor
One got stepped on it and then there were Four
Four little frogs sailed to the sea
One disappeared and then there were Three
Three little frogs were wearing shoes
One walked away and then there were Two
Two little frogs were having fun
One died laughing and then there was One
One little frog was basking in the sun
He forgot the suntan lotion and now there are None!!!
:)
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
My kryptonite is my pen,
As it makes me write stupid things.
Like gold-nosed trolls, pumpkins sharing dragons,
And tattoed Oracles peacocked out with rings.
My kryptonic pen is also pretty,
Like a silver bullet.
It compliments my vampiric ways,
Though weakens how I do it.
'It' being what I write,
Twenty-four hours a day;
Poem, quotes and short stories,
But always strange in what I say.
So why must I use this pen of kryptonite?
Because as weak as it makes me, it also gives me might!
After the one thousandth poem I did write,
The magic came this past halloween.
My fountain pen came to life,
Sprouting a pair of little wings.
I believe he wanted to write to me,
So I released my grasp to let him speak.
Then he scooted to the paper and started his groove,
With penmanship that was ever so clean and neat...
"Life has its up and downs
With every smile there is a frown.
You wrote for years with your heart,
Now it's time to give reality a start.
This season brings in weaves of magic,
With good times balanced with ones that are tragic.
Please keep me as your friend,
We got this! Till the end!!!"
A winged pen; Spirituluna,
Writing words of hope, love and grace.
Magical twirls, connecting curls,
Drawing wisdom when I seek faith.
Speak to me, Spirituluna,
tell me how to amble these floors,
that have been cursed by broken glass,
I need to traverse life's parkour!
Scribbling loud, Spirituluna,
"Your foe's are dragonflies that swarm,
their interest is for themselves,
you are the rose to of their thorns."
This I know, Spirituluna,
but how does a rose shed it's points,
to live a life free from danger,
what substance need I do anoint?
Whispy pen; Spirituluna,
"Their circus will not join your gate,
your innocence is your defence,
walk barefoot, you'll traverse this place!"
catalyse of chalk
circles sooted box, reveals
the vortex inside
stakes open her eyes
pries into her private life
draws blood with madness
insists a deep cut of ties
a vampire’s bite sucks
glistens under moon-lightning
with darkening of iris
the rectangle shut
and discomforting inside
the satin lining
that swaddles her until when
feeds the lack of blood pressure
buried in the earth
instead of mausoleum
means she is fated
until flood rains dredge her up
bitterly famished and ripe
her tormentor’s plot
enjoying her plight of pangs
and her screaming fangs
that engulf her first victim
she begs a silver bullet
…and who will shoot first
the gun, with no reflection,
or the too-white teeth?
does lover want to join her
or distribute her ashes?
the two quick rounds nail
tormentor, his protogé
bloodthirst vanishes
end of bad day, sky’s crimson
and the hungry are looming.
Just outside his window,
moonlight turns the pounding rain
¦¦ into gems that glitter on the grass
Crouching, with his face
mere inches from the lower pane,
¦¦ he fogs up the bottom of the glass
He's been acting strangely
for at least a week or two
¦¦ Now, the pieces start to fall in place
While he is fixating on what he's about to do,
¦¦ grotesque changes flicker on his face
Suddenly, he shakes with pain, the likes he's never felt,
¦¦ next, awakes beside the garden path
where, revived by spikes of rain that drive into his pelt,
¦¦he comes back alive... a psychopath
Abstract thoughts identify a full moon as the cause
¦¦ for the transformation he's come by
Driven mad by hands and feet that flatten and sprout claws,
¦¦he lets out a howl that spans the sky
In due time, he's acclimated to
his altered state,
¦¦ steady now, enough to leave the trees,
he heads to a town that he has visited of late,
¦¦where he will begin his blasphemies
Upon his arrival, he is met with blinding lights
¦¦ Townsfolk holding torches in the air!
Shouldering their muskets, several have him in their sights
¦¦ but the danger doesn't come from there
He has caught the scent of one who sits some feet apart
¦¦ Someone who has got a proper gun
BANG! A single shot, then molten silver hits his heart
¦¦ and his reformation has begun
As he writhes and howls, the townfolk move in gingerly,
¦¦ peering past thick clouds of grainy smoke
Having slain a monster, they are stunned by what they see -
¦¦ They've gunned down an ordinary bloke!
Her mocking salutation in salute.
Sudsing down your brains drawingboard in a victoriously ill repute.
Nature's pendulum holds you in it's dungeoness pattern of holding, then you go down it's chute.
Hell's guillotine greased, oiled,
sparkling it's grinning teeth bare,
waiting to have you.
At an altar of self sacrifice,
to the taste willing flesh- au pair.
Hands thrown to the four winds, and you down her stares.
Tripping while galking at her balcony.
Every which way you roll in the dis gust.
Whispering sorrow across the Glade.
Comes that silvery voice in alchemy.
Across the fortress, under seige that no longer serves as your own, but betrays in mutiny.
Conscience, erased clean, washed to arrays of vacancy, vagrancy, shift phased,
beamed, deemed, worthily-unworthy.
But chosen just the same.
A frozen mural of the living.
Ignoring perditions telltale signs.
It's propriety flashing in a neon haze.
Emergency.
Lights out.
Divergence.
True colors bleed.
In the ritual that brings a nightcap on the
remains, of the day-
That fell against the dusk-
Beneath the shadows of lights cusp.
The repose that lies unrebuked in between-half lifes and sinew.
Half full of temptations brew.
Whole mind to be punched drunk.
Shenanigans to ensue.
The undeads morphine pushing Angel.
Karma Sutra supernatural instructor
of compromising positions of mortal danger.
Too much for you proofed.
Her nails painted quaint,
and tender while tenderizing you in hellfires tinder;rotisserie spit
the choke, the ribbing in the
private joke;
The masterstroke, of sparkling sway, taking away care, caresses
for play.
Sugar cube down in her fairey gleeming's; melting into the half empty cup of
silver stomached linings, a slivered casket in the red district on display.
With silver bullet pan flash with
no cares handling.
Fondling, her cashed in-massaging in her squeeze;
spits in your eyes, takes what is clear- in front of you unto blackened fade from audacity; a sidewinder
of curvaceous sleaze.
Spellbinder.
When the Lone Ranger has his finger on his gun's trigger, he constantly has to pull it.
When the moon is full, he hunts and kills werewolves, that's why he uses silver bullets.
He also uses silver bullets to stop outlaws from committing crimes.
But he uses those bullets to kill werewolves the majority of the time.
A werewolf smashed his way into an innocent man's house.
He tore him to pieces and was also going to kill his spouse.
The Lone Ranger saved her by putting a silver bullet right between the werewolf's eyes.
Whenever he encounters werewolves, he defeats them, each and every one of them dies.
A werewolf was about to attack Tonto and he would've ripped him apart.
But the Lone Ranger killed the werewolf by shooting him through the heart.
Silver was the Lone Ranger's horse until a werewolf ate him and he was also going to eat Scout.
But the Lone Ranger woke up in time to save Tonto's horse and he blew the werewolf's brains out.
Whenever a werewolf tangles with the Lone Ranger, his life comes to an end.
When the moon is full, the Lone Ranger kills werewolves with silver bullets and he always wins.
Never met someone like you before
I never claimed to be perfect;
I only claimed this was worth it
And if we didn’t do it, then tell me who did?
My silver bullet Princess, my darkest dream,
You make me feel complete.
A shot through my heart and hello or goodbye.
We will not be finished by this sunlight,
For we will continue to search, maybe in vein,
For love eternal; eternally loves slave.
If the skies keep on falling down on me,
Then how am I supposed to live, not grieve?
I am living at the end of tomorrow,
Too fearful of new beginning’s.
All I am selling is worthless to your soul
And in the end we end up with what we began with long ago.
The things on this Earth we gather to our hearts,
In time become worthless when compared to the stars
And all we cherish only to become lost,
We wish to keep, or take back, but are unwilling to pay the cost.
At my weakest point, still I reach for your love.
If we never did meet, then would we ever have known trust?
I trust in you because love dares me to;
I risk it all on the roll of a chance dice,
Hoping your hand will carry me through.
It’s our differences that define us,
So let our similarities forever bind us.
Two hearts beating as one;
An endless love built on trust.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.