Long Skulls Poems
Long Skulls Poems. Below are the most popular long Skulls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skulls poems by poem length and keyword.
Hollow eyes of a skull shrouded by a heavy mist
People suffer condemning others within foul hate
Hateful stares piercing through the back of their skulls soul domain
Raping hearts violently shred inner purity
Inside deep council weeping in ugly visions hurt
Tainted with nightshades unforgiving it creates wars
Ugly bitterness seeping into their spines chilling
Nobility breaking chains in bondage heart aching
Blood sucking leeches drain life from the living temple
Greedy vultures picking dead meat from the bones altar
Twisted talons, judgment overpowers emotions
Merciless machines killing without love and conscience
Turns upside down human virtue inside this world's wrath
We all know our hearts plea for justice's sake writhes in lies
Devoured by parasites, greed is the choice of weapon
Yet ignorance plays its role turning blindly the eyes
Rolling down crocodile tears, colorless emotions
Tears bleed bathing inside heartache's shameful reminder
Raindrops of deep hurt remains within salted old wounds
Holding love as the most precious and purest gift pearl
Undying beauty fading ashes dust blowing
Over memories stored in a yellowish photo
In what is right and what is wrong we cannot deny
Rainbow remnants pull on a thread of thought sewn deeply
A Collaborated Poem by Liam Mc Daid and Angeline lim
This poem is written in the Unheavenly style that we created. It's written in 6 lines of 13 syllables.
ROTGUT NEIGHBORS by JTC
Page 1
The Sun rose up that day
To continue what it started
And baked the soft brown clay
From the lake that had departed
Not a drop of water present
Not a cloud to blot the sky
For three years they've been waiting
To watched their land go dry
The Lake that fed the towns
The water that they needed
Month by month and inch by inch
They watched as it receded
It got so dry, that passerby's
Sensed no life around
Mainly indicated, by the
Bones and skulls they found
Not a bird seen flying by
Nor a tree for them to perch
Just some buzzards in the sky
Circling round as on a search
To be continued............
Ceritifacation
you must be Seventeen
autherorization to marry
from a curcuit court
or a a certifacate from
a licenced physicain.
the act of marrying
Jewelled Brooch
Granite stone
Swages
anceint Manuscripts
Liquid B'Tween the lenses
Cad-
creating and cloning fattail sheep
and with afganain rams to Ewees and
Tissue and testicles
furs
skulls and horns
Scrap gold, nordic gold
man made gem stones
Barrels and Barrels of
maple syrup and honey
and rum.
his sight limited the way he saw.
So we'l look for the loop
over the eye in his signature
that would mean it's authentic.
some from 1550--1600's
but hese are from now aday. There value depends on
there appeal. Even though the gems are man-made
due to the owners celebraty Staus these things make ownership
worth looking into.Casmere,Fattail< Mountain Goat Fiber
to seed crystal and Man-made diamond production.
Jewerer Loupe to inspect the quality of
production. Molds and Crusibles and alloys
to increase durablity. He wore a Poncho made of Lima fibers
which he used to insulate the redwood cheast he made
with the silver and gold famcy external brackets
used for decoration and corner support. Shelaced perfect.
What a beautiful peice!
___________ENEZ_______________
Mona Lisa has worn that mystical smile on her mug for over 500 years!
Who is this mysterious lady who at us from The Louvre benignly peers?
She had to sit for over four years for the artist to capture that simple pose.
Who she is and what's behind that smile, only Leonardo DaVinci knows!
She ain't the most beautiful woman to come down the pike but what the heck.
Since her genesis in 1503 she wasn't treated all that well during her dicey trek!
She's been mutilated, stolen a time or two and graced Napoleon's sleeping place.
All the while she's borne it with grace with that inane smile upon her face!
Some have said that she's the widowed Duchess of Milan, Isabella of Aragon.
Others have sworn that she's Mona Lisa Gherardini and so it goes on and on!
Signore DaVinci left no specific clues as to the name of this mysterious dame!
Through the centuries men have scratched their skulls trying to seek her name!
Was that frozen smile upon her face to hide teeth that were crooked and stained?
Or was her pose such that her posterior and sacroiliac were slightly strained?
Perhaps her compressed smile implied to Leonardo, "Hurry up and git 'er done!
You're payin' minimum wage and fella, posin' fer posterity ain't all that fun!"
Now hung upon the wall of The Louvre she's worth millions and millions of bucks.
Not bad for an unknown woman from who knows where, but here's the crux:
That beatific smile upon the homely face of Mona Lisa that Leonardo created,
And what she's smiling for will always be debated and pondered unabated!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for 3d Place in Carolyn Devonshire's "Unsolved Mysteries" Contest - Jul 2011
I stumbled barefoot through fractured noon,
Where lamplight bloomed like a fossil's tune.
The sky was stitched with electric thread,
Held up by whispers from things long dead.
The clocks ran backward, then sideways, then wept,
And time was a sock no one had kept.
The trees grew bells instead of leaves,
And wolves wore monocles, eating beliefs.
Not just dire ones—oh no, much worse:
There were squid that sang in Morse code verse,
And pigeons quoted Baudelaire,
Sipping gin in perfumed air.
The mammoths glowed in silent prayer,
And lizards preached from folding chairs.
The moon had teeth, the rivers laughed,
And gravity forgot the craft.
"Welcome," hissed a beetle in tweed,
"To the Archive of Unnatural Need.
Here we keep what should’ve stayed gone,
What science stitched and ego spun."
They hadn’t just brought back one lone beast—
They rewrote nature's birthday feast.
A party of errors, a cake of regret,
I asked them, “Why?” They answered, “Yet.”
And in this world of brilliant wrongs,
Where dinosaurs sang breakup songs,
I felt a tug—not fear, but awe—
As if I’d slipped outside the law.
A camel danced with a one-eyed crow,
A snail grew wings and wouldn’t slow.
And through it all, a hum remained—
A grief we’d never yet explained.
For every creature bore a cost,
A barcode scar for what we lost.
They weren’t just beasts; they were our proof
That hubris hides in labcoat truth.
And yet, amid the chaos bright,
I saw strange moments born from light:
A child who tamed a clockwork bear,
A blind man learning how to stare.
We made a world with curious seams,
Where ancient blood now fuels new dreams.
And though it shivered, cracked, and bled,
It lived more loudly than our dread.
I left the gate with pockets full—
Of squawking seeds and lullaby skulls.
And now and then, at night I hear
A humming in my soup or ear.
I smile, remembering all that sings
In that wild land of almost-things.
And wonder still, with cautious glee,
If it was real… or just in me.
As I scream out your name I fall
In darkness I have labored scantly clad in sack cloth and ashes
Wait for me I won't be long
My time is nearly up
Crimson moons in rivers by the shore break my silence
I scream out your name alone in empty rooms
Hold me in my dreams
Arenas of wild killers all fell before my might
In your name I breathe
Juniper with my tea
Mint cookies delight me much
Her name is forgotten all this time lost chasing shadows in the dark
Chained to the whispers of the lost skulls now long since dust
Do their whispers still sing out to you?
Wake me when the king has arrived is he nearly here now?
I am sworn to listen for the Lambs horn calling us up
Quake with fear when the trump sounds the end has arrived
Autumn and my Buddy will they meet me there on The Mount Of Olives by the Masters side? Questioning the reason to wait 2,000 years for a wedding feast.
Almost time for the third day to begin and the rising of The Son of Man. Lamb gets ready to break that seal and let our kingdom be revealed.
The air surrounds me brisk.
Sounds from the city evoke me.
People are nearby but in this moment;
I am alone.
The chimera close by secure me a halfer.
Smoke is now gone but I do not crave for another.
You are the one.
Only if I allow you how.
How to be you.
Allowance to he me.
To lense to respect boundaries and to accept humanity.
For what it is.
It is for us.
We are what makes up humanity.
Humane is a description.
Human it describes.
Humans are not hunane.
Savages
Ripping skulls off faces and eating shark teeth.
Contemplated by our own criticism. .
Who am i?
What have we become. .
Truth is honest and truthfully, honesty saves lives.
White lies have become like sliced bread as we seem to default react with a the lie.
Fear
Afraid of rejection.
Fear what
Damn near everything
Lose it all.
Trust, fear, courage, truth and of course; everything.
Trust life.
Fear fears that are your fears to fear.
Trust your fears.
But overcome those fears.
Believe in something
Even if it's nothing because even nothing is something .
And nobody?
Such find is yet to be discovered.
Find freedom
Free to be whomever you may be and if you're a piece of shut than change it.
Be aware of the world that surrounds you and surround your world with love.
Enjoy life or may life enjoy you.
Off I must go to achieve my greatness.
Hang in there, you can do it.
From Moonday to Sinday = A Week of Horrors
On Moonday the orb above turned red,
To awaken the famished dead.
We've beaten them back ever since,
And still, when I bash their skulls, I wince.
Duesday brought the settlement of all our hates
The weaker perished at the gates;
The strong forced all within their gifts.
Woundsday followed with storms of blood,
Nothing could stand against the flood
Of wickedness unfettered;
It's power to destroy could not be bettered.
On Thirstday we drank deep of every vice
Each depravity indulged at least twice.
Then we rested, numbed and barren,
While all around, the scent of carrion.
Fryday came: we set it all ablaze,
Moving along towards some final phase
Before the coming of some closing end
Chaos now our only friend.
On Shatterday we shook with fear of fear itself
Though there was no longer poverty nor wealth,
But mere equality of misery,
Spread far as ear could hear or eye could see.
And at last Sinday came,
When, properly accepting blame
We scant survivors lay down beneath an impassive sky
In weary hope that it might tell us Why.
Nothin' should surprise the citizenry in the news reports anymore.
The latest puzzlin' saga occurred today off the California shore!
Look! Up in the sky! Is it Peter Pan, Superman or a UFO?
Strange that the generals with their fancy toys don't seem to know!
Some dude, somewhere seems to have fired a missile in the sky.
Now the blame game begins with fingers pointin' at the other guy!
Wizards at NORAD don't have a clue and are hunkered in their hole.
The Navy admirals are frantically countin' missiles on ships on patrol!
The Brass at Fort Fumble (more commonly known as the Pentagon),
Are scratchin' their skulls tryin' to figure out what is goin' on!
The Air Force, the likely culprit, ain't sayin' much about the matter.
Since the Marines ain't in the rocket business, they're enjoyin' all the chatter!
The Army is concerned about tanks and guns and are outside the loop.
News reporters keep babblin' away and speculatin' on the latest poop!
I suspect when the dust settles, it won't be a general who takes the flap,
But will probably be some lowly PFC somewhere who'll take the rap!
No one knows what they were shootin' at or from whence it came.
The numerous stories we've heard to date are pretty doggone lame.
If jug-butt generals and admirals who are paid to figure these things out
Can't do it, then my confidence in our nation's security is in serious doubt!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A cracked and empty skull
makes a beautiful flower pot,
desk tidy or paperweight.
Place a nightlight in that osseus cave
and it will become a small table lamp.
Through the ages
monks have harvested skulls;
some sanctuaries and chapels
are built on human bones
and the skulls form their central alter.
Mystics understand
that this is the ultimate jaw-dropping sermon.
The human skull reminds us that death leaves
its own gravestones.
We can grin back at that once visible face
pondering its ever static tidings
to wit, that this rattling boneyard dream
simply must have its One Last Word.