Long Slammed Poems
Long Slammed Poems. Below are the most popular long Slammed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slammed poems by poem length and keyword.
I let you see who you want me to be.
You give me that look, which tells me I’m doing great.
You are fooled into sharing your deep secrets.
Because I look like that kind of listener.
I am not, but I want you to think I am.
You are so grateful to my fake listening eyes
That you spill your guts into my lap
I covertly shake them out onto the floor
And stomp them thoroughly but secretly
So you keep talking, thinking that I care.
I am a master at not sharing any of my real self.
I was taught years ago that people take their cue from your eyes.
“The windows of the soul” some say.
Mine are on auto-pilot, slammed shut.
The hurricane shutters are tighter than those you buy at Home Depot.
But you look into them and you are completely fooled.
I am the master at showing you a false me whom you readily believe.
Saving the real me for someone who has never arrived.
Today, I gave my last heart away to a man whom makes me afraid
He’d kill me if I left but I’ll die if I stay
My eyes sting because they’ve wept
I’m weary and haven’t slept
We argue, scratch, and bite
Yet, he expects me to love him with all my might
If I ever loved again, he would be my last
Because I’m overwhelmed and losing patience fast
My love has been slammed and jammed in the door
And after he hits me, he expects me to love him more
But my heart heals slower than my cracked jaw
Why has life dealt me such a hand so raw?
The very hands that held me try to steal my breath
Instead of seeing love in his eyes, all I can see is death
I am clean out of hearts, yet glad to be alive
In this game of love, only the strongest survive
The morning started with a heavy hum,
the road ahead felt gray and steep.
My eyes were stinging, salt and numb,
with tears that I could barely keep.
I pressed the pedal, reaching for the floor
but the steel felt hollow, wanting more.
The car ahead slammed down their light,
I pumped the rhythm, heart in throat.
A second’s flash of sheerest fright,
the distance narrowed like a sinking boat.
My brakes had vanished, thin as morning mist,
a jagged ending to a day’s dark twist.
But Grace was riding in the passenger seat,
I missed the bumper by a breath of air.
My life is like those brakes, worn and beat,
yet God was holding every frayed-out snare.
I’m safe, I’m home and though the bill is steep,
I’m just glad it's the car—not my soul—
that's in for a heap.
Airplanes slammed into the North and South Towers,
horrible screams rose and pierced the smoky air;
sirens wailed, the airborne enemy had stricken twice
to afflict death upon the innocent and unaware!
Whenever we go back, we don't see that empty space,
the foundations of the towers violently shake,
who can imagine the terror on each face?
They reach out for those helping hands of grace!
The survivors met face to face with Hell and were grateful
to the ones who gave up their lives and dignified call;
and those who died will be rewarded by a merciful God:
is the One who blessed the peace-makers and cursed the bad!
Let's all remember what happened on that tragic day,
and if we still shed tears and sorrow persists in us today:
let's be glad that they paved our way with awareness,
giving us courage and hope and these are priceless virtues!
Ah...Satisfactorily Succumbing Into Salubrious Sleep
Aye sandman, I surrender to yar supreme governance
surreal spectacular soiree gifts subconscious sphere
soothing (analogous to natural palliative), ah...REM
member nought, asper exquisite entertaining cerebral
kaleidoscope replete with nonpareil visual trappings
aesthetically tantalizing unforgettable..., but lo' eye cant
captcha scenario upon awakened state, tis bothersome
transcendent, resplendent, quiescent,...transient dream
ticking escapement shuttered against recollections...
aye plead mercy to jog, (and gently jimmy - yeah of
course figuratively) shuttered facet slammed tight soon
nee immediately inaccessible dimension brought forth
teasingly, phantasmagorically, numbingly ephemeral,
nonetheless temporarily liberating, enshrouding, and
cocooning against incessant drubbing mine corporeal
wakeful body electric relentlessly fraught with profuse
inexplicable perspiration (principally palms) recurs
like clockwork (despite prescription medications), this
physiological discomfort hazards livingsocial quotidian
joyless agonizing oft times including courtesy, not
"FAKE" panic attack, these anxiety less debilitating,
when emotionally torturous teenage years wracked
every cell (no matter how fast I ran - just Kuwait, the
mailer daemons threatened) to undermine even flickr
of happiness, hence suicidal ideations (eternal slumber)
tantalized (still populate though processes) as surefire
solution to mitigate despite leaving those who love,
and especially hate yours truly, his existence bereft
of quality, though tranquil physical quasi rural setting
(Schwenksville), a naturalistic, fantastic, holistic balm,
here quiet as a cemetary removed, not considerably
distant from Philadelphia (hubbub disagrees with hair
trigger vulnerability), where madding crowd affects my
innate neurological predisposition, these lovely bones
easily rattled, quite aggravating to live verging upon
tremulous agitation assuaged through writing - catharsis
delivers temporary alleviation as doth solitary voluntary
sequestration poor substitute to relish L'Chaim!
Please don't hit me again, please, please no more
Her tiny whisper met with a slammed door
and motor revved, as his car sped away.
But, he would be back by the end of day.
He would tell her that he would change his way.
"Babe, you know I didn't mean it," he'd say
"It's just there are many problems, you know.
If I don't find ease, at work I might blow."
Crumpled tissue lay tossed beside her feet.
reminders this madness would soon repeat.
She could tell Mom, who'd tell the neighborhood
Dad beat her, so she'd thought Mom understood.
Someone who listened was her best friend, Sue,
who told her exactly what she should do:
Find a group that protects against these things,
and you'll find the help togetherness brings.
When he got home that day, he found a note
that said, "Bud, here's a note that you can quote:
I hope you find that ease you're looking for.
Me: You'll not hit again. I've said No More!
For a moment, you were my comfort —
the next, you were the reason for my unrest.
For a moment, you held me close —
the next, you slammed me against the wall.
I couldn't tell where the tenderness ended
and the terror began —
your hands that once felt like home
became the thing I flinched from.
Maybe that's the variable interval reinforcement —
it keeps me seeking the love you give in bits,
never sure, never aware,
of me, of you.
Maybe I was a lab rat who dreamt beyond her cage,
who thought she was the one of a kind —
but I was only ever the pellet's fool,
never seeing the white coat
that lied every time.
He was BILLYtheKidster. She was P D.
My little Poet Destroyer she'll always be to me.
She CRUSHED me immediately. I didn't have a chance.
We engaged an ongoing passionate slamming romance.
Long story short, the Kidster and P D
went on to get married and raise a family.
After the children were all out of the house all fully grown,
the slamming couple's romance continued to continue on.
"My little P D," I said to she,
"Do you know why I allowed you to CRUSH me immediately?
I didn't surrender. That was my sleazy tabloid way of telling all about you for all to see
that "The Poet Destroyer aka PD, Has One Major CRUSH on the Kidster aka Billy."
PD turned to me, swallowed hard and then she said,
"You have CRUSHED me Kidster. Now slam me and let's go to bed
Now you too Kidster have one major CRUSH on me apparently.
Wanna tell me how you feel about that as you slam me in bed passionately?"
This couple's still slammin hard in their retirement years.
Enjoying good slammin fun and laughter.
BILLYtheKidster and The Poet Destroyer Slammed Happily Ever After.
PD inspired me this little love story.
Don't know or care about the gender of PD.
None of that matters to me.
As far as I'm concerned, P D's just one big baby girl anyway.
Mom woke up early to bake the pie. The special occasion pie. Her daughter’s favorite. She rolled out the chilled dough with the old rolling pin and crimped the edges just so. She danced with anticipation as the custard bubbled to its chocolatey glory. When all was done, there were eggshells everywhere. She tidied the kitchen humming their favorite tune.
At last the doorbell rings and there is the delightful smile of her beautiful girl! Though a bit awkward they hug and chat pleasantly. But before Mom can present her scrumptious offering, something from the bitter forbidden list almost slips from Mother's lips. Almost, but her daughter’s keen ear hears it. Almost is enough. Enough to trigger her daughter’s rehearsed response--leaving Mom stunned and alone with her disappointed expectations.
behind the slammed door
the said, unsaid, and dust swirl
untouched meringue weeps
3/8/2021
We sat at the only empty table.
I'd never seen her before,
that elegant, thirty-something lady,
when I visited that shore.
I was twenty-two years old, with big ideas,
a little scruffy, a little thin.
I may once have been more fascinated,
but I can't remember when.
In the air, a sense of revolution,
an unseen, electric buzz -
hours of uninterrupted conversation
on that magic day that was.
"I am separated from my husband",
she mysteriously explained.
"Why?" I asked, my question drifting away,
of it, nothing remained.
I did not know the nature of their problem,
only that he was a doctor.
Her personal life was, it seemed, taboo, though
I wish I had unlocked her.
In the late afternoon, she bid me adieu,
departing to the West.
Suddenly, I knew that I was in love.
My purpose, I now possessed.
I hoped to find her on those foreign streets
before I had to move on.
Finally, I spied her, amongst the busy crowd,
but she was no longer blonde.
Before I could catch her, she entered a store.
So, I decided to wait.
How was it that she never came out again?
I left, when they closed so late.
Just then, a thug from some political faction
clubbed me, slammed me in a cell,
where I disappeared into a timeless fog,
emerging with a strange tale to tell.
They released me, who knows how much later.
I walked among the crowd,
trying to regain my wobbly footing,
my mind, beneath a cloud.
A man approached me, purposefully,
and I was shocked to see -
in every detail, he was a replica
of no one but me.
He told me that I would be joining him.
I pushed him and tried to run,
but he possessed superhuman strength
and continued where he'd begun.
He asked what I did for a career,
and it was a shocker
to hear my own voice say so loud and clear,
"I am a doctor".
"What a nice surprise that is", said he,
"so useful, I suggest.
We have someone we want you to meet.
She will be impressed".