Long Slash Poems
Long Slash Poems. Below are the most popular long Slash by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slash poems by poem length and keyword.
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
Listen to the rain. It sings. It whispers.
Listen to the rain. It heals. It covers.
I lay in the grass. Thinking. Wondering. The rain falling, splashing on my cold pail skin. Splashing on my hair. Dancing on my dress.
It's falling all around me. Covering me. Protecting me. My body. My heart. My soul.
Healing the wounds. Covering the scars.
I close my eyes and feel it's cold touch. Drop by drop. Sinking in my skin.
I listen to it fall. I listen to it whisper. I listen to it sing. I listen to the wind. Blowing screeching. Screaming. Pounding the rain against my body. Against the grass. I lesten to the thunder roll. Roar. Growl. I listen to the lightning crack and slash the dark sky.
I'm thinking. Wondering. Hoping. Hurting.
I'm thinking about you. Wondering about you. Hoping for you. Hurting for you.
I miss you. I need you.
The pain is unbarable. I can't stand to be away from ou. I can't stand not feeling your touch. I can't stand not hearing yur voice.
So I lay in the grass. I listen to the rain sing. I listen to it whisper.
I let it heal me. I let it cover me. I let it cover the scars.
I listen to the rain. It hides my tears. Washes them away. The wind carries waya my worries. My doubts. The thunder hides my cries. My sobs.
But the lightning brings you. Brings images of you. Brings memories of you.
I can't help but smile. I hold you dream catcher and tags tight against my chest. I hold our picture.
Another crash, another stike. I get you for one more night.
The sky gets darker and darker. More and more memories of you flash through my mind.
The rain grows harder, the lightning grows longer.
In the grass I lay, smiling, soaked. Clutching our picture. Clutching your tags. Clutching your dream catcher. The last memories with you.
I will meet you again. I will see you again. I will be in you arms again.
We will make it.
The wind dies down and the rain slows. The thunderstops, so does the lightning show. My show of you is over.
Sad once again I lay in the grass. Listening to the rain sing. Listen to the rain whisper.
I look at our picture. A tear escapes my eye.
I miss you. I wish I could be in our arms again. I wish you could hold me. I miss being with you. I miss hearing you.
Another tear added to my growing fear. My growing saddness.
Another tear for you. I miss you. I need you.
In this time the cloth is unwoven, the threads laid bare.
Most of the dung removed, cleared, given no fare.
Massive steel plates hold back the uninvited from boarding the train.
Going and coming returning from far, how special the precious Saved Ones are!
Not as many by count, as expected to be, go only the accepted glorified in He.
The One by name Jesus Christ is He, by birth our Savior, God’s only Son.
The rapture has started transformation begun!
“Multitudes Missing” is what is said both of the living and of the dead.
Glory shone at the uniting above as Jesus ascended taking the Throne.
Angels and Saints at the table were there, celebrating the beginning
As promised by some, in the Book it is written the time has come.
To those uninvited still sinning below Tribulation unending they endure
Because death is not given for the unforgiven there is no cure.
Now that The Holy Spirit is gone replaced by the unholy one.
Three and one half years his reign will be before his anointment as
King of the land, then after another one half and three
From his throne he gathers his forces to make his stand.
In Jerusalem, after the Temple’s complete, is the place Armageddon has come.
Many the forces pressing the land foul and dirty sinners are they.
Angels from above sweet music they play, as their swords slash, many they slay.
The rest are all gathered sorted like sheep the wicked on the left and thrown into the deep
Where welcomed by him unholy for sure cured not forever burning in hell.
Be it certain, known for sure, Jesus has returned all hail the King.
For a thousand years he will reign all living forever no sickness or pain.
He is my God the only pure one born of a mortal, Spirit raised, God’s Son.
On the cross our sin debt He paid glory forever so easily gained
Not by good works impossible to do only in accepting as Savior, our Lord, King.
In living and doing such a small little thing why do so many risk certain despair?
Is it that we tangled in our lives, mundane as they are, have little care
For those less willing the truth to be know spread the message they must be shown!
Think now of forever the price they bear become an ambassador in Jesus’ name!
Hot is the pit with its flame burning bright engulfing a loved one what a terrible sight.
The time is at hand the cloth becoming bare; Jesus is the answer show you dare.
“Jealousy”
Jimmy had odds to beat, one he was a black teen and the temptations of big city’s Streets.
But a single black mother’s determination held his attention sternly,
So he had only Minimal interaction with streets.
He had rickets but Jimmy could catch any ball.
He ran with a gang that like to brawl,
Then he entered a Youth Center where a Mentor introduced him to football.
Pop Warner he’s leader of the team,
Onto High School Football team as runner for TD’s.
Scouts without doubts offered degrees.
Mother’s pleased when he goes to USC, to be toast of the university.
Jimmy rode football like a Hell’s Angel rides his hog.
He played halfback, fullback carrying the ball.
Top backers called, packs of women clawed,
Because for a rental car he ran through a mall.
Sydney was a naive Germany beauty queen,
Blond haired eyes emerald green.
Done nothing much since she jumped with the school cheer team.
But she had dreams, being famous on T.V., a celebrity.
But she’s stalled in the Pokipsy Mall,
Serving chili, hamburgers and hotdogs.
When in comes Jimmy, walking tall, followed by his enthralled.
Each sees the other and head over heels each falls.
Their love, sweet, she felt entitled to be,
With the famous Jimmy.
After their affair they married, two heirs, beach house on Bundy Street,
Her face on T.V. with Jimmy, her dream is complete.
But Jimmy believes in slavery,
Believes possessions are bounty one forever keeps,
And Sydney is his property.
But black eye secrets don’t keep,
So she and her parents agree, divorce Jimmy immediately.
Jimmy falls, fell by divorce when the gavel falls.
But most of all,
He felt affronted by the German goofball in front of media tell-all,
So he watches her like a hawk, to see with whom she walks.
She saw a new fella who won her heart and Sydney falls.
He wines and dines her many times and shows respect to all.
So Jimmy waits, pissed off jealousy he has no date, until one night on her Ronald calls.
Greens seethe engulfs Jimmy from head to feet, it shuts off reasoning.
Disrespect for “The Great ME” is all he sees in this rivalry for his property.
He sees she succeeds with this non-minority.
To the door during their adoring greeting Jealousy creeps,
Like Flash he slash the throat of the one he knows,
Then at speed stabs repeatedly the one she greets,
As he tries to flee from Jealousy.
If you look close you can see my disguise
I've got the mind of a killer buried deep in my eyes..
I've a different mind set than most you see.
I'm driven and fueled by a pure sense of apathy
just to take blood, just to get my thrill.
I have a demon inside I can't seem to kill
Another day. Another dead.
I slash my knife till I see red.
There's nothing left to do today.
Another life has been taken away,
but not in haste and not in waste,
only just in time for me to have another taste.
I'm lost in a state of mind.
I'm lost searching for another of my kind,
but my lonely mind is my only friend.
My lonely mind will be with me until the end.
A lonely whisper in your ear
says the very last thing you want to hear.
I stare into your eyes and you hear me say,
"Believe it or not, you're going to die this way."
Another day. Another dead.
There's something wrong inside my head.
I'm a serial killer. I am a true monster.
I kill only to satisfy my deviant pleasure.
I wear one face to the public and another to only me.
The true me I must never allow anyone to see.
One small glimpse into my non existent personality
can very well be the beginning of the end for me.
My prey however do get to see
the monster I keep caged inside of me.
You may awaken bound to my table one day
and with my blade held above you I will then go on to say,
"You're going to die now, and you're going to die my way."
Another night. Another bloody success.
Another craving satisfied. Now I can get some rest.
Yes I am a monster but I do live with a strict code.
I never kill innocents. I kill killers ruthless and cold.
Some killed for pleasure. Some killed for pay.
There's plenty of killers to kill to satisfy my sick crave.
If you've ever killed an innocent life
I'm going to one day introduce you to the blade of my knife.
I'm not trying to be a hero or a vigilante kind of fella.
I'm a psychpath with an addiction. I'm a serial killer,
but I guess you can say that I'm doing God's will.
It just happens to also provide me with a deep, dark, sick thrill.
My code is to kill killers who kill for pleasure or who kill by being bought.
If I kill innocents, I stand a greater chance of getting mysef caught.
If you're a killer, you and I will cross paths and I'll sure be happy to meet ya.
I'm America's most loved serial killer. My friends all call me Poindexter.
A hint of helping this wholesome Harris son
can across thru the air
Hence this poetic expression
of gratitude Matthew Scott wants to blare
And communicate my genuine
appreciation crystal clear
Toward one whose existence
more valuable to me and dear
As thee doth become older
with natural diminishment with eyes and ear
But lo…tis unproductive to fear
The diminishing sands
of mortal time as cognitive gear
Doth get clogged as well as one
or the other organ allowing ye to hear
The sound of silence echoing
memories of the past – now a blur
Akin to a warm fuzzy feeling
soft as moss or lichen – precious as a coat of fur
Which tomorrows speed faster
becoming yesterday’s lore
Mixed with trials and tribulations less or more
Thickening as starch and ever more difficult to pour
From the egged on noggin blended
into one glob kept in secret store
Perhaps comprising partially healed wounds
at your heart tore
As if a drafted soldier once
in tiptop shape now to the bone years wore
Away whet dreams housed
within myths indistinguishable from truths of yore
Though I too sometimes fret
as tempus fugit slinks away
Where methinks how the years spin
at a quicker pace each day
Inculcating me to savor each moment,
whether weather sunny or gray
Taking stock of self of natural world
as one named John Jay
Audubon, who captured pristine lands
of America as a frieze zing May
Whereby bounteous creatures
large and small at play
Until…the inundation
of settlers did slash, burn and slay
Indiscriminately - setting precedent
for Earth in a precarious balance oye vay
Whence Mother Nature
will win this global Olympic match – yet
By which time, both thyself
and ye will be long turned to ash
Descendants will be dust off
faded photos of me self
before senescence did dash
Totally unaware that me papa Boyce Brandon
with clenched and teeth did gnash
When I fought tooth and nail
and without a word did lash
Back as protestations against behavior
of mine ye disliked and found rash
With frustration spilling forth
like acidic froth that did splash
Slash and burn within,
yet kept mum no matter
from within did thrash.
I LOVE YOU TOO DAD
NO MATTER BACK IN THE DAY YE GOT MAD
YET NOW, AS A FATHER TWAS FRUSTRATION
PERHAPS FUSED WITH BEING SAD
AT MY LIFE & HARD TIMES WHEREIN
TURMOIL ROILED MORE THAN A TAD!
I slash with my sword and I push with my shoulder. Every muscle and every tendon is screaming in agony. I can feel every pressure when my blade makes contact. I’m grunting with passion as I push every extremity to the very breaking point. I let my mind wonder to the past, where my family was butchered and mutilated when I was 10 years old. I lost everything I loved and anything that mattered to me, but my passion. Revenge echoes in my mind over and over, like the rumbling of thunder in the summer storms when they pass. Revenge against those who could do the things I’ve seen, beasts that slaughtered my whole family. I have spent years here, learning the warrior’s way, feeling the grunge and toils from everyday training.
My sword is now a part of my body, so swift and true. I can draw it sharply and silent to bring it up my enemy. I spin my body and crouch down low, dodging my enemy and thrusting my sword into his chest. My body has become one single weapon for me to use. My mind is sharp and ready for the challenges of all those who oppose me. I will fight for honor and what is right and damnation to those who are evil and selfish. In the distance a voice echoes in my ears, “Piiid!” “Pid!” This sound grows louder as I strain my muscles and sharpen my skills. “PIIIDDD!!!” “HAULT!” and then I realize that master Baracus has been calling me. Turning around, I see Baracus standing there with a puzzled look on his face. He is a tall elder man with a chiseled chin and scars across both cheeks. His skin tone is deep red from the Sun’s scorching heat of the day. His balding head has traces of white hair around each side and the tunic of a trainer is all black with gold trim. His deep blue eyes gaze upon me in frustration, “You must focus on all things around you Pid, you will leave yourself open to attack without it”.
Baracus turns to walk towards the shelter as he mumbles various curses at me. “You young bucks have no attention and focus” as he slowly walks to sit down. “I was focused on my training you old goat” I persist. As we both sit down, he makes his brittle response, “Damn young blood makes poor fertilizer for our fields” as we both bellow with laughter. He is my mentor and trainer, but most of all he took me in and called me his son. He has trained me in the way of the warrior and what it means to be honorable and noble.
There are TWO PARTS to this. The first one is here- https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_pen_lives_on_part_1_876104 . Please read both. Thanks!
It’s fun to stop breathing.
I hope it’ll happen.
If I could only gather enough courage
to slash my wrists and dreams
in a bloody mess,
nobody would miss me or my writing
for too long. Never mind.
They’d find me, and keep me rooted to soil,
to the impostor that is love
and the world that spits in my face.
There’s only one way to die.
One way that would justify death,
not exhaust-breathing, nor jumping, nor cutting.
I wonder if I could just get a gun
and play Russian roulette with myself,
spinning the barrel over and over again,
shooting, shooting, shooting, never sure
when Death will come and take me away.
The rumors say he’s a hard, cold man
But I believe him soft and kind.
Love is a bastard.
As is friendship.
All either of them do is coax you into something,
learn all of your secrets,
and then dunk you into the mud, kick you around,
and leave you, their wicked faces smiling.
Which is why I never trusted them.
I never knew why every foolish person,
sails and oars cast overboard,
went such long distances for them.
Some books I’ve never read and never will.
Long, boring, winding stories,
all based on the same Shakespearean play.
I never understood why everything
cascaded down as it did. Romantics,
I now know, and money.
Money, the green thief of society!
How every man adores and dotes on thee!
How every man creates their shrine on the world
Built and destroyed by thee!
Leaving lets you avoid emotion.
I lie in bed alone and dream
of jumping on the first train to Russia
– because nobody wants to be in Russia nowadays –,
of waiting for the world to crash down behind me
as I plaster a two-fingered L to my forehead
and stick my tongue out at everything dying,
including myself, sooner or later.
I live only for one thing.
I live only to write.
The lessons I’ve learned in life:
She married him for his money.
Everything’s perfectly fine with me.
Masks cover feelings.
Not all was meant to be.
My parents think they love.
It’s fun to stop breathing.
There’s only one way to die.
Love is a bastard.
Some books I’ve never read and never will.
Leaving lets you avoid emotion.
I live only to write.
The pen lives on.
(2-14-17)
:)
What kids are watching on telly
are crimes and crimes in all variety!
Crimes of hate
crimes of passion
acting it out at shocking rate
thinking in some wild fashion
then ending up cell mates!
When kids watch their movie heroes
shoot down people with the gun
they are incited to do the same
to achieve some thrill and fun.
When they see their very film star
slash someone's throat in a fit of anger
they think well of crimes of rage
and plunge everybody else into danger.
The tendency to portray the violent scene
luridly and shockingly on the Big Screen
Ah even for the small screen, tis the gory
that makes for the dark and thrilling story.
Now that technology's long opened this pandora's box
the dispersal of amplified social ills ain't no hoax
The rowdy hoodlums and reckless gangsters
are simply by-products of Tv influences
The world watches the thriving of the bully-boy pranksters
passively in helpless terror of their offences.
It's all portrayal of the vulgar, the obscene
by that devious Silver Screen
And the horror movie
though it may seem groovy
begets the horrendous
and drills evil thoughts subliminally
into the subconscious!
It's an unrestrained dark faking
of real life reality exaggerating
Whether it's Bollywood in the East
or it's Hollywood in the West
they don't merely impart tactics of defence
but rather those of aggressive offence
Viewing those gruesome swashbuckling films
gives rise to morbid sadistic whims
Flipping through the TV channels
just ponder if the telly's the perfect channel
of information is it a proper panel?
Dad always tells me, 'fear ye the roaches' flicking antennae?
While you oughtta fear the influence
of 'em' flickering images by dish antennae'.
Then a mere single merit that I dug
as I drank cappucino in my mug
that atleast one couldn't live in a bubble
daily watching the bubblebug.
Ah but then tougher gun laws couldn't halt
even underage shooting sprees
Rather it's stringent scanning of Tv content
that might make it all cease
Parental supervision too tis gravely essential
Should've been of parental code quintessential
So the next time you catch your teen
absorbed and engrossed while glued to the screen
Just sleuth a bit just to make sure
that for the x-rated he's not too keen!
In the blink of an eye the time passes so fast it flies by
Define time
Lives a ***** then you die
Eye of the storm watches over my lifestyles fate
In dire straight bathing as the holy water washes over my tired face
I sate thirst
I taste black words emerge that I wanna say
and they say I'm shot away
First and second take pressing play checking the record again
Third I gotta change
Forth, fifth, sixth day Armageddon
Getting too close to the edges better slow down ya fast progression of mad acts of mankind's expansion of minds
Enhanced heights
Drawing a line's unintelligible in the advancement of time
At the end of our time do we start again?
Running the marathon man labyrinth
Passionate
Partaking in challenges
Participant champion triumphs
No standing on iron shoulders of arrogant giants
I'm the desert rat blazing a trail in my chariot of fire
Call me Pisces Iscariot sia-mese dream
Twin town hide and seek
Me, myself and I feature split minds spitefully
My real self hides inside myself and screams blue murder
From the tomb where my wounds tumor
Terminal doom soon turns gloomier
Duma key frenzied telepath terror streak
reeks havoc and brings sheer panic to every street
Splashing ink on a blank canvas
Painting the future with an exact accurate dooms day
In fact grab a seat at the master piece gallery of art of new fate
As a new day dawns ya fates drawn
Ya destiny's death till then you'll work just to pay for it
I'm sleep walking with one foot in my grave scourging in flames and the pains more moreish than this draw that I crave
Mad thoughts on my brain scattered funny
I'm that ex druggy heard talking to my sex life in a language I actually haven't studied
Which way is up cus this ascension gets me spinning out twisting figure eights into eyes of the thickest clouds
Brainstorm demon outcast from our modern lands
Phantom of the opera mask
Shock horror comic graph-ic novel
Zombie slash monster mash
Rapid action packed chapters
This mad dog's rabid
Scattering the ashes and rise a hundred phoenix
Evoke the cross ghosts demons and summon the spirits of lost souls
I'm like a poltergeist with a cross bow with poisonous bolts
I'll possess any joyous host
Annoy me I'll destroy every toy ya own
I enjoy walking through this void alone