Long Slaughter Poems
Long Slaughter Poems. Below are the most popular long Slaughter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slaughter poems by poem length and keyword.
Have bowlers become spicier?
Hitches in batting riches
Cut sl**s shut in a rut
Pitches become dicier?
Chestnut witches strut
Gluts of stitches
And seams dreams
Humdrum Timber
Tantrum doldrums
Back in the hut
What we did see at the WTC
Wood from the tree
No pretence…don’t do defence
Weary..slain in vain again
Don’t be wary..leery of
Scary lairy leather fairies
Won’t refrain..don’t restrain
Might as well go insane
In that Baz Ball vein
Won’t sit on the fence
Face facts..cracks
No axe to the max
No one really scored
Adored stroke smorgasbord horde
Flawed fraud joke ignored
Afraid slayed blade misery
Very merry cherry glee
Ripsnorter slaughter yippee
Choker jokers..the sly Aussies..rib pokers..
Did sledge.. snide..tried to deride and get the edge
Was a helluva a ride
Will always remember the mystery
Markram and Temba’s pride..stopped the slide
Wouldn't be denied..victory and
History finally for the Saffa side..
But most batters rumbled
Humbled as records crumbled
Even helmet on..the memory will linger
Of slip don Smith’s finger
Catches dropping short
Fumbled..fraught..bumbled
On day one and two…bowling onslaught held sway
Each day..14 wickets tumbled
So willow and leather parity
Hilarity…have to be a cruel fool to rule
Was the best test contest of bat against ball
Clarity of batters depravity
Squarely at the end of their tether
Another not too clever feather
Gravity…kowtowed even without cloud
Loud proud African crowd came
Shame the Aussies can’t
Just blame the weather
For losing the game
Sacrifice a life for a love to rise
out of the horror the hurt and the cries
Attacks that take us by surprise
will never stop those of us alive
In the dark we shine our light
put difference aside and unite
the love we give hasn’t a price
the unstoppable force never dies
Weather it be 9/11
Je suis Charlie 7/7
those we lost up in heaven
freedom you can never threaten
When they say that terror reigns
9/11 Hijacked planes
broken hearts and all that pains
the love we have will rise again
Weather it be cartoon drawers
love is found around all the corners
the warriors besides the mourners
up on the stage we’ll see performers
Even if they alter minds
they won’t alter all mankind
rather force us all to bind
In the love that we provide
Every single terrorist
facing every pair of fists
we will fight and will persist
freedom will always resist
We don’t need your war torn torture
and all its awful evil slaughter
for our sons and for our daughters
freedom fighters and supporters
We go on forever strong
in the west where we belong
remembering all those gone
We live we love all along
So even if historic wars
divided those on foreign shores
now we will divide no more
love uniting all for sure
Love is all that we have here
we see the hate but we don’t fear
Even when we die we’re near
Love is shining Love is clear
They will say we were one
and they’ll say that we won
by the end when all is done
Love will be the champion
Be the light. We are the light.
We are the light
By Michelle Morris
17/11/2020
In their eyes you may be incomplete
as they seek out the shiny baubles and squeak of shallow vessels and find them not wanting,
despite human nature being peacock taunting.
By their lips they may ululate,
the wars and strife who souls duly break,
but of you they may scorn
for you break the mould by quiet storms.
In their eyes you may be incomplete
for human beings have clay for feet;
we hurt and claw and crash and burn,
slaughter and fight against, and turn.
By their lips they may not celebrate your existence born by fate and choice;
for those who have the highest climb
must do so alone with no solace or voice.
We are the ones: The leaders and saviours of the undeserving masses who would not give us the light of day; but we are the Light and He sees all, and those humans remain very small in comparison to the universe's thrall -
Our crown of thorns transmuted
victoriously to glorious gold;
Our enemies defeated for good
as we claim saved souls.
© Michelle Morris, 2020
In Gboko, where the dust motes dance and play,
A town, a city, a people, some would say.
What defines its spirit, a riddle, a quest,
With a gait too familiar, putting all to the test.
"Gboko!" he calls, by name, with a grin,
"Seems we're acquainted, where have you been?"
For here, familiar strangers, a curious clan,
Know each other better than any single man.
Party crashers abound, with a joyful shout,
Praise singers serenade, no shadow of doubt.
Fantastic storytelling, a vibrant, grand art,
Where habit and culture play a blurring part.
A bikeman, young, in a change-fueled fray,
Declares, "Woman dey here, food dey here, wetin I dey go find for your place?"
Such pride and contentment, a truth so stark,
In a town once welcoming, now bearing a wary mark.
In hay days of yore, a Tiv capital grand,
An industrial hub, with BCC at hand.
Ivo I msam – the tailed goat lap, a delight,
Ishu I bee nya ke tyo – fish, so perfectly white.
When women, with skill, seasoned chicken with grace,
Before the slaughter, a culinary embrace.
Families flocked in, from the hinterland's call,
For hope and new society, standing proud and tall.
Money flowed freely, like a river so wide,
Vanity and funfare, with nowhere to hide.
On paydays, men painted the whole town in red,
Trays of spiced chicken, till late, they were fed.
Imported lager flowed, in a frothy, grand spree,
And megalomaniacs, grandiloquently,
Would bluster and boast, with a haughty decree,
"Orvesen, m tse u ke kitchen ga!" – Sir, not in your kitchen, you see!
Courteous profanity, a delicate art,
Where titles and greetings played a respectable part.
Before venturing forth, with venom and ire,
To "dress down" their target, a verbal hot fire.
So Gboko gives chase, to the past and the present,
An intriguing weave, both funny and pleasant.
A place of contrasts, of laughter and grit,
Where the spirit of the people, forever is lit.
S ucculent forests now barren, almost dying
I n the hands of thieves hungry for fortune, while
G lobal warming crushes nature’s environ
N otwithstanding war’s incessant slaughter,
O ppressing a human's right to blessed life...
F ear sown on streets, power of crime --the law.
T hese are but only the pursuits of our new order, the
H unts consuming nations, a devious act of indignity, as
E very day we hear the wails from exiled children.
T ell me, shall the next generation inherit this bondage?
I s destruction of Mother Earth our 'noble' tribute?
M urderers are we licensed to plunder recklessly , an
E ntitlement quite common, snuffing hopes of a future,
S oiled by a culture of excessive barbarism!
John Hamilton's Sign Of The Times Contest
4/27/2018
One dark night takes me on a ride to an isolated hill where I inhale unpleasantness ..
Wide gleamy monstrous gate opens as the mighty wind blows,
creepy ferns crawl all over the floor.
Eerie garden awaits the lost lover's presence;
There stands a haunted home with a grubby porch at the entrance.
The magnanimous door welcomes me unwaveringly;
To the right there's slaughter hall polished with blood stains.
On the wall, hung portrait of a lady wearing a long red gown with a silver hat and a golden rosette stapled;
Beside protruded, a yearning window decorated by cob webs;
To the left led staircase ,as I step on railing, it crackles like hatching eggs; Carefully I manage to reach the first floor and confronted a quiet room occupied by constant whispers & spine-chilling whimpers...I slowly move inside and envision nothing strange,but I feel something moist dripping on my cheeks from the roof above.
When I look up, the entire strong ceiling collapses,
disembodied spirit arises,floating on air,observes the decaying house from a distance.
14-7-2020
~Deepa. V~
First place in the contest:-)
Note: Decaying house Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by A Dear Heart(Constance)
But Never Forget
Stoned out his lonely mind and drunk on booze and oblivion he headed straight
into memorial abandon doomed and entombed smashed forgotten and lost forever
He once was Jack but his friends called him Daniel or Beam a proper lad walking
the tight rope which snapped under the influence too staggered to walk thus he
took his proud chrome machine home from his drinking hole past the cemetery
Ten drinks too many ten commandments ignored the message of grapevines which
haunt him though he still is too pickled to wake from his coffin nailed in the sand
He turns in his grave deliriously trembling from within crashed skull and bones a
statistic foretold an accident waiting to happen grape wrath wreaths draped over the
anger of the innocent victims of his reckless slaughter in another man’s family’s grief
Buried and berried his final resting place revolves around the plight of his victims
overgrowing vines drape the tormenting obsession with liquor not bearing up to
the promise but a killer instead creepingly depicted through the inscription of
'bastard’ carved in the stone hiding the shame he never absolved nor confronted
His mates do not remember him much and do not visit the funeral grounds as they
are always too drunk and only occasionally toast to how much drink he could stomach
and after a while the rampant sleaze of uncultivated excess sprouts just as untamed
as Jack the lad and his liquefied liquidation of a moribund life lost in the undergrowth
When the dust and the seedy sediment has settled Jack’s mother still mourns what
still festers under the surface and the descendants of the hapless casualty killed in
the process wish for the grape vines to smother to maybe forgive but never forget
Written for Anthony Biaanco’s ‘Fifth Season’ contest
but missed the deadline. Perhaps there should be a season
in which time never runs out. ;-)
______________________________________________
The heart may be buoyant or leaden or light
Instinctively placid or up for the fight
The soul is the mind and can harbour intent
To spread peace and joy or with anger to vent
So whilst the heart gifts its host life with each beat
It’s souls that charge in or that beat a retreat
Thus when a black heart meets a dark hooded soul
The one net result? A belligerent whole
A dark soul will wage war in earliest spring
Or throughout a summer and not feel a thing
A murderous slaughter ensues through the fall
And even in winter might not rest at all
Should inclement climate defeat a man’s ire
Resentful - his pause in war’s rampaging fire
But just for a week or two at the year’s end
May anger abate so that peace may ascend
Whatever religion - or none - you might be
Christmas can tickle one’s humanity
Until angry souls proffer blessed release
And they briefly rest arms in the season of peace
Sure, there's a place and time for everything
And if everything happens for a reason then there can't be a mistake
And if you look behind the road of success
You'll see a trial of failures
And I'll keep trying to help here
Even though everything seems so helpless
These are 4 things the Master said
"Men should Pray and ought not to lose heart"
"By your patience possess your souls"
"Don't think I came to bring peace on this earth, Nay I came to bring a sword"
"One day they will kill you and think they are doing a favor for God"
You don't hear these things at Church now ain't that kinda odd
Why stop I''ll just take you a little further
We are sheep for the slaughter
We need the Shepard,
He said to remember to Shepard the flock and that I would be a man of God
Does anybody know who the King of Glory is?
Please, it's suggestions I need, you can keep your comments
P S ITS POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 11
This anthology is a collection of the work of various poets from all over the world. By reading these diverse works, we hope that people will become more understanding, compassionate, and empathetic towards all people Founded in February of 2005 PoetrySoup Internet Poetry resource and community. Encourages the writing of poetry through community involvement and support. This Free online poetry of professional and amateur poets
Of sharing your whispers from God,
tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well; Joys of your souls cheers; Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
• Jerry Horton 224
• Jerry T Curtis 125, 183
• Jerry Tersoo Agee 449
• Jesse Rowe 31
• Jessica Thompson 254
• Jim Slaughter 105, 23, 75
• Joanna Chamberlain 306
• Joanna Daniel 218
• João Camilo Campos de Oliveira Torres 419
• John A. Long 425
• John Blake 426
• John Early 77
• John Gondolf 26, 34, 8
• John P. Marmaro 198, 283, 341
• John R Fiordelisi 416
• John S. Grindle 396
• John Washburn 430
• John Watt 16, 43, 7
• Jonathan Michael Bellmann 125
12/15/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©