Long Stabs Poems
Long Stabs Poems. Below are the most popular long Stabs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stabs poems by poem length and keyword.
“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.
During a thunderstorm at the midnight hour
I wrote you a letter that I'll never send
I wrote it when I was alone
so unless I give it to you
those words will always be mine
I might not keep them
but they are valuable
because I thought them
I wrote them and said them and read them
I said that I've see you around town
and I hope things are looking up for you
I said that I hope you're getting the help that you need
and I said nice things about your family
because they are such lovely people
and I said that you are too, really
I tried to keep it nice
but then I got brutal and blunt
and said that you can't heal on your own
because you keep your addiction so close
I said that you keep your addiction in first place
which keeps you from handling reality
because it throws off your perspective and light of life
and in my letter I told you how I waited on a guitar player at the cafe today
and he said that his favorite audience has become the young and the old
because of the way they take interest and inquire
and I didn't say this in my letter, but I wish that you would enjoy an audience like that
because that is a wholesome audience
I said that your thoughts, mistakes, and feelings are worth acknowledging
because they are honest and real
and they provide perspective and help you prosper
I was very frank when I said that you've been blessed
with talents and charm
and it was really harsh when I said that it's selfish
to keep them all to yourself
because you have a gift to connect with people and help them grow
and I said that you have so much potential
but you're trashing it
and good things aren't supposed to go to waste
I'm thinking that the thunder storm will fuel my poem
because the wind blows my curtains around
like I saw on Mickey Mouse once when I was little
while the rain hits my deck like a hundreds of marbles
dumped from an economy sized coffee can
and the lightning stabs and cracks flashes in the black humid breeze
several seconds before the thunder barrels at the silence I like for writing
but my lyrics are so raw that they don't need fuel
because I have the ruthless heart of an objective friend
who believes in you
because good things
aren't
supposed
to go
to waste
Feeling the saltiness of his sweat
Mingling with her broken flesh to torment her,
Tears of humiliation, tears of anger,
Of bitterness,Self reproach and tears of revenge ran down from her eyes.
Words died in her throat then there came smiles playing
On his lips.
she felt it like a sting blow .
Her ears spun, taking in all the sounds
In the room, the tick tock of the clock ,
The whirl of the fan, the music that
Flew in softly from one of the rooms, every thing.
His speech betrayed her surprise, the joy that
Had bubbled in her all day long dried in its stream.
He took her from the rapturous heaven of a few minutes
Ago to a blazing hell.
From bloom to gloom, from gladness to heaviness.
It came like the faraway cry of a little child
From a distance land.
Mucus from his nose joined in the journey of water from her eyes.
Within a tickle of an eyes, she was broken and defiled from
Girlhood to womanhood.
Her tomorrow has been broken and taken to exile in a strange land of tears and sorrow.
Having longed to escape insanity for sanity
Her worse dreams, her nightmare.
Her hatred on him bubbling with a fierce passion
Voice cool but as deadly as poisonous snake.
In a sharp explosion, his confidence almost failed.
She felt the small sharp stabs of tears pricked her eyeslid,
He had murdered her joy and peace gradually
Gently she tried to scrape the bitterness from
Her saliva coated tongue, it was the nut she had eaten,
It was the humiliation and defeat, the bitter taste of womanhood
In the head of a father, blood to blood.
Don't forget but let go her spirit advice.
She moaned and groaned on the bed each time he penetrate her,
In a mixture of anger and excitement.
Her moans echoed Reverberated,
It sting the ears and makes the tongue bitter.
Nothing to sooth her pain in her heart,
She had been with this searing pains in her heat, rape.
She was emotional about all but longed for revenge, and murder
Her tears were dried because its supply had been depleted.
Now she longed for the day she will gather the
Broken spirit, heart, mind, and emotions,
And strike without missing, yes she would at all cost
And return sanity to her humble spirit.
It mattered not who he is,
The broken spirit has to be gathered and couple together as one to behold.
There is an old and wise saying,
Take only what you need
and use everything you take.
We often consider the first part,
or at least make occasional stabs at simplicity,
but the last part is less frequently said
or thought about
as essential to healthy vulnerability.
If we don't use everything we take
and have been given by others,
then we can be sure
we have been given, and perhaps taken,
more than we need.
Taking only what we need
sounds obvious and transparently ethical,
perhaps even aesthetic
in purity of harmonic intent,
yet more mysterious
and richer
and deeper
when we remember
that life itself,
and human life even evolving more so,
is lived in margins,
double-boundaried spaces,
places,
times,
seasons of growth and decay.
Earth's marginal soul
is living soil and water,
surface wind and fire storms
and swells and ebbs.
RNA and DNA regenerate
on and within this thin biosystemic sphere
between atmosphere
and dead bedrock.
Life, as contrasted to not-life,
is a marginally placed process
of learning to take only what Earth offers
and gratefully using everything as cooperative gift.
Life derives from prehistoric photosynthesis
on Earth's evolving and devolving synthesis
and revolving skin.
And our senses, all five,
each take what we need of this synthesis
to LeftBrain adapt
and RightBrain adopt
what our thin margin offers us
of and for a healthy simplicity
yet wealthy diversity
of synthesizing double-boundaried life through death.
Humane life is evolutionary
within Earth's marginal organic boundaries
as we choose to use everything
our RNA and DNA Elders
have gracefully and phylogenically offered us
to swim and walk and fly
within Earth's bountiful health boundaries.
Humanity defines what Earth has given
as marginally sufficient diversity
and is uniquely poised on a constant multicultural edge
to fully delineate,
acclimate,
creolize,
know polypathic gratitude
for this polyphonic boundary grace,
to deeply digest
and warmly decompose
every sensory gift of Earth
we take in
through this vulnerable ride
between natural birth
and spiritual revolution,
Taking only what marginal wealth
we need
and using every double-boundaried healthy day and night
we gratefully receive.
What If There Was No Tomorrow? - The Polar Ice ‘Cap’
- this time it’s burnt and curled upon a new head. The
sweet smoke of his sugarloaf effigy black as night,
surrounded by a material red trim, below Parliament houses
blows political greed into fiery smouldering smithereens –
then it floated and landed after years, drifting, onto
the crown of a man: a business man portraying
wealth and class; here it sat above suit and below sun. The
American dream swirled with scotch and the tip of a bowler,
only for the same piece (restyled of coursed) to later sell for
pounds to make the pupils of any impoverished person pop:
his Hamburg with a knowing dent in back, how it span and
spun from black to grey and back again around Hill’s peak
to be dyed again and tilted just so. Now it’s pillbox pink and a knitted
O of a name/shape-sake that covers her head where her husband
had a target upon his. Watermelon-pink colour dye actually: the very
same fruit palette of brain cradled in her hands at high speed.
This latest star attraction of Burgdorf’s no doubt was, decades
prior, nothing but a mix of lifeless green and sludge brown from
grass and cud - metallic dead daises ducking over No Man’s
Land. A Brodie: styled on a not-yet-pulled pin grenade atop
beads of sparkling sweat, dripping slipping salt where now
a pedal controlled sewing machine stabs and pins sequins into
veils that hide brides with (it must be said) the same success
that protected Fawkes’ Plot or Churchill’s reputation or
Jackie’s husband and the slaughtered soldiers’ skulls - but
still the accessories twist into fascinators fancy enough for
mothers to weep below, only to find the box dish or bow
to be knocked akilter during the traditional bouquet mad
dash - then up – up – up! into the air before landing anew,
refreshed as a Gatsby or Hijab, perhaps a Trilby or Zucchetto;
better yet, the Boater or Sailor we’ll need when the hat that covers
all our heads smoulders and peaks when next dented and melted: a
loose grenade we can’t be veiled from, nor refashioned nor restyled
when the next season’s must have
will be a copper and bolt
protective Diving Mask
for the drowning tomorrow
from The Polar Ice 'Cap'.
He killed me.
No, he is killing me.
With every kind word about *her* he stabs a knife into mine.
He mustn't know.
I put on a happy face. A smile that is fake transparent.
He mustn't know how he is killing me.
The tears overflow my heart, but I keep them in. No one can know.
Cold.
Stoic.
Heartsick.
Perhaps I deserve this pain....I hurt him first. It seems fair that he do it to me with good measure.
That he make me suffer and bleed.
He mustn't know how much he is killing me.
However, I'm not broken. I'm shattered.
He is just making my pieces of smaller; harder to put together again....
Will he touch her with my blood on his hands?
Will he love her?
Will *she* love him?
I guess "absence makes the heart grow fonder" is just a load of crap.
I just didn't think it'd hurt this much when he's with someone else.
It felt good to kiss him again, he said he liked it. But.....
He kills me again. It's a good thing emotional blood is invisible,
because I am covered in it.
How do I perfect the brick wall surrounded by steel on my heart? Behind my eyes?
He can bring me to life, but he kills me. Even though we aren't together,
he still holds my heart in his hands.
I don't think he realizes it.
If he ever will.
And now I am laying in a puddle of my own blood- my heart
ripped out and beating across the room.
I'm still alive because it hasn't been crushed.
I'm alive because my shadow hasn't been ripped away from me.
Sometimes it's hard to be stoic....hard to be cold
when the tears want so bad to spill over and mix with my blood that's on the floor.
I don't think he knows how I can feel my heart swell as it breaks. How heartsick I am.
He knows I care. He doesn't know how much...
I am dead.
He's killed me
I don't think I can be more dead than this, now I am just a shell until I breathe again
With him, my heart beats and is back in my body
He is mine.
My Akri.
My one.
The one who can break my heart because he holds the knife in his hand.
But if he wants ....I wish him happiness. I wish him love.
All in the world.
I want the best for my Akri.
I....love him.
No more
Maybe I don't know what I'm doing anymore
I've been passed a game winning catch
or so the lecture says
or so circumstances provide me to believe
yet I stand still, a statue
a figurehead of nothing
I stand still, mortified
before I just toss the ball away
before I throw the pass away
Somewhere inbetween I knew it before i said it
I'm done...I'm done with all this
I'm done with life
I'm done with keeping my head held high
I'm done with pretending I'm alright
the perfect picture of healthy sanity
when I just want to drive my head through 19 cinderblocks
to forget the wasted 19 years of my life
when I just want to punch 19 people square in the face
till the bones in my arms explode
for all the times they let me down
left me ignorant
when I want to curl up in a ball
and freeze into an ice cube in the dark
Maybe in a thousand years I will get life right
in the present I'm the living essence of failure
My luck is getting worse
What luck did I have to begin with
My will to fight on
is replaced by my growing hate of myself, of humanity
so like an atom I implode
leaving myself pitifully exposed
while my deceased relatives are crying over me
cause I'm missing something while waiting for anyone
to recollect what they've neglected to share
NI just feel like I've been mislead my whole life
and I just want to feel any sort of better
I've had to reconstruct myself
redo my name to fit my life just right
I'm at 19
19 names for the 19 painful names I've lived
now I can add Sorcerer to the list
though I die at the thought
I could blame Veronica
She kept throwing my words back at me
She kept misleading my ways of romance for magic
claiming what I am to her what Sarah is to me
And that kills me the most
what stabs the heart beneath
How can one accept that the very person
you have waited your whole life for
is the very same person you hate, despise
wish you could just hit one good time
the very same person you love, cherish, want forever
the very one person you can never obtain
is the very same person you have very well become
If I am a Sorcerer
am I everything evil too
or just everything to the oblivion I belong to?
An almost stillness came about
as she strode into my door,
like breath itself refused to move,
fearful of touching her mysterious beauty
But her obsidian eyes betrayed her.
Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
she looked at me,
and I knew…
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Molten lava spilled forth from her mouth, melting our clocks—
eighteen hundred nightmares compressed in two hours.
Long hand moving forward, as the short hand moved backward
How can memories persist in such an acrid life?
She spoke of a beast in the guise of a man,
one who ravaged innocence with the flick of a click
A coward that collected milk teeth for hardened bones
of other horny beasts with no spine
That throaty tenderness when she spoke
sprinkled crystal seeds of frustration in me
She says he loathed him, denied she loved him
but her obsidian eyes betrayed her
There she was, a bud he plucked from the nuns’ garden
He grafted then he pruned her,
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent
yet folding her petals to himself
Caterpillars feeding upon her leaves,
she lets them devour her,
yet once they are wrapped in their cocoons to sleep,
she stabs them with her thorns.
Tears then slid down from her midnight lace eyes
and it was all I could do to catch them
She said she was weary of curtailing butterflies,
of tearing their wings before they can even fly
I had to ask, how many… how many winged gems?
She lifted her sleeves, and showed me her scars
One ugly mark for each innocent child plunged deep,
my heart getting slashed at least three hundred a beat.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A certain stillness came about
as I strode into her door,
like fear itself refused to move,
letting breath touch her mysterious beauty for the last time....
Her obsidian eyes had betrayed her.
Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
I looked at the knife beside her.
Maroon-mapped sheets, a stunted womb.
Strains of Bon Iver’s “Flume”
flit past the sighing air like a butterfly,
and I knew…
08112014
The Night that I witness a friend dying over Jordan’s.
It was a peaceful night a peaceful night that will jeopardized everything. So Me and my friend Calvin were so thrilled to buy something special to us and those were Jordan’s. So we looked all around and found something we like. I personally changed my mind so I went with a Jordan backpack instead. While my friend purchased the red and white Carmelo’s they were smooth as ice smooth as Michael Jackson doing the shiny unbelievable moonwalk. We were so exiting that night until when we got outside we ran into an enemy from school name Terrence who realized that those were the last red and white Carmelo’s left so he became envious and jealous that he decided to rob Calvin as they got into an argument over it. I try to step in but I was pushed away. As I’m on the floor I witnessed my friend Calvin refusing and cussing Terrence out to give up the sneakers. So an angry enraged Terrence pulls out a knife stabs him six or more times in the heart and in his left temple as Calvin dies in my arms. Terrence attempts to come after me and stabs me but I attempt to avenge my friend so I wrestle with the knife and all a sudden I gasp. I’m stabbed three times laying on the ground with blood dripping out of my stomach. Terrence flees the scene and steals our stuff. Terrence felt no sympathetic of empathy no even a guy to feel regrets. That moment of buying Jordan’s and a backpack was jeopardized and ruined forever. Eventually I survived the wounds and became a hero but Calvin he didn’t make it his wounds were damaged in the heart and a stabbing wound ending his temple
It’s my fault
Calvin’s dead
It’s my fault
Terrence robbed us and got away.
I rather be dead.
Calvin should be living.
Why take him ?
Why take me too ?
Screw the world
I hate it
MY fate is trash
I should die in a terrible crash like Left Eye.
But it happen to this day I’m bless and proud to say that I’m alive , I’m a sole survivor. I’m Calvin’s new soul and heart and I am a hero of the tragic turn into a magical memory for my beloved friend Calvin .
Calvin lives I love you and rip.
Cmack Estevez
To be continued.
previously they said that was
and what were they doing?
we got here and opened
could we go any faster someone seemed to
and there was a reply before the question
so low and so far from
you were me and i was
we were never really found
in place of disaster where we find our
we see right through the holes
and become something
or else we turn this into god
stuck in the middle
the researchers say you can say anything before or after
every line to make it beautiful
when you write it down
answer the questions
what does she want for her birthday?
how was your Christmas?
where does the story go?
how many pieces to the puzzle
and where did the weekend end?
Before and after mix it up Tear it up
cut it up
predict and foreshadow
end it mend it
break it fake it be inspired to inspire me and see who i inspire
as we search the lines of the database
for our arsenal
of the words we like
to add to our own to employ our souls
and play dirty with elbows to claim what is rightfully ours
together we write this chapter for the next
loose endedly
and find each line has a different tangent to say
level one incomplete
about holidays and treasure hunts
to not go on
fake plastic faces
and celebrated saints
of yesterday
and emotionless emotive
when we celebrate the pity party of celibacy of
secrecy of masturbation
everything in this mess will mean something to you
and the joke on you8i is the joke
the joke on me
im the clown in the middle saying predict my next line
and finish he next
answer the questions
flip it skip it finish it
slide it and slip on by add your own and mix it
and bec9ome one with the vibe playing in your stereo
behind
that
cant stop the me your not
to swallow the down of the pillows we sleep on to hide
and feel it try to reveal whats inside
through the seeds we leave behind
and the one who starts the layer of the one we all predict and finish
switch and play in gibberish that makes sense is the god of such a matrix
give me a chance and open season at dileberate stabs at p[poetic sarcasm to
conceal emotion
hey there peter pan?