Long Starved Poems
Long Starved Poems. Below are the most popular long Starved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Starved poems by poem length and keyword.
A eulogy for the me I had to kill to survive
She lay in a casket
I was the killer
But was it really me?
When the world gripped her hand and told her to kill her blackness
She stared in a mirror
Full of sadness
Knowing she would kill her last bit of innocence
So did I allow her to kill that part of herself
Or was it the fault of the system itself?
I the only attendee at her funeral
I the only person who would understand her death was about survival
Either way she was miserable
Even in death her silence was painful
Would this mean she would always struggle?
I say my final goodbyes to the girl I was
Her mind strong but not strong enough
To live in a world where her blackness was starved
A slow and painful death that carved
A scar in her heart
A forever reminder of what I lost
Avoiding taboo and chasing followers
has taken art in a bromidic direction;
Everyone’s so worried about blowback!
Creativity is now clouded imagery;
Softened up playing to the masses,
no longer willing to be a little offensive;
If the musicians won’t sing about it,
if the Industry won’t make films about it?
The poets WILL speak up;
Left without fiery creators or leaders,
now we are starved for open discussion;
Frustration will find a nasty outlet
rooted in everything except logic;
Blessed with a much broader reach
but the artists sit locked in a chokehold;
What does an empty vessel lead to?
A feverish rise of audience aggression;
If the musicians won’t sing about it,
if the Industry won’t make films about it?
The poets WILL speak up;
Where are the actor’s grandiose roles,
don’t you see something is missing?
Not just the backdrop music is life,
what is the future of rock stars?
Armed with words chosen to intrigue,
writers will take hold of the reins;
If the musicians won’t sing about it,
if the Industry won’t make films about it?
The poets WILL speak up.
the great bard and Elizabethan play wright
begetting complete dramaturgy
explaining fate hollowly airtight
succor starved, riddled smitten tattered
sir real body politik blight
under whelming enthusiasm
witnessed blank quarto copyright
more tragedy than comedy
visited mine biography to date
expressed as dearth
decayed delight
devoid absent audience
hip...hip...hooray
three chairs to excite
zero non-exhaustive effort
summoning stagecraft
imagining hardened
faced spectators
muted nonexistent ovation,
sans anticlimactic action
superfluous stage fright,
thus retrospective stance taken
billeted envisioned
anachronistic gunfight
signifying emotional crisis,
especially high anxiety
pained height
incorporating mine every birthday
newly aged since
LIX January
thirteenth orbitz insight
oppressive ominous gloomy glum
obscuring highland dale light
whereby substantial sole action
asper arrival of midnight
celestial curtain call enclosing
somber static theatrical night
hoop fully explaining deadening
copious heavy breathing
followed by extended lapses
of utter silence outright
spartan mise en scene
absent agit props
nsync with holographic thespians
staid theatrics displaying plight
uneventful sleepy representation quite
leaving entire cast
(singular char actor his shun
of myself) remaining
soporific steadfastly right
lee measure for measure
much ado about nothing
hermetically sealed, NON GMO
vacuum packed no sight
worth seeing on the twelfth night
starkly barren aimless
padlocked mortal soul asylum
no, not even Romeo and Juliet
love's labor's lost passion
a comedy of errors,
viz unbridled trothplight
mock king lear ring alls well that ends well
where me crushed psyche doth unite
with death vis a vis
as demise of Julius Caesar
et tu Brutus I in vite.
14 degrees below zero in our backyard
The black midnight air is paralyzed like glass
Laid flat on a metal slab
Still for its hammer autopsy.
My son and I stand side by side
Shivering from the cold blows
Amidst the barren Oaks
Staring up from here, a rocky surface,
To there, the soft eternity filled with universe
A full moon above us
And rather than its usual white disc
Hung flat
Against a wall like a keepsake dinner plate
This moon is rimless and spongy
Orange as a squeezed fruit
Fully eclipsed from Earth’s shadow
No longer in the sky
But clinging from a vine
Hovering just below
The tree tops of our world
Where the night has lost its divide
While deer float by
Starved for gravity.
“I’ve never seen the moon like that before.”
I say to my son
And he replies “Me neither, dad.”
My 18 year old boy
His face less its oval yawn
More a sharpened angle like a raven clean shaven
His hair a dream of curls like Apollo
His hazel eyes even to me
Or should I say meeting me
With justified suspicion
A self-portrait vandalized by this art
Shape shifting time
From fear to wisdom and back
Like a sword striking a shield
Until the defender is reduced to his knee
Beaten down
Peeking up
Behind this growing shadow
Cast
From boy to man.
(no matter extreme global
warming more dire,
then cursing me smoldering
infernal languishing spitfire.)
Shade did adolescent
facade drifts asunder
asper...a major emotional blunder
shielding sensitive myopic eyes
against quashed
then young life, never
ordinarily gathering rose buds,
now I always wonder.
No, never so much
as a feeble arc
unable to issue even a light bark
unresponsive as a
cold bunsen burner,
nor can Clark
Kent marshal superman,
thus vital willpower
bleak and dark
within thine body electric
as mine life
journey doth embark
completing protracted orbit
whar raging self against time
strikes into metaphorical abysmal pit
continuing charade of
existence or quit
before chronological demise
decrees death to be writ
once flickering enthusiastic
willpower to be alive
snuffed livingsocial esprit de corps
elan forcibly crushed,
sans kamikaze nose dive,
when psychological arc
tangentially crossed figurative bee hive
aswarm with countless
invisible poisonous stingers
pierced late mine boyhood
asper razor sharp cutting knives
brandished by figures
shrouded within dark hood
whar bent gnarled fingers
grabbed and wood
not let go stranglehold
of thine curse canst atone
weak prepubescent unlovely skeletal bone
sinister voices still faintly heard,
within me noggin drone
like angry thundering birds
as anorexic starved
flesh didst groan,
now that fragile adolescent
boy within me revisits
haunting this middle aged
married man, whose moan
more nsync with countless
stifled mailer daemons
entombed akin to rigor mortis,
viz complex Oedipus prone
a wander lost young lad,
who left every mouldering stone
unturned - fearing unleashing
def finning tone
even to this very dusky moment
of my damned charade
fresh with painted fore
sight groping blindly
within outer limits
of the twilight zone.
A conglumalate of comapnies gathered together to Unite
under one banner. The sorted the talents, and ranked : reranked
several Pro Grapplers.both in Kayfade and for-reallie-dough!
They excluded the Juggernaut.
The one the World might envy.
But the saw fit to advertise in markets where they are sucluded and often riciculded.
A straight forward Sports Genred Event.
Was advertsied. The Caption said on this date from now and forever all the world shall speak of _______________ As World Champion! They advertised it like they were from the year. 2033 which is a big deal in some wrestling areas. The Guilds and The Guilded are to compete before an "awaiting " Hungery World!
I think this is a novel concept.
Bravo!
Bravo!
Gender inequity thought harmless, normal,
causes gendercide in dark alleys less formal.
In India, China, and Pakistan
Girl children when born are killed out of hand.
Still wet from the womb and with no regret,
they are poisoned or starved, seen as a debt.
The cost of their life’s enormous dowries;
for in parts of our world they’re property.
Sold if they’re lucky to live as chattel
closed in houses less valued than cattle.
Equality denied by fathers, sons
new prostitutes formed by girls on the run.
What of the gender equity crisis I say
the twenty-first century, still this way?
Are socialists human beings?
Do they need food?
Are they capable of goodness?
Do they deserve to be tortured, starved, abandoned, beaten?
What makes a socialist cry?
It isn't sad movies -- or is it?
Why should I stop hating them?
I have the right to punish them, do I not?
Or do I?
When Mother Teresa found a Communist, starving, abandoned, beaten, she fed him, loved him, made him feel the hands of Christ, touching him through her hands.
When the SS found a Communist, they shot him, tortured him, starved him, gassed him
When the Communists found a Jew, they tortured him, starved him, took his property, made certain he was strung up as an example, that people do not have the right to own their own property.
When Gandhi found that Hindus were murdering Muslims and Muslims were murdering Hindus, he fasted publicly until they stopped.
Whose example do you prefer?
Mother Teresa's, or Stalin's
That of Gandhi, or the SS?
That of Christ?
I have the right to shoot every Democrat who angers me -- or DO I?
I have the right to impeach every Republican for being Republican, to loot his store, to force him to perform abortions, to punish him...
Somewhere in Africa, a father drove nails through the knees of his teenage son
For converting to Christianity.
I am hatred.
I am anger.
I am violence.
Whose example do you prefer?
Christ's?
Or mine?
This is where we save ourselves,
Or destroy ourselves.
'Let Brotherhood, Peace and Progress become landmarks of attainment', it has been written.
Well?
Which do we prefer?
It's a question to ask yourself every day.
When I win, I make the whole world bleed,
And I LAUGH!
Not such a nice fellow am I.
The moment I woke up
Tiredness granted me Good morning
With all the strength I had
I prayed what I could
Collapsed into bed
Agonized with fever
And throbbing stomach aches
I lied in my bed
Shaking..
From the cold
Wrapping myself with rugs of clothes
Constantly feeling the urge to throw up
Nausea covered me, surrounded me
And I waited
It was Ramadan
Food or water I was not allowed to have
A pill of drug or medicine I starved
But I waited
Three hours were ahead
I had no intention of wasting my fasting
I wondered here and there
The painstaking headache pursued me
And buried me in ache
The trash can beside me awaits
The upcoming throw up
That didn’t arrive
In pain I lied
The smell of food protruding from the kitchen
Smothered me
Causing my stomach to hurt and hunger even more
To my laptop I went
Motionless and lifeless as ever
I sat there waiting for the call
Waiting for the call of the mosque
Granting me the allowance to eat
And so it did
I stood up, shaking in my clothes
To the kitchen I headed
Like a lousy drunk I looked
To the food, to the water
I took my pills
I drank my juice
No feelings of hunger conquered me
I lost my appetite
I left the table
Dizzy and sore
I fell to the couch
Like a mummy indoor
The feelings, the headache, the soreness
Continued still
I said thank God for my health
Lying there, as my family watched
The shows ahead
Not a moment in this life
I will remember less
Because at last
I realized the price of health
What I lost
I remembered still
And God
The merciful granted me
What he took from me
Because of a reason
I lacked knowing yet
"O blessed Java Sparrows mostly, the rare Opals then the plentiful Greys--palm frond squatters, and the ever so oft, Mejiro birds, a.k.a., the "Japanese White-Eyed," chartreuse bodied against the legendary red Lehua blossoms of the Ohia tree," ... by the Poet's House
Negligible motions, Java Sparrows,
haiku artisan, deep in thought, attends,
dawn break wings flapped--an idea narrows,
wake unassumed thoughtless emptied pretends.
Shelved packaged bird seeds feignedly addressed,
bird tray absence spilt seeds stretch, preached as well,
slight spread outwards, fashioned spawning impressed,
near and far, Meijiro's numbered midst swell.
Shunned Java Sparrows, aimless namesakes,
Meijiro's not pleased, their own--true Zero,
starved be-trayed craftsman sentiments opaques,
overburdened, labored--the birds, ditto!
Food fills the starving, and water quench thirst,
pleased chirps harmonize--receptive mind, versed.