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.
Bursts Of Creativity...
Asper myself tend
to occur late at night,
or early morn 'o follow
wing day unbeknownst
despite acute insight
how, when, where, why...
ideas swarm and bite
inspiration doth alight
try as I might to
coax, anchor right,
burning candlebox at
both ends during midnight
oil, and pry open hermetically airtight
noggin, where my poetic
(side) juices glommed up tight
blew silly blackened, and barbed
as though cold anthracite
ash coal lest futile effort
fueling mental cogs synaps (snaps),
sans each axon and dendrite,
and damn pinwheeling frenzied
writer's block won't budge,
no matter intense aghast fright
regarding drawing nothing,
but blank screen, an unpleasant sight
which activates greater fright
concentration stoppers appetite
to satiate agile literary skill
invoked with all mum might
encountering severe
resistance along well worn
nicked, pitted, rutted...
central processing unit abysmal sight
core cratered tracks analogous trite
other places blasted as if by dynamite
nanobot size infrastructure blight
hmm... huff frayed
to admit fifty plus shades
of grey pock marked beltway abustle
with at least bajillion
self important cosmopolite
avast friggin buzzfeed contrasted with bevy
of heavily rowdy, yet polite
sumo wrestlers exuding
spongy dimpled cellulite,
nonetheless grueling effort experienced
with craven half starved diabolical spite
undermining, jackknifing,
dogging... literary endeavor to expedite
satisfactory pièce de résistance flight
of fancy, though challenged
every step of the way,
once ambition fired up...at twilight
as mortal passion
unstoppable to complete
crafting daily poem
kindled with emotional lignite!
Sweet is equally sweet to all mortal tongues,
Choice morsels sate all men's starved pangs;
Brilliant sights of plenty charm every eye right,
And friends against foes for shinier spoils fight.
Why then do many in want of fine things stand;
Or, how come keenest mouths on gravel feed?
What alters those picky looks on life's shelves
That tell the greatest from the blandest breed?
Sheer wishful cravings for tasty bites alone,
Can't tear sumptuous meat from obtuse bone;
Nor can mere oglings turn fate's mulish thread,
That pins all sojourners on the hardened tread.
Life's fortunate farers got loads of apt swag:
Maybe just a weird tooth for plaintive rhyme,
Or a bankrupt itching to benefit others' souls;
Artful ploys to outshine the sly guiles of dime.
Prized strokes of luck eschew the clinical type,
And smile on stony folks immune to their hype.
In the heart of inner wanderings hides, alas, a tormented soul,
Wilted by anguishes woven at the edge of the mind, where the thread breaks.
In verses, the silhouette of an overwhelming sadness takes shape, a landscape made of lead,
Carrying with it the bitter taste of disappointment, a sheathless sword in the chest of time.
Why do you ask, when the answers are like leaves in the wind,
A dance on an abandoned stage, where the echo of your steps resounds without witnesses?
It's a self-portrait born from the depths, marred through the eyes of another,
Living its marriage with sadness like a slow waltz, in a twilight that senses no dawn.
Admirable, enchanting, marvelous, full of refinement is the soul of the broken,
If it weren’t for the arrow of separation, the cold kiss of pain, the sterility of melancholy.
An artist's soul flying above lower realities, and yet,
Gravitating towards the abyss of a solitary Parnassian - an eternal home of muses and ideals.
Two spheres, of tyrants and dreamers, spin in parallel orbits,
Touching in the grace of a moment, a spark in the cosmic night, just an illusion of embrace.
Magnetism isn't enough, their potential fusion delayed by inertia, and yet,
A hope slipping through the cracks ceases not to breathe, fragile as a shooting star in the night.
That merciless distance, the renunciation of worthy wings, leaves the soul empty,
Starved of complicity, with anxiety as its cloak – a knight of solitude.
Thus, in the ballroom of the equinox, the artist dances alone,
To music born only of the murmur of his own dreams flooding the empty hall.
Could the eternal struggle between ideas and the heavy ankle of reality be the ticket to freedom?
Or just rainwater in the desert, where the artist, a master of solitude, sculpts his phantoms,
Awaiting a world where ships from other spheres sail with fantasy-filled sails,
And where only the poet, emperor over tear and dream, can still raise his crown from the mist.
The Children of Gaza are heroes in front of the world,
Helpless and ignored, starved to death but hopeful.
Enveloped in mass brutality and unbridled cruelty.
Their grandparents , mothers and fathers have been killed.
The Children of Gaza, so adored and dear, Confiscated of their humanity, their childhood stolen away ruthlessly.
The Children of Gaza, their future lost and destroyed,
Is this the world they dreamed..?
Dreams are unfulfilled, thoughts and ideas forever gone in deep sorrow.
In this unreasonable tragic drama, no justification is to be found....!!!!
Yet,the world cries for you. And you shall survive and thrive.
By Chanda Katonga.
The sky cries
Even when i try to hold the tears inside
When your life is a series of painful events
Its hard not to somehow vent
So far ive been blessed in the physical realm
But by emotion i battle through hell
Always when i try and love
Something takes it and smashes the stuff
If this one thing could go right
I can sleep sound tonight
But all i know is heartache..
How can i even try
Its like a curse
Telling me im born to be alone
Latest one tells me
My beloved will be murdered by a demonic vessel
That lives beside her home
Cannot portect because im so far from her
My true new home
The netherlands
Someplace where i wont feel emotionally alone
All i can do is pray
That my new story isnt so depressing
And starved to bones
Wish my father sends his angels
To guide her
Until i come
No more dangers
When im no longer alone
Form:
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?
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place - but England. Now.
N.I.G.G.E.R (Nigeria Is God's Greatest Enunciated Race)
On the road to Africa lies riches & diamond rings,
In the land of green & white & green,
The men with "three eyes" are kings,
Raising above sickening sins that stinks
And becoming a god without God investigating,
Corporate Merriment on the day of their joy
Though we're questioning & vexing.
We're Unforsaken but a 'chosen generation,
A royal priesthood, an holy nation'
(Though could be unholy in her approach sometimes),
Beauty & power laudest in our ovation,
A land of brown sands, blood & brine,
Riches & undying hope in its prime,
Queuing vehicles & praying hands
To lend our spirit, soul & body wholly
Like ghost to trouble joy, we tell the story;
Eyes gaze at the pilot stars
Calculating our abundance & scattered equations.
So let's swear an oath
On the highest mountains & hills
Like starved whores on pills,
Like gods careless of mankind under their eyes,
That greatness will be a reality someday,
And like lost treasures from a capsized ship
Nature shall wash your shells where this land lies
And it shall breed saviours of our kind.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2017
I stand in the swamp by the riverbank
clutching a coin I have stolen
as my heart still beats within my breast
It is only my spirit
that has slipped away
to await the ferryman of Acheron
Charon who
skillfully pilots his skiff
from there to where it flows
into Styx
He arrives and I pay the price
He places the coin in his pocket
and grabs hold of the pole
pushing away from the shore
as I lay indolent with lament
in the bottom of the boat
the icy chill of the water
seeping through the wood
Shivering I stare at the stars
silently weeping
remembering the many wishes
I made on them that went unrealized
unheard
for the Gods must have
found me unworthy
Cerberus will step aside to admit me
heads snarling
as the snakes on his back writhe
Hades will welcome me
Or he may hand me over
to be judged by Aeacus
and plunged into the pit of Tartarus
for my many sins
to be tortured for eternity
starved and beaten
my liver eaten by birds
May he have mercy on me
this sorrowful lost soul
for all I ever wanted
was to dance
carefree and content
to the music of miracles
in the golden flower filled
Elysian Fields forever
with you
Above waters of darkness and shadows, I float adrift
Leaving behind anchored thoughts of screaming grief.
On a man-made raft I set sails
beyond the edge of a silver -blue reef.
For the last time saluting my home-land
An island of unforgiving time
A speck of dust which harboured my solitude
A bed-rock which cradled all despairs ,and each silent cry.
I am a voyager,,a maiden with softest of skin,and tender feet
But my stubborn soul is that of a wanderer
A determined siren crossing foggy forbidden seas.
Strong winds behind like white knights will help me
to ride each tide of this darkling night
'Till burnt orange hues will rise above a faded horizon
and Dawn's fire-ball reflects its warmth
from a dirty-blue solacing sky.
Guarding me from death's whistling- tunes
The voice of youth and sea-shells will sing
Protecting me from circling starved sharks
that keep trying so hard to make my wooden barge sink.
Alone I continue my journey ,far from the desert
Distant from pirates that steal pure joy's treasures
from unknown paths of life's labyrinth.
How far will I go on?,As far as it takes...
My heart is a compass ,it keeps showing all ways
The ways to a shore with wide-open arms and a tropical sand
Surrounded by calm serene ripples,awaiting to have my first dance.