Long Steeled Poems
Long Steeled Poems. Below are the most popular long Steeled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steeled poems by poem length and keyword.
Catharsis
Writing frees me from the depths of doubt,
the fear of releasing my most hidden demons,
demons I have held at bay and at the same time
nourished with my hate. Is it so much harder
to speak the words than to place them on paper?
The paper does not judge, nor grimace, nor
squirm in its seat, it stares blankly at me not
a bit intimidated. The words can be recalled
when writing, corrected, chosen with care so
as to convey the loneliness of the demon keeper,
the rage of the too young prey, the wrath of
an unknown victim. The demons are not his,
but mine, remnants of disgust grown into hate,
fed to keep alive the will to live, to fight,
to persevere, to live or at least go through
the motions while the battle raged within
me. A battle of the hows and whys,
a battle never won but waged in peace,
the endless quest for ease. Ease within
myself and with myself to be myself, to
befriend my demons and thank them for the
hate that steeled my will and praise them
for the rage that fueled my passion, to reward
them for their valor with the courage to
write the odious words, lay bare the angst
concealed through age, and free both they
and me. And so I write of them, and me,
and loneliness and of the battles fought
and yet to be, and thank the blank
un-judging pages for their trust and
curse the coward that I be.
8/13/2013
Strength Thru Adversity Poetry Contest
Gregory R. Barden - contest sponsor
It started with an apple in paradise or was it a date they consumed
Had they kept their clothes off laundry day would have been easier
The smell of seduction and no fake news
Honestly who cares whether it was pure sex or sweet requited love
Darwin had his way and they followed a journey to un-heavenly bliss
Candied peel from a fruit of nibbling temptation
It was a Saturday and procreation their Christian duty to comply
With the rule of nature to mix seeds in fertile pastures of joy
Russian roulette from a gene pool of ancestral relief
I hear you say its the parents’ fault that happiness mutated
Into a warm gun with too many bullets to the beat of a drum
Golden delicious pipped kernels for conquest
Peaceniks taken to task for one simple innocent transgression
A nudist colony abandoned in the name of belligerent arrows
Collateral damage and indiscriminate targets
The story stemmed from every one begetting each other’s brethren
Breathless cohabitation under the watch of place time and poppies
Fig leaves of duty and denuded trees
Kalashnikovs draped on the snake’s slithering sleaze and corruption
Corporates bonking for virginity and testimony of final selection
Dripping deceit like custard on rotten flesh
Under a mushroom cloud hell fire dispenses irrefutable evidence
That the emperor’s garments are ragged down to a lice infested core
Adam and Eve seek asylum in a mental ward
Bedlam bound in shackles to the jester’s snide mocking applause
Psychotropic injections to remedy catatonic results of one violation
Rape pillage and plunder and Satan as a voyeur
Field brothels and comfort women un-sheath prickly pears in disguise
Persimmon dishes out passion steeled in sharp blades of the paring knife
And so we choke on what should have been celestial food
Pious and devoted to whipped cream and second helpings of anger
We feed on desolate fields and irrigate fear suffocation and slaughter
Eves of destruction and her toy boy sheds venom and pain
25th January 2020
..... .........
There he hanged in suspended agony with screams pelting
recluse eyes terrified in the glow of afternoon melting…
pockmarked face, ears filled with stain, bones clanking.
how can i soothe his pain borne from abandonment sighing
no name, birth date, parents---thrown in orphanage dying
Warm milk with nudging couldn’t slay nightmares moaning
games on the porch were not part of his toddler’s beginning
yet, tenderness and steeled patience came unknowing
kites after kites, my nephews claimed him as brethren belonging
slowly… he met my smile with his warm gaze lightly riding
Cheeks now more pink than clouds, he painted with hands winging
laughter in bubbly froth loosened grip of past remembering
how we cupped the moon at night, his ribs swelled with arms widening
i entered his healing waters, watched him steadily growing…
He was my hero; loving a stranger taught me to be life-giving.
--------------------------------------
*To E.J.… one who became my foster child for a year.
Janette Fisher's Hero Contest
by nette onclaud
Our Revolution sought limitations
On imposition of regulations,
But supplications met deprecation
And castigations not reformation.
Such condescension sparked protestation
And contemplation of separation;
This supposition stirred apprehension -
A premonition of confrontation.
But, declamations and remonstrations
Spurred agitation toward Declaration,
While provocations and deprivations
Steeled resolution for liberation.
War's prosecution, through execution,
Forged dedication for recognition;
Its culmination brought dissolution
And vindication for aspirations.
While extrication brought satisfaction
States' acclamations lacked definition.
This Federation showed imperfections;
Low validation forced redirection.
Deft composition penned Constitution;
Strong propositions scored affirmation.
Hence, generations find inspiration
And preservation their obligation.
-------------------------
Tell all the people yet to come
Democracy is what we chose;
Their mission's goal: protect it from
All foreign and domestic foes.
A friend told me
over a cup of joe
that the devil quakes in Prada,
barring the gates of hell
from the one who now hunts
beyond the mortal plane.
I chuckled, asking
“If that were the case,
wouldn't the sky be a constant
affixed with blinding cracks
electrifying both day and night?”
He simply shook his head, grinning.
Then the flash of a screen drew attention
to images of Death shell-shocked,
huddling in a hospital bed, quaking
with agonized fervor as if
he saw Death himself and lived.
It was then I knew
he was speaking the truth
as the sky crackled above
with bolts clashing
like steeled fists,
reunited at last.
Though sapient vision limps short,
And digs no eye into nirvana's fort;
Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop,
Instinct excels where iffy triers flop.
And that sharper divining seer tells
Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells
Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting,
Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing.
He needs no fumbling eye to behold
What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud,
Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine
Blisses and nectarous lickings mine.
His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope;
Netting honeyed things before here pop
Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes
To grab and boast and stir belated sighs.
Known to him are times of lost rest
From lonely stints icily cold at best,
Thrills discerned many days before
They stir faint ears and eyes below.
("Creation Myth - Anthropomorphic Nebula Merit Badge” #65, 2016, original oil)
Rumors of War
War, war, rumors of war,
Whispered on the winds
Screamed from the rooftops.
Who does it benefit,
What is it good for?
I can tell you this as someone
Who has known it in a million lifetimes
Hand to hand, across trenches,
Behind ramparts and within
Tanks and Hellfire missiles,
It’s not the soldiers, or generals
Nor even their countries
Who ever come out on top.
It is simply humanity
Willing to sacrifice one band for another
So the germ can spread,
Steeled in conflict, hardened by fire
Purified in the sacrifice
Like a virgin on the crest
Of a mighty pyramid.
And when it comes to us
Where will we be?
Cheering in the crowd
Or running for the hills,
Or perhaps hiding in the sewers
Laying low
Waiting for the perfect shot.
(11/27/24)
She stood there, by the roadside;
eyes of obsidian,
framed in wispy lashes.
I was certain that she’d run
onto the crowded interstate.
The closer that I got, the more intense,
my neck muscles, grew.
In my mind, I visualized her,
leaping back into the woods.
I prepared to pull over,
but no one else was doing that for a deer,
I felt; at any rate,
I would not be dining on road kill tonight
and I hoped that, no one else would.
Go back into the woods, baby;
over and over I thought
and visualized her graceful rebound.
I drew closer, prepared to pull of onto the gravel;
I would not let her beauty be spoiled.
Tension turning neck and shoulders steeled,
I chanted my mantra…”go back…go back, baby”,..
Her soft, brown head turned, to look at me;
an instant glance,
confirmed that she’d received my message;
as she bounded back to the safety of her wood.
The focused mind, can work small miracles;
More than one life, was spared, that day.
Shirley, I am ?,
more than the sum of this black, cold stone – believed.
Shirley, there is more to me than I have stated – perceived.
Surely I am more than that ? Shirley, I can be retrieved
from these thoughts, these memories of, and finally be relieved
of the guilt’s, the regrets that for years, plagued my day
with all that was laid before me, what I let slip, silently away.
Thoughts of, memories, forgiveness is what I most pray
for all who, like you, my heart, my soul, my spirit did lay.
Clouds fill the skies, shadows fill the eyes, nothing more
is capable of slipping out of, or into my steeled door.
All there is, walks, talks, sunsets caressing, kissing a sandy shore,
this is all that this old soul, this young fool, Mr. cool, looks for.
Shirley, you are able to see the gate, opening into my yard,
and know, inside will grow, many an inadequate word this bard
will lay upon the page, trying to express, what comes so hard
to one who knows, a poet he is not but an infinitesimal shard
of a holographic image projected across time for you to see,
to understand, beyond what it was, I was thought to be.
Shirley, some truths come to light, casting shadows of me
on the face of space, that might reveal the real deal, set us all free.
Shirley, digging into passing time’s, shifting sand,
with a crystal clear hour glass in one’s hand,
will ? - be the test of my wasted time – stand
among the faded, veiled memories of friends,
or will I ?, having reached out and touched the ends
of all, find there is no one left who defends
what is left of my life, left of y name,
to tell or to listen to the stories of my life’s game,
or will my life come to an end as it came ?
Does it really matter ?, Shirley, it will be the same
as it has always been and will always be for me,
a vaporous image whispering past – nothing to see
of what once was, what I am, or could be
and so, off to the lands of our beginning – the sea,
where all ends up some day, to play and be free.
This one has rode the wild winds of chance,
from birth , to living life, to deaths solemn dance.
Somewhere ?, among these adventures, enjoyed some romance
that offered love, passion – communion to enhance
my days, nights, dream filled, memories hoard
Sword brashly drawn from scabbard
Gilded blade with a lucent polish lathered
Burnished to reflect the availing light on each side gathered
Conversely, deflecting the pious streams pharisaically blathered
Weapon-grade mind steeled to cut through the broad discourse
Sharp point piercing each tangled, silken strand; puncturing each uncorroborated source
Serrated edges slashing through the syntactical pulp so coarse
Double-edged blade mincing then scoring lexicon that generational divide did divorce
Vaunted crest advertising noble intentions
Brittle helmet to repel callous, vain repetitions
Dense breast plate to ensnare all heartless pretensions
Luminescent shield to deflect all trite inventions