Long Stigma Poems
Long Stigma Poems. Below are the most popular long Stigma by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stigma poems by poem length and keyword.
One finds themselves full of anxiousness
you don't know where it starts
and unsure when it will finish
its mark is left deep in your heart
In this battle, one wants to overcome
a spirit within to never ever retire
have a believing faith slowly move on
don't stop just keep lighting your fire
Don't allow your embers to go out
pour in your coal to constantly burn
attack this stressful fearful anxiety
believing in victory that it will turn
In the midst of an anxiety attack
dig deep into your resources of calm
bring them up to quell your stress
allowing to develop such a sweet balm
(Because of the pandemic, a lot of people are facing fear, a lot of people are facing anxiety. But the battle does not just stop there, because in addition to anxiety, is the stigma. So I have written this in response to encourage those fighting this stigma.)
Knowing how long I struggled
and true laughter never knew the wind
and what it blew away.
These wrinkles on my face
the way they shaped my lonely face
they really really do.
I know out side
how hot it is, it's cold I could not feel.
I hid behind a face I could not hide it any more.
The day that I was born that year it made.
Chaos is a life a living death I can't control.
Symmetry in sunsets running colours say the rest.
Stigma is a sign a certain lack of self respect.
Meat we are all just meat and meat is all we really are,
red clapping meat left out to long
it spoils in my hands.
Love me tender said the King of King's
I cannot love my other self.
I turned to drugs and alcohol to push it far away.
I turned to drugs and alcohol the pain I must escape.
What I have gained in death the living cannot take away.
I've got a garden,
Growing around my heart,
With little blue flowers,
Called forget me nots,
I plant a seed,
Not to long ago,
i'm just waiting for it to grow,
Its a very rare flower,
it blossoms only but once a year, I water it daily with my lonely tears,
This flower does not need the sun it gets the warm rays of my love,
It blooms only for a day,
The day you went away,
I sit and watch the flower slowly open its lilac and pink petals,
One by one the petals open,
Little white balloons fly up and out into the sky,
I look back at the flower and all the petals have fallen to the ground,
All that is left is the stigma,
On that stigma lays a little angel, she slowly vanishes away but where she once laid is a seed,
the seed I will plant every year.
written back in 2012 by Davina browne,
inspiration for the poem was losing a precious angel
Twenty-first, you are the rough desert of losing everything
Twenty-first, even then I will not tell you bad for your editing.
Twenty-first, you gave the proof that human is not God
Twenty-first, you taught the knowledge that we never got.
Twenty-first, you are the stigma, you are stained in black
Twenty-first, you may not imagine still I will remain slack.
Twenty-first, in your reign in name of human the animal those are
Twenty-first, you tied in same thread the king with the child of the footpath.
Twenty-first, I like to valued you and give you honor
Twenty-first, you teach them the value of human, in your hour.
Twenty-first, you have written your name along with blood
Twenty-first, you teach the lesson, the rich and the poor all are equal
though they are sad.
"Sentences"
Experience comes at a cost
money is not the currency
the weight of useless titles
are now disgarded avidly
the sun
tastes expensive here
like the stigma of saffron;
I open my palms to the eyes
of some strange royal God
who pretends not to hear me
love and life
slip through the fingers
like sand
the hourglass is turned upside down
a challenge
challenges now shed like worn out novels
unwritten words slipping silently
between the sheets like expert lovers warmly known,
sensuously undressing pages until they’re naked
a kiss
I turn my head in this dream
I’m not looking for clocks
and as I glance back
ahead of me I see my soul
accepted
slip silently out of me
like this body is empty tupperware
and what lies behind me
hollow and unnessary
melting away
into you
between the lengthy
unspoken sentences
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Woman in Chains
(What Man Would Abide It?)
Women throughout centuries – the softer sex.
I picture them subservient since what feels like time primordial!
What man would abide
being sold as if mere chattle and being called another’s property?
What man, with a love of learning or of writing,
would acquiesce and be denied
the education and the opportunities he so desired?
What man would dare take second place -
hiding in the background or covering his face
because society or church said things were meant to be that way?
What man would abide having cut off from his body
that part of him from which carnal pleasure is derived?
What man would let his feet be broken as a child,
bound up to resemble hooves to keep him in his place?
What man would abide being burned alive
if the dowry of his spouse were deemed unsuitable?
What man would abide (if not so inclined)
enduring the agonies of giving birth again and again
because his spouse preferred he stay at home?
What man would abide being raped or even killed
as punishment for even being raped?
What man would endure constant beatings for “his own good”
and feel good that his church or state approved this?
What man, if he were able to get pregnant,
would take on all the stress of unwed motherhood
when the one who got him pregnant bailed on him?
What man would abide the stigma and the soiled reputation?
What man would prostitute himself to feed his babies
because a job for one like him would not be given?
What man would abide living enslaved by an abuser,
afraid to run away or be found and killed by his abuser?
Atrocities like these through centuries have too long been endured.
No man would for so long a time endure them.
For reasons of pure biology, the role of the abused
was hoisted primarily on women.
Thank God for those strong women a mere century ago
who stood up, bravely fighting for women’s rights.
Thank God for lonely sister souls in faraway places
who even now stand fighting against inequities -
simply for the fact that they were born the softer sex.
Aug. 31, 2020 for John Hamilton's Woman in Chains Contest
Covid-19: A Silent Messenger of Lucifer!
Through the creek of the door there sneaked in a silent messenger of Lucifer,
A breathing man sneezed till the last breath, and was shrouded with chillness,
It was a soothing flame of fire choked the chamber in and out,
Rapidity was a trait of the silent messenger which breathed its force mysteriously,
And there was coughing, sneezing and spitting with rising temperature,
The stigma of Covid-19 had its recycle with its mutated psychology.
The victims succumbed to the predator’s double-bladed scalpel.
The illegitimate entry of Covid -19 into an Oriental province is an infamous history,
The silent messenger then turned to an untamable monster that devoured the ‘innocents’,
Clinical staff ran helter-skelter to fight with the devouring monster,
The malicious hunter with his hunting dog wolfed breath in minutes.
The mammoth giant in miniature form of virus wielded his weapon ‘cross the horizon,
And multiple lives were dragged thro’ the tunnel of darkness,
The malicious organisms with short span of life-expectancy breed countless generations,
And enjoy themselves with the crown of sinister leaves.
Who will chase the messenger of Lucifer and shall redeem the world?
Day in and day out chemicals and antibiotics run under microscopes,
Vaccines are tried in every corner,
But experiments and efforts seem to be a fiasco.
So Who shall chase the messenger of evil from the face of human lives?
There is One Who made man and creations,
So, let’s seek His Providence to walk in His Word,
And Life on earth shall be a way unto the Life of Eternity.
Shall we all….?
,
Written: November 23, 2025,
**************
Verse rises beyond the leisure emblem
It helps to guide the spirit—
A murmuring wind snakes across the heavens
Where yearning and honesty meet
Under the confines of a single line, twist and whirl.
We do not reign over the subtle craft of words
Still bright vessels carrying a load of melancholy facts
Rich with the tight grief of living—
Scripture is useless to tackle the pandemic
Avoid using contrasts to hide your feelings
A way to cope with it—the ink shuddering
That discrete burial.
A poet is beyond being a word nerd.
Neither a rash historian of the art of poetry.
We shatter the ordinary—
aspiring to the nirvana of heaven.
Unwavering in the face of the smell
We explore the remnants of society
Discern the divine from the false—
Cast also aside the sustenance fed to our tired souls
With soaring constructions of meditation.
Our words are beyond typical
They are agony palimpsests—
Gold imbued with the spirit of creativity
Every revelation is a beat in nothingness.
Every sign we remold is a critical web of intention
We write not to impress—
We liberate the spirit by sharing concepts
We aim to elucidate our true convictions
Against prejudices we crave to combat—
Being different helps us to combat stigma and create unity.
Poetry challenges the mundane—
It is a flight with avid sensitivity and bravery
Verse stretches beyond what makes sense
It captures the morning beyond words—
which rises from our innermost soul.
When the world cries for a solution
We present a riddle.
When it pursues joy—
We provide a gloomy glance
When it craves order—
That is an aspect of reality.
Our aim is not comfort
We come as one, set to rise from our slumber
To turn the sorrow into something aesthetic
We show the complex quilt of ties.
To be the Nereid, static against a tempest
The heron, draped in the dawn misty veil—
Soars a calm bird at the core of the turmoil.
Alpha said to Beta
So, How’s that flat?
My Gamma built a Delta
What do you think of that?
Machep sounded off,
“My Beth!” he cried
Epsilon’z ETA, is
exactly what we need!
Eats in the cooler,
if you make god.speed.
She gave the Ta
and with one Iota
proclaimed “Yo, dates! “
I swear I told you?
I dared ya,
to a Nu game and
Kappa the lamb did too….
So, How can A.man
be in only one place
when a woman
is always in two?
Omicron,
our best phenomenon
How do, you like your Pi?
In a Rho, sea glass
filled to the brim?
Served …
with a scampi
and why?
The Sigma signaled and
the meanings mingled
Stomata.the.Roma
said a tometa,
was a Stigma.
Thank You @Phi
Chips! it is.
Omegawd…
did; the
gamma
get
aWay?
Form:
Regardless of the ever slow and piercing passage of more than two centuries, her sapphire eyes still remain encrusted in my memory, like precious gems on an ancient fallen crown.
Only fractures and scars remain of the come-and-go parades of fabricated love, which served only as the ground to sow the seeds of my own desolation.
Like a hand grasping thorns, is the stigma of knowing the punishment of her absence has not yet ended, and that I again, will not have in this life her guidance, her light and presence.
Images flecked with dust twirl in my mind, to the rhythm of the arrhythmia of my eternally consternated heart.
As if conspiring, time managed to abrogate all its forgiving powers and magical healing, although I admit that the constant remembering of her love, like a refreshing ever flowing brook, has always been the very best of every day in each life, briefly relieving my withered and shattered spirit.
Losing myself in the memory of the thousand details of her Venus like beauty, gives me life, flares up my senses and wafts me through the swirling smoke of hours burnt.
Clinging on passionately and frantically to the memory of the essence of her loving way, I am momentarily able to perceive this empty world, as paradise.
I miss the way her soul breathed, and how every time it gently approached mine, I´d be engulfed by the violet halo of her auric light, taking me to heaven here on earth.
I remember the glory embodied in her poised grin, as she realized how I became bewitched when she described with her mellifluous voice, details of the impossible love she felt for me.
I miss her intriguing yearning for the science of the pneuma, and the amazing knowledge she possessed about the laws that rule the merging of souls. She taught me that love conceived thus, is the only force that governs and transcends the infinite, inheriting the power to enrich life wherever it may be.
I miss her intense urge to make me a better person, despite knowing just how difficult it would be.
An unforgivable mistake from my part, left her without option, forcing her to remove me from the magnificence of her life, leaving me adrift between the jaws of the three mysteries of time, and into the hands of living death.