Long Tatters Poems
Long Tatters Poems. Below are the most popular long Tatters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tatters poems by poem length and keyword.
Impossible mission, nonetheless
eschatological, diabolical, critical...
dire straits betokens armageddon.
Come Tuesday, November 3, 2020
mandatory voting obligation to oust
horrible malevolent commander in chief.
Spanish and English writing on border wall
bespeaks impending apocalyptic windfall
weapons of mass destruction concomitant ashfall
brinkmanship ticks doomsday clock, hence the call
muster civilians and military troops coup to marshall
tuckered bands overthrowing pathological
megalomaniac haint your
homegrown garden variety apprenticed screwball,
Née commandeer of human abuses free world oh God
this exclamation ejaculated yours truly house atheist
runs ruinously, reprehensibly, rampantly roughshod
scaring out bejesus within winkin blinkin and nod
land of powdermilk biscuits and raw bits promises
to become ground zero predicated boneheaded clod.
Atrocious, cantankerous, egregious,
grievous, ignominious... dispensing
most every venerated, ushered, touted,
sacred, revered, pronouncing
progressive amendments dead
on arrival blithely shredding to tatters
hard won reforms since Fred
Flintstone days of yore shelving
codied, ratified, sanctified... shed
jeweled important legislation,
plus Russian musk cows to wed
Putin on the ritz.
Blasphemous, cantankerous, deleterious...
execrable folly... doth seed
subsequently begetting and breed
anarchy, chaos, hell, plus helps
foment pernicious, ominous,
noxious, malodorous... misdeed
pitting one against another creed
internecine warfare, where liveried
troops don and trumpet
(auld) alternative energy
fighting gear powering, i.e. ac/dc freed
one or more dirty deed
done dirt cheap reducing at lightspeed,
the hard fought/won democratic
inalienable rights purportedly guaranteed
by United States constitution,
(though oft times bias, i.e. reed
anti semitism, charade, facade...) heed
trample equality, morality, universality...
making mockery (attested bleed
courtesy flagrant historical extant bigotry,
chicanery, depravity... greed).
Hence, I step off figurative soapbox
dodging any lobbed missiles or rocks
no surprise bullied by same jocks,
who tormented me during high school
probably tattooed, pierced, and bald of locks
unlike yours truly, he sports self
as aging pencil neck geek
wearing non matching shoes and socks.
Conflict
The priest ran
Scared to raise
An ignorant army
On a darkling plain
Loading guns
With dummy
Faith. The froth
Rose arrogantly
In the test
Tube. They heard
Eyes shut and saw
Ears plugged,
Contorted faces
Expecting the explosion
Any moment.
Slowly
Very slowly the froth
Spilled over
Leaving behind—would
The “faithful”believe?—a near
Essence of religion.
I Meet A King
He stood in the middle of the lane,
A toddler in tatters,
Confronting my speeding scooter.
I cursed the nowhere –in-sight,careless mother,
Then shifting gear,
Threatened a mock dash,
Was to him but a big plaything
Come for his pleasure.
The sudden smile over his face
Lit up my heart.
I withdrew a little,
Bowed to his imperial innocence
And humbly went my way.
The Sea Of Truth,Land Of Desire
Daunted by its drowning depths
I sought assurance of the rocks
But the sea – it called me ceaselessly.
Frightened by its flood and froth
I clambered inland hurriedly
But the sea – it called me ceaselessly.
Nerves racked by its wheeling surge
Tried land’s many pleasure groves
But the sea – it called me ceaselessly,
Looking for my roots in glades
Soon was lost among the trees
And the sea – it called me ceaselessly.
On the beach I sat once off my guard
When the sea crept near me silently
And the sea – it licked me lovingly.
That moment joy and fear were one
My visions did a somersault
And the sea – it soaked me ceaselessly.
Sea’s mercy makes the inland rich
Sea’s magic makes the sunset glow
And the sea – it gives us ceaselessly.
O thou formless yet unfailing sea
My very own though boundless sea
In turmoil O thou tranquil sea !
I have learnt the timings of the tide
And make obeisance to the waves
For the sea now thrills me ceaselessly.
How l would to love to leave the shore
And whale-like wallow in the sea
For the sea – it thrills me ceaselessly.
But awed by its mysterious depths
I still sometimes walk the earth
But the sea –it loves me ceaselessly.
Child How Innocent!Lord’s Delight
Crawling,toddling,frolicking sight,
Playing,lisping,smiling bright,
,Eating,drinking,gaining height
Alive all day,dead at night,
Present gaiety future might,
Nothing bothered wrong or right.
Child! How innocent,Lord’s delight,
Gift from Heaven trailing light.
---------------*-----------*-------- *----------* ---------
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.
June nineteenth one hundred and fifty years ago
Juneteenth hint: three hundred
and sixty six days
after eighteen sixty four.
Major General Gordon Granger
led the Union Soldiers to Galveston, Texas,
to announce the end of the Civil war
and the freedom of all enslaved people.
Jim Crow sat perched
over the event horizon
waiting in the wings,
which brought darkened
(non-sheltering) skies
not only for the hot pocket
of suddenly emancipated
persons of color,
who would subsequently experience
immense prejudice
upon their embarkation
as (no pun intended)
"masters" of their own selves
while attempting to eke out a living
dirt poor, yet resourceful
hunkering down on plantations,
which property eminent domain
of federal government,
(a political entity
characterized by union
of partially self-governing provinces,
states, or other regions),
whereby said body electric
codified, fortified, and indemnified
manifest destiny, a phrase
coined in 1845, the idea
that United States destined—
by God advocates believed—
to expand its dominion
and spread democracy and capitalism
across the entire North American continent.
Though institution of slavery
supposedly rendered null and void
at the stroke of a pen
(courtesy Abraham Lincoln)
well actual legislation
passed by Congress on January 31, 1865,
and ratified on December 6, 1865,
the 13th Amendment abolished slavery
in the United States.
Nevertheless merciless abuse
heaped upon the *****
despite their legal status
being Granted leeway
to persevere life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness.
Recognition as equal brethren
among collective soul of American
fraught with bitter aversion,
condemnation, and ejaculation
of physical and verbal violence
against people of color,
whose melanin enriched complexion
birthrights rendered hidebound
severely limited
inalienable rights as declared
in Declaration of Independence,
now still utter abhorrence
regarding treatment
of those proud enterprising people,
whose once storied
African past left in tatters
leaving sparse threads
woven together by diligent dogged research
nsync with twenty first century technology
to allow, enable and provide opportunity
to stitch together a more complete tapestry
and spiritual fusion with shackled ancestors.
You And I
I am the rose, you are the thorn,
I am the calm, you are the storm,
I am the light, you are the dark,
You are the kindling, I am the spark
I am the grass, you are the weed,
I am the feast, you are the greed,
I am the sail, you're but a breeze,
You start the fight, while I appease
I am the song, you are the silence,
I am pacifism, you are contrivance,
I am steadfast, you are the pawn,
You are insufferable...... and I am gone!
Lora Colon
January 29, 2014
What Does It Matter
What does it matter if sunshine fails,
And my sky's not always blue;
What does it matter.... I'm not upset
If I know I belong to you
What does it matter if every path
I take is not strewn with flowers;
What does it matter, as long as you
Are near to calm my anxious hours
What does it matter if birds don't sing
To awaken me each day;
What does it matter..... I think of you
And all my problems fade away
What does it matter if now and then
A tear has to dampen my eye;
What does it matter..... if you love me
I'll bear whatever makes me cry
What does it matter if crashing waves
Destroy dreams, leaving but a few;
What does it matter..... tell me again
That I'll always belong to you!
Lora Colon
January 30, 2014
What A Pair!
First ‘You and I' then ‘Not That It Matters'
Your versifying leaves even unsung
Souls shell-shocked in naught but rags and tatters
Thieves are brought down alive from their crosses
To join the ranks of the newly un-hung.
A sigh resonates shaking the whole world
As it witnesses God handling losses.
You're longing to know you'll always belong
To me, Yes! (and the one thousand others
Who would die to be the man in your song) .
Not one of us ever has seen your face
Though in loving you we become brothers,
Are conquered, before lions we are hurled,
Before slaughter, dream one will win the race.
Look out boys! There is
Lightning in them there hills!
Brian Johnston
January 30,2014
Poet's Notes:
Lora Colon's poem from her site on PoemHunter.com reprinted here with her permission. This Echo Poem is one of many that she and I have co-authored. We invite you to check them all out now that they are finally published together as I had originally envisioned.
The parents whose 12-year-old son was just laid to rest
From spraying bullets exploding in his young body’s chest
The father whose daughter was tortured and raped
By monsters initiating in a criminal gang
She will never see her fourteenth birthday
The shopkeeper, who after taxes is barely making his life’s wage
And totally depends on the paltry money his hard work can make
The mother of five beautiful children who went out
For a routine run on a beautiful sunny day,
But will never return to their waiting arms;
All their lives shattered in a heinous and brutal way.
The military veteran who lost his legs, as he served us all in a made-up war
Now sleeps on the concrete in a filthy corner of San Francisco Bay
The innocent 2nd grader, a tiny blonde blue-eyed girl,
Is left confused and unsure
When her trusted teacher says she’s a racist
Who has destroyed the world
The toddler sitting on his mother’s lap who looks on in dismay
As a mustached man, dressed as a woman in exaggerated makeup
Gyrates and sings vulgar songs just inches from his unprotected face
The girls soccer team whose teammate lost half of her face
Refuses to compete with transgender men whose genitals are now misplaced
The Texas rancher whose family must clean up behind
The millions of crossings in a continuous unending line
Of criminal invaders whose tons of trash and broken bodies are scattered
Among his unproductive fields and livestock in rotting tatters
The aching backs of hard-working taxpayers whose treasure
Has been looted and their protesting voices silenced;
For four years they had no say where their money goes.
It’s now enriching Iran, Ukraine and who else, nobody knows.
Nearly a half million young children lost their innocence,
And many their lives, sold into slavery in factories
And as sexual slaves; Grievous Evil modeling the Chinese way
Nearly 80 million Americans, sick to death of insanity, evil and deceit
All rose together to fight the rancid leftist coastal elites.
Together extinguishing the rule of disloyal leaders, fascists, racists,
Their eyes shining with hope that there can now be an end.
Each one’s voice and vote counted this time as they shouted,
“President Donald J Trump will fix it and make America great again!”
Screaming Guillotines
I.
I sit on the wide veranda of this house called America,
And I can see the Beast Boys coming our jungled way,
Coming like wild torrents of lapping flames over the astonished landscape,
Coming with black eyes squinting and staring for a feast of blood.
I sit trembling with mouth wide open, waiting for the whistling hearses to come,
And the inevitable silent tap upon my evading shoulder.
And far far away into the green enveloping expanse,
Of consuming trees and obliterating American skies,
I can hear the screaming guillotines serenading the ghost dancers.
I can see the whistling hearses bringing in the crimson nightmares.
II.
Time to take my knife again and lacerate the flesh of this dead thing,
This once-breathing creature that felt nothing but the slash of profit.
Time to spit out the long thin hairs entwined around my teeth.
Time to wonder whose hair this belongs to, as I pull out the long strands slowly,
Like pulling out long segmented worms from beneath the dirt of a rock.
“Ah, do you know the time? Is your sister coming by today?
She knows my name, and she can hear the screaming guillotines when they drop.
Will she spend some time with me here on my soft bumpy sofa?
Will she at last listen, at last hear, my remonstrances of lost love,
As we devour this dead, unbreathing thing,
Inside this salty steaming stew?"
III.
The Profit Boys are back in town,
And Jess and Jim are drunk on whiskey.
John Jupiter and his new bride, Isabel,
Are eating chicken and dumplings without a frown.
His new suit, in whisky-laden tatters, is
Hanging propped on a sweat-stained hall tree.
“Lordy those two are riling me; but shucks, it’s my wedding day!”
Then into town rides the Domino Kid from Abilene;
He’s looking to escape the screaming guillotines at Lansing.
John Jupiter and Isabel drink a toast to the future,
Their happy hearts pounding with hopeful glee;
Then he bashfully presents a wedding ring to his dimpled bride,
And kisses her sweetly under the tall Dragon tree.
But now, inside their barn, with soft lamplight aglowing,
Amidst the rambling rawhide, and a cracked cowbell,
Jess and Jim Profit set fire to the hayloft, a fire that is still growing;
The Domino Kid lies asleep, eternally dreaming of Isabel.
(witch role an unavoidable mandatory phase)
that nowadays breaks the piggybank
like a dropped fragile vase
you most likely nod assent if offspring grown,
or ponder new found challenge
expectant motherhood costs of progeny
take the following precendent all ways.
deux daughters desiduous teeth comprise
sum total of forty milky pearl white
whereat each healthy tooth
a miraculous bite size bit
of jaw dropping wizardry to in vite
a tasty morsel to get chewed,
until at some arbitrary time
(incumbent on each individual biological clock),
the second set thwart aside
(or sometime literally override)
these baby choppers right
fully as sought after treatures for the tooth fairy
(oft time disguised as part
of canine corp) offer sterling sight,
but fascinating as each replicated, punctuated,
lacteal dentition adorned with a pulp,
dentin, enamel, and cementum quite
a complex miniature edifice,
or a more apropos metaphor fielding sprite
would be a picket fence with important slats,
and thus a challenging plight
arises when a child shows their mother or father
gapped smile, and understands
to place tooth under pillow at night
when quiet as a mouse (who to be honest
create scratching sounds) the might
tee tooth fairy doth descend (nowadays
resort to global positioning
satelline application)
to find their way without turning on the light
soundless and still as a dust mote
feign being a knight
less to rescue a damsel, maybe
one baby step ahead of her/his insight
expecting to disover a modest wad of cash,
if stood on end, rather sizable in height
and essentially necessitating po' papa
to take out a loan, or hope flight
of fancy wish to win the lottery,
which would exite
self or spouse, but reality in league
with the fickle finger of fate doth disappoint and delight
son or daughter boasting to classmates,
how the rich tooth fairy (iz actually a faux pas
sham shaman, dirt poor father, bled dry,
whose coutenance (visible after break of day)
reflects that of one who barely survived a catfight
with finances in tatters as if
one money hungry toothless fairy took a bite.
Form:
Cast Away And Close
Cast away on an island surrounded by seas far apart from
my soul mate and lover I am now viciously dependent alone
independent in solitude for a day years or forever or not
Connection I need and therefore I would want my ~ ‘Mind’ ~
to not have been knocked out when the mast of the vessel
collapsed on my scull when dehydration set in coming to shore
Without healthy senses I would die in recluse could not overcome
contused bones and bruised Self a squashed heart punctured lung
had no way to recover in view of starvation of tummy and soul
In itself this required ~ ‘Fortuity’ ~ the luck of the draw when the storms
arrested my journey condemned me to change my perception of
retreating into myself while I searched for some foodstuff and water
Without the grace of good fortune thanking well meaning stars the
Universe or some Goddess in gratitude would be bereft of thanks and
of meaning since in that case my life and reality had ceased to exist
Healthy reason and feeling saved by good luck and some tatters of judgement
would complete my kit of survival when combined with ~ ‘Hope’ ~ the
for ongoing search for meaning my plans evolution and dreams
Otherwise dead in the water and my longing stuck in the sands of
crusted time and oblivion the crystals of being any re-writing
of future and belonging once more would lie shattered and crushed
Me on that island and my story narration in such troubling challenge
facing trial and summons tests of my strength and acceptance
would be futile and senseless without
~ Fortitude and hope in my Mind ~
29th November 2016