Long Terror Poems
Long Terror Poems. Below are the most popular long Terror by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Terror poems by poem length and keyword.
You claim that you’re the future
and all should clear the way,
you say that older ideas now
can no longer have a place.
You think you’ve found a new path,
that you’re rising like the tide,
too blind to see from events past
that history has no side.
Islam once believed that it
had a path cleared by God.
It swept across North Africa,
conquering all that it saw.
But when it reached fertile France,
Charles Martel had a surprise,
at Tours he made it very clear
That history has no side.
After the blood of The Great War
peace was the new buzz-word.
The intelligencia all agreed
that violence was quite absurd.
So determined to avoid war
that they appeased an evil guy
who showed in no uncertain terms
that history has no side.
Others thought that they could bring
a fulfillment to all mankind,
that Socialism was history’s goal,
That we’d reached the end of the line.
Time, it made a fool of them
and a hundred million died,
their gulags made it all quite clear
that history has no side.
Just recently it was proclaimed
that history would be made,
a woman as the president,
that’s what they all did say.
People even broke the law
to grease the skids for her ride,
even cheating she got thumped,
‘cause history has no side.
Our great love of narratives
sets us up for this blunder.
Reality is us lurching crazily,
trying not to be torn asunder.
In truth we walk a tight-rope,
untrained, terror in our eyes.
Most don’t ever cross the span
since history has no side.
To ride the sea is a pleasure and a curse
as huddle of gulls, starfish dart from nowhere
enchanting frolic on breakers, they traverse
into buoyant laps with crystal tides so rare.
My arms swivel a distance while I immerse
from deep lures of an islet, beyond compare;
yet once, twice... roughest torrents did choke my lungs
engulfed by coils of a dunk, into waves’ tongues.
I awake on swamps of moss , hurt like trapped cord
from a hillside , birds echo their fiercest drawl;
reviving my anxious glides with crests adored
for the terror -thrill of waters makes me stall.
As the bashing of rapids drills more pain on board
this dread, dread of drowning snuffs a night-breaths' pall...
though I cringe, hurt again from a sail, outright,
I’d rather face danger to unleash my fright.
If it hurts so bad, why do we do it?
Contest of Silent One
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[11 syl lines per requirement of the form;
10 syls likewise acceptable]
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6/19/2016
My dear ones, years and accounts have passed since we spoke about the New Man, "Le Horla."
From the midpoint of the Reset cycle, it is known to emerge from the mix of slaves and technology.
Rudolf Steiner knew, the beginning of vaccination, non-foods prepared in the shadows of the times.
The control of the masses through technocracy, a vision of the 1900s when the world was slowly transforming.
Under the influence of drugs, Hitler saw prophetic nightmares, screaming in fear before "Le Horla,"
A fearless and cruel monster, a presence deeply haunting the collective social subconscious.
Poe, in 1840, sensed that autistic presence in crowds frightened by the mysterious inexplicable,
And Bulwer-Lytton, through "The Coming Race," showed us the way to a future full of uncertainties.
I merely connected the threads, for geniuses often reveal the hidden truth in the folds of time.
We lament the lack of empathy, the mimed emotional life in public space, a theater of our days.
"Le Horla" spreads, USR, a symbol of technocratic times, an experiment of the present.
A nano-metallic transhumanist nervous system, beyond which only Zombies can survive.
Zombies, USR members integrated into the 5G network, coordinated by towers watching from the shadows,
Soldiers of an unchosen destiny, in a world led by the deepest and darkest shadows.
Remember the '50s, when the danger wasn't in vaccines but in the hunger and fear that reigned,
Today, technological terror and transhumanists bring us times of darkness and fragments of hope.
The worst satanists lead, and strategic starvation is just the beginning of a story.
Under the command of 5G, group intelligence manifests like drones drawing messages in the sky.
A trans 5G USR member becomes an appendage of the Beast, an eye on the ground for its unrest.
And yet, in this nightmare world, there is still a chance, a thread of light in the dense darkness.
Energy descent
need not predict financial descent
by inviting cooperative ownership and governance instead.
Just as democratizing love descent
need not predict hate and terror and paranoid acceleration
when love could invite more polypathic
and polyphonic
and polycultural outcomes,
creolizing multicultures of omnipotent abundance
instead.
Just as climates of ecopolitical pathology descent
need not predict 0-sum
Win To Lose Later
Industrial Capitalization Game-Over
when positive energy invites more diastatic flowing landscapes,
cultures of regenerative health
watering flowers
and not so much our weeds.
It is hard to write
About Dad.
I feared him
As long as he lived,
Still do.
It’s sixty-two years since he died.
He’s still alive in my dreams,
A little shorter,
Just as bald,
Never a smile.
Dad expired when I was nineteen.
His disdain for me outlived him by four.
My fear has abated little,
Terror is a trap that clamps tight—
If you amputate
That part of you dies too.
Failure, anger, and resentment
Not all setbacks make us sour.
You’ve had your share no doubt—
I hear you keep your cheer.
Dad hired on as the church gravedigger
(a job that suited him).
First holiday I came home from boarding school,
He asked me to help dig a grave
For Uncle Joe, his brother-in-law.
Watching me peck away at the ground
Frozen four feet down
He seemed, for the first time, content.
Next time I saw him look
Satisfied was at his wake
The priest mumbling prayers,
Mother wailing, tears in my eyes,
One hundred fifty at his side.
I saw a twinkle in his eye,
Someone else had dug the hole for him.
Cipher audible as morning treetop cacophony
Each other's cheer-leading decree
Sunami strength help brought forth deafening
Viewed issues dealt cooperatively
Delighted audience dearest hears undisguised
Beesech spilt blood raw recognised
Army of protection brings emergency supplies
Intuition expands in habitual confide
Huddled low to headland in stiff salt onslaught
Storm's approach old debri fraught
Terror never treads on mesh combined support
Methods of secure recovery taught
Hummed as one, togetherness tune assembles
Outcomes emerging remain pliable
Dual pillars bear burden, widened weight gentle
Tandem virile, vehicle indestructible
9th December
Divinely United
There is a place that doesn't go to sleep,
From dawn to dusk,
Nothing changes,
Desire is on the run.
There is a place where ambition and rivalry are birthed,
Sycophants seize the day,
Sing their praises and the door is left open,
Sing their praises and opportunity smiles at you.
There is a place where gloom pervades the decision chambers,
The leaders are saddled with the enigma,
The missing pieces are hidden from the light,
The night is recalcitrant to let out.
There is a place where rapid-paid ransom returns the captives,
A delay in delivery detonates the bomb,
To the earth, the bodies finally belong,
An eternal loss and anguish of hearts.
January 19, 2024.
Sorry no fear from A bipolar inmates sending terrorists threats through political powers instead of sending me threats from Man die Queen pin for a day giving false statements how's that going she's enraged jealous ready to stab again blood was everywhere over and over again bipolar prisoner wisconsin woman's prison repeatedly violent because she is bipolar entanglement with my abusive and his abuse of power jay townsend johnson henry let's say Nicole my attacker catrina bell mckissack challenged by severe obsessive behavior stalking me over my American poetry shame on all of you stop encouraging this violent offender to want to harm me to get out of jail no different than Bin laden seeking early release I'm not afraid of your threats I realize they are from my stalkers my assasins arriving with a gunman to end my life in tampa recruiting Man die behind bars to slander me and God knows how many other people she resents bullying intimidating due to her extreme bipolar violent outbursts according to lake Geneva news Milwaukee sentinel she is easily made jealous foaming at the mouth stabbing five people chanting she was going to kill them while on probation repeat severe violent offenders with A deadly weapon she continued to stab these people with a large butcher knife enraged no wonder she continues harming innocent persons
Man die needs an insane asylum clearly union grove over and over again giving false reports and she starts all over promoting violence or perhaps wait until she stabs your mother or her own child again hint hint back off I will never ever fear your corruption queen for a day to lie spread rumors and stab innocent persons blood was everywhere shame on you
You are actually encouraging A bipolar violent offender to harm me for your own twisted corruption abuse of power manic organized crime canker worm breaking into my home searching for poetry
Jesus I certainly will never ever fear these ongoing sheer threats of terror upon me from behind bars poured out into the streets stop terrorists threats you cannot extort my american poetry have a blessed mother day weekend
Only a house made of bricks stands
No straw or sticks anchor walls
no undercurrents of menace within
no spirited chaos, a sin
Brick house tempered by grist, resists
Let the Wolf strut, bluster and boast
his breath crystallized
'gainst a brick house that gleams
frozen terror to those within
No wind to blow his conscience clean
only discontent, foolish
that puts the pack on edge
Huff and puff, a stately growl
A brick house defangs rapacious howls
Price of entry, sutured by good deeds
A wolf's high strung dive into a boiling pot
his darker side inferno
3 little pigs forsake composure, dance
like a jumpy silent film
But not every wolf melts away
Still, a dwelling menaced stands
like a magic tale with bricks of truth
for a glittering house
liberty's gift
star shines,
on a hill
Poem composed: February 13, 2021
I saw a death shadow in the eyes of my infancy
a soft mercy with calm blue fancy,
in childhood, when free will asserted it's wild supremacy
we sang of star charriots and laughter loyal to hyperactivity,
I see a death shadow in the prime of my ascendancy
outlining my temple of truth, whistling thy words of wizardry,
I hear It like the madness of morning's ending,
I taste It as if from the burning breast milk of a Dragoness,
I see It in the bleeding smile of my heart's kindness,
I speak to It when love's luster unlocks the lunacy of loneliness,
I feel the humble shade of It's jade justice in a world hot and hustling,
My death shadow has a surface sweet with patient purpose,
It is not rough with forboding frost that frights the fight of flesh,
rattling the scythe of doom and cackling for cataleptic crisis it does not,
It is not a grim God or a greedy Goddess, no taxing terror trumpeted,
It has never been an angel of escape or a demon of dour delirium,
when suffering becomes a seduction of brute beauty I share in it's wise joy,
my death shadow follows the desperate yet disciplined form of my body battle
through life's plethora of coy poisons and possessive passions,
marching along side me with martial grace, sculpting my face with lion spirit -
J.A.B.