Long Threats Poems
Long Threats Poems. Below are the most popular long Threats by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Threats poems by poem length and keyword.
Like joy, sadness, anger, contempt, disgust, surprise,
Fear is nature's gift to creatures, to make them wise;
Threats, true or imagined, like rifles, trigger fear,
In physical and psychic realms, it does appear…
Just as darkness causes fear, height, flight, snakes, lizards...
Death is the zenith of fear than other hazards;
Success, failure, loss, judgment, identity, time,
Known, unknown, present, future... fear is time-rhyme-chime!
Like a poison-edged switchblade, it pierces the heart,
Dagger refrains, poison remains as body-part;
Fear like love, affection, darkness, death engulfs us,
Like solar-lunar-eclipses, it swallows us.
Flowers have nectar, fragrance, yes, even venom,
venomous flowers produce medicines ransom,
Fears in us, like organs, should be known, accepted,
When noxious, like the appendix, get excepted...
The present is a present; God-given present,
I should be present to the fear with full consent;
Speaking to the fear: why are you here? What's your name?
Enthroning in my body and mind - What's your aim?
Fear occupies when our sanguine heart is empty,
Fill thoughts, words, deeds with positivity plenty;
Enjoy the sun, moon, stars, birds, flowers, animals,
Feel! Freely listen to them, and tell them fables...
Sleeping lotus bud of self should shed sleep and bloom,
Cutting the coffin of gloom sun of hope should zoom;
The shadows of the inner falsehood should find light,
Peace, like white pigeons, should in hidden realms take flight.
25 August 2021
Fear transcendence Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Though I’d searched far, no freedom could I find
till Solace came to me and stilled my mind.
His Presence stood and ended my soul’s war.
No freedom had I found, though I’d searched far.
My mind untangled from its reasoned fear
and cast aside the threats to all things dear.
With joy I see the broken fetters dangle.
From reasoned fear my mind untangled.
The Truth, surer than anything we see.
Beyond this timed realm waits eternity,
outshining all the blissful dreams of youth.
Surer than anything we see, the Truth.
I cannot explain this calm knowing,
like a whisper borne on soft breeze blowing,
that hope awaits beyond the present pain.
This calm knowing, I cannot explain.
April 25, 2019
Swap Meet Poetry Contest
Carol Connell, Sponsor
Our own hagrid (in the corporeal essence of marital relatives) heaves livid rage
like real life harry potter dementors dead set on wreaking havoc
mainly from the zison matriarch in a mental and physical decrepit stage
attributable in part to her four score plus years on a depression riddled life
but mainly on account that her least favorite son in law lacks any income or
wage.
Venomous rage spews forth like a smoldering volcano about to explode
threats to vacate the premises likened to toxic emotions
that bear down like the sword of Damocles or how atlas bore earth as a heavy
load
which chronic onslaught of fiery livid (red hot poker) rage
sets the entire collective family psyche in an awful tortured soulful mode.
Animosity brewed and festered for well nigh going into the eighth year
scant mutually agreeable resolutions prolong this debacle
at the corners of our ability to cope do rent asunder and tear
and last shred of sanity that remains whereby nightmarish demons leer
like haywire bots with maniacal grins their trademark flair.
Wrath batters and assaults without merciless cessation lathered with blame
that we supposedly bleed dry this elderly octogenarian dame
criticism and insults indiscriminately hurled burns like hellish flame
no matter both myself and spouse experience inherent weaknesses
any explanations describing efforts to reaching goals accepted as lame.
Angst permeates while hopelessness drips from every cell
dealing with malice (from blood kin no less) with no salvation this place we dwell
synonymous with living among the dead in I did believe in hell
whereby these retaliatory barbs tossed like hand grenades pell mell
because the old lady this ramshackle house she wishes to sell.
If anybody who read this help us please
An affordable rent such a deal this guy would cease
as a permanent place to live our plight t’would appease.
Bubble-Itch
By Odin Roark
Like a wheel of endless births
Our personal bubble rolls and undulates
From first breath to death
Through meditations of desire
Shopping malls and jails
Farms
Caves
Rotten downtowns
Penthouse isolations
Cemeteries and urns
Especially unmarked graves
Of dirt and ocean anonymity
Whether sluiced by life’s briny water
Colored toxic flows
Or pure spring eruptions
The mind reconstitutes
Its textural translucence
Separating and recombining
Its minuscule droplets and grains of experience
Into sub-atomic particles for infinity’s grace
Seemingly
But not crushed
Under time’s animation
Such are the varying treads
Of wide circumferential roadwork
A modern terrain of fractured tar flecks
Once molten everything’s anything
Now but survival’s dust
Unscheduled
One’s bubble idles its roll and tilt
Atop the tightrope passage
Brain to that legendary heart muscle
Patiently pumping the thrill and troubles
That defined this organ’s attachment
This non-stop muscle that wants and grieves too
Even as it heals its slashes and teasing death threats
Where sleep and pleasure
Remain the swell of beaded spasms and waves
Floating
Rolling plodding
Reaching to become
History’s repeating mantra
Until
Mind and heart
Reluctantly giving up
Gasp
Hold
Await the next iteration
Knowing one’s vacuum
This morphed and re-morphed
Sublime emptiness-transmorphing
Is but eternity’s bubble-itch
Looking to be scratched
One more time
In the middle of the empty street,
fretfulness and despair prevails.
The search for cure to save lives…
In grocery stores and pharmacies…
Still it is nowhere to be found.
A furious disease!
Impeccable fear…
In a blink of an eye,
It might stand next to me.
As deadly as poison.
Coronavirus swoops from place to place…
When it gets into your system,
Your body slowly deteriorates.
When ignorance becomes contagious,
that’s when risks are getting high.
Self-quarantine is needed.
To avoid the stakes and threats…
Let’s protect our lives!
Homes are filled with angst.
Routines are widely interrupted.
There’s no point of blaming others…
For this will not end.
We obey what is must!
We obey to free ourselves…
We might commit social sacrifices.
But this is fleeting…
It will pass by.
Let our small prayers heal this plague.
Restore humanity in different race.
Our intents are directed to one goal.
Stop the virus that spreads all over the place.
We touch nobody’s hand.
We touch nothing but the hope that we have.
In the middle of the empty street,
We hope there is "LIFE" once again.
LeiStrauss2020
Our choir cantata won't take place this year.
We lack the space to be six feet apart
on stage or in the choir loft, but the fear
of Covid can't crowd Christmas from ONE heart!
All congregants will sing with season’s cheer.*
Though Christmas shopping won't be quite the same,
the mask I wear will not dilute the thrill
of finding gifts and checking off each name.
This list is one I'm eager to fulfill.
A mostly normal Christmas is my aim!
Close family will gather Christmas Day,
with scrumptious food and presents to bestow.
Though distancing, we'll limit Covid's sway.
As always, reminiscences will flow.
Our joy will keep pandemic threats at bay.
No chaos or pandemic can erase
the precious truth that Jesus came to Earth
two thousand years ago. It’s by his grace
one's soul is saved. His unique virgin birth,
proclaimed each Christmas--nothing can efface.
*The sanctuary's many lengthy pews make distancing easy.
Date: November 9, 2020
Contest Title: Quintain--Sicilian
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
December 14, 2020
Entered in the Christmas Poems Old or New Contest Placed 2nd
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Spring’s leading light has challenged Winter’s rule.
The ancient king, befouled, erupted from his early morning slumbering
And marched about his fortress
Enraged and raging.
His fury exploded against the walls,
And threats of retribution echoed throughout the halls
Against the upstart who tested the king’s supremacy.
The bitter monarch,
With eyes of steel and flashing light,
Like Saul, sulking and plotting against young David,
Smacked his hands-
His arctic breath thundered his commands
With authority and showy bluster
In defense of his domain, the
Crowned Head his troops did muster.
The elements converged.
“To Arms!” did he demand.
Sleet, those skilled archers of the hardened world,
Cast frozen arrow across the battleground.
Wave upon wave, the icy weapons hurled, until
The king’s nemesis turned ‘round.
This day’s battle went to Winter
The hoary head in fierce-like frame
His dominion did defend-
The scepter in his hand remained.
The old man’s reign, now prolonged,
The young Spearhead’s confidence disrupted
And denied,
For a time,
The pre-ordained.
But Winter will decline,
His rule and season come to an end.
Then Spring, the anointed heir,
To nature’s throne ascend- and all
The kingdom will rejoice!
© Michelle Waters 2021
When foreign breath emits oppressive reek
That wilts resplendent petals lilies grow,
And salts the pureness found in Freedom’s creek
Which runs where only thoughts enlightened know;
When threats arise against our liberty,
Be they by force or more clandestine made,
Since any strike upon the cherry tree
Exposes flesh withheld from Lincoln’s shade;
Then stand together with your fellow man
Prepared to save his life by way your own;
For blood which sheds as such is thicker than
The blood whose garden sprouts in monotone -
He fights with all his might for only “me”,
But falls where neighbors reign as brothers free.
2/6/17
Today, March 8th is International Women’s Day. After centuries of relentless struggle, are women happier today…? Can’t say! Despite all claims to equality and progress, women are still at the back seat struggling to balance between her work and domestic chores. Alarmingly assaults on women have skyrocketed in our land than never before, especially in some of the Asian countries. Some thoughts on this ‘great day’
She dies a hundred times,
In the throes of spite and neglect
In the agony of betrayal
In the shame of defeat
Yet alive with charred spirits
And deep burns that shall not heal.
Shut in the cage of servitude
She lives an ugly duckling!
Fed on taunts and threats
Drunk on slander and slight
Smothered by age old mores
Manacled by custom and tradition.
A door mat under crushing feet
An expendable commodity
Bartered away,
Or
Bought at the highest bid.
A toy to play with
A curio wrapped in folds
To be disrobed before feasting eyes
And torn apart by man’s beastly lust
A chattel to be pawned and pledged
A chalice to be cast away
When emptied of its contents.
Yet, she is silent
Mute like a dumb animal.
Oh No! It's time to break this silence....
However, nemesis will take hold.
Please know, there lies an ember
Down beneath the dying hearth.
As the wind veers around,
The smoldering charcoal would blaze
Growing into a wild fire,
With tongues of flame leaping into the sky
That would ravage the Earth
Leaving nothing
But,
Heaps of coal
And piles of ash!
SHE IS LADY ZOYA
From rich bucket bills of grandeur bliss
Dawns wobbling chills from cruel treachery
Harsh is the murmur of the night, my Lady
Has Aidos spang slain as disgrace ink reign?
Swarm of bees threats and afire the days
Seems... to live life, one must be on break away
Gowns and golds gone like a storm
Tears a rain clouding the seeds of reform
Never-say-die attitude the tarring rock
Ah! The Lady Zoya got this trait in blocks
Shut down on countless turbulent thuds
Still, she arise like a Monarch from the mud
Royal blood dance viscous to her veins
But to burlesque shows, she swayed in vain
For her children: Nicholas and Sasha.
Her picturesque-like the late Princess Diana.
Huge fire almost killed her children
She changed. Later became, a fashion designer
Simon Hirsch saw a diamond from a spread of roughs
He married and dressed her in lovelier stuffs
The tambourine music of war took her husband life
Penthos again bathe her ever wounded thrive
Yet, love abounds never did she succumb
She strive to strum melodies from the crumbs
________________________________________________
**Zoya Konstantinovna Ossupov is a Russian countess,
a young cousin to Czar Nicholas II during the Russian revolution and World War I..
Terms:
Aidos: shame, can range from a sense of respect
Penthos: grief, suffering
©
9:38pm; November 11, 2014