Long Torturously Poems
Long Torturously Poems. Below are the most popular long Torturously by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Torturously poems by poem length and keyword.
A haunting rustle continues to stir,
imprisoned by a restless ghost I cant deter.
Becoming a relentless hiss of a punctured tire,
to the blazing crackle of a funeral pyre.
When the world is loud, it can try to hide,
as my brain is otherwise occupied.
When the world rests and there is no noise,
this perfect silence, my mind destroys.
Waterfalls that never hit the rocks below.
Unbearable phantom sounds plateau.
As the cadence quickens to a frantic hum,
while a fury of cicadas pulse like a drum.
Invading the desperate hollows of my mind,
it’s insanely incessant, torturously entwined.
There’s no sanctuary from this discordance of sound.
A tempest of delirium down to a snake’s rattle abound.
Streaming water from the shower, a noise I dread.
Nobody at home, its all in my head.
Suffering tinnitus is a lifelong affliction,
Every waking hour a curse, a malediction.
When will I enjoy silence and my sanity restore?
The Raven answered "Nevermore"
Lower gastrointestinal war civil declared
because sweet tooth (er...rather dentures)
craved absolute zero sum game yoking,
wickedly villainous, x'acting tummy
upsetting Pavlovian salivating, romancing,
quid pro quo woe pea pie us, orthodox,
conventional, nun habit forming (Lie),
mouth watering, lip locked, kickstarting,
Je Suis ill lust trios, hymn bracing, gob
stop ping, feasting immediate enema
inducing, decadent chocolate baneful
cake courtesy of adoring bubela, (the
same over stuffed ego freezer oft
mentioned counterpart), charming,
hugely overpowering tenderly loving
zee missus diabolically exuding
"FAKE" gracious humane insinuating
jabbering, knowingly loo man hating,
needful offal pestiferous quasi rip
snorting, tush under fire, violent
whooshing, expelling xyz lower
abdominal contractions, indubitably
kindling, jumpstarting instagramming
howling, fostering execrable, debilitating,
besieging posterior, automatically
clutching derriere, experiencing ferocious
gluteus maximus intractable jabbing, knifing,
lacerating, mutilating nameless oaf (me),
painfully quaking das simian, torturously
undergoing vicious wretched excessive
yawping worse fate than death!
Otherwise ass hide from irritable bowel
syndrome this second July Sunday 2019
quite yawningly wonderful, uneventful,
sedate, quiet, ordinary, mundane, languid,
joyously humdrum, fabulously drab
characterizing local buffoon, i.e. yours truly.
Shall I cut thee a slice of outrageously
luscious, keister heavenly gourmet deluxe cake?
I’m too young and too happy
according to my ‘infectious agents’ professor
and is he ever wrong?
Four of us pressurized med-school freshmen
(Chloé, Emma, Léah, and I) who have become
fast friends, were twisted together in a seated circle,
laughing, cutting up and sharing our deepest thoughts
as the TAs handed back several quizzes that had been
slowly and torturously graded over the past month.
Isn’t it bad enough that studies have reordered us,
and made our days and nights as one?
Must we also wear our spirits low? We cannot.
Humor is our gentle requital
Laughter is the impossibility powerful sound
that slays worry and common sense
That educated man may spend his authority as he wishes
but well-timed delights can’t always be scheduled.
.
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Songs for this:
Me & You by HONNE
Jamirobeegees Mashup by Pomplamoose
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He said "you're too young and too happy" with a twinkly smile
but I treated it seriously in this poem. ??
"That Dark Place"
that place
where hope waits torturously in vain
and strength is found cloaked in the kinder darkness
it waits patiently in that remote singular quiet
a neat corner of solitude back-of-house
where sonnets call to mind jangling contemplation
of under promises and over zealous outcomes
romancing poésies pressed between
the seconds and the hours, the days and years missed
the metronome tick-ticks luring forth integrity
from phantoms outside of imagination
such a rare well-hidden jewel dangling
on the end of a long chain of events
to find courage sorely missing front-of-house
on its card table of tricks that dark place its truth well lit
and the light once switched, changes the shade
of everything
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
The droplets formed, dangling, on leafy edge
sweet flowers gazed in lusty, wanton need
warm lingering hopes of summer’s promise
awakening the lips of future seed
Torturously tantalizing foreplay
sun gleaming in a perfect union’s eyes
swaying on the brink of love’s disaster
clinging to summer moments as time flies
But, with summer love, come shadows creeping
a darkness that will taint the untried heart
leave the leaf and slowly wilting petals
the agony of knowing they must part.
Love’s hearts have hardened some but still recall
a summer heat that bid those droplets fall.
©5/8/2018
submitted to – Summer love sonnet – Poetry Contest
sponsor – John Hamilton
Planet of the Grapes
and so the grapes
conspired
met in secret bunches
eavesdropped
on the vintners
during their
wine sipping lunches.
too win we must
subvert their minds
causing loss of focus
torturously tenderize
rendering it “mocus”.
we must accept
our crushing fate
entombment in the
vintners cellar
convince them
their dreams absurd
are absolutely stellar.
we’ll infiltrate
the highest realms
of the intelligentsia
cripple them
in brain cell death
of alcohols dementia.
they will tend
the very vines
that nurture revolution
unknowingly
complicit in
our forty proof solution.
John G. Lawless
10/18/2014
For the “Words – The Heart of Imagination?” – Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Brian Johnston
Catharsis of a King
Twisted trees, gnarled and warped
by wicked winds, curled in crippling
curling toward faint warming of the sun,
clinging with clutched roots to rocky crags,
overhanging the crashing roar of foam tipped
breakers. Stone face of shear cliff etched by
fine chiseled rivulets, tears shed by dark clouds
pummeling a world below, shaping the prisms
for a future sunrise, deepening the chasms of
canyons, uninhabitable but for their beauty.
Creatures that defy the bounds of “beauty”
yet define the artists form, call us to stare
at simple brush strokes. Explosions, eruptions
of hot, steaming lava, scalding and denuding
mountains, torturously flowing to a
roiling sea. Swirling vortices of
madness, vicious brushstrokes tearing through
the gentle country landscape as if change was
overdue. Humming birds and fireflies,
mosquitoes, gnats, and icky things
one feeding on the other,
the warring and the gnawing that would
discourage even mother. Sunrise in the
jungle, moonlight on city street, church bells
that daily ring, calling us to celebrate
the catharsis of a king.
John G. Lawless
9/18/2014
for Brian Johnston - God's Kind of Poetry contest
Caring hands massage my body and soul,
rejuvenating hope with a mere touch:
she is an Angel; she helps me so much.
And every day, as we take a short stroll,
she makes me believe I'll achieve my goal.
In time, I'll no longer require a crutch,
or at least, I will have less need for such
thanks to my nurse; I'll once again feel whole.
Her determination forces me on,
torturously rubbing my legs each day.
She'll taunt and bully me if I resist,
demanding I work the pain, till it's gone.
And despite my screams, she'll not back away,
but, instead, will mercilessly insist.
Such Innocent Madness
Listening to KHJ with the Real Don Steele,
playing it straight and loud on Boss Radio, with an
Elusive Butterfly wafting about, inside the tan ’68 Caprice,
when his secret journey of a thousand eye blinks,
commenced painstakingly and torturously,
like a dead glacier on fire.
To the left there, by her brown-skinned sternum,
with her young heartbone cleaving through snail-paced determinations,
he found her tender button throbbing,
beneath the cotton cover and the bleach,
there, in the excruciating darkness of teenage intensities;
You and he were reaching for the soul of an hour,
not stopping until constant time achieved the impossible stare off,
between them and it,
between the air, and the touching;
between the voicing of electronic controllings,
and the perennial reaching for another red apple,
served au jus, with croutons, earwax and studied leanings.
Now, it is just another pause in the exertions of young existence,
another heaving mindmelt in the suburban fog,
where you and him once sat fifty years ago,
at the big oaken table beyond the archway there,
inside his mother’s old musty house on Hoover street,
amidst the closed bedroom doors, the bougainvillea,
and the tacky green carpet with a dozen dog stains.
You sat there alluringly and decidedly silent,
with your long smooth legs opening and closing,
like a panting mouth, sucking in cigarette smoke in the dry wind.
But it was such innocent madness,
what was done and said that distant night in 1969,
with you and him sitting decidedly close in the darkness,
within the secure, locked confines of the tan ’68 Caprice.
Listen. Can you hear his bellowing voice through the speaker?
The Real Don Steele said it was April, when
all elusive butterflies swarm to the beat of the night,
the elusive time for young lovers to learn, and sigh.
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20 Line Haiku Hijack
I stole a haiku from Japan
Stuffed it in a duffle bag, added 20 lines
Fed it chocolate day and night before the flight
Then placed it on the market when I landed
Shrimp and whale tails make sound haiku
Deliciously simple like sushi. Japan hated mine.
Called it distasteful, too heavy and rude
Complaining it suffered from too many lines
I sold the stolen poem to a toothless man next
An Afghanistan Taliban in need of a wife
He realized the mistake and returned it at once
Calling it bland, loveless and torturously trite
I injected a diaphragm on the haiku 2nd line
To prevent undo pregnancies
When left alone to expand, haiku will multiply on command
It grew from 3 to 20 lines in what Japan calls a crime
Hijacking haiku and adding more lines is wrong
It changes the meaning and makes it too long
Haiku will never be the same again
In the end I put it on a train to India…a quatrain to be exact.