Long Treated Poems
Long Treated Poems. Below are the most popular long Treated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Treated poems by poem length and keyword.
Family love is born in little rooms,
around sofas, settees, dinner plates,
with paternal bond that strengthens and grooms,
unswerving link that lasts till heaven’s gates!
We were such family in a French town,
traditional, true, religious us four,
mother was good at making wedding gowns,
father a decorator ran paint store!
Sister and I watched German troops on streets,
Tuesday August year nineteen forty three,
parents held us close, could hear their heartbeat,
that was the last day we would all be free!
Dragged on to street by the Nazi soldiers,
our father was punched kicked and beaten blue,
we wept helpless, clung to mother’s shoulders,
that was the last of our father we knew!
Pulled away from mother and Sis I cried,
screaming imploring, no mercy, no heart,
that day for me when humanity died,
was day my family was torn apart!
Packed in a train suffocating with stench,
alone defeated waited journey’s end,
with dead and dying that made stomach wrench,
four days of thirst and suffering to spend.
I remember that train to Auschwitz well,
journey that destroyed many lives like mine,
where our love and hope to tyranny fell,
to death we were paraded in a line!
Six months past we heard exchange of fire,
that made evil enemy pack and run,
We were all rescued from behind barbed wire,
was still hope and goodness under the Sun!
When God smiles he smiles generously well,
lifts suffering souls from bottomless pit,
That day he was smiling we could all tell,
his eyes perhaps gleaming and face well lit!
Each life and hope with dignity restored,
we were treated, bathed clothed and given food,
In room of people saw face I adored,
sobbing with outstretched arms my mother stood!
United with mother back to my house,
and years of togetherness we would share,
on the wall hangs our striped prisoner blouse,
to tell trappings of hatred and its snare!
The train to Auschwitz took many to death,
guilt ridden, to and fro ran that train,
but tracks remain, hate may creep back in stealth!
train to Auschwitz should never run again!
Premier contest 6th placement
Written 09/April/2021
10 syllables each line (PS syllable count)
based on a true story as related by a 93 yr old Auschwitz survivor
The last train to Auschwitz poetry competition
Kai Michael Neumann sponsored
The woman married at a young age
to the eldest son of a farmer-
my maternal uncle and neighbor.
Usually, she woke up early at the crow's caw
and swept the dirt floor of the house with a broom
often wiping it with water and a nura ( wet cloth )
After that she took a bath, changed her clothes
and wiped with water the surface before the holy Basil(Tulsi)
in the middle of the courtyard
as well as the surfaces at the portico and inside the house
where the family Deities traditionally reside.
After these tasks, she prayed the Deities and holy Basil
while burning mekruk(,an incense).
The prayer was once again repeated at dusk
lighting a lantern or candle.
As a routine she grinding,hand-pounding
and flapping paddy,(sometimes cutting firewood)
alone or with a sister- in -law,
cooking food( burning firewood) and serving the family members,
cleaning the kitchen and utensils after the food served.
After these she washed clothes for the family members.
And in the afternoon she wove clothes
at the fly scuttle loom in the outhouse.
Besides, she helped the neighbours in times of need.
She treated her father-in-law and mother-in-law with devotion,
regarded her husband's younger siblings
as if they were her own children.
Many children were born to her
but, she died prematurely at the age of seventy.
After her death I sometimes remember her
as one of the symbols of traditional housewives
of the old past .
.
(Fourth in the Poetry Contest entitled " Mother's Day" sponsored by Benjamin Bartley )
So here we are.
Together again.
I won’t ask you how the years have treated you.
I know.
I remember that moment all those years ago,
how your breath caught at the sight of what
they had just put into your arms,
and your whole world contracted in an instant
until it was shrink-wrapped
around this tiny bundle
with a hospital identification band around its ankle.
It’s as if you’d never exhaled again,
love having kept you at the edge of your seat
in a simmering, 16-year panic attack.
At the cinema, in restaurants, on airplanes
and the sofa at home,
we have sat apart since,
bookending precious cargo.
But now, the middle seat has been vacated,
as we discover
we’ve become part-timers in a world
where once we were everything.
And so here we are.
The couple-turned-trio-turned-couple.
It will take some getting used to,
this new/old life,
this unaccustomed roomy feeling that seems to have
crept up on us without warning.
But a 16-year habit dies hard.
Even as we’re catching up,
finally reunited after a long separation,
comparing what we remember of each other
with what we now see,
you’re looking out of the corner of your mind’s eye,
permanently distracted.
Breathing a sigh of relief,
and a sigh.
As indeed, I must be too.
All I ever wanted from a woman was some TLC.
But the women who I've encountered only wanted to scam me.
I sent women respectable emails but they only replied when they wanted cash.
I've become fed up because they tried to scam me, what they did was rash.
If I had been given a chance, I could've loved somebody and been good for her.
When a woman replied to my email last week, she asked for $300 and I ignored her.
I would've been good to a woman but the only ones who I encounter want to scam.
I would've treated one of those women like a queen but they didn't give a damn.
(This is a true story.)
With me, during my high-school-days, studied a little boy,
His father was a doctor. This filled him with immense joy;
At his constant demand, once to his dad's study I went,
Seeing the skeleton, to my feelings, I gave vent;
Inquired my friend; he said, oh, in syllables innocent,
He is, (the entire city knows), my father's first patient...!
Not less than ten you should kill to become a doctor half -
This we say colloquially; But, what's a doctor-graph?
How many servile souls should one kill to become full-fledged?
Shouldn't be their operation-sword and shield double-edged?
They might cut your internals to pieces; who could ask why?
A good physician, all know, has ethics endlessly high...!
My cousin is a renowned physician; we loved her much;
Many babies and women, they said, had felt her soft touch;
I do not know still, why she not treated my sister well,
Her kidneys she did operate; why did things go to hell?
She had no reason for us, when she clipped them together,
One is dead-shrunk now; when will the time come for the other...?
They operate eyes instead-of nose; hand instead-of legs;
Visitor instead-of patient; just anesthetic-pegs;
What if they dare to leave their operation-knife within?
They have other knives; they'll operate; expose their win;
Human body is not more than matters within a sack,
Cut; stitch; if seen weak, dump like train-coaches gone out of track...!
Doctor Harold Frederick's actions, hence, do not scare me,
Psychopath might be! Lacking perhaps, some essential glee;
Realization of sins? Feeling of shame? Gloom-future?
His life seems to me just like his unconnected suture;
In a world, where killing thousands, many blissfully thrive,
(I am not justifying his acts) He could not survive...!
30 August 2022
Dr Harold shipman Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
You'd best stay away from those Indians,
I've often heard it said,
But the worth of a man is most often found,
In what's going on in your head.
Though I must admit there's more than a few,
Who will take the gold out of your teeth,
It takes a lot more than the color of skin,
To make a man a thief.
They're more than just thieves, they're drunkards to boot,
They're filthy, sneaky and cruel;
But it matters not the race of a man,
Enough booze turns them all into fools.
Unintelligent, dirty, their morals are low,
They're savage, unlike you and me.
Each race has it's customs and problems for sure,
On that I will have to agree.
When the White Man first came he was met with good will,
Accepted and treated well.
If not for the Native Americans,
They'd have died for that first year was Hell.
The Indians taught them how to survive;
How to plant and put back for the winter;
How to hunt and how to trap,
And how to make the meat tender.
In return the White Man gave gifts,
Shiny trinkets, beads and tea.
He also gave us something else,
The cold and flu germs were free.
They stole our land, they stole our pride,
And turned us into slaves.
They tried to wipe us from the land,
And put us in our graves.
Now you say we're not like you,
We're savage, filthy, stupid;
And you believe this over-all view,
To be correct, indubit.
Never look down on another man,
Because he's different from you.
Your race, your looks come from God, my friend,
It's He that decides skin hue.
Where you're born, your skin, your very blood,
Are gifts from God, Almighty.
Every man has a right to be proud.
Do not take what God has done lightly.
The world looks so different nowadays
We can get things without stepping out of the threshold of the house
We can do online shopping and e-banking
Many things are reachable even to the handicapped
These are the benefits of science
Especially the handphone and the computer
In front of the eyes of judgement
The handicapped may not be treated as handicapped
But the nonhandicapped may sometimes be treated as handicapped
When they are too lazy to work and study
When they snatch, they steal, they corrupt, they scam
Hurray,
The handicapped should struggle hard to
become
Nonhandicapped spiritually one day
Once upon a time ,a farmer lived in a remote village
He had two sons and they were worked with their father. His wife wanted to see the wedding of their sons, Because she was affected by a dangerous disease.
The two son's marriages were arranged immediately. Their sick mother died after her son's marriages, The Farmer was old and he gave the fields to his sons . His daughters -in -law treated him very badly .
He told his sons about the abuse by his daughters-in-law to his sons. But his sons heard only the words of their new wives The farmer wanted to teach them a moral lesson
He thought that the ill use was not continued to his sons lives
He went to the field and collected the castor seeds
And he put them in a tin and covered it with cloth. When his daughters -in- law passed his bed ,
He jolted the tin and made it the sound like coins. The daughters -in -law thought that the oldman had more money. They competed with each other and looked him well, Thus the farmer cheated them very cleverly, They only found out the technique after his death
I can tell, and I’m certain
From the look in your eyes
There are tears you’ve hidden
But that won’t suffice
Of your wings, there broken
And you were sent from the skies
You’re an angel that have fallen
That I know, ‘cause I’m wise
Your heart must be the bravest
For habouring such pain
And it’s obvious, you’re the fairest
You’re real, you don’t feign
And now my quest
Is to shed you from the rain
So, in the midst of the tempest
I’ll come without complain
You’re the bright morning star
And that makes me wonder
How someone so perfect
Could be treated with such neglect
That you fell on my field
Is a great thing to me
So your wings I’ll rebuild
So you’ll fly away with me.
Written by Kanu Ekpezu
I am just a child, no older than five. With everything I've been through in the past its a
wonder I've survived.
Nobody knows or will ever understand, How long I've been at the receiving end of this red
hand.
The way that i'm treated can be described as nothing but unfair. Why me?, why have i been
brought in to this world with parents who don't seem to care?.
I blame myself sometimes for my mother loosing her temper. Was there ever any good
times?, if so i don't seem to remember.
My father just goes along with everything she does and says, and i have to go along with the
beatings that last for days.
What will become of me as a person?, who will i be?, when shouting and beatings are all that
i see.
I will do my best to stay on their good side, to behave, as i don't want to end up in an early
grave.
This can't go on forever its already been years. I have been through it all, i cant shed any
more tears.
I know in my heart that some day this will be over and I'll no longer be alone, that a proper
family will look after me and make their house my home.