Long Unceremoniously Poems
Long Unceremoniously Poems. Below are the most popular long Unceremoniously by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unceremoniously poems by poem length and keyword.
She bares the marks of a life lived hard, her face the giveaway. Faint scar above her brow, chipped tooth, deep furrows that should be gentle crow feet to compliment her gorgeous eyes. She used to be pretty, now a concrete blonde of fading beauty. Named Roberta as a baby, but the few, privy to this information have since taken it to the grave, to all who ebb and flow from her life, simply Bobby.
Bobby wandered into town, who knows when. Her faded blue jeans slid forward on the weathered wooden bench outside the general store. From the recesses of her mind, she could recall only one occasion from her childhood when a dress draped her lanky frame. She hated it so much it was unceremoniously discarded, playing outside in her nickers at a 10th birthday party. From that day forward, only jeans. She never wore jewellery, her only adornment was a tarnished belt buckle sitting over the top of her Buckskin shirt. Bobby’s battered hat sat propped over her knee, she held a Coke as she waited on the bench.
It had been more than half a century since he saw Bobby. The pained, memory of her hair swaying, catching the golden sunlight on her back as he watched her walk away. Now, as he climbed the veranda, he knew it was her, faded, like his memories, but the, ever young, eyes, danced with life and he was drawn to them once again. Neither spoke as he eased his body onto the bench, their legs pinched together. A light breeze filtered through the thoroughfare, causing the rusty sandwich sign to creak and grown. He pulled his blues harp from the top pocket of his shirt and his breath eased across the chords. Bobby chuckled before she sang.
His lips stopped moving, he smiled with the realisation that at 78 years, he was trading what was left of his tomorrows for this moment in time. He slid his hand over Bobby’s and went still. Bobby held him for a long time, she sobbed. Tears flowed for a misspent life, sobbed for what could have been, sobbed at the cost of her freedom as it dawned on her that It wasn’t just another word for nothing else to lose. The floodgates opened as she truly lost.
Bobby stood on the highway, thumb out. The horizon held the ominous sign of approaching rain. An old diesel truck pulled up and she climbed aboard, she lifted the harmonica and said, “Do you want me to play?”
Liberty has been taken hostage, abducted in many parts
Of the world
Freedom is often smothered, suffocated in many hearts
In this world
Both are often used as steady stepping stones
By demagogues and fibbers to break the bones
Of patriots or sincere citizens yearning for justice
Respect, humanity and peace
Freedom was supposed to be the beacon of democracy
What happened? Nobody knows. Hypocrisy
Is a fatal contagion, which is ruining our society
Like a flashy oxymoron in an esoteric ecstasy
Be alert! Be vigilant! Freedom means
Different things for different folks
Liberty is like an abused substance
Where repulsive recidivists or wannabe crooks
Use unimaginable decoy to bamboozle innocent citizens
Be aware of nebulous nuances or weird connotations
Be on the lookout for spurious explanations
Freedom and liberty for all are about being free
Like eagles in the clouds, and the squirrels on the tree
Shaking small branches, while lightly groping trunks and leaves
Always be aware of the artful dodgers and the slick thieves
That’s a voodoo ploy, a trick to hypnotize the body
And to annihilate the very essence of the soul
Cry foul, speak out! A human is not a remanufactured tool
An unceremoniously born again or an uneducated fool
Freedom is audaciously very expensive, not obviously cheap
Freedom is a paradox for countless poltroons who peep
And weep like crocs swimming in a swap full of evil creeps
Beep your horn if you believe that everyone should be free
And be aware of the camouflaged criminals in the quarry
Blow the horn again, because innocent people don’t belong
In jail. I wish seeing an evil transgressor swallowing his tongue
Simply to live how it is to lose freedom or being hurt wrong
Because liberty is about the truth, freedom is about justice
And honest individuals are about love, respect and peace
Sweet freedom is like vital oxygen and vitamins for the body
And liberty is about bona fide hope and happiness for humanity
Liberty has been immorally taken hostage
And freedom belongs on the zenithal stage
Holding the eternally effulgent torch
That no pariahs shall ever touch.
Copyright © March 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry
It was a beautiful day for a picnic in the park,
We all thought we would stay there until dark.
Just enjoying the peace of a late summer bliss,
Like a departing lover engages you with a kiss!
We lunched on good food, and played volleyball,
And butterflies drifted by, 'til the crickets called.
Such a vividly golden and relaxing summer's day,
But then, orange sun was finally coming our way!
My family and I gathered all of our belongings,
Making a pleasant ending of our fun day longings.
As we strolled and chattered, birds sang loudly,
Like a peacock strutting, and preening so proudly!
My family was ahead of me, and I took up the rear,
Viewing scenery, while hearing them chat with one ear.
But very suddenly, I felt the strangest sensation-
Like being jerked, quite rapidly, to another nation!
Since my voice was gone, I couldn't inform a soul,
That I'd just been swallowed by a mini black hole!
Darkness all around, except for a circular top view,
Of marshmallow cream clouds, at the evening's debut!
Laughter and butterflies and children flying kites,
There never was good reason to end summer's rites!
Concerning my family, I could only wish them well;
Would I ever see them again? Only time would tell!
Speaking of which, my watch had gotten awful slow,
It was hard to move and cramped, with nowhere to go.
Like a butterfly lies dreaming of freedom's escape,
Or the sun whispering its warmth, to a ripening grape.
Then all of a sudden, I felt one tremendous jolt,
The unstable, mini black hole had begun its revolt!
I was suddenly ejected, like a ball from a cannon,
And relished the fun view, before journey was done.
Into the park's pond, I unceremoniously splashed,
Surprising many quacking ducks, whom then dashed!
Where was my family? A new dawn was now breaking,
Behind were regrets, which joy was fast overtaking!
My family didn't believe me, not even a little bit,
No proof in the corridors that have never been lit.
I was officially missing-I'd been gone three weeks!
I was quite famished, thin, and gaunt in the cheeks.
My family made me a feast, and I soon went to bed,
And the golden sun chased, until the stars had fled!
He stands beside this long black granite wall
broken lines accentuated reflection recalled names
It is here where he realized
that intranquility of redemption, even of prayer's forgiveness,
he do not own it any more than he owned heaven
there being no clearing of one's debts here upon it's mirrored surface.
It is here in chiseled silence that he recalled
just when and where he met himself for the first time
among the scarred remains of the killing-fields
where young men grew old far too quickly,
far from the banana boats skipping upstream the tributaries of the Mekong Delta.
In a rice bowl, horror steamed crop circles of paddy fields jungles tangled
within mind's greatest intrinsic fear
death.
It lay visible near pothered doors
where once stood life's vessels - unbroken, now carnage without vestige
of honor, standing unhinged, doors singed, crippled with every breath unnerved,
reduced now here unspoken to names
only
this is where murder is not reserved
solely for murderers many were faced without honor
within this stone their internment.
As for others, they returned home
invisible
ravaged each night a memory of unhinged doors their un-sutured wounds
opening without knocking entering without leaving unforgotten
fears of cleaving sanctity undeserved
here
where there is no vetted self-reflection, only sweat and the tremor of dream's
recollected and fractured surfaces of soul stilled distilled dying a
thousand times a night each night each day unceremoniously
hell reduced to living in heavenly reproach.
(April 24 2016)
*Not for contest...but post inspired by.
*Unceremoniously, 366 blue plastic capsules containing the birthdays that would be chosen in the first Vietnam draft lottery were drawn on December 1, 1969. There were NO winners. I was one among them. The war had been going on for several years before. A black granite memorial wall was built in Washington D.C. to the veterans of the VIET NAM WAR with the names of the fallen engraved upon and was completed in 1982. Other than this...most are still invisible.
Stung with the absence of his father, he excruciatingly rumbled deep inside of his mother’s womb.
He stormed out already filled with disappointing void.
The mother’s joy was of uncertainty.
Memories of her husband, flashed back right in her face once again.
She could feel the exhaustion of a lifetime encircled around her and the weight and magnanimity of raising the beautiful baby on her own.
Two years creeped by and the bond between them was legendary.
The love was so constant and consistent, like the sun will rise.
Their friendship thrived through the encroached stormy desert.
Her wings unfolded like an angel, extraordinarily patient as a lion hunting.
The fondness between them was as phenomenal as THE SERPENT GOD at chichen Itza, that he was unceremoniously detached from her.
A devastation of a 4-5 year old separation to a foreign land, felt like an erupted-never-ending-volcanic-nightmare.
The purpose of that crushing disconnection, was feeble.
he was starved off of food, shelter and raiment.
Apportioned milk from animals became the only privilege given.
The purest and cleanest form of consumed water, was of a residual of donkeys streamed through the shin of an old dirty black slave man.
An occasional feasting on birds, caught through invented-trapping.
With innocence, he’ll apathetically rip the head, feathers of the little creatures with bare hands, bury them in the sand of the mountain top desert, hours later, it’s BEANO.
He was deprived of even just a glimpse of his family for all those years, he wimped in loneliness.
And on a dark frightful night, came the growl of the famous fox, but he survived.
Life is fickle and comes without no warning and can’t be anticipated.
Survival can not be measured by *echoes* of preventions, it is destined and destiny is not always a gift.
The tale unfolds in hardship, a narrative woven through the threads of resilience and survival. The bond between mother and child, tested by separation, echoes the unpredictable journey of life—a journey marked by both strength and vulnerability.
Face fractured with fear
As the Taxi drew near
The building was in the next street
" I'll drop you off here"
Said Steve full of cheer
(Annoyingly rather upbeat.)
As you pushed on the door
It's sticky hinge hissed
And you drew in your breath
At the scent of 'dentist'
"Youre a little late" the lady said
Do you live somewhere rural ?
You swigged on your hip flask
Looked her right in the eye, saying
"Just get me an epidural."
"Now now Mrs Phillips
You'll be just fine "
Said the lady so white and starched
And into the chamber of old magazines,
You were unceremoniously marched.
With Your heart like a piston
And blood pressure soaring
(Even " Horse and Hound" seemed
Tired and boring )
Lulled by a clock counting out every second,
Till you started with fright
As a dental nurse beckoned ...
"Please don't worry, don't be so tense "
Said Helga ( on work experience )
And then with sinister gravity
Said "We'll take care of that cavity "
"Hello" boomed a voice from the back of the room,
I'm here to do your extraction. I've done them before so no need to shake,
Look at me if you need a distraction "
"This won't take a second, it's all pretty simple
Just a couple of jabs and we're there "
So first with your right fist and then with your left,
He was out cold, on the floor, by your chair.
You ripped off your bib, took a swig of the pink
And suddenly feeling much better,
You lunged for the door and ran down the stairs
As fast as a sprightly red setter.
You ran to a sweet shop and asked for some toffee
"Give me the chewiest stuff that you've got"
"Sure said the assistant , this one's from Yorkshire
And here, you can have the lot "
You took of the wrappers and stuffed it all in
Then chewed like a donkey on acid
And in a few seconds, the tooth that was hurting
Left a hole as big as Lake Placid.
So what is the moral
I hear you all ask
Of this tale both of triumph and sorrow ?
Well forget your insurance, leave your cheque book at home,
Just unwrap and chew on a toffo
He devastated foreign pastures
As a cog in a well oiled evil wheel
A nameless legalized conqueror
They praised his endless courage
Reckless bravery under command
Following orders no questions asked
The contest was rigged in his favour
A mega machine against a few guns
Foes fell like pins in a bowling alley
He rolled the dice over life and demise
Life was cheap at the price of a bullet
He pulled the trigger as if he had been
At the shooting gallery in his hometown
Remembered his childhood sweetheart
And the pink teddy bear he gave her
A few rag dolls survived in the ruins
Life was a thunderous blast for the killer
Until a land mine felled his glorious quest
Did not feel much no time to beg for mercy
A soldier ground into a desert of pain
Thus the invader unceremoniously vanished
Into the dust of memory’s timeless barrel
Only for some other pawn to take his place
Posthumously they awarded a Purple Heart
In pride pinned a medal onto his imaginary chest
Though he had none left to feature the badge
His coffin was empty and bugles betrayed
The meaning of a star spangled banner
Draped over the fact that he had no grave
The red white and blue of the flag hurt her eyes
Soon enough his children forgot their father
The widow struggled with his merit under fire
Shed tears onto the ribbon bestowed in vain
Crushed the award in a grinder of sadness
They say time is a limitless healer for mourning
And that this too will pass for a grieving soul
That warriors are not immortal in light of the cause
For a cross is forever and blood dries in the sun
But when she sees no valid reason for his demise
She becomes a miserable ghost slaughtered by proxy
As she retrieves a shred of resilience and braves demons
His and hers and faces a dim smile on a fading photo
Anger turns into guilt for she too had supported the war
A white flag holds more credence than shredded bones
05th May 2020
.One Summer Long ago
The wind played idly with white puffy clouds
The sun shining brightly against the loud blue sky
The horizon shimmered and danced . Islands of white ,dotted the Aegean Stretching away into shrouds of summer haze and misty beings
Waves crashed onto golden sands of deserted beaches Baked by the sun ,unmarked for eons
Whispering above the wind, siren songs lured weary bones to rest , as billowy white sails float along to the west The great long oars sweeping the painted faces of warships majestically making their way among long forgotten places
Dusty footprints in the earth lead to visions of beasts, gods and beauty This is the land of which I will regale A young man of thirty , on a quest for adventure and tall tales
,a necklace adorned thy crown o mighty queen A pure reflection of peace and beauty ,a rare sight to be seen Now at war they seek your treasure , the lust for crown and glory And to the victor ,go the spoils
Our mighty warrior killed the queen as his pleasure
In drunken glory. He went back to war , and died for his sins
his lover grieving went back home to her kin, He to his lonely grave , and she accepting her fate Tossed the necklace into the sea as her heart learned to hate
recounted many times , written in poems buried by sands ,lost amidst the memories of long ago ,the map and all the treasure of their war the story of their lovers parting day Why she tossed it so unceremoniously into the bay Calling upon her Gods to protect and curse her secret of jewels from her death to her rebirth Cursed and forgotten The secret taken to her final bed
Generations apart, a legacy passed down in poem and song I, the younger son, took it upon myself to undo the wrong to recover and to keep ,the jewels hidden in the deep , And close the door for all time , this legend of diamonds ,sapphires and gold I would not rest till I conquered my goal, my mighty quest
Copyright © jim joyce | Year Posted 2
(otherwise titled psalm to
Amelie Beth by Matthew Scott,
his genuine, gluten free and non GMO
poetic non fake appreciative guise.)
Ah, thee availed me reason to craft
a poem with rhyme or reason,
when I beheld unexpected email
exemplifying Christmas season
triptych most handily drawn pictures
by southpaw sister to think
on the other hand (right),
would be synonymous
with brother commiting treason...
Tempting as such crime
to oust Trump doth appeal
worst scenario... an utter
nightmare should commonweal
constituting United States of America...
blatantly, doggedly, ferociously...
crushing democracy fragile ethereal
frenziedly, maniacally, and unceremoniously
grinding into powder art of the deal
compliments those doughy
two hundred forty three pounds
with squishy feel
bearing full force upon
every square inch of each heal
commanding, forcing, and torturing
every American get down
on knees and kneal
until they simultaneously beg
for mercy with ear splitting squeal.
The ruthless "Fake" tyrant
cackles, gurgles, issues glee
as he doth reveal
his starkly totalitarian, ultimately
vindictive, wickedly surreal
punishment to every man,
woman and child for
not winning 2020 election yule
suffer where high crimes
and misdemeanors during
farcical impeachment trial miniscule
compared to reign of terror
he will violently unleash
rip pull sieve tides
substituting himself as top dog
thus, he forcefully usurps
permanent dictatorial rule...
Other than the above dystopian fear
your brother eagerly
awaits the new year
maybe joining activist group
(maximizing) plank - scare
ring up said apocalyptic near
possibility, cuz Trump equals sore loser
(methinks that an understatement)
nonetheless, what I write might
seem far fetched hear
say (grim heresy),
yet... look no further,
he doth plainly appear
as anti-semitic, bombastic, cataleptic,
demonic, egocentric,
graphic, horrific, misogynistic...
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I wasn’t there that day you left us
Music blaring
Engine running
stationary.
I wasn’t there the day they embalmed you
lined up amongst others in state
But I imagine the dead waits patiently
Still
I would have wanted to hold your hand,
While you parted, drugged and suffocating, breath.
I would have wanted to wash your feet,
While cold hands cleaned your flesh.
That day of final parting.
Your descending white coffin,
jerking unceremoniously, not stoppin’ ,
I dropped in the poem no one would ever read,
definitely not you (I knew you would if you could).
Red roses thud thud dropped as if knocking on wood.
Delivering the death notice (again) – putting you to bed.
(Like that knock on the front door weeks ago)
Sick reminder.
A stranger friend trying to take the shaking shovel;
I grunt jerk back possession from the face at the end of the tunnel.
There’s a difference between throwing dirt over shame,
Stranger friend,
than to cover her - clout enfolding, protecting, that which remains.
Five shovels in, it comes floating down by;
(Unnoticed that day)
Pure and white
the feather touches down amidst the dirt.
So ....... you…
Drunken interlude and weeks gone by…
The first winter drizzle cleaned your black granite stone,
whilst late afternoon rays still try to warm your bones.
White frost on black tomb announces winter,
As I notice the yellow roses reading,
“Miss you - Mom and Dad”,
had wilted.
They hung themselves…
I drop down bitter bereaved bruising my knees,
And try to crush your gravel blanket.
as the granite shards draw blood from bare hands,
I weigh my ashes on your scale.
My flesh is heavy but my heart seems empty;
I would’ve joined you, taken your place,
because like you, from my day of birth -
My soul screamed suicide.
I smile as irony hits;
As we were kids, so it was now:
You always jumped first no matter what I drew.
So ....... you…
Rest in peace my little sis.
Johan Venter © 2014