Long Under the skin Poems
Long Under the skin Poems. Below are the most popular long Under the skin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Under the skin poems by poem length and keyword.
The flood waters had drawn back
Land made its debut
The past gone and over
With nothing but hope in view
Hard work and labor ahead
Building and creating...what
Grown minds can't forget experience
No matter how one sought
...to begin again
After a time of planting and pruning
Harvest came in fullness of glory
Lending God's blessing
To the legendary story
Funny how a flood can wash away life
But not bring one to self control
The father "god" released himself
To the lusts of his consuming soul
...in celebration of humanity
What did Cush know before
That seeped under the skin to once again
Reveal the nakedness of humanity
And the sepulcher of sin
Had LOVE been present with Noah
His response could not have been a curse
Forgiveness and compassion
Would have covered even the worst
....desires
He walked away with a fear of self
And exalted himself in fear and shame
He would never need that presence again
When he forged a powerful, worship base...of a name
He would create a world of debauchary
Where twisted passions are indulged
Men and women could experiment
And the nakedness of man bulged
...in plain sight
Kingdoms came and went throughout the ages
Merging and assimilating with one
Osiris and Isis, pagan gods
Yet "freedom" displays their symbols under GOD and GUN
All of civilization has been touched by failure
To respond appropriately to fear
Written history slants truth to serve agendas
With peanuts and beer
...with a wink of the eye
The system hides at the height of education
The breaking down of a flowing mind
Add a little "god" to the knowledge
And one can operate outside of the confines of time
Raising humanity above the sludge of soul
Into the heavenlies of a magical god
Using the terrors and horrors of the past
To make a paved road, much easier to trod
...to the ALL SEEING EYE
Education under the guise of religion
Is the perfect place to hide humanity's fear
We wonder if there is a difference, choice can make
That will bring down an all-consuming fire to sear
Man's conscience to perfection, the sainted election
Of those who will go into the next world, without sin
How can GOD deliver humanity, anew
Without ONE failing again...and again
...nothing new under the sun
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-16-2018
I remember*
I remember someone calling my name…
I remember someone whispering in my ears…
I remember someone calling my name,
Calling my name, when I was so in deep tears…
And found out that he was our father…
I was willing to conceive his word, thou’ I nev’r knew how to read through his lines…
I remember someone calling my name….
Calling my name,
The only person who remember’d me even when all others were forgotten about me…
I thought I was alone,
Because I nev’r knew that there is a bride who’d still marry me even when I was living under the skin of nobody…
I remember someone calling my name…
Calling my only name out of nowhere…
A man who which came to me and prove to be a good friend indeed…
He came in a bad time and proves to me that there’re still moments that worth to be celebrated…
A man who came when I was in a verge of despair…
And teach me how to act in the story full of tears and pain…
He gave me a reason to say thank you for every little piece of breath I take…
I remember someone calling my name…
When I was in deep, deep’st pain…
He came and offered me something, something that is rare to find…
He offer’d me love, peace and happiness in the world that celebrates a hobby of hate…
He came and offer’d me a drink,
In the world packed by drunken masters…
He came to me when I was in deep pain…
And surely taught me how to babysit my pain…
For I knew not who’d sell his only home for me,
But anyway, he has surely proved to be the architecture of my soul…
For I knew not who’d love like him…
But surely he has proved to be a good friend…
who’ll always be there for me even when the world falls into sleep…
I remember someone calling my name…
For I knew not who’d be…
But he came one day,
And teach me how to sing a happy song in the choir that sing a song of hate…
He came to me when I was nobody…
And transformed me to a body that anybody wo’d dare for to build upon it…
Our father, the born warrior and the conqueror who nev’r used power…
A man of many gentle men…
Who’d love like him, make me understand…
So keep looking for his presence,
For there’re so many places where his love would dare to dwell upon…
So keep looking for god’s presence,
For he has so, many corners in this world that we could find his presence that we fail to dwell upon…
End of poem18
New sedan tracked into the wet puddle on the sharp bend
Grasping for breath the engine choked to die splattering
Wheels crunched jerking to stop by the grassy pavement
Hitting the ignition time and again to revive the stalled car;
Lonely the road snaked up the mountain side into the mist.
On the horizon the sun fought back the night as it drowned
Braving the cold I stepped out adjusting my overcoat collars
As the winds howled to click the door close with a soft ease;
For the past hour driving madly I had not seen a single soul
Hoping to find a shelter for the night I was forced to move on
Walking fast I just crossed the hill edge to see a fire glowing
High up on the ledge as the trees danced to its magical blaze;
A half moon cast its silvery light on the barren mountain path
Stepping into its unevenness I stirred slowly climbing upward
Captivated thus I felt her move under the dragon etched skins
Highlighting my fear that the dream was bursting into my life;
‘Who goes there’ awakened me to the reality of seeking a roof.
An old man with a white long beard struggled to hold the stick
‘Come by the fire I grow old as the prophecy brings you here,
Take her to be your mate for she longs to meet her chosen one.’
Suddenly he grows wings and in a flash flies into the dark sky
Amazed I bite my left knuckles to cry out in the dreamy trance
Soft giggles of laughter vanish into a silence as the fire crackles.
Within shadows behind the flames bushes grow along the cavity.
In stillness the night grows warm as snow flakes begin their fall
Smothering the fire as embers smoke to grow cold covered white,
Pushing my self against the cleft, camouflage gives away the cave
I move into the dark labyrinth each step brightening the light glow.
Snuggling with in soft white furs I gaze struck by the blue eyed girl
Lips move the silence, as I obey her command ready to ignite desire
Under the skin my dragon etch goes crazy as I sit by her stone bed
Time stops, she touches her lips to mine exploding a burning need.
Aflame I burst in uncontrolled ruptures of ecstasy to fire the mind.
Belly ablaze as the body is ransomed to slavers infinite dragon fire.
I was born in a banana republic,
Between the carnivorous chains of Françafrique,
In an open-air dumpster,
Where tyranny, barbarity, and savagery speak with arrogance.
I am perfumed with all the nauseating scents of misery.
I grew up under the honeyed speeches of necktied oppressors,
Their swollen pockets vomiting development aid.
They painted the walls of despair UN blue,
While our starving bellies served as ballot boxes.
My tongue is a battlefield
It was cut, stitched back, trained to sing the masters’ symphonies.
I speak French like a trauma articulated,
With the pain of my color since the first slave trades.
My struggle, a reminder of the invasion, an inheritance of batons from the Caribbean plantations.
I saw dictators blessed by chancelleries,
Oil traded for diplomatic silence,
Mines bled dry by hands gloved in elegance,
And mass graves hidden beneath bilateral agreements.
I am what they call human resource,
Exportable, exploitable, erasable at will.
I was born where dignity is sold by the kilo,
And where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
I was born where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
Where a passport is a burden, not a key.
Where one sells their skin to organ merchants
To buy a pixelated mirage of Europe.
I saw my mother weep silently over deportation slips,
My father break his back in open-pit mines of the cradle of humanity,
I learned to read in the pamphlets of the defiant,
To count on my fingers the promises unkept.
School, a factory of stillborn dreams.
Healthcare, a market where cancer is sold in tainted doses.
Justice, a rumor, an insult whispered
Between two power cuts and three police blunders.
I am the child of fake independences,
Of tailor-made constitutions stitched for insatiable gluttons.
I was born without inheritance, save for
This rage accumulating like sand under the skin.
They called me delinquent, migrant, underdeveloped,
But I am the living archive of their beautified crimes.
I am the raw product of their refined markets,
The shattered mirror they flee, for fear of seeing their own barbarity within.
Hard as a rock, Strong as a tree! Hurt again and again? But your not breaking me! A cut is a
wound, An insult? just a name. I wont let you get to me, I'll continue pushing in the strain.
Do your worst! I can take your beating! Put me in my place, I can take the bleeding. I'll take
it all, without any breaking! Do your best, I'll take all the taking! When I'm alone, and your
far gone? Tears might flow? But you'll think I'm strong! I'll finally let it go, Falling down, bit
by bit, On the brink of insanity? Then regain my grip! Broken and battered, on the verge of
giving up? You wont see any of this! You'll think I'm strong enough! Nothing else matters, I'll
never satisfy you, You may see a slight tear? and think you won? But You Didnt! I swear that
on my sons! We all deal with it differently, The pain we feel inside? Some of us run? most of
us hide. Giving up isnt an option;because anger always wins. We dont choose when the pain
begins, We dont know how to stop it? As we beg for the end! I have some secrets I hide
beneath my sleeves. With a million scars and bruises, that never let me be? When the
pressure grows under the skin I hold so tight? I'll know it became too much? And begin
letting go of my fight! My eyes shine from all the unshed tears? I cant disguise anymore all
the hurt and fear. I wonder when its all going to let up? While trying to fight, maintain, and
keep my head up! Times are hard and trying at its best? I should lay my head down to rest?
Wanting to close my eyes, and bow my head in defeat? Just hold on a little longer, Not just
yet? This will only make you stronger! I start to build my faith back up, preparing to dodge
the next punch? I breath in slow, exhale deep. When walking away, Tears fall in discreet!
The time has come to finally let go? Still I will never give you what you want! It will always
be a different show. I will never break, the way you want. I will never let you see. You will
never enjoy the breaking inside of me! Bring your pain forever? If you feel the need? But I
promise on everything ! You will only Envy me! Watching it all, from a front row seat !
"What a Lark"
I used to be inspired once
like a lark beating it’s wings
higher and ever higher into a
golden and blue eggshell sky.
Hailstones hit me
during ascension
and I’ve fallen
into steep decline,
lying on a pavement somewhere
where bystanders walk by
ignorant and blind
to this broken
once shiny-winged lark
who sings no more
only breathing out shallow stories
bleeding into the right-hand margins
of a page, in a final chapter with no lines,
it's not lore.
Written on the body
deep under the skin
where no one else can see me
save a person pluck each feather out
and make them as their quill,
you could try to find a story there
if you dare -
then go ahead
and dip your chosen quill
in the heart inkwell
of this Lark,
and continue writing for her
with her magic blood from heart
to your heart,
but not in spite;
The Lark’s story
bleeds into that spartan white page
with no lines
except those damn margins
are keeping everything in
so tight and refined;
the rules are the margins
that require erasing
by and by.
There is a white page
begging to be coloured
with beautiful visages and rhymes
with more than what is read
you may find a story there my friend -
it’s of smoke and mirrors, grit and city
flights of love and
mores the pity
betrayal and disloyalty
and lies the hailstones hit
but they’re melting to invisibility
when the Sun shines out it’s ****
and she's remembering now
all that is hidden beauty in her dreams
as her eyes close softly lit.
The Lark lies on the pavement
breathing her stories out
into the Etheric Plane
bit by bit,
but no one holds the key yet,
to her Very Sacred Script.
A big black cat strolls ever closer by
arching his back he sees The Lark
and wonders why she don’t cry,
spill her guts;
He is drawing ever closer now,
so close he can feel her breath
and he reaches out a paw
"silently amuse me", he purrs, "just a little tweet",
A muse silently and slowly awakes
to touch his claw with her beak
and she tries
to taste the sweets.
Lovejoy-Burton, December 2017.
"Come closer, you kids, let me tell you a story:
now you all see that there morning glory? Well
that was the blue of this little boy's eyes, born
right in this village; they named him Eli."
"Those eyes had lashes so black and so thick,
it sure was enough to make all us girls sick!
And his skin, do Jesus, was flawless and pure,
and smooth as this ole couch is, what's made of velour."
"Lord, he was held, he was never put down.
We girls took to totin' him all around town.
His hair was as black as a raven's wing,
and if that weren't enough, good God he could sing!"
"He just opened his mouth and out this voice came,
a voice that could put God's angels to shame."
"Now, y'all know how much fun little kittens can be?
But then they grow up, just filled with ennui.
Well, just like them kittens, Eli grew up, but he
was conceited and downright stuck-up!"
"Well, our village, we raised him, and we saw our mistake,
but by that time, humph, it was far too late.
He decided to grace the wide world with his presence,
get away from the village and all of us peasants."
"When he hit the big city, he was shocked and perturbed:
No one fell at his feet, no one praised him with words!
Perplexed and confused, he stared at his face:
his eyes were still blue, his complexion still chaste."
"His hair was still shiny and black as the night,
and his teeth were still even and perfect and white."
"What's wrong with these people?" he wondered out loud,
"Why isn't my beauty drawing a crowd?"
"Yes, he was still just as handsome, he touched his smooth chin,
not knowing true beauty lies under the skin."
"Well, what happened to him?" the children all asked,
"Did he come crawling back home, sad and downcast?"
"Naw, he actually did make it, he became quite a star,
he had the big houses, the money, the cars.
And girls flocked to him, but didn't stay long,
and he never did figure what always went wrong."
"So he died old and bitter, in his penthouse above:
childless and joyless, still filled with self-love."
©Danielle White
The poet does not see reality, but sees beyond its enchanted veil,
Through his eyes unfold the mysteries of the world, in mantles of light and shadow,
A young wanderer on the paths of imagination, mastering the unpolished art of dreams,
With every gaze, he pierces through earthly layers, discovering hidden magics.
Under the starry sky, he unravels the deep song of the night, where silence becomes poetry,
Every drop of dew on leaves, a diamond sparkling in infinite stories,
The stars, torches of the ever-burning soul, whisper the secrets of the universe,
In the moonlight, shadows become eternal riddles, dancing on untamed paths.
In the wild gardens, the flowers reveal the murmur of life, the hidden nectar of sorrow,
He sees the forest as a cathedral of sacred essences, the deer as the silent priests of the night,
Every tree, an altar of unspoken memories and desires,
Where the leaves fall like longings, whistling through rivers of astral light.
Through the lines written with ink of yearning, the poet explores other worlds,
Stepping on bridges of words, in realms where fantasy has its throne,
He carries his love and pain in tireless verses, guided by the echoes of destiny,
Constantly seeking through the veils of reality, the hidden truth of the dream.
By extinguished fires, where the embers sing their farewell song, moments become paraphrases of an undeciphered future,
He does not see reality, but weaves words from its essence, discovering the miracles hidden under the skin of time,
In the depths of the universe, each star becomes a metaphor for boundless longing,
And in this endless quest, the poet becomes an alchemist of souls, transforming reality into pure magic.
There is a circle of misunderstood signs dancing at the horizon's edge, deliberately hidden,
Where simple eyes see only land, he sees poetry springing from unexplored dreams,
On the path to the unknown, between reality and the realm of the fantastic,
He steps lightly, leaving traces of light behind, a story ever alive, stirring hearts and destinies.
The season approaches,
Speeding toward us on arctic zephyrs,
but the coldness is more than air
it seeps under the skin
where loneliness begins.
Is there any other day
where solitude's talons rake,
mutilating peace of mind,
quite so much as Christmastide.
Every commercial, acid sweet,
pouring depression over wounded souls,
digs it way to the past.
Memories of brighter days
faintly gleam in the background.
The twinkle of lights are
only merry when shared.
Lumps of coal bitterness
are all that remain;
Hard Candy Christmas
without the sweet--
Not even an orange seed.
Ask Ebeneezer,
he will tell you
Bah and Hum Bug feelings
are all there are.
Until kindness reaches out,
Memories are no chrism
for loneliness--for onliness.
Solo flights over Christmas lights
No protective V to shelter
no tandem lift for spirits
even in a bottle;
just wings ever weakening;
Lifeforce ever shrinking
on this journey to the end.
One invitation--
one empathetic heart
in the true spirit
to celebrate en
mass for Christ;
hands extended heart open
turn gleaming tears
to smiles of gratitude.
Forget the gifts
except those God-given
it is they that open
the Kingdom of Heaven
"Inasmuch as ye have
done to the least of these
my brethren,
ye have done unto me."*
So open wide the doors,
invite the lonely in,
add a plate to the table
shared with kith and kin.
Embrace the coldness
of an empty heart
to fill it with riches
as you let them be a part
of a family again,
if only for a while.
Remember that neighbor
who sits on his own,
great uncle dan eating
crackers and microwave meals,
or even the couple who just moved in
or the old sad lady who lives next to them.
Christmastime can glitter
and be the darkest blue.
It's hues and lightness
vary, impacted and changed by you.
Don't know one with this face?
Open your eyes,
but peer with your heart.
If someone comes to mind,
beckon them, Come!
It's a place to begin.
* Matthew 25:40
We are left in the field, forced to labor the land.
Not one tool in hand shall feel wrath.
Yet the vines should fear presence.
We were lead to this point where darkness found.
The morning dew looked as if caught by surprise.
The steps leading to the potato patch, did not even lead to that.
We try to grasp an understanding, although I will not stand under anything given.
For bushels of fruit laced with serpents, seems like deja vu;
Blankets with chicken pox.
We was left in the field forced to labor the land.
Maybe cause my skin is dark instead of light skin.
We ponder in sleep what this supposes to mean.
We strive to move forward, although they push us back.
The willing will rise but what if they meet opposition.
Will they shrink under the skin, or stand boldly in the wind.
I read in between the lines, only noticing
The only thing that is left is the lines without the n.
I am trapped in the belly of the beast,
Called land of the free but we're taxed for everything.
How to escape this matrix, is the only way out is death.
For I will fight into my dying day, then I will go to hell and fight some more.
People never thought of us, as being black the giver of life.
They only stuck on the light I spread, so they can mix words up and serve it
To you backwards my friend.
Remember when you pray at night, we are waiting for you in the morning.
We stare through your windowpane.
We try to alleviate the pain; of the rain.
For us was in the beginning, along with the Asiatic black man.
As you see when you look at us, you staring at the melanin you see.
Just remember one thing without we, the earth would be bare.
This is the reason why birds salute, an educated black man,
For We are the twins of the Rising Sun.