Long Unmercifully Poems
Long Unmercifully Poems. Below are the most popular long Unmercifully by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unmercifully poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, Poverty,
You merciless ruler of billions,
Your empire of want, across the globe
You have stretched
As
In your unpitying passage,
No village
No town
No city
No nation
No continent is left
Unoccupied
By
Your ruthless forces:
Of suffering
Of Misery
Of agony
Of despair, and
Of calamitous death.
-
The innumerable subjects of yours
Subjugated are
By
The powerful heartless few
Who
Their ruthless decrees:
Of cruelty
Of indifference
Of inconsideration, and
Of shameful exploitation have been
For centuries, unmercifully applying,
Grinding your subjects in
Their shameful mills of fathomless greed,
Always,
Taking for themselves the lions share, first,
And then for more are they asking,
While
The deprived multitude of starving
Women, men, and children
On empty stomachs, they march
The
Horrid enemy of starvation to face
On
Famine’s unforgiving front of their demise,
Wishing thus
To die in the battle of survival with dignity,
Than
In agony to live another day
Without hope that their dream of satiety
Will ever come alive!
Oh, poverty,
Don’t ask me how did I come
Your grimy nature so well to know
But
If ever I were asked,
Here is my reply:
" I know you, oh poverty so well,
for
since my birth, a loyal subject of yours I have been
and still a loyal subject of yours
I remain to this day!"
© Demetrios Trifiatis
25 May 2021
My body hates you
Holding me near enough to your heartbeat
Tucking my hair behind my ear so I can hear your broken voice talk me through the war of your battlefield
Through unmercifully intimate actions you drew me in
Until you decided it was your turn to be cruel, like everyone had been to you
Before so forgirveful as grace followed you
Now written with dirty scars and the ongoing pain of the broken promises behind your eyes
With each stolen glance, follows a gulp of guilt.
Years of regret are to come, both of us know.
At least one of us fought.
My body hates you.
No longer repulsed by your lack of love or care
But instead purely emptied as you walk by
I forget myself sometimes, when I feel my arms reach for you
Hoping you’d catch them once more, carry me away from all the troubles that would soon catch up to us
It’s a longing feeling.
My body hates you but my arms forget
Since moving to our brand new home
There's things I haven't found
Like my pair of pearly white dentures
And Dufus our basset hound
Still haven't located my tightie whities
People are holding their noses
Till I find 'em gonna use lots of cologne
And carry a bouquet of roses
Now certain things take top priority
Like oil for my artificial leg
The damn thing squeaks unmercifully
“FIND THAT OIL!” Cathie begs
The kitchen stuff's in the living room
We're sleeping out on the lawn
Neighbours are peering out their windows
Expecting some “goings on”!
All things considered we're doing fine
Minor inconveniences they are
We'll soon be sleeping in out of the rain
And be happy campers, by gar!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Tussled hair, bruised knees, toothless, lop-sided grin;
Ma is so thankful her dear little imp wasn't born a twin!
She likes things running smoothly, like a finely-tuned violin,
But her little boy marches to his own drum, much to her chagrin!
To begin the day he feeds his breakfast oatmeal to the dog.
Opening a drawer, Ma lets out a screech, finding a slimy frog!
He encourages a fight between Rusty the dog and Simba the cat,
And 'round and 'round they go, in raucous heated combat!
The preacher made his periodic call and settled in his seat.
A whoopee cushion made a lewd noise, startling him to his feet!
He mumbled a hasty good-by, and headed for the door,
As the little imp, choking with laughter, rolled upon the floor!
Ma made treats for her bridge club, saying they were not his fare,
But on bridge day, lo and behold, she found the cupboard bare!
He pestered his little sister unmercifully with never any slack!
"Mommy", she screamed, "he put a slimy worm down my back!"
Tho' he drives his long-suffering mother up the wall,
She wouldn't trade him for any other little boy at all.
After his prayers at bedtime and seeing his sweet, angelic smile,
Ma plops in her chair seeking repose from another daily trial!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Here she comes again,
That clip-happy, snippy crone who fancies herself a gardener.
What?
She is doing such a horrible job of it.
She clipped two of us unmercifully yesterday,
And we both had potential, talent, and gloriousness
These other buds can never hope to achieve.
Duck, my friends, hide.
The thorns are not doing a good job of snatching at her.
We need her cut up, and bleeding
So she will return to the house.
Love it that she has on a new straw hat with a gay ribbon.
Leopard spots; makes sense for her.
She is a leopard, leaping and crushing us, under her
Silly garden shoes with the decorative owls.
She is snipping and singing.
Hey!
Watch what you are doing you old hag.
Uh-oh. She is cutting this way.
Dhramn!
She got me!
-I love the simplicity of the old one. But this extended version is special, I think...-
Caskets unmade
Naked bodies sprawled in waste
Yellow, white and pale brown skins all in one
Emaciated fear lingering in the pale eyes
Spines tingle at the crunch of excessive skeletons
Grimy boots unmercifully stomp
Nostrils used to the stench
Ready or not, embracing the ash
Afraid to express
Afraid to breathe
Unable to stop the grief
Colder eyes than the dead themselves look on
They are bored, it seems
Untainted by the sound of groans
Unmoved by the crack of weak spines
Spineless themselves, these guards even smile
Frozen, blue eyes iced with a sneer
Black, demonic pupils steadied overtime
The corpses reflected in their transparent gloss
Teeth grind
A young boy picks up a dried hip bone
Small, calloused fingers clutch the last of his father
The eternal frowned mouth is caked with drool, tears and muck
Hair whitened as if ghosts have stolen his youth
This bone is jagged and worn
Once used by force as a bowl for his insect-infested meal
Shakily given to Her—the last She would eat
Before the officials watched Her slowly starve
Today the bone will be used as a shovel—his final labor
Last effort for closure
The boy knows they are all looking
Both the enemy and the oppressed unified
All experiencing, all watching
He simply knows that overtime,
Tears of hope will decompose the hardest of hearts
And the boy drives his shovel into the hard ground
Pounding away at the chilled, blood-stained soil
Drowning out the groans with his own cries
Flooding the dryness with his sorrows
Breaking up the surface to bury Sleeping Kate
Sleeping Kate showed the officers
The skeleton she built out of bone fragments
Sleeping Kate told them we were all the same inside
With this truth, she died
With their guilt, they continued life
They tried. . .
The officers tried to bury Sleeping Kate
But Sleeping Kate is always alive,
Building skeletons in their minds. . .
Billy the Kid had a brother whose name was Joe
and after the Kid's death he let everyone know
that he would kill Pat Garrett unmercifully on sight
for killing his brother on that mournful night.
Joe and a friend were drinking in a saloon
when Pat Garrett unexpectedly entered the room.
Garrett then approached Joe and said this to him,
"Have a drink with me and I'll explain what really happened."
Joe then excused himself from his friend
and joined Garrett at a table on the bar's other end.
Both spoke briefly, shook hands and parted ways.
Joe's friend then asked him, "What did he say?"
Joe looked at him and said to his friend,
"Like he said, he explained to me what really happened."
*
The above is all true according to documented history.
The following however is my own fantasy.
*
Both of their eyes locked hard on one another.
Garrett then spoke with this grieving, vengeful brother.
"Before I reveal anything to you
I need your word that this stays between me and you.
If word of this gets out your brother is as good as dead."
Joe paused for a moment and then he said,
"You killed my brother," he said fighting not to cry.
"No I didn't," responded Garrett, "He's still alive.
I killed the wrong man and claimed it was him.
Your brother is on the run, but he's still living.
All the residents of Fort Sumner are in compliance with me.
They have all sworn themselves to secrecy
and have signed affidavits certifying that the body
buried at Fort Sumner is your brother. He's deceased officially.
This is your brother's last opportunity
to go underground and live his life more meaningfully.
However, before he left he gave to me
this letter for his brother Joe to read."
Garrett handed Joe the letter, shook his hand and left.
Joe opened the letter and this is what it read.
"My Dear Brother Joe, I am still alive.
Don't believe everything those newspapers write and contrive.
It's so very difficult for me to let you all go
but I'm starting my life anew in Old Mexico.
Please know that loving thoughts of you
will always be with me.
Forever your brother,
William H Bonney"
They call me the charger I told white string haughtily.
Then who am I? White string asked.
Sticking up her aluminum cubed nose,
Refusing to be plugged into my adaptor.
"Daddy calls Mommy the charger!" Sadie defended me.
Sadie is four, and I am her she-roe, teaching her the art of charging.
"I call her that!" My mother-in-law agrees from the backseat, where
she prefers to sit, where it is "safe" according to her own snootiness.
I want to take my daughter and run back into the store and charge
more stuff now, feeling slightly irritated. Charging always puts me
into a much better mood. It's like not paying, rather like stealing as
I never see the bills. My husband pays them after grousing unmercifully about them.
"I am the charger or I am not going to be plugged in today," Charger One says. I rapidly realize I am surrounded by enemies here, so I back down and say, "You can be Charger One, and I will be Charger Two, okay?"
Darling One from the backseat calls out, "Lunch is on me. Let's go to McFrizbee's," making her now the ultimate favorite in my Sadie's world. Assuming she will be using plastic, she has slyly snagged the Charger 2 position. I am livid.
Once upon a mountaintop a she-monster named Mazy
was searching for a man.
She wanted a young, honest alien man. Not a nutty old
tooth-jagged Monster like Bill or Dan.
We were horrified. Inner-galaxy dating was ridiculous.
It did not work, and was crazy.
Bill and Dan had already trained lots of wives,
and if anyone needed wife-training, it was Mazy.
She was an odd duck, always reading a book,
studying biographies, and learning crazy new things.
No Monster Man wants a smart wife; they all want an un-learned one
Who will let them be overbearing kings.
They want to be able to order them up and down, here and there,
Women who are non-subversively.
They want women who will submit to their will,
Think they are smart, and revere them unmercifully.
Mazy had been terribly spoiled. She had been allowed to paint,
and laugh, and sing, or hug a tree.
Worst of all, she was reading Encyclopedias, was working on her Teacher Training PhD.
All she should be taught to do is clean the cave out for her husband and bring his dinner on time,
This other junk, she would never use was an absolute total waste of energy sublime.
Mazy at 23 was not getting any younger -way too happy and pretty for her own “good”.
“She is certifiable,” the jealous ones said. “She will die a horrible death, alone, as a spinster should.
She was holding out for an alien man she had danced with on Venus in many of her terrific dreams.
He came down in his spaceship on a Thursday, and
Whisked Mazy away to where her visions had always dream-seen.
Leaving earth planet, some of us heard Alien Zeke tell her, “You may learn as much as you want now.”
What insane sorcery is this? That is crazy talk, right? We petitioned her to come back and bow.
We wanted her to choose Monster Bill or Dan and stop learning a new language every single week.
But for some odd reason, she stayed away, in the arms of her progressive alien man named Zeke.
Written Jan 25, 2019 Contest: A Fairy Tale For Children
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Winter storm Blizzard, dangerous
White out conditions. An unassuming man
From Puerto Rico was driving in it, when
He and hundreds of others were forced to
Exit the interstate.
He was glad, as he had spent three hours
Driving a mere thirty-eight miles
“And when I was almost
Here three reindeer
Crossed the road In front of me,”
He Informed the TV man
“Deer,” the commentator responded.
The man did not understand.
“Yes, reindeer,” he said, Nodding his head.
Four notorious good ‘ole sit-around Charlies
At Joe’s coffee shop could not
Stop laughing as they watched
The telecast.
“Shh! He is on the other side of your
Divider,” their waitress told them.
They could not let up. It was too good.
“Santa,” one whispered
Rudolph,” another said.
The men in the flannel shirts could stop laughing,
As soon as the laughter resided, someone would
Throw out another idea and the booth would shake.
Sometimes they pounded the table.
They were wiping their eyes,
By the time their food came.
Unmercifully making fun of this outsider
Having no idea he was a world-renown
University professor who
Was recording their every word on the
Opposite side of that tiny plastic divider.
He made double his salary that year,
During a little sabbatical,
Promoting his book entitled
“The Blatant Rudeness of
Americans.” He was on Ellen too.