Long Villainy Poems
Long Villainy Poems. Below are the most popular long Villainy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Villainy poems by poem length and keyword.
A golden ray of Sun filtering through,
a bright star behind the eclipsed moon,
a child's laughter in a rage of voices,
a sweet dream in a world of nightmares.
rivers gushing through parched cracked earth,
rain dancing over buds of fresh green leaves,
sadness in my heart, sweetness of your look,
that smile despite the tears in our eyes.
trying times for the world at large,
demonic display of extreme cruelty,
lies camouflaged, wrapped in religious bigotry,
priest that preach hatred rather than love.
but stay. think of this unflagging truth.
there is always more goodness than there is evil,
there is more compassion than savagery,
there is more love and faith, than villainy.
for centuries now good has always prevailed,
the evil doers have perished in their own quagmire,
Stay. the Sun is coming through the darkness,
let’s smile and wipe each others tears, and of others.
How to Become a Fascist
Clan thinking and group thinking are always dangerous
Our loyalty to the group we belong to betrays us
Waving of flags makes us think we have the right on our side
We are blind to the downside of this certainty
We stop considering an alternative, our narrowness
Makes us think other people suffering is their fault
For not following our path of righteousness
When outsiders reject our way, we react with fury
We will, in the name of freedom (ours) and slay
Any opponent as an enemy of our holly values
we say we must protect ourselves against this villainy
our rationale is unconscious fascism.
WRITTEN IN PSYCHEDELIC INK
Wrongly chosen words convey naught
Creating impressions of the wrong sort
Even when inspiring lines deny empathy
Especially showing contempt for simile
Causing bloody battles to be hard fought
It’s errors despite what has been taught
As some confusion can still be wrought
An innocent mistake rather than villainy
And ink is the black blood of metaphor
Such a psychedelic tone can’t be bought
When the brain is ordered hard to port
Bad interpretation is the hidden enemy
Betrayed in the garden of Gethsemane
Sometimes a poetic drift is never caught
And ink is the black blood of metaphor
Line 4
While snowflakes continue to fall,
upon a night pale as ghostly winter
I falter from my own distraught pause--
the hazy moon watches my young girl
a serene angel laying in starshine, on a bed
frigid cold with her tiny body
wrapped in fine linen and pink bonnet:
I could still recall her pupils tightening,
while through glimpses silent, my own mouth
utters, ' fight, my dear one, fight!'
Yet, her last gasp escapes a frozen outline,
those eyes blinking restlessly up high
as my fallen gazes droop at her gaunt form --
How this heart cleaves till screams rack
my own body with convulsive, inconsolable
anguish: this route to a thievish doom
makes me seethe, slam, screech at life
for my child's unborn dreams ...never to fly, ever.
It rains and a mantle of tears drown
upon her skin, my face in endless whys--
as I howl with night birds for the villainy of time.
Verses of Metaphors 3- RHYME OR FREE VERSE ONLY
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04.26.2019
Charlie was dead
Charlie was dead: to begin with,
There is no doubt whatever about that.
I leave my residue to Carol for Christmas
and Little Dorrit his faithful Tom Cat.
There’s been hard times here in Bleak House,
Villainy and miserly crime capers,
I spent my fortune in shops of curiosity,
Pickwick wrote of it, in his gossip papers.
You gather here with great expectations,
Of bequeaths, chattels and yield.
But listen well to my loyal Trustees,
Messrs Chuzzlewit and Copperfield.
To that twister and Street Urchin Oliver,
and to show I bear him no grudge,
I do leave a Crown and one Farthing,
and a sixpence to Barnaby Rudge.
To our mutual friends Dombey and Son,
Please accept my cane and fine silk scarf.
May you prosper all the year round,
As comfortable as a Cricket on a hearth.
So, here is my last Will and Testament,
Yes, I’m worthless, so whimper and brood.
Where did it all go, there is no mystery,
Lost at Cards to Nickleby and Drood.
KS 6/11/2017
Under the veil of twilight, where shadows whisper secret truths,
Lies an unspoken world, untouched by the gentle hand of forgiveness.
No forgiveness for deeds, not even for stray thoughts,
Where the censor’s ink leaves the page blank, yet the truth unmoved.
In the echoes of the mountains, in the embrace of the fog, nothing dissolves,
Time breaches the healer’s vow, and our misdeeds rise large.
People will call upon us in dark times, and in vain,
Revealing no other perspective in the face of the abyss.
Perched upon the shoulders of our dead, the sins and betrayals of yore,
In ancestral tales, they are just deceit and villainy—
Our language offers no cure for this leprosy of the soul.
Do not hope to blame age or chance, or the poverty of spirit.
No escape in environment, in education, boredom, or backwardness,
Eyes entwined, bodies imperfect, talents scarcely sufficient.
To hear not, to know not, to leave lessons unanswered,
Standing still at the threshold of enlightened worlds.
Those who survived are only ancestors, do not boast, children,
Whisper a word for us, the unforgiven,
Who bear the weight of history’s silent reproach,
Lost souls seeking the elusive embrace of redemption.
In dreams, we traverse mist-laden paths to forgotten realms,
Where the ghosts of past mistakes cast lingering shadows,
And the melancholic dance of memory weaves its magic,
Binding us in a spell of intertwined sorrow and hope.
For in this twilight, where past and present converge,
We find the delicate balance of our existence,
A symphony of what was and what could be,
In the ever-flowing river of time’s poignant reflection.
The Charlatan
In honesty young Sir, I have good reason to doubt,
When you tell me “My word is my bond.”
I fear your insistent asseveration is but a scam,
With hope to take my chattels and abscond.
You talk in a manner of self-confidence,
It would be easy to succumb to your plan.
A charlatan, a dishonest schemer, a cheat,
Not as you assert, “the epitome of an altruistic man”
I have testimony to your wicked villainy,
From a Woman of good character and trust.
It is self-evident, positively axiomatic,
You are but a common thief;
I feel only disgust.
for Roberts Triple A Challenge contest
I’ll sing you dream songs
that last as long as the hills
but know this my love
it’s fullness IS
the striving of our wills
Against the darkness
that has crept stealthily
into the hearts of man
I cannot describe
this latent longing
to rest mine eyes
upon the faces of my joy
to stay there reticent
upon the turn of your gaze
Soft sentience gathers
like a cloak of gauze
to be not disaffected by
the backs of those who consume
the refuse of worthlessness
and despise excellencies
but prefer the violations of every
virtue , whose villainy
is unconcealed on any level
considered the character
OF MAN
Salacious , drooling compounded
with the Sophistry of sophistication
Supercilious in their vanities
as rottenness to a tree
Nay , but here I seek
a palate for the delicacy
yielding tender fruit
so desirable as it’s fleeting
from a world gone course
that swallows any thoughts
of pursuing a nature
whose potency can be clearly seen
I defy your erosions
corrosion of thought and deeds
whose love is less than
rutting animals
I decry your mogul media
your grand theatrics
I have divorced you
to pursue a finer thought
I’ll pass you on the street
you will have my hello
but don’t expect to drag me
to your peers whose
consciousness is gone
even in the daytime
I will , my time
with the quality , geniality
of thoughts vibrant
of the orchestral heights
and cast your lows
into some other state
COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Henry Morgan
Pirate of the Caribbean
Henry Morgan is my name
Pirating is my fame
My story has been told
There’s only one I claim
1635 was the year of my birth
The eldest son of a gentleman farmer
In Llanrhymny, Wales. I had
no desire in filling the shoes of my father
With hopes of adventure and fun
I left to seek my fame and fortune
Shanghaied and shipped off to the West Indies
and sold in Barbados was my misfortune
I survived and regain my freedom
and was recruited by a pirate crew
Prospering in my new profession we
bought our own ship and sailed the ocean blue
Raiding the Caribbean Spanish settlements
earning us a reputation as ruthless
fearsome, villainy buccaneer pirates
under old Dutch pirate Capt. Edward Mansveltz
In 1672 I was brought up on charges.
Attacking Panama violated a treaty
between England and Spain. Found not guilty
Instead Knighted by King Charles II and set free
Knighted pirate of the Caribbean
12/29/2015
Poetry Contest: A storm on the Spanish Main
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Of course not, you don't mean it
No one ever does
The new sacrificial lamb at your foul altar
Lost among historical fuzz
Should we live another century
The history books will claim
It was a violent tragedy
For which villains we must blame
But villainy is frighteningly common
When the status quo is shaken
Millennials cling to Harry Potter
And our lives are forsaken
"Quiet you, it's not so bad,
Now vote for your slow death."
To use us for sweet brownie points
And damn us with your next breath
It's never offering a lifting hand
Or a place onboard the Ark
It's always shame and scarce-veiled threats
Of leaving us in the dark
Clinging to false roles you learned
When you were but a teen
Biology is so much more
Yet you hide behind a screen
Cover your eyes, state your pride
Say you're better than the rest
Yet cast your lot with abusers
Since nicely they were dressed
I've no faith in baby blue
That shade has become red
Because I've seen you in sheep's clothing
Wishing that I was dead.