Long Wailed Poems
Long Wailed Poems. Below are the most popular long Wailed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wailed poems by poem length and keyword.
...Steel Hands leapt to the ropes to celebrate,
what a dramatic comeback victory!
cried out his joy while pumping his fists,
right there for the whole audience to see,
but his joy vanished hen he turned on back,
McGill still lay there, by tremors was wracked.
The ring doctor was crouched over his form,
and called frantically for medical help,
another man began to do C.P.R.,
was McGill dead? Still hands just couldn’t tell.
but all thoughts of ego and titles died,
nothing but horror remains in his eyes.
Were money and belts worth what he had done,
even though it wasn’t his attention?
To win a sport he’d put a man near the grave,
so that his name by most folk would be mentioned,
he’d hurt a man seeking fortune and fame,
that would be how folks remembered his name…
He did not hear them announce he had won,
to the hospital Ray Richardson went,
he learned that McGill was barely alive,
and to the ICU he’d been sent,
Ray saw the man’s wife as she loudly bawled,
didn’t feel much like a champion at all.
It had been so long since Steel Hands had felt
a true and compelling reason to pray,
but in that hospital he called out to God,
asked him not to let McGill die this day,
but he was brain dead, despite Steel Hand’s prayer,
trapped deep n a coma, he would stay there.
Richardson wailed when he heard the grim news,
never imagined such an end to a fight,
didn’t care for the money any longer,
only cared about how to make this right,
the media crowed, if it bleeds it leads,
voracious scavengers, looking to feed…
Though he didn’t think much on the uproar,
Ray was brooding, feeling that he had failed,
he was known in life for doing something
That outside the ring would land you in jail,
he decided something right then and there,
and gave his whole fortune for McGill’s care...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
These soft orange blossoms
are more colorful and fragrant
than the velvety, wild roses...
hastily clinging to sturdy sunflowers' stems,
fretting a danger too real and so imminent.
His manly hands attacked her in an orchard of beautiful roses,
and she left blood stains on those delicate, scattered petals...
who did hear the young virgin's painful cry,
subdued by the quails' loud twitter in the shady elms' branches?
Some did, but continued to walk and let her die!
Her mother wailed under the weeping, embracing elms...
they saw her child struggle and despair, but they couldn't help;
why did that brutal man raped her and beat her to death?
And what kind of punishment he deserves for that cruel act?
Wouldn't a just judge be furious and imprison him for life?
A light wind detached the soft orange blossoms from the branches,
and let them gently fall on her violated body to cover with dignity
the purest and youngest blood spilled in the meadow of clovers;
God Himself cried from His throne, and sent His angel of mercy
to the sorrowful and lamenting earth, which had seen the eyes of innocence.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Faith’s coronet trumpets my quest every day
searching the skies and the soul for a way
through ubiquitous mire, muck and mud
dodging arrows, bullets drones and Scuds
Persistence is its own reward, they say
though I can’t cook it, drive it, or put it to bed
Money is better than conversation
all those words that didn’t need to be said
Fools buy the glitter, wise men the gold
the world doesn’t stop ‘cos I’ve gotten old
More and more news and useless inventions
from folks with mostly good intentions…
Another generation now come and gone
failing once more to right all the wrongs
of a world that barely blinked at their presence
whose winds wailed, then whispered ‘evanescence’
Ah, my ambitions are wailed and buffered by unexpected winds,
and the hope for tomorrow is crunching with the weeping leaves
detaching from the branches and becoming yellow, auburn, and dry!
Yesterday I sat by the creek and followed the flow of the gurgling water,
but its sound was too deafening for a nimble mind not seeking tranquillity,
many contemplate death and confront fate's lie that's a mere lullaby:
who has less courage, with no purpose for being alive, can't alter it by a hair!
Bethoughts were clouds suspended over the slow-rotating Earth, I tried
to give them a realization to break the curse spoken by an envious rival;
the quicker I chased them, the faster they fled, and breathlessly I was bound
to fall into unseen dangers never expected to make me feeble and rapidly fall!
Ah, my ambitions are walled and buffered by unexpected winds,
and my wish was to see them go further than they ever could,
not being brutally tortured and taken out of existence totally!
Would I gather the strength to rebuild them as a mighty fortress?
When we dream imagination sets no limits to our ambitions and being bold
is essential to the achievement that clutters the dreamer's mind...
with one exception: never settle down for less if the spirit declares ambiguity!
Kicking the Ball Against the Wall
By Phan Tan Hai
Playing soccer since childhood days
with friends down by the railway tracks;
whenever the train’s whistle wailed,
the match would end, and we’d head home.
Practicing ball skills on the street corner with friends—
shouts, cheers, and laughter
echoing through unforgettable years,
memories traveling to every horizon.
Then came a time of quiet solitude,
clutching the ball back to that old street corner;
only the walls remained as companions,
bouncing the ball back and forth at midday.
The wall seeks no points to score;
winning or losing matters as little as sun or rain.
The wall has no goal, no net—
it simply returns whatever ball comes its way.
The weathered, compassionate wall
bounces the ball back to one's feet;
no echoes remain to be held in memory,
letting them drift away on the wind.
I see myself and the ball as one,
the wall and the rebounding ball as not-two;
no whistle blows to start the game,
while the five aggregates run upon the field.
At night, I light the lamp to read,
watching the seasons drift across the page;
the ball follows characters slender as cranes,
transcribing words beneath the fading moonlight.
I sit, I listen, I perceive—
the ball still appears across the vast sky;
the wall is the unmoving mind,
a mind formless and wordless.
Eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind
manifest like illusions, like morning dew;
ball meets wall—simply "as it is":
no person, no ball, no wall.
Tuesday may bring rain to evoke the helplessness and disdain
of a mourner whose tears flow down a windowpane...
remembering the heart-wrenching image of two towers that tumbled;
and while sirens wailed, a warm September day turned cold!
Lovely roses were the flowers they loved the most,
and visualizing the beautiful days before disaster stroke:
weren't they meant to enhance their devoted spirit...
when hope was the joy they clung to strengthening their grit?
Tuesday may bring rain,
keeping the bluejays and robins away...
will a fiddle or violin play,
as their sad sound is being muffled by a train?
Their children have become lonely teens,
holding inside an inconsolable pain that must be released through music and tears;
see their smiles as when they were alive and thrived
in a great city which was never attacked by an enemy who tried to shatter their pride!
Tuesday may bring rain, letting sorrow begin
by remembering that heart-wrenching scene!
Dedicated to the September 11 Victims
Her eyes filled up the way they do when she is predicting madness
We try not to take her words literally, for she is theatrically over-the-top
Armageddon, she told us, the armies are gathering now for end of times
Who to tell first? The father who abandoned her at eight.
She scoffed, thinking how strange it was that she thought of him first.
He was maybe her least favorite person in the world.
She almost picked up the phone to call her mother
When she realized that she would be pooh-poohed and chastised.
Who to tell? She wailed in a lamenting way to her kitchen clock.
The clock was no help, but her journal was.
She wrote a little note “I wailed in a lamenting way”.
She could use that someday.
Her sister would be going to bed about this time; she worked nights.
What about strangers? It would be fun to alert strangers.
She put on her most colorful outfit and left her home.
Running from house to house, she screamed and yelled and shrieked.
“Armageddon is here! Armageddon is here! Save yourselves!”
The neighbors were accustomed to her;
They did not open their doors or look out. They knew who it was.
O wind, have you been waiting?
O widow, wailed for long?
O wasteland, silver plating?
O will within, burn strong!
Nicker, wicker, ichor.
Fate, Fortune, fancy-free.
Blood of heart, run thee thicker!
Gibbous moon, smile at me!
Golem, shall we pack the bags?
Well, we're wearing rags.
Singularity, smile a-sags?
He who loses, brags.
Yes, and when we older grow:
Carrion feeds the crow?
Lava bursts from, volcano?
Unsteady its flow!
Elder race, did you leave trace?
Basalt towers. Doors.
Panels in the sky, thy face.
Falcon? How she soars.
Weapons wild electrical!
Blast them through the drains!
O causality, thy call!
Wait not for the rains!
Rematch. Planned. Numerous. Strong.
Eyes of glass, thy spark.
O eruptions, last thee long!
Help them fear the dark!
Chaos, steps of pyramid.
Ancient orb thrown down.
Forbidden zone? It got rid!
King without a crown...
Ricky was a poor little fool
Chuck was heading back to school
Mark for his teen angel he did grieve
But Conway knew it was only make believe
Tell Laura I love her Ray did cry
And Jack said goodbye baby bye bye
Ritchie sang about Donna and Ooh my head
Rave on rave on Buddy said
All Don and Phil had to do was dream
Turning Fabian loose made the girls all scream
It's a shame Big Bad John had to die
Mary was telling everyone that's my guy
A runaway tore Del's love apart
Frankie said just ask your heart
Those poni tails were born too late
While Floyd was thinking about his last date
Tommy asked please Mister Sun
The Beach Boys were having fun fun fun
Maurice was pleading for us to stay
Jimmy was on the way to Bim Bom Bay
The Crystal's sang when they got kissed
Chubby wailed let's do the twist
Brother's felt like Cathy's Clown
There were three bells for Jimmy Brown
Leader of the pack didn't get too far
Connie went where the boys are
Someone told me about a teenage queen
And Johnny was crying for Maybelline
Del Vikings said come and go with me
Bobby took us beyond the sea
While Jerry Lee was shaking up
This Time Troy was breaking up
Bobby sang please love me forever
But Johnny said until the twelfth of never
So many songs touched us then
Susie Darlin' , I remember when.
Song title in every line. If you remember them all, you can remember just how
great those years were.
The graveyard still stood in the glade by the woods,
casting shadows against the tall pines.
Last words on a stone, standing off all alone,
in a tangle of branches and vines.
“Here lies Mary Grady, not much of a lady,
cut down in her bed as she dreamed.
By a lover who scorned her, when once he adored her,
from a knife to her throat did she bleed.”
Through dark woods he walked, a young woman he stalked,
as she strolled midst the graves unaware.
His heart cruel and depraved for the murder he craved,
he smiled as she knelt down in prayer.
On the grave set apart, hand over her heart,
she wailed in lament on the stone.
At this moment the man, with a knife in his hand,
took control while she knelt all alone.
Her heart leapt in her chest as his knife slashed her breast,
her blood seeping deep ‘neath the stone.
Deep into the space Mary Grady was placed,
and she died with a sigh and a moan.
Deep within, under her, Mary did stir,
to an innocent’s blood, she did rise.
She sought to avenge, crying out for revenge,
and the murderer shrieked his surprise.
Opalescent and dark, she approached the black heart,
her eyes brimming bright with disdain.
Then she chuckled with glee as the man tried to flee,
thinking that he’d gone mad or insane.
As her spirit came near, his heart pounding with fear,
she grabbed him, her ghostly rage fierce.
“Now it’s YOUR turn.” she said, ripping hair from his head,
and his heart, with her hand, she did pierce.
Mary looked down at the man on the ground,
satisfaction at what she had done.
Now her spirit could rest, his heart ripped from his chest,
conquering evil, she’d won.