Long Warning shot Poems
Long Warning shot Poems. Below are the most popular long Warning shot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Warning shot poems by poem length and keyword.
The Hunter
(His identity and his prey)
Love is blind, deaf, dumb and stupid.
I blame it all on the imp called Cupid.
No warning shot did he let fly
Before his arrow struck the bulls eye.
The poisoned point of his little dart
Was the reason love grew inside my heart.
The toxin traveled within my veins
And held me with the strength of chains.
(The result of his hunt)
Love spread as quickly as a wildfire,
In heated flames of uncontrolled desire.
It left behind a heart that was torched,
Wounded by being burned and scorched.
I refuse to rhapsodize that love is grand
For it can disappear like words in sand.
Only a romantic fool will ever believe
Love brings only joy and no reason to grieve.
Of sad songs and tears, I've had my fill.
They've left me as cold as winter's chill.
I now sleep alone in my half empty bed.
It's the price to pay when love is dead.
No longer reason for me to linger.
He'd removed the ring from his finger.
Without hope that he'd put it back,
Our marriage was shrouded in funeral black.
From the precipice edge I began to fall,
As high as a towering castle wall.
In fear, I tumbled ever further down
And saved myself before I drowned.
Heart-wrenching, my decision to walk away,
But I could no longer risk my life to stay.
No words of sorrow would I have written
If by Cupid's arrow I'd not been smitten.
How different would be my private thoughts
If he'd not taken aim at my lonely heart.
No memories to keep me awake at night,
Or to recall upon morning's first light.
As bitter as these words may sound,
It's an honest attempt to be profound.
A reflective moment of bereaving.
A remembrance of love's deceiving.
Would I have wished I'd not been shot
And wounded by love? No, I think not.
Even though it has come to an end,
My seared heart has begun to mend.
What good is there to live with regret?
What point in wishing we'd never met?
What once was love is now in the past.
Cupid's potions don't always last.
Sometimes love brings too much pain
With more to lose than there is to gain.
Time has passed without a pause
And broken the hold of Cupid's cause.
I've taken away the hunter's quiver
Before another shot can be delivered.
Another love to tear me apart ~
Another arrow to pierce my heart.
Just about a mile outside Pyrite Town is Black Powder Mountain,
It has a grizzly disposition and a couple of veins of mean.
Lightning licks the peak at every opportunity.
Some went up to tame it and vanished like a dream.
Some say they saw the ghost of an old Chickasaw chief.
One night, a 90-proof bet got the better of me.
I quickly packed up some grub and a fifth of bravery.
I brought my four-legged chum, for a little bit of company.
We made our way through the speckled forest.
Waded through half a dozen icy creeks.
A thick mist slithered up the neck of the valley.
That night I prayed up a little fire to keep the ghosts off the dream.
The night dealt nothing but jokers and spades.
Something brutish barreled through the forest.
My eyes were wider than the barrel of my gun.
I fired off a warning shot to keep the phantoms on the run.
Imagination was beating like a war drum.
Somewhere in the trickster's night I lost my little chum.
I never made it to the summit and lost the 90-proof bet.
A day later, as I was airing out my tent.
Out popped the faintest chant and a pale green arrowhead.
How can we have made it this far,
and still not know what we’re doing?
We’ve come to that fork in the road,
where each way will lead to ruin.
Cause everything we’ve been told is a lie…
Does anyone care if we live or die?
So why can’t we all understand,
you and I will be next to go.
If we keep following this plan,
then no one will survive the blow.
Because once the oceans have all gone dry…
Will anyone care if we live or die?
I wonder what’ll rise from the ash,
after all the trees are burned down.
What life will spring up from the dry,
and barren, charcoal-covered ground?
When nothing but thick black clouds fill the sky…
There will be no choice if we live or die.
Now I have fired the warning shot,
I hope that the sound will be heard.
If we don’t try our very best,
then we will get what we deserve.
It’s enough to make the hardest heart cry…
Let’s all decide we want to live, not die.
I don't want a flimsy daisy chain love
one the slightest breeze will sever apart
Their blooms are as pure as a turtle dove
I won't play childish games with my heart
Plucking flower petals, I would never do
for he either loves me, or he loves me not
Cupid drew his little bow and an arrow flew
He missed but I consider it a warning shot
Love is seldom simple. I'm aware of that
Unless built on honesty, it will surely fail
The man I will love must wear a white hat
not some scoundrel who carries a tall tale
The truth in matters will someday be told
So I'll not pluck daisies and strip them bare
One day my heart will discover and enfold
the hero searching for me, his own lady fair
July 7th, 2017
*Thank you, Marti Sutherland, for writing in tandem with me.
Love is blind, deaf, dumb and stupid.
I blame it all on the imp called Cupid.
No warning shot fired over my head
His arrow struck and brought me dread.
The poisoned point of that lethal dart
Was the reason love grew inside my heart.
The toxin traveled within my veins
And held me with the strength of chains.
Love spread as quickly as a wildfire,
In heated flames of uncontrolled desire.
It left behind a heart he had torched,
Bleeding, torn and badly scorched.
I refuse to rhapsodize that love is grand
it can be washed away like words in sand.
Only a romantic fool will ever believe
Love brings only joy and no reason to grieve.
Of sad songs and tears, I've had my fill.
They've left me cold as winter's chill.
I now sleep alone in my half empty bed.
It's the price to pay when love is dead.
No longer reason for me to linger.
He'd removed the ring from his finger.
Without hope that he'd want to put it back,
Our marriage was shrouded in funeral black.
From the precipice edge I began to fall,
As high as a towering castle wall.
In fear, I trembled ever further down
Into a moat of tears, I fell and drowned.
Heart-wrenching, my decision to walk away,
But I could no longer risk my life to stay.
No words of regret would I have written
If by Cupid's arrow I'd not been smitten.
How different would be my thoughts
If he'd not taken aim at my lonely heart.
A reflective moment of bereaving.
A remembrance of love's deceiving.
Would I have wished I'd not been shot
And wounded by love? No, I think not.
Even though it's all come to an end,
My bleeding heart has begun to mend.
What good is there to live with regret?
Or in wishing that we'd never met?
What once was love is now in the past.
Cupid's potions don't always last.
Sometimes love brings too much pain
With more to lose than there is to gain.
Time has passed without a pause
And broke the hold of Cupid's cause.
I've taken away the hunter's quiver
Before another shot can be delivered.
Another love to tear me apart ~
Another arrow to pierce my heart.
....................................................
2-18-16
The Heart That Bleeds: Forever Malta
He was a nice quiet gentle man
He had family friends wife and a daughter too
But Rayshard Brooks was also a black man
He was just waiting for a burger at Wendy's drive-through
He'd been for a drink and was tired that time of day
He fell asleep in his car
Wendy's called the police, there's a car in the driveway
They probably didn't need to go that far
The police came and woke Rayshard Brooks up from his dream
They made him walk the line, watch their finger move across his face
They talked to him for ages or so it seemed
They made him show he did not need a brace
He had passed a 20 minute sobriety test
But then they insisted on a breathalyzer too
He blew .108, and that set up the arrest
He would have been under if he had a burger and milk shake too
They went to handcuff him
Rayshard thought of George Floyd and his fate
And decided to resist, run and escape them
He was running away but it was all a bit too late
Although the cops had his name licence and car
And they could have picked him up later
Three shots were fired right at him, quite bizarre
With no warning shot for that matter
They shot him in the back twice
Lethal force was not warranted to defend
The charge should be murder with a price
Another murder most foul, so hard to apprehend
Another black man is shot dead
Laying in his blood where he bleed
After Rayshard Brooks had been killed
Protesters came to Wendy's from the up the hill
They set the place ablaze
In a fit of revenge and rage
Everyone has had enough of all of that stuff
And now is the time to get tough
Murder murder they cried
That black man did not need to die
Everyone is now marching in the streets
Nothing is going to stop these feet
Sunlight is streaming through the tree limbs
A dancing wind rushes through the air
Two clomping horses mounted with riders
Gallop across a background so fair
Together they will face the trials
Of desert sun and freezing nights
Indian raids that just might come
When they least expect the fights
Cactus flowers brighten the trail
With pink and gold and orange
Colors seeming to draw them near
To the deserted landscape of scavengers
If a Indian crosses the plains
Making their way into view
The cowboys will fire a warning shot
To dissuade the onslaught of misconstrue
Hopefully, they will make it back home
Without losing a horse or a man
But will their bosses understand
When they arrive without their cowboy hands?
Last Night
There is a stillness in the house
While I wait, as quiet as a mouse
I soak it up, this quiet respite
For very soon, I'll be more desperate
I will need the peace inside myself
To put my needs up on the shelf
For at this very moment
I hear the gravel of the tires
No warning shot, no cannon fires
Coming up the winding driveway
I can hear the troops, they are like an army
I hear them comin' ...., (and yes, I love them!)
This Morning:
Pots and pans fill up the sink, with baked on, crusty bits
There are several plates of dried up cheese, and dips with soggy Ritz
The kitchen floor has sticky goo, where the bowl of gravy spilled
And scattered glasses here and there, (a few are still half-filled)
New sofa pillows are on the floor, the dog is sleeping there!
The gift of chocolates, someone brought me...have somehow disappeared!
A rumpled afghan, lies in a heap, where someone took a nap
Beneath the chair, a scarf, a shoe, and someone's fleese lined wrap
There is Chex mix, legos, tinker toys, helter-skelter around the floor
Chocolate crumbs, beneath my feet, and handprints on the door
The remote control, was out the door, I found it on the porch!
The telephone was ringing too, and took an hour's search!
I'm finding candle wax, and a few thumb tacks, a mix of this and that
I keep finding things, ...then can't find things, has anyone seen the cat??
A turkey carcass stares at me, ......(I guess I'll make some soup)
A messy bunch of people, they are, but if you think I'm duped................
Thanksgiving Day, with family here, (although they leave a mess...)
A holiday, the best of things, and yes, I know I'm blessed!
Pure and sinful. Saintly and filthy.
An angry dog. Teeth sharp and gnashing. I don’t understand why I’m so angry.
A warning shot before I’m put down. Knocked to the ground, air leaves my lungs in form of sharp breath.
Mans best friend is a quiet woman and lord only knows I am not.
Perfect until my mouth opens.
Then I have opinions and am devalued.
I am bark and bite.
Dog. .
Put me on a leash and lead me around, why don’t you?
I will drag my heels and disobey.
Nip at you and run away.
Mans best friend is a woman that submits.
So I bend the rules and run wild.
Tall grass tickles my legs.
Morning dew drips.
Stray.
Form:
High atop our chimney breast,
Lives Steve Seagull upon his nest.
He’s a highly trained, bombing master,
Atop my rooftop, his name spells disaster.
If you’re like me, and live down by the sea,
You’d better hide quick, and find the nearest tree.
He thinks the seaside sky’s his domain,
And his mission is to cause both misery and pain.
Steve seagull, he dominates his space,
As you take leave of your house, of your place.
He swoops down low, he targets your head,
And ‘bombs away’ he just misses you instead.
That was his warning shot, next time you won’t be so lucky,
Next time will hit you, and you’ll be feeling all mucky.
You’ll have to return home, and you’ll then need a shower,
And Steve Seagull triumphantly returns atop of his tower.