Long Weakly Poems
Long Weakly Poems. Below are the most popular long Weakly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Weakly poems by poem length and keyword.
Hoar-Frost Hearts
(with acknowledgment and apologies to Shakespeare)
Who dares compare thee to a winter’s night?
Thou art much darker and more treacherous .
Howling gales render darling buds to blight
And winter’s grip too long and arduous
Holds dark the swollen hope of heavens eye.
Allows false dawn gold weakly blushing peak
Upon the icy crust you would deny
Whilst cursing natures changing course as weak.
But your unending winter has not left
Nor lost the comfort of its ling’ring frost,
Nor death denied the coldness of your depth,
Its numbing sting the solace of love’s loss
Rest now, in time the beating heart will slow,
Rest now embraced by fluffy winter snow.
9/15/2016
He says his name is Gene Pool,
right away I know he is probably American,
there are few to no males
called Gene elsewhere.
Yes I recognize him instantly.
My friends could have all recognized him.
Dogs with their wet noses attuned to the moistness
of blood, sweat and tears would affirmed him.
On main street the sleepy eyed or hopped-up
working-girls nod at him
with the same unconscious neck springs
as the frog in my garden pond,
or the half-submerged toads in their slippery swamps
or –
well almost all we brain-fed
air-breathing, genetically sculptured life-forms.
A silver-backed gorilla peers out of its jungle nest
grunts in recognition,
as another Gene Pool, spear in hand,
slips through the leafy smudge of the jungle.
My thoughts return to the man in front of me;
strangely enough, he resembles me not.
I shake his hand, it seems
the only correct response,
he smiles weakly -
says:
I’m sorry sir, do I know you?
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Scientists have traced the evolution of the four-chambered human heart to a common genetic factor linked to the development of hearts in turtles and other reptiles. The research shows how a specific protein that turns on genes is involved in heart formation in turtles, lizards and humans.” - Gladstone Institute.
Slickly marketed
evangelical leadership packages,
whether liberally or conservatively dressed,
but not when green conservational liberating undressed,
return party favor favorites
for further runaway capital investments
Reinvestments in gloriously cancerous growth
exalting competitive ecopolitical changes
these voices self-predict
should we be wise enough
to elect
and re-elect
and re-select their privileged gifts
delivered opaquely
through non-communicating win/lose debate
Monocultures of patriarchal disempowering capitalism
overpowering green ecofeminist
win/win non-violent communicating
democratic experiences.
What is this desecrating or sacred "CHANGE"
economically and politically coming
to redeem our current pathological real estate?
Is this a threat against those who vote
weakly
and unwisely?
A promise to those who share
StraightWhitePatriarchal privileged intelligence?
Our soul-invested left-brain confidence
against liberal democratic revolutionary love
Or does such forceful enlightenment
promise evermore conservative
capitalistic
evolutionary weapons
for forcibly changing under-invested green democratic
ecological health systems
until living on DeGenerative Earth
is rather more like
trying to give or receive health care delivery systems
midst global chaos
of rapturously narcissistic Hell.
Was this, what it was for?
This path of metaphor
Trails of similes and imagery
Summits of sun-tossed poetry
Have I run this marathon
Bulked up my artistic bond
So on pretty words, rely
To bear witness, as you die?
I would return it all, every single line
To feel your flesh warming mine
How weakly, pen and paper breaks
Under the toll of heaven's weight
Now alone, facing the permanency
Of forever, my tears take a knee
I surrender, I concede, I relent, I submit
To whatever relief belief can give it.
Maybe
If I say my prayers
Just right
Maybe
If I cleanse the sin
From my sight
Maybe
The stars
Will show where you are
Tonight.
7/12/20
The Boogeyman
"Lay your head down child I won't let the Boogeyman come"
another infamous Tool ballad blares out of the speakers.
"Go back to sleep, go back to sleep..."
James (now 14) hits the power button and says to himself
Ha! There ain't no boogeyman in my closet anymore!
Kids stuff! Then turns out the light for the night...
An hour or so passes, the wind blows erratically outside...
The bedroom window is open just a crack...
just enough so the wind ruffles the curtains...
and brings the chill of the night in with it...
James wakes up about then wondering why he shivers
because right about then the wind completely died
He looks to the window, shrugs, gets up and closes it
As he turns around it hit him again, the chill with no wind...
He shakes his head to rid himself of this eerie feeling
Cracks his neck a couple of times and laughs, weakly
Come on stud you're a big boy what are you scared of
"Lay your head down child I won't let the Boogeyman come"
Now laying back in bed that Tool song repeating in his head
over, and over, and over, again, it won't stop
He's starting to get uneasy, along comes another chill
That awful feeling when something bad is crawling up your spine...
Then suddenly his closet door creeks open just a crack
What the !*%?, instinctively he pulls his sheets up to his chin
Now he's freaking, shaking, perspiring, and watching
but nothing comes out, why won't it just come out...
"Lay your head down child I won't let the Boogeyman come"
Now he hears a faint something, a soft scratching
What the hell is happening, he whispers I didn't do anything
Then in his head he heard, "Not believe in me", it's coming...
All of a sudden the door fly's open and James screams
uncontrollably screams while wriggling in his sheets
Yelling Please don't hurt me, please I believe, I believe
Then his cat Jester jumps up onto the middle of his chest...
Poor James just about had a heart attack and peed his pants
right in his bed as Jester starts purring and licking his face
No it can't be? It was, James accidently shut Jester in the closet
"Lay your head down child I won't let the Boogeyman come"
He never listened to that song ever again...
05/24/16
She stood alone at the bar
And without stopping to think
He moved to her side
And bought her a drink.
She was young, she was pretty
Pretty as any girl he’d seen,
But she talked and she talked
Like a runaway machine.
He really thought,
She’ll talk herself to death,
For she never seemed to pause
Even to draw her own breath.
She talked through her drink,
She talked through her food,
She still talked away
Even as she chewed.
She talked and she talked
In a world of her own
It might have been better
If she ever changed her tone.
She invited him to her home,
Invited him to her bed,
And as he declined she asked,
Was it something that I said?
He started laughing then
‘til he couldn’t laugh anymore;
But he was still giggling madly
As she showed him to the door.
And she was still talking
As they stood on the street,
He still giggling weakly
And swaying on his feet.
He bid her a good night,
Unsteadily moved away
Until he reached a place
Where silence held sway.
She was young, she was pretty,
Pretty as any girl he’d seen
But she’d talked and she’d talked
Like a runaway machine.
My muse was blue
and I've been too
She whispered tears
At tyrants' jeers
And feeling shy
Receptor I
To share her words
With you
I peak again
Weakly with pen
And hope again for peace,
Love's hope can never cease
A whisper here
Within my ear
Of a poet's heart
Be true
In hues of blue
Thinking of you
Across the world broad
Brothers/sisters trod
My hope is keen
Though seldom seen
When muse has come
Unglued
Shall I then share?
Because I swear
I'd rather share a rose
Than tears shared in sweet prose
But share I will
A poet still
It's all that I
Can do
So here I am
To you sweet Fam
My precious much-loved group
In our world of Poetry Soup
To Love not hate
It's not too late
To share a hope
Or two!
While releasing the twilight to his bed
from a silent mountain
the leaves of the big trees are falling
the birds wander aimlessly
embrace the clouds as home
floating without wings.
The rain fell weeping on the steadfast corals
watched a stallion busy training
with a swirl of power in his eyes
like tendrils spreading the colors of rain
on his back which was soaked and flowing profusely
without anyone knowing
mama's tears drowned with the rain debris
weaving the history of the wounds of the earth's body
because there is no better season to love him.
When the body is burned by every word that hurts
with hot breath meeting eyes
the source of life opens its lips and flows
all the strands that are shattered
at every moment that greets and spins your shadow
on the circle of the breath of love itself.
With every downpour that cuts off your head and throws it to the ground, as a sign that the eye of life is shrinking back to a small garden—its origin.
To the grove that calls me to understand that every solitude i have ever known is a silence spewed by birds and trimmed lamp wicks—casting shadows on the bare walls and telling stories flavored with the milk of my ancestors, but like an unblown bud that will never hear or know such stories.
Each seed—centuries ago—was a living heart that grew in the black soil of her body and was forgotten among the tense bodies.
As the sun set, they rumbled like snails opening their mouths and spoke of her body's suffering, neighing with their endless pain.
And together we sipped palm wine from different coconut shells, savoring each separate memory, with the ash falling from the sky, entangling her body with roots that gripped the soil tightly.
On this land—I will step again toward rebirth, with the prophecies of the gods touching every probing finger and walking the same path, with my body lying on the grassy shoulder like a broken noose.
Oh; The flowers of the night awake
like eyes without lids
a child's laughter stutters weakly
under the whip of the rainy season
the fire of the eyes dims and goes out
and under the sun that every day
bathes in blood and rises in an empty house
is a sign that—we are not angels.
Atambua-NTT, December 3, 2025
Though the carpet teemed with costumes, toys and figures, laid orderlessly, it was barren.
Distant echoes of the battery powered monkey clapped naively through the still air, and its dim LED eyes softly flickered.
A thread of light shifted through the overcast clouds and chipped window pane, placing itself where someone had once been. Each step creaked the empty yellowed racecar bedstead which ached in loneliness, weakly reminiscing.
Nothing is said, as superheroes lean against the bedframe and villains lay beside them. They keep their place, perhaps waiting for an end to the silence. I lay beside them, another still figure. Silent. Static. Hoping, foolishly, to escape this hollow world.
On the twentieth floor of a high rise flat,
A new born baby cries by his mother’s side
Her name was Marie with no where to bide,
No father came to chase the rats.
The child lay in an old pram with no wheels,
No warm cot as the hospital was full.
On this cold winter night stars shone down,
Bringing no comfort in their nightly bloom.
She had left her country of warming sand,
To keep her baby safe from invaders hand.
Her husband died saving them both,
Pushing them onto an unsafe boat.
After months of agonizing fearful travel,
Arriving at a place safe and free,
Kept as a prisoner within a shed,
She cried to heaven, God save me.
A gaggle of young children came to look,
Disturbed at Maries baby’s awful plight,
Scampering off again into the night,
Shouting don’t worry Marie it will work out right.
She smiled wanely as she weakly rocked the babe,
Three men came in finely dressed and laughing,
Sneering at her and her new born child,
She screamed at them to go leaving no gift,
As they shrugged and laughing went.
Lying back on a soiled pillow seeking some sleep,
Hearing the rats scrapping at her feet,
Again she screamed and kicked them away,
She knew they would be back another day.
Church bells faintly rang through the frosty mist,
a congregation in finery sang their carols,
would she be missed at the food bank door,
night drew on darkness deep and dire,
what she would give for a warming fire.
Threadbare clothes pulled tight to her skin,
Cuddling her babe as her tears splashed down,
Holding him close to generate heat,
Cold biting hard at his little feet.
A friend came in at near dawn,
carrying some food and a warming blanket.
As dawn fully rose all was quiet,
No sound was heard in the dereliction,
Of this unholy squaler and rubbish,
The weak sun shone through the broken glass,
Upon three figures holding each other fast,
No sound was heard no baby cries,
No one to miss them at the homeless fires.
© andrew .provan.mcintyre.7 january 2018.