Long Whip Poems
Long Whip Poems. Below are the most popular long Whip by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whip poems by poem length and keyword.
A famous alumnus is visiting the university. I got an invitation several days ago to a small, socially distanced, masked, focus group. It was to be early on a Saturday morning - so, why not? I was excited to see her - I’m a fan.
We were a diverse group of about 20 (covid tested before admittance) students and I was in the back row. Seating was offset so everyone could see everything perfectly. I craned and swiveled, when her entourage came into the room. Then, there she was - I’m sure I was grinning ear to ear (behind my mask), we clapped, excitedly. She wore a navy business suit. A jacket over a black blouse with slacks and black shoes.
She gave a talk, about the challenges America faces. On YouTube, her speech-giving voice always seemed artificial, cold, harsh and brittle. Here, she was low-key, motherly, whip smart, personable and humorous - everything I had hoped for.
Then there was a question and answer session (NOT easy questions - did I mention whip smart?) followed by a no touching reception line. And OMG, she’s a foot away. She seemed a lacquered and corrected sort of person - professional - I guess you’d say.
Everyone was gently elbow bumping with her, so I did too. You’d say your name and class. “Anais Vionet, freshman,” I said. I wanted to say “I’m a BIG fan” but I thought I might come off as either fawning or even worse someone bent on wasting her time.
We both smiled, me behind my mask and I bobbed a goodbye nod, but as I went to step away she said, “How’s your Grandmother?” I was shocked but I managed to say, “She’s fine, thank you.” To which she replied, “Please tell her I said hello.” I just nodded, “yes” as a sort of “I will,” and stepped away.
I glanced around, there was no handler by her side and she wasn’t wearing an earpiece - how she knew me I have no idea - but now I think she’s considering a run in 2024. My grandmère would be a whale of a donor.
What a bizarre encounter.
The master cracks his whip
across the horse’s trembling flank,
pushing the beast to its limits
until the wildness snaps and the horse reacts,
a flurry of chaos beneath the sting.
When silence falls, the master
believes the animal has learned,
believes the wounds are healed.
He reaches out with clean hands,
petting the horse's weary muzzle,
his fingers gentle, but not soft enough.
The horse, though still, does not forget.
It smells the leather polish on the master's skin, the lingering scent of cruelty woven into the fabric of his flesh.
The horse knows the weight of that smell,
knows it cannot be washed away.
And no matter how tender the touch, the horse remains wary,
the scars deeper than the skin, unforgiven.
The master must face the truth of his actions.
the horse may no longer fight,
but forgiveness does not bloom on the soil of mistreated land.
The horse is not healed,
and the master is not forgiven.
As I rest upon my heels,
into my head, my thoughts do spill
there to sit alone and wait
is much too long to contemplate.
The experience is all brand new,
the man, rope, and paddle too
It excites but also scares
the fluctuation of my cares.
I wait for the gentle breeze,
that swiftly blows between my knees
when I am placed into his lap
and the whip against my flesh goes tap.
So much emotion I have inside,
just add, subtract and then divide
I have no shame or guilt to plea
my Master is so good to me.
I inhale the intoxication,
as we reach our destination
a journey between two souls
who exactly knows where this could go.
Date: 1/18/2022
Let loose the whip
and tighten the lip
with its reasons for humble cause.
And I'm alight in darkened entries
shrugging my shoulders to warm
my picked pockets with another's
shoes.
Burning down the towered clouds
for the gas chamber streets,
why burn the bills
whilst flesh is still flamable?
And the crier rang out silently.
Could only make out the action,
of something she was trying desperately
the reasons of the destraction.
"You're too blind to make out colours
which have mixed to make brown.
Just a human illusion
of light under cover of sound."
The cobbles are disrupted
and yet its just another cup of tea
to watch on with, pathetically.
Till when will you keep me on the cross?
For how long will I bear this pain?
How many times will you whip me?
How long will you keep me naked?
The wound in my ribs is worsening,
How long will I plead for you,
I can't stand to face my father,
His wrath so terrifying,
In return you deny me,
How long will you keep sinning?
Didn't I do my part?
How long will you disappoint me?
How useless my ministry seem,
Haven't you heard enough?
From my anointed men?
How wicked are you men?
Everytime taking your hammer by your hands,
Another nail I take in,
Haven't you done enough?
Should I stop coaxing my father?
@Tha Formidable Cheru
In the middle of the night
When I can’t get back to sleep
All these grandiose ideas
In my wired brain do creep.
I will clean out all my closets.
I will rearrange each drawer.
I will freshen up the furniture
And spiff up the décor.
I will organize my poetry
To fit into a book
And the children’s tale I’ve started
Will get more than just a look.
I will sit and read the travel guides
I’ve purchased for a trip.
I will self-impose some discipline
And really crack the whip
In the morning, though, reality
Comes crashing with a thwack.
The enthusiasm 2 a.m.
Inspires won’t come back.
Jealousy
Women, whether members of the Stop
or not,
Stop chaining your man to you.
They are not animals in life's Zoo!
Men don't like chains, anymore than
you do.
It must be horrid to live a jealous life.
Where, you, like a lion trainer,with
a whip and a chain.
Keep a great man from following his heart
and his dreams.
And even making a simple comment, you
see as a scheme?
Male poets here~ here's what's going on
with me,
I can't comment to some of you, even
in an innocent way.
Your lady construes any comment I
make in a conspitorial way.
I am afraid truly, to read some male
poets!
Comments are posted, I pose no danger,
and you all know it.
Panagiota Romios
5/2/2019
3:00pm PST
Immersing into delightful dish trip
Craving tongue for ice cream lick, I can’t skip
Engrossed to savour strawberries of fresh whip.
Creamy strawberries, cold delicacy so sweet
Ready now to vanquish afternoon heat
Enthralling me for grand leisure seat
Awesome dessert as lunch it does complete
My heart offers for thanksgiving* treat.
Tasty strawberry ice cream bite
Renders menu with relaxing sprite
Enriching feast of mouth-watering sight
Appeasing appetite midst indulgence-plight…
Take time to share with love’s delight.
*Philippians 4:6 - Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
Acrostic in Rhyme Form
July 5, 2022
not a captain or a first mate
but an oarsman was to be their fate
the oarsman row the ship along
either one , two or hundreds strong
one small part of a large ship
but surly the tool that carries it
from sea to sea
an oarsman must have rhythm
and his back must be strong
his work is heavy laden
and his toil is all day long
sometimes when they falter
they feel the lash of the whip
the weakness of an oarsman
may alter the course of the ship
the life of a slave. an intelegent animal
a God forsaken trade,
reserved for the damnedable
the oarsman and his fate
though terrible and long
they did the work
and sang the oarsman song
they pulled the oars
moving the ship along
and all they get for thanks
was the lash of the whip
places were discovered
empires were built
the sea's goods were delivered
from oarsman driven ships
but still ; no thanks for the oarsman
or slave.
Has America ever thanked the slaves?
or the lowly who work the hardest and are
paid the least
are we still yet oarsmen
alternately titled: 207th leap year since 1582
the year Pope Gregory XIII world leader
(i.e. essentially paterfamilias among
Roman Catholic flock)
timely maneuvered around calendrical rock
and hard space implementing
viable system tracking years ad hoc
out of sync and lock
step by one day
with astronomical calendar,
slated more'n acceptable tick tock
off kilter around the year of 4818
after common era making mock
re: regarding mankind organizing and
witnessing global chockablock
Democratic celebratory anniversary party
millenniums after Republican dynastic deadlock
thoroughly walled imponderable gridlock
worse fate than quaffing hemlock
practically snuffing out lock, stock
and barrel constitutional birthrights
thirteen original American
founding fathers ghosts experiencing shock
how initial inalienable rights
activists sacrificing life and limb
united with linkedin armlock
said freedom fighters shackled
within crowded jail moldering cinderblock
cold upon hemorrhoid riddle buttock
diehard libertarians unified, pilloried, denounced
legion with repulsion as Shylock
purported, reputed, touted playwright
(William Shakespeare's sited anti semite
The Merchant Of Venice) doth mock
Judaism in vogue four hundred plus years ago,
smoldering think white supremacists i.e. skinheads
violently aiming to knock
non Caucasians upside the head
courtesy pistol whip,
and/or emptying gunstock
into human flesh disenfranchise scaring up
one after another racial and/or ethnic aftershock
aforementioned celebrated bard unwittingly
strictly opinion of me:silly poet -
despite hashtagged as laughingstock,
(plus vitriolic objection taken)
voiced by Shakespearean expert defenders,
yours truly reckons mine thought provoking
regarding storied, lauded, and feted Globe theater
literary King my interpretations not crock.