Long Wild Poems
Long Wild Poems. Below are the most popular long Wild by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wild poems by poem length and keyword.
‘What good´s permitting some prophet of doom? To wipe every smile away …’
The orator grins at his drunken audience through make up and mask
Opens the cabaret’s veil in the theatre of forsaken minds on the run
Champagne flows from magic fountains while Berlin falters from grace
The wild thirties dance to an apocalyptic sound of paralized conscience
Outside the toothbrush moustache commandeers Svastika’s march
Torches set light to mislead passion and houses of semitic prayer
Crystal breaks as brown shirts parade their poisonous conquest
Heil to the savage Führer when ‘reality is something to rise above’
Pirouettes swirl on stilettos while boots squash compassion and lives
Caviar evades judeo-bolshevik scapegoats and trains to the camps
Blond blue-eyed conception born to inhabit Lebensraum on the map
Feeds into industrialist’s dream of war effort and armoured production
The white flag of surrender stuck into skull bones and belligerent stride
No meaningful rise of resistance only raised arms and ‘following orders’
When God capitulated and sang his swan song to the sound of hell fire
And prophets of doom cashed in on gas chambers and golden teeth
It’s easy in hindsight to lift the pen from an immaculate ink-pot of courage
But where would I have been when ashes in Auschwitz were ascending
When evil tore into the last bit of humanity in a vile coup of disgrace
As I look into the mirror of history I reflect on the cowardice in my soul
21st February 2020
‘What good´s permitting some prophet of doom? To wipe every smile away …’
Line from Cabaret the musical base on Christopher Isherwood’s 'Good-bye to
Berlin'
Theme for the poem ‘Reality is something to rise above' Liza Minelli
as this merciless moonrise
melts upon the aching ocean ,
meet me in miridical eagle rivers ~
O narcissistic narrator
of heartless healers,
as you enchant me
with wild Valkyrie eyes,
veiled with venom and vines …
this portrait of world ~
painted with punishment,
is a physical panorama,
flickering without
pixels of patience,
a palindrome of pain
no scent can ever satiate;
as I lean on the bed,
burning with brutal beliefs
perfumed with painkiller blush
and poisoned starlight ~
I want those
trespassing nightmares
to taste the wrath ~
the soul of Satan
in angel-feathered flesh,
touch the pulse of
depressed dragons
~ in pearls of damage ~
if only the hyper-tensed ~
haptic heartbeat
of my soulless stylus
could trace the
submerged sighs ~
in stygian Seroflo seas;
but my life remains
the twin of death,
so, let me dream, demonic dusk ~
signed with serpent sparkles
on my sweet sunset scales,
as I yearn for aconite clouds
to rain and rehabilitate
I still remember
the date when
doom tore my angel wings,
you labelled me
a menace
with metal lips,
transfused my truth
with twilight’s tachycardia;
I was never diagnosed
by diabolical diseases,
but your deceptions …
a patient,
injected with ill-intuitive
paranoia,
the syringe was never
stirred with steroids,
but the blood-tied feud
of spiteful spirit-hunters.
hear me, I won’t surrender;
I will never be tamed and taken,
O tracheal massacre ~
crush me with cold calm,
but my ribs will remain
a wildflower requiem ~
for lungs that slumber
within ambrosial echoes
of asthmatic endlessness ...
Lord Poseidon ~
of poetic seas,
rescue me from the mayhem
of this helpless mermaid,
be the medicine for the
blackmagic karma ~
that I cease to forget;
tonight, I lament to escape these
lands of loneliness,
be plucked from the
orbs of purple-gold orchids ~
the grave of insensitive ghosts
because ~
I am better away,
buried beneath
blurred benevolence ~
of soul's bliss ,
bleeding butterfly blues
~ b r e a t h l e s s ~...
A Greeting from the Thrumming Grave
O, Thou Great and Ravenous Maw,
Who cradles the stars in a velvet shroud,
Hear the pulse of a world that dares to bloom
Amidst the rot of time and the weight of clouds.
We are but ghosts of carbon and ancient heat,
Spun from dust of ancestors long decayed,
Hurling our voices into the frozen deep
Where the light of a billion suns is slowly frayed.
We offer no gold, but the salt of our weeping,
The iron of blood, and the nectar of breath,
Small, frantic sparks in the dark's cold keeping,
Dancing a waltz on the threshold of death.
Our cities are monuments built of the bone,
Our songs are the echoes of a feverish dream;
We are the marrow within the stone,
The silver ripple in a black, silent stream.
O, Infinite Silence, receive our pale prayer:
We were here, we were wild, we were briefly aflame,
Though the void shall strip our history bare,
Let the darkness remember the sound of our name.
Wise words work well
Trust truth to tell
Sublime sense swirls
Touching treats twirl
Being blooms best
Fancy feeds fest
Live limpid light
Stretch sensuous sights
Meaning moves mind
Free form frames find
Charm confronts cheer
Nurture niche near
Dying death dreams
Set surging screams
Life lingers light
Stream spacious sights
Mind moving maze
Deep dazzling daze
Feel footsteps fall
Crest chancing call
Meet moments mild
Wealth worries wild
Day defines day
Seek subtle stay
Mind meeting mind
Big bloating blind
Leon Enriquez
30 April 2015
Singapore
The she-baboon adored that infant child,
and nursed it as it ailed. And even dead,
it was her darling. Struggling through the wild,
the mother had to flee when clan-mates fled.
She couldn’t bear to put the baby down.
With logic obvious to any mother,
She lugged the limp, lank, ugly thing around.
It hindered her. She lagged behind the others.
I’ve borne this torch too long. You’re just not worth
the misery it costs me, day on day.
I should have shrieved you, shunted you away,
or better yet, have strangled “us” at birth.
Hope always rots away to suffering,
but something in our natures bids us cling.
Dear people of the world,
Be ready to live an awesome week
For,
On Monday, you shall feel butterflies
Running wild in your heart
For,
Awesome shall be the day!
Yes,
It shall be a day,
Grand as a full moon night itself,
Imbibed with fragrance
Emanating from the gardens of Eternity!
On Tuesday,
Allow yourself some time to stop your chores
And to dance in the rain
For water, it shall be,
Flowing from the rivers of potent power,
Having in them,
The ability to cleanse one of every ill
That may be clinging on to their soul!
On Wednesday,
The night shall be so clear
That angels and witches shall play together,
Games known to them solely,
Games usually played in the secrecy
Of hidden gardens and magical ponds!
Yes,
Be ready, on Wednesday night,
To receive blessings
As the mood shall be jolly and sweet!
On Thursday,
The sun shall shine so bright
That it shall dazzle us all
And it shall be a great day
To light a candle in a chapel
Or even on our home altar
To seek healing for the many ills
That our diseased world carries upon her skin!
Friday shall be the day to connect to the celestial realms
For the portals of our hearts shall be open
To receive the energy of the divine
And it shall be the right moment
To sit and meditate in the silence of a sacred place
Letting our heartbeats be overwhelmed
By the grace of mercy
As we know it not on Earth!
And the weekend then,
Shall be two days to let go
Of our unexplained connection to a power
Which we shall never understand for ourselves!
Yes,
On Saturday and Sunday,
The opportunity to spend time with closed ones;
Family, friends and relatives,
Shall present itself upon a cheerful note
And best would it be
To party together as each one of us would want to!
Be ready,
To live an awesomely poetical week,
And I shall be back
For another forecast,
As soon as I shall be done
With playing with my telescopes and with my crystal balls!
Listen up, y'all, got a tale to tell
'Bout an elephant that time almost forgot
Not your average jumbo, this one's special as hell
Sicily's very own pint-sized lot
Evolved on an island, cut off from the rest
Shrunk down through the ages, adaptation at its best
Three feet tall at the shoulder, a miniature beast
Roaming ancient Med, from west to east
Mammuthus Falconeri, that's the scientific name
But "Sicilian dwarf" is its claim to fame
Lived alongside humans, back in the day
Till climate and hunters made it fade away
Picture this pachyderm, the trunk still proud
Tusks like daggers, but not as endowed
Compact and sturdy, built for island life
Surviving droughts and prehistoric strife
Some say its bones sparked legends of old
Cyclops and giants, or so we're told
Greek myths born from fossil finds
Ancient elephant skulls boggling minds
Now it's gone, extinct, wiped from the Earth
But its story lives on, for all it's worth
A reminder of nature's wild design
And how isolation can refine
So next time you think elephants are all the same
Remember Sicily's dwarf, playing Evolution's game
Proof that life finds a way, big or small
In nature's grand scheme, there's room for all
Sicilian elephant, we sing your song
The memory of you will carry on
In museum halls and science books
Reminding us to take second looks
At the wonders that once roamed this land
Before time swept them away like sand
Extinct but not forgotten, your legacy's set
Tiny titan of the Mediterranean
WE ARE IN LOVE
We two are just in teen.
Seed of love to sow.
Love of baby tree to grow.
Hard root to sink deep in soul.
Weak stem on fear of loss.
Soft bud yet to open fold.
Shy look ! Not bold.
Wild love to try to peep.
Yet love to roll and rush.
Urge to jump to flow fast.
We two to soar high up sky
with free wing like bird.
Our love to last till last sec.
of our life. It’s our vow.
We won’t part.
He is for me and I am for him.
He is the Moon to glow in my soul.
Me the only star to glaze in his mind.
Each day we will stay side by side.
Our path of life to aim same goal.
We are tied in bond of love.
The scene of cliff, coast and a flock of sheep,
a view of the blue ocean, sky, and wild mossy cliff;
where sheep have strayed, too bewildered to leap,
they stand, sleep, or sit among wildflowers and sniff.
It was a case of follow the other perhaps in the rain,
the painting by the artist is so gorgeous and vivid;
now, for some sheep strength has begun to wane,
others bleep, bleep for help quite distressed and livid.
Though they create a lovely view they are defenceless,
they don't need a cliff but need a lush meadow green;
oh, why did they wander so far, it is senseless ?
Yes, true the artist captured a colourful, detailed scene.
As fear deepens in them the sheep groups are tightened;
for me the painting is layers of color and of sheep frightened.
‘Nappy’
They call my curls a mystery,
An enigma to unwrap -
They feel the need to touch,
Then laugh when I get mad
They call it a crime scene -
‘How nobody could love that’
They call her wild and untamed,
My hair is not to be shamed
They treat my hair like a game -
‘Guess what hairstyle she has today’
They question the growth,
As if it’s one size only -
A black girls hair created the word diversity
The intricate pattern of curls,
How we are not restricted to one pattern
My hair is not an exhibition,
It’s not for your eyes to consume
My hair may be art,
But just like the mona lisa -
Touching is not allowed