Long Wounded Poems
Long Wounded Poems. Below are the most popular long Wounded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wounded poems by poem length and keyword.
At the edge of a roaring ravine humanity shivers this year
Wondering how it has reached here with wounded civilizations
Forgetting age old blunders incurred upon the existence of humans
Thriving jealousy, waging wars
Building armory to destroy their own
Caressing destruction by diplomacy
Spilling oil over nature gasping for life
Now Earth retaliates to cleanse itself
Bubbling volcanoes, newborn tornadoes
Novel pandemics, extinction of genes
Humanity struggles to resurface
Through abandoned shades of hope
That retains itself over centuries
Is this the beginning of an apocalypse till the end?
Hope wishes a few might survive to preserve cultures and live on
But hope believes humans will change to create a new world with nobility
This might be the awaited beginning
Do humans at last, understand?
May 23, 2020
They speak in flames that do not burn,
A furnace of phrases, polished and loud.
“My government will leave no stone unturned
Until the perpetrators are arrested
And made to face the full wrath of the law.”
Sirens of promise wail through the air,
Yet the ashes remain exactly as found.
Words roar from official handles,
Broadcast in waves across waiting ears
Through every medium
Threats dressed in the uniforms of law.
“Full weight,” they say, with borrowed thunder,
But justice sleeps behind a bolted door.
Each dawn counts bodies like broken clocks,
Lives shattered between headlines and dust.
Homes reduced to nameless rubble,
While speeches rise:
“I have given marching orders to the security chiefs
To ensure these criminals are hunted down
And face the full wrath of the law”
Faithful in tone, yet barren in truth.
The killers walk with familiar shadows,
Their footprints unafraid of the light.
No cuffs clasp their wrists,
No courts summon their names into the night.
Words parade proudly across the screen;
Action limps, wounded and late.
Declarations pile like fragile sandbags,
Still blood seeps under the gate.
O cold fire! You glow without heat,
You threaten without a strike.
You roar for cameras and crowds,
Then whisper when justice must bite.
How long shall we be governed by echoes,
By vows that die at the microphone?
A nation cannot be warmed by slogans,
Nor secured by a voice alone.
Let silence fall on empty threats,
Or let deeds finally speak.
For fire that cannot save a life
Is colder than the weak.
With my pen I operate my skin
Unveiling my within yes my scheme
In agony and pain boiling as steam
From my veins multiples of stream
flowing in style with rhythm
My hearty wounded is made plane
My grief visible to read though make rain
This message gushing out buy me more time
I shed tears not for the pain but the vain
I let the tide flow with the reading
and just not to fault this feeling
I make sure on each line is a teaching
to a depressed soul an epitome of healing
in its own way of dealing
Such cruise has only been within
A balm of relief to the stressed out
A source of belief to the called out
A backbone to strengthen the feeble
and wise counsel to the troubled,
cheering up the ruffled and enlightening the ignorant
a war song boosting morale to victory.
Drum's tight skin beats through perilous night
Hunter to be hunted under sun's glean
Running in woodlands in frightful flight
Wounded, bleeding, needing to be unseen
Chased by Mohicans in a land they claim
Stripped of clothing and weapons he had
Given a small lead to be hunted as game
With strength of will the only comrade
Lives in the mountains, this manner of man
Now on panic run for his life and breath
Rushing through brambles that cover the land
The heart will beat stronger to keep from death
Travels rock hills to a valley's wide stream,
to cross chilled rapids with its stoney bank
Lost in a frenzy and caught in a dream
Indians right, Indians left, try to out flank
With fort in sight, open meadow to go
A quick breath, tired legs have acquired
Distance to run causes time to move slow
A whistle is heard by an arrow fired
Pierces the back, he crumbles to the ground
Crawling, gasping, his hands clutching black dirt
Smoke bellows up from the log fort he found
Last sight seen before blood begins to squirt
Awakens to find some leather clad men
They came from the fort, his wounds they attend
Ran for his life and won the Indians game
Mountain of a man , I forgot his name
contest Structured forms...Iambic verse
Frederic Parker 11/11/14
To win is the trying..!' gainst despairs blank stare, a wounded earth still
rolls on..! Midst the throes of territorial vying..
Shows our shattered crystal the counsel of despair
As the pales; of circumvention, invade earth's free sod and air,
Oh.! such power we covet To maintain..! what is "right?" what is yours..
can be theirs" or is it ours..? should we fight..?
Yes it tears through our city's this division reprised,
To the call of soulless ambition, destruction quickens in stride,
And! yet not new its existence..) "for know ye satan he is a liar"
Though hidden deep in shadow; was to emerge its sly desire.
Yet how ask us "innocent's" & why should this be?
Whilst we gaze upon its sickness and water the seeds..!
So we stand without reason, or we lay down condemned,
Yet open hearts to salvation; on Jesus depend,
Call his name now in season) let the fetters free fall,
The Miracle is "willing" none should perish is all..!
It was on a bleak afternoon,
That Cancer came and brashly whispered,
‘I am going to be with you for ever.
Follow me wherever I lead you.
Fight back if you can, rather if you dare.
But indomitable I am, you know’.
The wounding whisper reverberated in his ears.
Never had John been punched so hard.
Shocked beyond even a sigh or silent moan.
Dumb he stood so petrified.
He saw his dreams fall apart.
The sky-high edifices crumbling down.
The soil under his feet giving way.
With a lovely family and an aspiring career,
With life, he was passionately in love!
The remaining days were a Marathon race,
From hospitals to labs and from oncologists to specialists.
While passing through the ordeal of radiation and chemo
Bravely he fought back the pain and nausea,
For hope had reigned supreme
And for his family, he must live!
‘I will don my armour and brandish my steel.
I will not yield! Oh! Never shall I give in.
I shall make it through and come out victorious’.
But soon he realized it to be a tough battle
And saw the chances of winning too bleak.
The villain had almost taken his sway.
And day by day his body grew frail.
He heard the wounding whisper of death
More often and found resistance impossible!
May. 24.2023
~ Placed First~
This or That Volume 14 Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Edward Ibeh
My favored Muse
mysteriously asks
muted
kinda sexist
win/lose
either/or
complex bilateral questions.
Oppositional
defiant
nearly despairing quests
exploring why I have yet to find
Faith
Hope
or delightful Joy
as names for a boy
Who might be named
willful Father William
or Pastor warlike Warren
or Patriarchal terrifying Terrence
or even red Deacon Fred's
bruising win/lose plots
against Reverend Bruce.
Vengeance is mine
says retributive justice
Preacher Justin
proclaiming blame
and shame
on monotheistic Religious Teacher
Shane.
Meanwhile
wise elderly EcoFeminists,
warming the pews
and cooperatively co-invested offering plates,
continue singing Joyful journey praises
Of Faith's passionate commitment
inside EarthMother's cathedral Grace
And Hope's sometimes unsisterly
yet sincere advocacy
for paper straws
to win EarthTribe's straining race
against ecocidal ocean polluting
patriarchal time
and desecrating capitalistic
commodifying space
Wherein my favored Muse
mysteriously asks
muted
musical
win/lose
either/or
complex bipartisan questions
of secular health care
and sacred safety shares,
music's dissonant glare,
bemusing bewares.
Spiritual springtime
invites Aunt April
Matriarchal May
Joyful June
While natural full-summered lust
and bustling Buster
fluster hot
sweaty
sometimes angry
idolatrously crusty August
oppression
suppression
repression
Negative impressions
of Winny's winter
wounded
advent womb
Emerging Tiffany's
annual Epiphany,
favoring ecofeminist Muse
mysteriously musing
kinda amusing
win/lose
either/or
complex bipartisan questions.
June 7, 2019
Sometimes I wonder what we are
It's wishing on a shooting star
Are we lovers or friends
Who can decipher
Some days I think you love me
Others I just don't know
I know I love you but who knows
what lies within the heart
The heart is the most deceitful of
all Who can tell
Many use the word love without
a thought never knowing the
true meaning
Love endures all and is faithful to
the end
If you ask me do I love you
I will say this
When I you, my heart skips
a beat
When I'm away from you
I can't wait to see you again
I consider you, my lover as
well as my friend
I seen you do things for me
no other would but my heart
has been so wounded over
and over again it is hard for
me to tell
Fling the doors open
And let out the stagnant air
Open the board up windows
It’s time to breath fresh air.
Sweep out the dirty corners
And prepare for a powerful rejuvenation
Gather the dust in a bundle,
Empty it in the Pacific Ocean
Then dip four times in the Atlantic Ocean.
Take a stroll along the corridors
Look your enemies in their eyes and
Greet them with a victory smile
Salute them with your mystical love
And set ablaze their self-inflected flame
There is no doubt about this
You will go down as one of the bravest
Solomon the wisest you the greatest
And victorious one
Sound it on the mountain top
Across the rippling desserts
Walk through the market places
The inner-cities, burnt out villages
Busy streets and crowded towns
Visit the little old lady in the tattered house
Located on the deserted side of town
Shower her with hopeful words
Your presence alone will embrace
And nurture her weary soul
Make your way to the orphanage,
Wounded warriors
and the struggling ones
A simple touch with your powerful hands
Will answer the prayer of the weeping ones.
Go to the schools and colleges
With words of comfort and love
Stop over places where you are not welcome
And radiate them with persuasive sentiments.
All some people need is a can of beer,
a cup of hot chocolate or good cheers .
Disperse the spirit of hope,
Perseverance and good expectation
And when night comes
Walk in the streets and sing
Sing with timbrels and cheerful songs
You are an inspirational icon for everyone.
Your rhetoric’s are strong, use it to move along.
Use what works best for you
Negotiations or forgiveness
And climb straight to the mountain top
With a hammer, a sledge or a cable car
Ropes and boots or just the magical you
Silence the poisonous networks
Give them something to talk about
Lift up your injured wings and start to sing
Join with the throng of angels in the grand jubilee
You are strong and ready to fly again.
Tarry no longer because you have won
Raise your banner
And wave it high in the sky
You have just defeated your enemies
With compelling love
And your gigantic wings.
©2013 Christine Phillips
He was kind and empty
He had no breakfast, no diploma, and no direction
He had no recognizable achievements but a certain poetry in his manner of talking
He desired no ownership or property beyond that damn guitar
He liked sleeping in the strawberry fields under the sun because home got too far to walk back to
He liked kissing beautiful girls
He liked making himself hurt just to feel something
Sometimes he felt so much it became nothing at all
He was a sad person, and if he resonated with you a little too much, a little too long, a little too deep
He would make you sad too
But not violently sad, beautifully sad
The kind of sad that still allows for occasional glimmers of something new- a melancholic hope
A flighty hope, but it was real
And it would make him feel something
So if you find him somewhere, wrapped in a blanket
Giving you a crooked, nostalgic smile
And he tells you he’s up for anything,
And he tells you that you don’t know how to live in the moment
And he tells you he can teach you
Reeking of substance and wasted talent
And whistling a song that haunts you
He’ll breath you in. Tell you he smelled your new conditioner and compassionate intentions from a mile away.
Let his eyes pierce through you for a moment, and it will give him comfort
And it will dilute your joy and make you feel momentarily alive
Remember the beauty of empty shells that have a little depth to them
Hold him gently like a wounded bird, and nurse him back to health, and peel away his layers until you get to the good part.
He’ll disarm you and make you feel special.
You’ll remind him that he’s real.
And if you get too sad
Tell him you wish him the best and that you’ll come by some other time
And you’ll ask where to find him
And he’ll have no answers
No answers, no breakfast, and no recognizable achievements