Long Wringing Poems
Long Wringing Poems. Below are the most popular long Wringing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wringing poems by poem length and keyword.
Murmur no things
or strings of sounds...
Could not care less
more-ish whispers
were Wicked
Whips of Words-
Weighted.
Tongue- lashing sharp
fork- tine Torture.
Cat-0-nine-one-one-tales...
Thirty-nine...
Forty-less-one
thrashing...
thrashing...
Thrashing...!
P
l
u
m
b
l
i
Cut, then
Spliced
r
a
m
aught - 0 - matic -ally
u
t
t
e
s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d and s-t-r-u-n-g out
taut ~O~ill~O~gee~call
sayings S-P-L-A-Y-E-D out.
Taught NO one
any thing
new
Knew hear-say-
Say! Did you hear THAT???
(Did YOU know...?)
? :-0 ? :-o ? :-0 ?
Oh Oh...
Tongues plaited and tied
Gutless intentions
Implied
Allied...
Bound between mongers
pitted
unpitying
Pitbulls against distraught,
double-bind on-slaughter
pale-faced pugilism
mimics
Mummery and mimed thoughts
~acted~out~
played O-U-T
OUCH!
Bought into
Hearts wrung out
bloodless
Bloody hands wringing
in Delight-
Delighted!
de-lighted...
Delight-Full?
Murmur nothing
need less>>>>>>
Need less to say
" it" @ All.
Hot of the press,
hot air blows
seeds of doubts
s-OW-n n-OW!
Profuse Grrrrr- OW-th
Hot-head heed-less
not Grrrrr- OW-n up.
Groans are unmouthed
sounds
sown shut :-
No more hurt
Feelings
Hidden
Humiliation's humus
Not humorous.
Hideous "justice"
bids
Blurts be bought
at a price-
Caught out
Pulled-up-Pule
short-circuits
short-changed
~my~O~my
~chained~
~thrashing~it~out.
thrashed...thrashed....Thrashed!
within an inch
~~ ~~~'~ ~~~~...
nihil -is-tic
parsitic
Tick-Tacky-Town
Game of noughts.
Game of cross thoughts..x-O
Game's off-
Colour two- tone
Voice
Not "giving lip"-
Zipped~~~
:-O gains nil
By Mouth.
:- naught -:
nada
null
X
void
O
14-07-2017~Aqua Marine.
there is always a war, waiting in the wings
with egos ignoring yesterday’s sorrow
peace is just a deal, the politician sings
whilst they keep killing, our sounds of tomorrow
there is only crimson in battle lines
into scabby shields, plasma is drying
truth too haemorrhages, from its confines
wringing hands, see the incessant lying
crusted scar no safeguard, for those cast down
as the two faced smiles, turn into a frown
will humanity, be waiting in the wings
and will it help save our sounds of tomorrow
there must be a voice for us, that truly sings
together we'll bury, yesterday’s sorrow
flicker and cavort, the devil's flame shines
his scavengers, pick eyes of the crying
of a truths light, who can see any signs
in the dark abyss, all hope is dying
all joy transforms into tears of a clown
in this abyss hold me, don't let me drown
is there humanity, waiting in the wings
and how will it save our sounds of tomorrow
who will be a voice for us, that truly sings
together we'll bury, yesterday’s sorrow
or will there always be war
for ever, yesterdays’ sorrow
for ever, always will be war
an end to sounds of tomorrow
oh humanity, where are you
oh humanity, where are you
oh please be waiting in the wings
and be the heart that truly sings
Much I marveled the romance dear
Instead I uncovered the fondness
Ah, distinctly I was conquering
And its eyes have all the occupying
There stood an avenging spying
The catching closeness concerning
Learning, learning!
The apprentices came concerning
What could there be more purely discerning?
With such a passion for churning
How they were churning, burning - learning
I crave the floating, flowing fascination
With such a passion for turning
I crave the decisive, diverting doing
Long I stood there leaning, dewing
Of the bonk's that is wooing
Of regards that are cooing
My breakthrough, I could not awaken
All my soul within me wooing
It threw its ghost against the heavens
The witting whipping wringing
All my soul within me winging
I discovered the lovers
The revolutionary brought such sorrow
They are perfumed from unseen vipers
The pertinent push preferring
Do you like quivers?
They are perfumed from unseen hardcovers
Our love is just now discovered, unlike any others;
1/8/2021
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2021
Before you I stand free, on rolling hills
crevices, oceans, deserts, floods, laughter
failures, victories stencilled on skin
wringing luminous blood from
heaving soils where justice fountains glisten
a Presence, your reflection in sacred dialogue
Glorious in guilt and innocence ~ rebirthing, anchoring light into a Planet learning to receive
peacock feathers on crown, lion claws
at ankles, sunflower seeds dissolving in Love for Africa’s ebony longings blossoming
Woman of South, walking portal raw in
Peace I come, wisdom embraced
all encompassing enigmatic questing Heart !
scattering mielies, proteas along footprints
drawing down power from liquid Sun
sharpening truth in resonant Oneness shelled
Caped in empathic Forgiveness
my liberty leaves floating with
silver trout in Orange River rippling
equalising dualities in moonlight breaths
daisy petals softly blow purpose in lullaby winds
Bones now strong, fibres stretched
cabbage leaves open as abundance unfolds
see pitfalls, pebbles sinking, voids unleash
Violet Flames untying ancestral knots
as wheels disciplined turn in pirouette
feminine arteries intuition bled
Steadfast I stand, no stumbling, nurturing
graduated from crawl to gurgling toddler
gawky teen to Gaia-Goddess serene
within my African continent drum-beating
where Roses and Thorns garland to
ripple for more than Sum Total to unfurl in
A W A R E F O R G I V I N G P E A C E
Anxious in Ancona (2)
The Doge has apportioned a fleet for his use,
but is proving an Indian giver.
A pope with a navy (and with a screw loose)
is no-one’s idea of chopped liver,
so Venice, delaying and playing obtuse,
is selling the pope down the river.
A Christian army, devoted to God,
is what Pius imagines he’s shaping,
but this one is riding distinctly rough-shod:
Ancona’s awash with the scrapings
of Europe: and here, where the Caesars once trod,
they are busily looting and raping.
There ain’t going to be any ardent crusade,
and Pius is dying, for certain.
They’ve all came to nothing, those plans that he laid,
and his project has gone for a burton.
To stop him from seeing his “army”, his aide
has fastened the litter’s gauze curtain.
He thought to have fought at the head of a host:
but reality isn’t like that.
We babble and squabble, we brag and we boast,
but our fantasies always fall flat.
Poor Pius was no Alexander. At most,
he was sort of an Anwar Sadat.
We curse our ill fortune and, wringing our hands,
we wail at our undeserved lot.
But is it so rare, as we formulate plans,
to end up with diddly squat?
If that’s how it goes with the Number One man,
what chance have the rest of us got?
How did we get to where we are,
America - the one undimming shining star,
A land of freedom, of unbounded pride
Where no one needed run and hide
For their religion or mere thought,
Democracy - the very heart of what was taught.
Now the Media drums a beat
That too many rush to heed,
Politicians seem at war
Spewing discord to their core,
Division their concocted art
Wrenching the rest of us apart.
Pressure groups with voices loud
Control the stage as if endowed,
We the masses listen stunned
Outmaneuvered and outgunned,
All too late we see the light
As our cities fall to blight.
Police leaving by the score,
Inner cities full of gore,
Death and Drugs partners in crime
The serial killers of our time,
Those we elect wringing their hands
Caving in to shrill demands.
Social media runs amok
Trampling discourse in it's muck,
Faceless voices spewing hate
Leaving victims to their fate,
Pervading every corner of our life
Their tool of choice inciting strife.
Is it too late may we well ask
To tear apart this vile death mask,
Restoring that for which our father's fought
A way of life worked for and not bought,
The very fruit of land well sown
The purest form of liberty our world has ever known.
Evergreen flavored mantras
did nothing to purge bitter bile from my lips
nor slake the smoldering thirst for a Rosary remedy.
Tick-tock petals unfurled one by one
as your poppy shed its last sepal
releasing a scarlet sigh across sunset skies
whilst I placed a tender kiss upon your twilight.
If but for your gossamer bloom in persimmon perfection,
I would not hunger for your ambrosial whispers
nor rue the earthly drought of undying nectar.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss,
blind behind the tear-rusted folds
of a weeping veil’s eclipse.
My psyche a pauper
rich in the poverty of penniless promises,
empty as echoes in hollow holes
ringing with wringing reverberations.
In the grasp of atheist fingers I clasp Holy beads
tilling cries and whys.
Every tear a sorrow sown in brambles,
whose sloe fails to ripen sweet redemption
in the fertile sham and barren sand of my humanity;
crushed by the tusk of this damnable dusk.
Susan Ashley
April 13, 2020
~ First Place ~
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor: John Hamilton
~ Seventh Place ~
Premiere Contest: Crushed
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~ First Place ~
Standard Contest: Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
I've been watching you for hours now,
wringing your hands
pacing the floor
watching the monitors
holding his hand
never leaving his side
Your spirit is strong,
he feels you by his side
knows you are there,
hears your whispered prayers
yet you are oh, so tired,
I see it in your weary face,
your bloodshot eyes
I'm here for you,
when you are ready-
pull me close to his bed,
lean back and take his hand,
close your eyes for a few minutes.
I'll stand watch with you,
I'm here for you, and
I'm not aganist catching a tear or two
I see you looking at me-longing for relief
He won't think you weak if you
sit down for a while--so,
Go ahead--
Pull me close to the bed,
take his hand,
lean back,
close your eyes,
rest.
I am here for you.
They fight for freedom and struggle to be heard.
When words and platitudes fail, they take up arms,
and force their opinions and beliefs upon the world;
loudly proclaiming their faith. Firing bullets of
sanctity. Daring those who challenge to fight back.
Beating them into the submission of defeat.
Who are they? In what do they believe?
'In God' they say. Fighting for a peaceful world.
Fighting for peace? What with - a double edged sword?
Who are they? They are every political activist,
every politician, every 'religious' leader of
every creed, colour and faith, who encourages and
insights the violent murderous warring actions
of suppression, aggression and destruction
so familiar in our world. Don't use God's name
for God is love. God must be recoiling in
heaven above: despairing, wringing his great
artistic hands in anguish, as He listens to
His offspring using Him as an excuse as they
systematically destroy His glorious creation.
'Love and peace' they say, as they torture and contort
the twisted metal; as they load magazines of
hatred in their bludgeoning weapons of death.
Stop now! Listen to the gentle voice of our creator
as it whispers in the beat of every human heart.
Dare to be silent. Dare to dance to a different tune.
Put down your arms and hold the hand of your neighbour.
Disempower ego, and inhale the love of a God
who desires unity not division. You are all fighting
for the same God. You are all right because
you all have the same opinion! You are shouting
so loudly that you cannot hear the still small
voice of calm within. Shut up! Let Him be heard.
Are we again confusing Appeasement with Compassion?
And is our selfishness and greed,
Letting fear and hatred through the door,
To blind us to any difference between the two.
Have we not been down this road before?
Does not Compassion paint fear and hatred out of the picture,
And Appeasement draw it back in.
Is not Compassion born out of a Love,
Devoid of fear, with no place for Hatred to gain a foothold,
And Appeasement born out of a fear,
That leaves a trail for hatred to follow.
Does not Compassion give us our best chance to get on with those on
The opposite side of the fence,
And does not Appeasement embolden them to push us to the brink of a war,
Where hatred will know no bounds if one day we find ourselves,
In a fight to the death.
Does not Compassion show up as a strength that will beget
Us the respect that will stop the bulge in the fence,
Does not Appeasement make us look,
Weak and contemptable, from the other side of the fence,
With no respect due to us,
And fenceposts being ripped up the likely result.
As we sit on the side-lines wringing our hands
Watching the bullies and thugs taking Centre stage,
Our appetite for appeasement,
Showing no sign of slowing down.
Will our children still Respect us,
And show us a little compassion,
Or will our replacement of Compassion with Appeasement,
Make them join the Bullies and Thugs
Who seem to be on the winning side.
Though things look grim,
I can see enough lights still on
And my hopes are still high,
That Compassion will win out,
Faith will be restored,
And the chance of war will recede,
With more gates appearing along the fence lines.