Long Yoke Poems
Long Yoke Poems. Below are the most popular long Yoke by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yoke poems by poem length and keyword.
Stuff your rock stars, your heros, your christs,
your anti-christs and anarchiests.
Stuff your false idols up your ****.
Stuff your regenerative ramblings;
the spiel of a million others
spilt in diluted misunderstanding.
The generic rhetoric of another blank generation.
Born under the yoke of fashion not fascism
we walk a happy middle ground smiling contentedly.
Raised, sightless, in the sickly glow
of TV screens and neon lights.
Suckled by the fast food empires
and the bloodied abattoir's's carcasses.
Supping the milk of human blindness
with the blood of fallen beasts.
Schooled in paranoia and conformity
through magazines and film.
Body over brain! Body over brain!
Don't feed either if you want to fit in
to society or size sixteen jeans.
Passive skeletal expectancies rule over all.
We are over-looked and yet watched over;
Monitored through cameras and stolen information,
watched on screens by perverts and bigots
watched for signs of difference and dissent:
word gets around and gets arrested.
Incarcerated. Gone inside. Turned inside out.
I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.
Spayed to the point of mental impotence:
no longer threatening. Hope is dead.
Driven as slaves into factories, offices, banks,
working to gain enough to "buy" what is already ours:
ownership as proof of existence.
I consume therefore I am.
Ownership of possessions and of people.
Taught to repress desire, to plough the rut of our parents.
Mate Spawn and Die.
Breeders laugh in mock pleasure behind picket fences.
There is safety for us all in our collective clichés.
The pursuit of pleasure becomes confused
through labour and labour saving devices
then drowned in alcohol and soap.
Happiness becomes vague comfort and escape:
Ignorance is bliss and bliss is easy.
Pre-packaged rebellion under state supervision
rattling shackles and throwing toys from prams.
Socilalists singing sweet songs of false hopes
an alternative repressive ownership,
punks so bereft of individuality repeat to infinity
even the intelligent ones just want to be another dick.
All grow old and sick together
having furthered the species and the empire,
return to the organic matter from whence we came
or perhaps ground up and fed to the pork and beef
down at Old (Ronald) McDonald's farm that we all love so much........stuffed
Form:
Wake! and see the extent to which you’re still enslaved
enslaved by your own kind who hanker after conditioning platitudes
the clubby comfort of secretly oath-taking power cliques
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Remember! Remember Haidar Ali his son Tipu and Akbar
remember Sivaji and Chandra Bose and Kattapomman and Asoka
remember O! remember the one and only Mahatma
Wake India! O! Wake!
Wake! India! Wake! and see how your destitute generations are shunned aside
in infested villages sans drains sans potable water sans hope
see how they’re bound in mantric incantating castiron caste strictures
Wake! O! India! Wake!
No where else in the world are humans so in-humane-ly stratified
what proof have the Brahmins to issue forth from Brahma’s head
who proclaimed them the chosen elite on top of the Indian pile of castes
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! and see how your northern brethren have cast off their spiritual shackles
even if they had abjured the path of the just to yoke their bodies
yet for each child a vaccine a soja-filled stomach to keep slavers away
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! O! India! Wake before it’s too late!
for your own kind are about to enslave you once all over again
and the old master needs hardly despatch troops to proclaim his divine law
Wake! India! Wake!
Wake and watch how your elite ape and espouse the ways of the old master
how for an air-ticket a stipend per diem they would do you in without compunction
how for some lions memberships in select clubs they’d betray your own true kind
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Wake! O! Indonesia! Wake and see how the G.N.P. in Singapore
far outweighs that of the former papal Portugal now
how the four fiery Eastern Dragons no more parade in papier maché garb
Wake! Indonesia! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 3)
though avast percentage
of Stone Temple Pilots, she push peep pulls
viz vernacular speaking population
to most pious take as gospel
every word in religious tomes
their collective soul asylum polestar,
and doth decree important doctrines
with especial accord
equal insignificance applied toward
Judeo-Christian holidays across the board
thus easter tis no exception to the golden rule,
where santa claus reached an a chord
follow auspicious signs alit in the night sky
shaped like a drinking gourd
perhaps amassing plentiful harvests
upon hamlets strewn
across scantily populated Earth
asper cornucopia exhibited secret hoard
sharing plentiful Horn
(and Hard art learned lesson)
to stave off barren ness, ignored
going forward seeding nascent
March Madness with help from Lord
and Tailor as midwife hoot
tended Ville Nova moored
by Wildcat fanatics, who unbelievably
espied heavens cleft asunder
and golden rays poured
while collective spectators loudly screamed
akin to the soundgarden
of ferocious cats roared
witnessed history scored
earning players knighted
with Excalibur sword
thence entire team handed
Taj Mahal shaped award
which aforementioned ass hide lacks, cuz zit
happens tubby April Fool's joke
thus above iterated verses somehow
needs just a little bit of relevance to yoke
thine admitted ambivalent reaction to sports,
yea aye pay figurative toke
hen to Rabbinic, generic fanatic primal
tribal village people clan destine woke
and swinging focus of this poem
back toward Religious perp ported berth
when (sans antiquity) trumpet signaled
thus, any superstitions blew away dearth
when distant shofar heard
in every home and hearth
anticipating arrival of the Easter Bunny,
who brings mirth
and hop poly distributes sweet treats,
which children as grown adults,
no matter necessity for teeth to be removed
the sugary over indulgence wool worth
today thee American Dental Association chastises candy
manufacturers bandying more weight
gaining deadly, debauched, and decadent, trait
then adultery verboten fruit to sate
hash-tagged reprobate.
In the beginning
All I ever wanted to do is talk it over
But constantly getting the cold shoulder
Causes cold hopes
You made me feel like nothing inside
And egg with no yoke
You can't be mad forever
Eventually it'll all come spilling out
I just wanted to talk
But now we've embarked on 4 month drought
You'll forgive me and I'll be long gone
Don't have Motley message me
And don't go callin John
You'll be back
You'll be back
Me and John are calling that
I'll be filling up people's prescriptions
And you'll still be making Big Macs
What are you forgiving me for anyway
For getting to know you and taking the chance
While you spill your insecurities out about your eyes and tight pants
Are you forgiving me for making think outside the box and laugh
You telling me they was taking forever to remodel your bathroom
And you had to go over your sisters house and take a bath
Was i perfect...no
But that doesn't justify the petty lies
Do you know how many times I blamed myself
Do you know how many times i curled up and cried
I never said I ddnt care about you
But I realized that I have to move on and accept the end
I just wanna talk to carry on
At this point I don't wanna be your friend
I just wanna be cordial and have nothing to do with you
Searching for forgiveness
You act this is an episode of Blue Clues
And I'm tired of searching for the clues of the real you
I rather search for Steve and Magenta
It's just started off as a big misunderstanding
Now 4 months later we have a dilemma
I'm tired of guessing
And hurting
Since I can't talk to you
My tears have to be my spokesperson
Tears talk to
But you might not like what they have to say
Cause they'll be talking about you
Don't come back
Don't come back
My heart you broke that
And in the beginning all I wanted to do is chat
You kicked me outta your life
Left me looking dumb at the door mat
You would snarl at me when I was ringing the bell and knocking
So just walking away was kinda my only option
BevelynKaye said you need some coal in your stocking
Pieces of my broken heart I got stuck sweeping and moppin
From this situation I've cried, I've tried; heart died, matured, grew
When I'm gone I know for sure you'll miss me
Picking on me
Will I miss you...
But the real question is
Should I forgive you
2 Terms Of Political Office
A political leader of a country successfully managed to extend his term of office...
Brings up the question of the wisdom of the previous curb imposed to 2 terms in office....
Bolehland has on record the incredible long tenure of 22 years by Premier Dr Mahathir...
And plans are afoot to restrict succeeding premiers to only 2 terms is service....
2 term may be too short for long term overall development.....
Besides the problem from the surplus of such pensioners ...
And atypical of Bolehland mentality, ad hoc programs will proliferate...
A merry go round of contractors, hangers on for part of the economic pie....
Hohoho...
Too frequent a changing of the guard....
Brings on too many a zealous new broom to sweep the room clean....
Hohoho....
On the other hand, a misguided head at the top....
Even a single term can have dire consequences....
Democratically there should be preventive measures...
To checkmate the slide into mediocrity...
Dr M helmed Bolehland for 22years....
Despite the many shortcomings, those were exemplary years....
Of prosperity, stability and high paced development....
Though with the benefit of hindsight...
Bolehland was tethering towards a gaping abyss...
Created by many policies and practices that have outgrown their noble objectives..
What was once a visionary and innovative initiative to correct a shortcoming....
Becomes a yoke of suffering and abuse once it's objectives are achieved....
Question of the day is when to review and to improve an initiative....
Before misrepresentations and abuses set in to abuse the system....
Then the need for change has to happen, a step back in order to move forwards 2 steps...
The Europeans were pioneers in coming up with parliamentary checks and balances...
But history too bears witness to the many atrocities and disasters they created...
The world wars, the religious crusades, the bullying politics of apartheid and slavery...
All faulted and wreaked by the overwhelming influence of supremacy of race and religion ...
What Bolehland is undergoing, it is nothing new nor revolutionary...
The only positive, we could be on the path to maturity...
All the existing abuses and clamour for better governance....
Could just be manifestations of growing pains of a young democracy...
It's true that I was in town
When the trumpet sound
And soldiers came down
Spilling like ants on the ground:
Heralding the royal feast!
The Gods have had their seats
To celebrate the poet from the east
Whose lyrical prowess beats
The best they've ever heard.
It is heavenly inspired:
The lines of this bard,
His hands neither slack nor feel tired.
Here, the bard comes
Clothed in divine grace!
Let the trumpet sound; beat the drums
Let the world seek his face
For he has the power to heal.
His lines drew angels down
And make kings to kneel.
Let him have his prized crown.
Such is the power of poetry,
It is universal; devoid of bigotry.
It is the king's treasure,
It is a soldier's pleasure.
In that stately estate,
In that heavenly state,
Only to the brave
Would the sky be a grave.
It's true that everyone would die
Someday, that is why
If ever the poet should die;
Let his pen ascend to the sky,
Let heaven and earth mourn,
Let their tears turn to blood;
Let the graceful muses mourn,
Let their tears cause a flood
For the loss is without measure.
But there's end to every beginning
That's why the poet we should treasure
So that if he dies, he dies smiling.
Let the fire from his pen burn
First, in the heart of men
Then to the streets let its face turn,
Let it scorch the land till when
It has reached the palace and its tower
There too let it burn and smoke;
Let it bring every knee under its power,
Let it bring every neck under its yoke.
Such is the power of poetry,
It is universal; devoid of bigotry.
It is the king's treasure,
It is a soldier's pleasure.
In that stately estate,
In that heavenly state,
Only to the brave
Would the sky be a grave.
It's true that poets can be made
As much as they can be born,
There are those who trade in charade;
Who cannot our admiration won.
Behold the ancient bard!
Behold, in the morning he rises
With his book and ink in hand;
As sparkles flash from his eyes.
When in early morning birds are yet mute,
His countenance is always plain
He does not argue nor refute
But undisturbed he always remain!
In the abode of the poet
There is grandeur and majesty
Befitting a grand laureate poet
And a monument of modesty;
He is the poet at heaven's gate
Who have ran a fine race
He will never be late
He holds the ace.
It felt like someone was tugging at his veins
His head…
Ow!!!
A carnival of noisy masquerades!
His head hurt
His eyes hurt too
His tongue was dry
The side effects of “the cure”
IVs
Tablets
Needles
Tubes
Machines
PaIN!!!
Discomfort
Nausea
He hated this feeling
He missed his life
This wasn’t his life
Someone must have played a really mean prank on him
This life wasn’t his
He couldn’t wait to give it back
He missed his life!
This was medical torture
The cure!
The torture!
He couldn’t take it anymore
He didn’t look like himself
He didn’t feel like himself
He wept!
This was too much to take
He had no strength to talk
The cut was healing
But it hurt like hell!
He held on to his bible
The words in this book consoled him
They strengthened him
They filled him with hope
He needed hope
This journey was difficult
He fell down to his knees
He wept so hard
He cried out,
“Lord help me!
I can’t carry this yoke!
It’s heavy…heavy…so heavy!
It’s crushing me!
Please lift it off me!”
His tears wet his cotton shirt
He was so sweaty
So he dropped the book
He continued to weep
He cried out to the Lord
He wept!
Tears and sweat
Washing his face
He heard a bird chirp
It chirped so sweetly
His cry interrupted the beautiful song it sang
He stopped
And he listened
Eyes close
He enjoyed the melody coming from outside his window
It was so sweet
So perfectly harmonized
He opened his eyes
The bird was right outside his window
Perfectly colored creature
Red
Pink
Yellow
Black
It was magnificent!
What a great Creator!
He looked down at his bible
It lay open on the floor
He smiled at the highlighted verse
A message of love
It brought him more hope
Strength
And courage
He wiped his damp face
A message of hope
A promise
He received it with faith
He encouraged himself
He would beat this illness
He would win the battle
Oh yes he would!
Deuteronomy 31:8
King James Version (KJV)
And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee;
he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
Twitter:@sylviaoz
© SylviaChika 2016
God created man in His Image
Man is to have dominion
Over all the animals
And land
God Blessed Man
With Woman
Taking in fashioning a woman
From out of the side of man
From Out of man’s Rib
God stated Man in woman
become as one
Mystery of Marriage
As Husband in Wife…
Pure Love Together
sustain entire time in life
Husbands to Love their wife’s
Just as Christ Loves the Church
and gave himself for her
Husbands ought to Love their wife’s
as their own bodies
A husband who loves his Wife loves himself
Wife’s ought to Love
their husbands the same
for Out of her Love for her-Man
giving him his Place
as God has planned
her husband to be
Head of his household
Over the castle-the King
Same In return..
As she be the Queen
God made woman
From the rib of man
To be man’s companion
This way neither be alone
In times lifelong days..
Woman was made
to be next to man
Walking together side by side
Holding each-others hands
Mystery of Marriage
Is When two come together
As man and wife
They both He and She
then established as one
their place within life
as woman is Next to her man’s heart
Walking by his side
Love equals out all things
Marriage sustains
True Love… confides
Interweaves.. Never leaves
With Two hearts Cherish
Pure Love endures Together binds
Two Souls, Minds
Love within their hearts
As time unfolds
As Solomon spoke;
Price of a good wife is;
“Far above Rubies”
Just like a precious stone
In order for Wife to Shine
Should be guarded, supported
And Forever Treasured
As Love Beyond Measure
As husband and wife
both cleave to each other
Sustains their marriage
Within time of this life
Man shall cleave to his wife
As she shall cleaves unto him
Sweetness of Pure Love N Truth
Mystery of Marriage.. without end
Both from same yoke
Together Forever
Tho.. Life Long ends
Still yet be even then beyond
Both Eternally Born-again
Treasures of Love & Truth
Two Hearts… Souls within is one
Walking together always
with Our Fathers Son
God’s Divine Love
Jesus Christ
Sustains all things
Within this Life
And Eternity…
Mystery of Marriage
God brings Two
Together as One
Forever Worshiping God
Following Christ
Pure Love & Truth
Sustains Forever
Now and beyond
Together Eternal Life-time
Form:
A gentle rainfall, of emotions,
whispered by the sea.
The stage aligned as her gaze meets mine,
a golden treasure to me.
A cave of solitude,
she will find me, for a spell
she will bind to me,
nestle to-of warm by and by a sea shore in a shell.
She is my nemesis, of a God scourned, my eternal punishment burn.
So on and on, we chase, of my yearn- her
strange land to taste,
my wasteland, ruin,
gemscaped, sojourned continuum.
By lapping tractor beams, dressed in the private
night of exclusivity, gown of huntress
to preying emnity key of the unknown,
scale of medusa, justice,
raptors of Valkyri, dawning crown,
of day, rays
of proximity to speak in unimpede, as she may,
mongrel fish as she please.
I am for her, and she freely shines for me.
She is a revelation- as shadows play-peek aboo
behind the scenes, Lyred puppetry
spread upon the wall,
looking back in grin and thrall,
she does not recede, in fact not at all.
Time, she bends, over and overture,
draping like a bowed music, seed of heaven,
caricature of my completeness,
seven times seven.
In the theater of twilight, where whispers entwine,
a tapestry of emotion, your heart meets mine.
As gentle rains murmur their secrets to seas,
in our silent impediment,
dance on the edge of eternity’s ease, of we.
Your gaze, a constellation, draws me in tight,
while lapping waves beckon, a soft, secret, contrite.
Dressed in the velvet of night’s soft embrace,
the dawn conspires your beauty, in a luminous grace.
For in this moment, I am wholly for you,
the sun it is in your laughter, the stars in your view.
You are a revelation, a canvas where I am rushed anew,
with shadows that frolic, and dreams brushed through.
Lyred puppetry sways, casting stories so grand,
and the walls of our hearts weave a world,
grand halls, a throne at hand in hand.
Time, a silken thread, weaves its opulent spell,
as the music of longing in mind like a siren's wail.
Here in this dreamscape, surrender your fears,
in the soft glow of day, intrigues the old seers.
As the cloak of the inevitable draws me close,
and the moment does ring,
does yoke,
know forever, my dear, you are my everything,
with rhyme, but not a slight, jest or joke.
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating penile quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
***************************
All throughout history of man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
***************************
Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, raping
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
***************************
Twenty first century *****Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, molest outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
***************************
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the sexual thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, ********, indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth x-rated animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
***************************
The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male sex mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid tawdry unwanted villainous withering zeal!