Long Dead meat Poems
Long Dead meat Poems. Below are the most popular long Dead meat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dead meat poems by poem length and keyword.
Could you be the Trojan horse,
To bypass the defences of my heart?
Let harmless acts of kindness, run a course,
Break all barriers, to the tiniest part
For once there was, a fancy conqueror,
With soldiers and horses, and tall banners,
In the stomping ground, there was such tremor,
She was fearful and bold, in all manners
She battered my strong gates, scaled my wall,
Rained upon me rocks, and fiery arrows,
My good soldiers, one by one came to fall,
There was much sorrow, on their death throes
Woe be my army, vanquished and beaten,
Torn apart in the blitz, of sudden attack,
All of them stood, until thoroughly smitten,
True warriors’ courage, they never did lack
So alas for me, I did surrender,
My forts and castle, and kingdom whole,
Lest all that remains, be torn asunder,
I gave her my all, from King to Fool
She took it all, and claimed as her own,
I played the Jester, upon her feet,
Settled herself, on my sorry throne,
Never did knew, my heart’s dead meat
At first it was easy, to her bend my knees,
For she was radiant, and beyond compare,
My woeful sorrows, she banished with a kiss
An empress divine, she was my lady fair
It came to pass, she turned a bad leaf,
Here acts were no more, of a fair sovereign,
She became hard, and wearyingly stiff
Upon us both settled, a palpable strain
I never realized, she had her sights,
To another domain, richer than mine,
Her inflamed passion, ebbed to dim lights
In her mind formed, a betrayer’s design
Then she announced, in my once great hall,
How she intends, to march once more,
To another conquest, ripe for the fall,
Greater things she said, lies for her in store
She assembled once more, her great army,
Mightier ever, than the one who came,
Her ranks has swelled, strengthened by the bounty,
Of my kingdom conquered, that she made tame
The dust she stirred, with abrupt departure,
Took the longest time, to finally settle,
A bitter-sweet moment, my life’s great torture,
But stand up I did, with my hard won mettle
Before her I thought, I’m consigned to be alone,
Live only for myself, without for others- care,
Never imagined, to foolish love I’d be prone
Now cruel melancholy, upon my face- stare
Form:
Beware
In Here!!
All black
All back!
Vamps think
to drink!
Red ink
flesh pink
Your Blood!
their flood
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
In Here!!
Today
Ghosts stay!
to play
your way
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
In here!!
Dead wake
to bake!
They eat
Boys feet
Black teeth
Raw meat
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
In Here!!
Dead wake
to bake!
Eyes pies
Kids tighs
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dead wake
to bake!
Mice tails
Old males
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dead wake
to bake!
Pumpkin
Soup skin
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Out there!!
Black Spell
don't tell
Moon fell
in Hell
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Out there!!
Zombies
in trees
Mummies
chop knees
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Out there!!
Broom stick
Witch's pick
trick trick
wick wick
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
In here!!
Beware
Out there!!
Black cats
Wild Bats
large rats
Stew sets
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Out there!!
Jack rips
girl's hips
your lips
in dips
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Out there!!
Fred's axe
and sacks
fresh legs
in bags
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Out there!!
Souls fly
Up High
YOU CRY !
YOU DIE !
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Out there
Stay Home
Don't roam
Haunt Who?
HAUNT YOU!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beware
Take Care
Mean Queen
Halloween
is Here
B E W A R E!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Owl's Beat
Dead beat
Trick trick
Trick Trick
treat treat
treat treat
Dead Beat
Dead Meat
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
B E W A R E
OUT THERE
MEAN QUEEN
HALLOWEEN
IS HERE!
B E W A R E ! ! !
(Inspired by Donna Golden
and Ruben Ortellao's poem- Halloween's Night)
Charma
Form:
There is A small portion lying
Many followers are looters
and some be tortured or dying
I am the last survivor of a proud but vain race
it was too late to be warmed because
the SUCKERS just laughed in my face
Atom particles of a device delivered
Men in their sports mobiles,looked up
as their lips quivered
Shooting rockets in the air
immaculate sweethearts are sweating and scared
Running in chaos to find safety underground
For their(and My)world can no longer be found
A BLAST FROM THE FURNACE
WAY TO GO 'BODY
CINDERED PLUS SCORCHED
AS THE A-BOMB DELIVERED
After the inferno as well as the Cloud
I left my remains Home and bravely
strolled down no longer happy nor proud
A charred face peeling away the youth-filled cracks
My sore arm is carrying a small Bible and a Diary charm
As of today,April 1,2010
I am,by count,the last known human on this block
This is a final testament of the days leading up to
Read it and weep,O Lord..We all made sport of Jesus and YOU!
LOVE FOR GREAT OR SMALL
Many eons ago, in minds far superior to ours
from a past Man never knew the earth became habitable
before the savage became Homo-sapiens
visitors had come from unknown worlds scouting earth for expansion
They carefully laid seeds of their DNA and planted green vegetation
returning several millennia later to sow their crops
the early laborers expressed love in the way they planted their crops
upon returning they saw earth had flourished
Mourn if you must for our present predicament
cry what we have become but our origins were borne out of Love
leave no unsavory emotion untouched all emotions have been earned
we must savor each emotion before we settle in our graves
"Stay brave," the space farmer said with affectation,
“Don’t become mindless dead meat enjoy the life you've been given
it'll be the only one you'll get, when you find a mate
love like you never loved before enough to last a millennia
and don't forget kindness, give your fellow humans much kindness"
Pundits and wise men have said it since Man could talk
there are no tomorrows in death
they also said death is temporary, souls are eternal
and experience of having lived before is not knowable
But care enough for someone at least once
and discover why love is so revered in the Universe
if you do not, you have lived a lonely, wasted life
and misused your life’s purpose and God's great gift of life to you
Nothing feels better to a person’s skin in winter
when the icy winds blow and snow scurries from nook to cranny
than body heat from both bodies cuddled, naked under warm blankets
it may bring forth ideas to commit to Love forever
Love is in abundance. just look around
yet Love is desperately needed but know there is someone for everyone
Love comes from the inner depths of one's heart
just don’t be so picky, experienced love has no equal
Love for all creatures, great and small, is desperately needed everywhere
nay demanded by the vast expanse
of this dark, cold and unwelcoming Universe
the place we call home.
A UK Royal Mail Ship was RMS Rhone
A sail-steamer and a two-masted brig, she shone
Rhone had an iron hull and was 310 feet long
Her compound steam engine made her fast and quite strong
An innovative ship with a bronze propeller
To save water, she had a surface condenser
The first ship so equipped to visit Brazil port
Pedro II, the king, came to see her engine fort
Left Southampton on 9th Oct., 1865
On her maiden voyage; despite troubles, she thrived
Her next five voyages were also to Brazil
Then transferred to Caribbean route, she was thrilled
Rhone proved her worth by weathering several storms
But who can escape when Mother Nature performs?
On 19th Oct.’67, Rhone and Conway
Bunkered in Great Harbour, where they stayed for few days
San Narciso Hurricane, last of the season,
Worried both captains - ferocity, the reason
Passengers from Conway were transferred to the Rhone
Conway was too soon foundered by the storm full-blown
Rhone struggled to get free, her anchor was caught fast
It was cut loose as Captain Woolley thought it best
To escape to open sea was the Captain’s plan
Sailing ‘tween two islands, avoiding Blonde Rock’s span
When Rhone was less than 250 yards from safety
The winds threw her into Black Rock Point directly
The lurching crash sent Captain Woolley overboard
The ship broke in two, causing engines to explode
The bow in 80 feet, the stern in 30 feet,
Rhone sank swiftly, the “unsinkable”, now dead meat
123 killed, were buried on Salt Island
On 29th Oct., Rhone met her sad end, unplanned
The wreck of the Rhone is now a famous dive site
Turned into a National Park , she’s a rare sight
Today, it’s visited by hundreds of tourists
And in a way, the historic Rhone still exists.
11.05.2021
12 syllables per line
For Robert James Liguori's "A Noteworthy Ship" contest
"Ennui Sets In”
Whenever pen is placed
Between purloined phalanges,
When my mind unfolds and tears along the seams,
I know it’s time to move my thoughts,
Through the underground;
That dark crusty void
Of dreary dreams diminished,
Where loose hell raisers floss and shine,
Comb and spray,
As drowning voices backwash yesterday’s histrionics,
Dark-eyed winches peek through the
Centers of dead doughnuts;
Bleacher seats rust and wallow
In half-moon emancipation,
Ennui sets in…
My bow tie knows all the answers.
I cry and beseech for all those tomorrows
To resurrect, to pontificate, to loose
The bowels of screaming sunsets, yet sutured.
I flinch. I sigh.
Force majeure got in the way.
Polka dot panacea,
Wretched weasels in the underbrush,
Prufrock is the metaphor to mangle, impugn, vivify,
And otherwise squeeze until the cows come home.
I’m a poet without a message.
My heart pumps vexations of vaseline,
I am dry and empty
Like the musty moans of sweet madness,
Emanating elusively
From the hollow of ancient days,
Amidst unanswered questions,
At the fork in the road,
Two blocks northwest of my last dying breath,
I am the last sunset!
Ennui sets in.
Twilight vivisection holds the door open this time.
There is no respite,
From Raphael’s regurgitated Renaissance.
He jumps backward,
Through the darkening dissonance,
Dissolved, dismayed, dumbfounded.
Skipper Frank lies dead in the glittering gutter.
The Pancake Man melts into the waxworks.
Madame Tussaud wonders why.
Ennui sets in.
Dead meat saliva feeding
The roses of Robespierre.
Little Lord Fauntleroy is mixing martinis, and
A dozen dainty dames are dancing
Past the midnight of my time.
A blue trumpet, buzzing in the steamy shadows.
Lapping corpses line the phosphoric hillsides;
It’s not what it appears to be.
Truth and beauty perceived in the morning mirror.
Ennui sets in.
Look closely. What do you see? A white rabbit in snow.
No? I’m the memory of a bride, wedded to eternity:
an extincting marriage. Draped in a pearl gown.
Laced to the throat. Dressed like some decadent uneaten cake,
ignore the teeth marks in the shadowed parts.
I was his bridal-feast and now I feast on white,
it’s in my breath and crackles in each bulbous vein.
It eats me from the inside like an infection:
my white veil now my shroud. The crows gather,
their pebbles eyes stare.
I’ll be the portrait of a bride, the hollow image,
slant-hanging in an echoing bedroom, the odour
of rose petals masking the creamed bed.
Certainty can die in a heartbeat.
Search my lifeless, unblinking eyes,
wash your feet in their shallow waves-
these puddles can’t overflow, the wound’s opening deeper.
I’ll leave your moon-daisies in my hair and feel them wilt,
or grow, rooting themselves to my mind.
My skin’s the colour of cobwebs;
I could stitch myself together and become, in the right light,
a remembered figure. My veiled face could be any other bride’s.
But the stench of my clenched wound forces me to shut Spring out.
Numb the clocks, each tick the sound of grinding teeth.
Dressed to die, am I already dead?
He did not want my skin, the one that I gave him,
but it’s no longer mine; it hangs loosely on the precipice.
When in doubt, I loved; who knew
that the skin could still bruise after death.
In this skeleton costume, the statis blinds.
The new moon watches obliquely;
If I am still enough he’ll think I’m stone;
he won’t recognise my newly marble heart:
the dead meat-organ hard and cold.
I fade and even the outline of my shadow disappears.
I ooze that white smell from every pore and it
twists my unbreaking insides into knots.
I am decay, all I touch turns white
but watch me yellow as the moon grows,
beaming in the candlelight.
Give me his heart.
This ghost-bride is owed a heart.
I walk a lonely road as a ghetto pitbull/
With pride and honor, I'll always have a fistfull/
I don't take no bull from anyone or any spirit/
I never had no one to feed me, I eat off the land/
Back against the wall, paws on the concrete/
Living life fast with my mask, trick or treat/
My life isn't sweet, it's really dead meat/
Trying to make ends meet with my books and music/
My friends come and go, they come as they please/
It seems they only come when it's time to eat/
And always off my plate, and as a platoon/
So I feed everyone, with a long handle spoon/
They call me a goon but I really howl at the moon/
I'm a ghetto pitbull coming to your hood soon/
So before you try to judge me from what I do/
Take a look at my past and see what I been through/
I'm a ghetto pitbull so just give a dog a bone/
Where I lay my hat is my home, I'm a rolling stone/
I seem to always roam in the worst gutters/
And all my dogs are the baddest of the bad/
They never believed me and probably never will/
Even with the skills that I posses, I outshine them all/
With these skills, they still don't believe me/
Any microphone, any instrument, any rhyme, any riddle/
Any opponent, I outshine them all like Johnny Fiddle/
Betting against me is the wrong predictions/
It should be a crime and I'm handing down convictions/
I'm the metal God, pitbull of the Gods, go ahead, crucify me/
I'm a sacrificial lamb, I was sent here on a mission/
Sometimes my life gets hectic but I love it that way/
Because the thrill keeps me going, see I'm different, ok/
I was raised in a place that nobody came to visit me/
I've seen all walks of life, I've seen the craziest of the crazy/
In the ghetto as a ghetto pitbull, get my gist/
Now they see me coming back, I know they're shaken/
Smile now cry later has always been my motto/
Sleeping on the pitbull is a hard pill to swallow/
As a regular unleaded gaseous,
(i.e. papa's seminal afterthought)
begat male genetically wrought,
I valued myself as naught
with abilities pegged
at being average,
yours truly sought
to camouflage himself
ducked as if a scared mandrake,
and/or, who oft times
didst cower, and shrink wrought
mine puny body
into an homunculus, methought
to imagine myself
as an invisible boy, when cornered
and nearly caught
as dead meat, (especially
when threatened by bullies,
brandishing their taut
fists, this then wimpy
kid never fought
peers that seemed big
as a dreadnaught),
essentially, I wished tubby
totally tubular nonexistent,
and as a poor substitute wrought
natural inclination took root
re: blend with background,
sans wallflower, nee weekly fought
the irresistible urge
to begone, what meth
hood would make
Matthew Scott Harris
permanently vamoose, hmm...
how to stop breath,
thus hit on what seemed
timely novel idea,
without asking Seth
Thomas, viz lit up, asper
starving body to death
hence final solution,
would put to rest,
and terminate subsequent cruel
shocking one after another
electric kool aid acid test
solely predicated on feeling
insignificant at best
basically a sense of resignation
lacking any outstanding trait, lest
you count picking nose,
where underneath desk collected nest
of buggars, thru deep digging,
but never finding gold,
via nasal passage quest,
hence reiterating existential theme,
aye felt no good
even as a nobody,
but more akin
to an unwanted guest
secretly embarking on a
deadly mission fed in part
by lacking athletic skills,
particularly addressed
when sporting rough
necked bruisers oppressed
to destroy any vestige
of self worth, this former
pint size lad,
who lastly mentioned hapt tubby,
the but of every jest.
Bad meat
dead meat
thousands sick from this disaster
hungry like a wolf
the stomache worms grow
in the people who still don't know
texas miki of tequilla
many reasons to reconsider health symptoms
sewer leak to smell from down the street
not staying here too long when the mosquitos come out
drive by the cess pool
and come into town to realise
no one is ever outside
the lights are all out at 7 oclock
Color coded music message
three days of taking a turn to play your two favorite songs
to steer the obsessive compulsive
who wont let you down
who wont be able to stop himself
from killing the worlds enemy
however we can only do this if we allow ourselves
to practice the day that nobody dies
musical masterpeace of blind leading the blind
in an attempt to get your angels in position
the birds eye view to realise this spotlight
the black and white fashion to start everything off
purple confusion of your orange disaster is the naked blue truth
surrounded by coincidence leaving you shining
differently dressed than those around you
angelic mastermining of the candle of mans free will
burning at both ends to provide you with your own safety net
in the end of this mindblowing experience
of the locomotion of your soulbound prayers
i forget once again who i think i have become
everything is pretty much automatic
choose to be aware of this if you want
forgetting the perfect lives of god
aware it may be possible to take down two birds with one stone
all this to make your devil cry
which will be replaced by an experience that is fun
unlike the grueling effort to prove to society
there are more than 3 people the police actually helped in history
even though usually when something good happens to the world
they lose control, and everyone else seems to lose out