Long Absurdity Poems
Long Absurdity Poems. Below are the most popular long Absurdity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Absurdity poems by poem length and keyword.
on the edge of what—
you balance it like a rumor,
bitter-totter, back-n-forth,
a tightrope strung through your ribs.
step careful, suga.
this ain’t a floor, it’s a dare.
a rope in a loop,
loop in a thought,
thought chewing its own tail
like it forgot how to end.
uncertain the length—
baby, that’s the trick.
they never tell you how far it goes,
just whisper keep going
like that’s mercy.
same concept, different color—
revolving doors painted holy,
but they still spin you nowhere.
no exit.
one entrance.
cute, right?
trapped in a loop—
spin, spin suga,
til your name sounds like static
and your shadow gets dizzy trying to keep up.
might as well sit awhile,
kick your heels against the air,
laugh at the damn absurdity of it—
because look at you,
dancing in a cage you can’t even see.
spin the bottle—
you or them?
fate don’t care, it just points.
they aren’t trapped, they said.
you believed that?
sweet thing.
did you see that—
the door half-cracked,
fur brushing your knuckles,
a cold breath slipping out like a secret?
closet humming like a heartbeat.
Narnia, baby.
or madness.
honestly?
same damn door.
NEO POLITICO MILITARY INVASION,
OPPRESSION, AND NEO SLAVERY
Middle passages are no longer necessary,
You merely invade/steal the island/nation country:-
When you do so, the invasion/steal, the people/slaves,
And all natural resources/priceless gems are the bonuses:-
Thus, the nature of making America great again:
Improving upon previous politico-military oppressive ideology:-
The irony of it all is being approved to do so,
Via “majority rule "constitutional amendments:-
So, be not surprised when you hear the ultimate in the new greatness:
The POTUS and VICE, being “constitutionally”, granted extended terms!
Absurd as all this may sound at the moment, think and remember this
and be aware:
The absurdity of the sounds, when the POTUS first spoke of Venezuela,
and Greenland:-
On The Evolution Of Liberation…
Once again
our humanity is taxonomically
mocked---no longer ¾
*****sapiens---a step
just below
that of being human. Rather,
today, we’re an endangered species---
a modern classification absurdity
indeed!
Though endangered species
are protected, we remain
open season game through the year---
our peculiar genus being decimated
by lawlessness and unprotected justice;
our punctuated equilibrium
deemed a politico-economic and
socio-cultural threat
to the ecological stability
of the parasitic symbiosis
that exist between
lighter and darker
hued human organism---
where the former
has evolved predator
while the latter has evolved prey.
Yet
Once again
in the scheme of creation---
despite the rampant
predator Attempts
at extinction---the prey
will rise and evolve greater
adaptive survival techniques
that will enable them
to overcome the off-branching
of injustice and nullification.
Know
Once again
as we continue
to trod the Jubilee Road:
“If God is for us, who [or what]
can be against us?”
Racist power mongers,
theirs and the flesh
of their murderous activities---
political, economical, social
and physical genocide,
are all like wild blades of the grass
of nullification and the wicked flowers
of injustice---trying to grow
in God’s vast field of human life:
The grass of nullification shall wither
and the flowers of injustice shall fade---
and the breath of God shall blow
seeds of freedom, justice and equality---
to fall upon fertile fields of liberation.
I stood in a flock with the other nerds
Trying to think up of the words
To get that girl to dance with me
While my friends all laughed at the absurdity
She was the girl from my every night dreams
Talking to guys from the football team
When I broke away from the geek squad pack
On a journey forward without looking back
All eyes but hers were staring at me
My tongue was tied as I nervously
Asked her if she would like to dance
Time stood still for the circumstance
“Oh gawd, how dare you even talk to me
Go back to your group of weird buddies
I wouldn’t dance with you if you were the last boy on earth
Your mom should be ashamed for giving you birth”
The football players all laughed and gawked
The pack of nerds – the other way walked
I stood all alone just frozen in place
Shame and embarrassment painted on my face
And then a wallflower walked up to me
She said, “I may not be as pretty,
But I sure would like to give a dance a try
I’ve been trying all night to catch your eye”
Then another girl and then two or three more
Surrounded me on the school dance floor
I had a partner for every dance that night
And from that day on my life was all right
Twenty years later in the bank I own
That girl from my dreams came looking for a loan
Seems life hadn’t really been too kind to her
She said, “I’d do anything if you could help me, sir”
I saw no reason to bring up the past
Got no satisfaction in laughing last
I told her simply, “Just please sign here”
Her signature was smudged by a fallen tear
The nature's smell of Sodom
Parades war scent;
Smells it like Saddam's nose
To safeguard his own darling kingdom
How watching designs ascent
To save millions from foes
Which makes room for continuing lust
And finds it difficult afterwards to adjust
Even when no war seems around the corner
Yet they fear and doubt every foreigner
Iraq is to war what Sodom is to transgression
Yet He's full of mercy in anger cum genuine confession
To them sins kill boredom
The only happiness florescent
Which measure up her woes
Open destruction bestows
Warnings for fire to save autumn
Before timing bomb explodes without consent
The esthesis of Gomorrah
Lives in the deep Dead sea
To win the game away karma
How much plead will erase guilty?
When hearts feel cool hosting pleasure
How fear parades fate without check
Gearing up with joy for whatever becomes her Camorra
But with gut, the degree of the wrath eyes don't see
Except for the amusement audience did see in drama
What reasoning could have tagged absurdity
Is of high rate for worth as high as of treasure
So heavy; the one her ship can't stand cum wreck
To them wickedness strengthen ego
Her contest among dominant men
Forgiveness being enslaved in terror
Of endless quest trying times won't forego
Or bring to justice and be put into den
To face its own end in lonely terror
You sneeze; loud rowdy thunder strikes
Sins are irritants Your nose dislikes
Yet man's expulsion is involuntarily
For Your anger strikes temporarily
How come they don't see compassion
That brought on them such wrath; their eyes passion
Smell out
Turn about
You know me
Nothing surprise Thee
For nothing is hidden
Those that are forbidden
By Your commandments off caution
Which have done without precaution
Oh grow-up nose mask; smell not
For my sins are so hot
That You won't inhale such dirts periodically
Let alone You get to exhale spasmodically
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You arrive uninvited,
a persistent houseguest~
the itch, oh, the itch,
a tiny demon drummer
living under my skin.
You’ve got a whole band,
tiny epidermal elves
with sandpaper hands,
scratching out a symphony.
Doc says stress, allergies are to blame,
a propensity in your DNA.
"Try this cream, it's a miracle!"
Miracles cost thirty bucks a tube
and smell faintly of old socks and hope.
I've tried everything~
Oatmeal baths that make me feel
like a breakfast cereal gone wrong and
creams so thick they could grout tiles,
that smell of desperation, a scent that screams,
"Please, just stop itching!"
All the lotions, the creams,
the steroid sonnets I smear on,
they only quiet you temporarily.
You’ll be back, with your tiny,
insistent drum song.
I scratch. I know I shouldn't.
The doctor glares, a silent disapproval.
But oh, the sweet relief,
that fleeting moment of bliss
before the fire returns,
brighter and angrier than before.
Oh eczema, you win!!
So, I’ll slather myself in
a lotion vaguely medicinal,
try not to scratch in public,
maybe, just maybe,
laugh a little at the absurdity of it all.
In a corner of my mind, where time flows like a river of lost memories,
the idea of a bizarre universe is born, where souls wander through a forest of shadows,
a collective dance of minds covered in the ashes of unfinished dreams,
under the gleam of the moon, like a beacon of endless sadness, a world estranged from itself.
There is enough betrayal, hate, violence, absurdity in the common human being,
to fuel any army on any given day, more than the sky could cry,
and those best at killing are precisely the ones who preach against it,
the best at hating are exactly those who preach love,
and the ones best at war, in the end, are those who preach peace,
a circular chaos in the trivial game of existence.
Those who preach divinity, in their soul, have a divided void,
those who speak of peace have no restful sleep,
those shouting about love, nail hearts of stone.
Shielded be the ears from preachers,
shielded be the souls from those who claim to know,
shielded be the books from those who read them only for pride,
shielded be the streets from those who hate poverty but brandish the dagger of wealth.
Each of them, players in a silent theater, seek applause for themselves,
with censorship in hand, living in fear of the unknown,
always seeking crowds, for their emptiness terrifies them,
and the average man, the average woman, their love too, born and dies,
in a perpetual search for mediocrity, an endless vortex.
Yet the true genius of their hate shines like an evil diamond,
a magic of contempt capable of killing any pure soul,
not understanding loneliness, they will extinguish any different light,
lacking the ability to create art, they will despise it,
considering their failure as the failure of the entire universe.
And despite them, love will never be complete,
they will blaspheme your love, perfect in its weakness,
they will hate with an almost religious passion,
like a tiger tearing through the forest's shadow under the moonlight,
and their hate will be like a cold diamond, as sharp as a knife,
like an eternally frozen mountain, like a glass of hemlock.
It is, in the end, their finest art—
pure and dangerous,
gleaming in the darkness of a night
that knows no dawn.
------------------------------------
What happens when Franz Kafka’s existential dread meets the ancient wisdom of the Oracle of Delphi and Indic philosophy? This tongue-in-cheek sonnet sequence explores the absurdity of the human ego, which often morphs our inner anxieties into a creeping cockroach. Ultimately, it offers a witty reminder: to the true witness consciousness (Sakshi), whether we wake up as a bug or a butterfly matters very little as these two tongue-in-cheek sonnets, jointly captioned, Of Bugs and Buddha, says Aniruddha.
-----------------------------
Sonnet 1: A cockroach nor a butterfly
As a man’s often given to despair
That he, nor what’s his Self, exists at all,
Or he, a human only short while ere,
Has morphed unto what a cockroach we call---
Laid flat in bed upside down on its back,
Legs, all the six, wildly flailing in air,
Oh, what a Kafkan dilemma to crack!
Perchance it’s no more than a dark nightmare.
A man in him finds what he represses,
Be it hatred, envy or jealousy,
They undergo a metamorphosis,
A cockroach inside him, no heresy.
Now, if what he calls ‘I’ is mere witness,
Cockroach or butterfly, it matters less.
Sonnet 2: Let man be an escape artist
Cockroach or butterfly, it matters less
To witness, man’s divine identity---
Truth that dissolves man’s every ugliness.
Yet, ego is man’s mundane entity---
An escape artist in circus called life.
Two inscriptions as engraved at Delphi,
Apollo’s temple, seem sharper than knife:
‘Know thyself’, and ‘Nothing in excess’ try.
That, extremes to be avoided is clear:
Hell and heaven, cockroach and butterfly,
Whatever the nightmare, there’s naught to fear,
Life’s miseries emanate from mind nigh,
And so is an early morning’s nightmare,
If only man’s not given to despair.
_________________________
Musings (tongue-in-cheek) |22.09.2026 | bugs, Buddha, butterfly, despair, nightmare, truth, Sonnet
For Sagita
Have you ever asked yourself
If you've had the wind
As a boon companion
For your brief journey, life
Whether you push your days
Like a long-suffering Sisyphus
Or if they force you
Towards huge horizons
If you've ever seized the sky
To hold in your palm
Like a shimmering blue petal
Or if your heart sometime pounded
Like a temple bell
Calling believers to praying?
Have you asked yourself
What you give people, what you take
And if you've ever harbored
Ancient wisdom in your mind
If the lanterns of dreams
Still glow in you
And if you can find your way home
Drunk at night
Amid the grand absurdity
Of this world?
My daughter
Many come and go
As through a book
That is not written nor read
And they are already buried in air
Long before being entombed
In the earth.
O ye dead Poets, who are living still
Within the circuit of this plodding life
For truly this game is well begun
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings
May Jove restore you when your toils are o'er
I wandered lonely as a cloud
SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me!
Is the end of my song
Then give them all the lie
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
How dreary to be somebody!
Constantly risking absurdity and death
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
Life, what is it but a dream?
We like a fog