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.
In regard to human's such abject abyss and absurdity, we can't help questioning: can human still be indulgent in the virulent vainglory having shaped their pretentious and dangerous preconception of a human-centered and human-dominated cosmos? can human waywardly go on with their ecologic vandalism having already triggered the macrocosmic nature's wrath and punishment? In fact, all their perverted precepts and practices have spoilt or to a large extent countervailed the hard-earned results of their positive efforts. ( e.g. vaccine development, treatment of the infected)
As can be seen more often than not: Overloaded hospital wards and overwrought medical workers are outflanked by waves of overwhelming epidemic peaks, and the process of vaccination popularization outpaced by the viruses' variation and proliferation. Indeed, human's arrogance, ignorance and particularly conscience absence have estranged them from one informative sense: The best remedy is the due respect for the macrocosmic nature that nurtures the entire universe and the due reverence for her sovereign system that really dominates every being and everything living or working inside her domain; The best vaccine is the virtue of taking all harmless lives kindly and taking kindly to the nature's heartfelt call for every bio-community member's benign ecofriendly behavior.
Having ironed out the aforesaid reasoning and arguments and having made clear our firm attitude and stance, we hereby urge Spanish, Dutch butchers and especially the Dane banes:
Stop your criminal and cruel cull without delay, do not engage any more in any activity that may bring us extinction, mass toll and physical or psychological harm, let us resume enjoying our old habitat safe and calm.
We also want to extend our exhortation to all of the human being: Make a thorough stock-taking of the circumstances of correlated infection-prone species and overall epidemic aspect before renouncing your previous evil ways and recommitting to building a livable eco-environment and lovable bio-community. Only after the strict imposition of precautionary disciplines upon your daily behavior, would there be a promising future of fine faith and fair fortune for every existent being under the sun, of course including yourselves; In the bargain, would come genuinely effective epidemic-controlling & prevention mechanisms for yourselves.
Written: September 9, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Rob Carmack
Quote: "Lovers have heartaches that can't be cured by drugs or sleep, or games, but only by seeing their beloved" By Rumi
**********
In the garland of ailments, we sip nepenthe,
anodyne tinctures in elegant flasks—
murmurous promises, beauteous masks,
each fard a façade, each pill a palimpsest
of pain rewritten in mellifluous ink.
Pneumology sings in stertorous sighs,
dyspnea dances under the aegis of relief.
We stroll through the lanes of this lush haven.
The breathtaking tablets gaze into bliss.
What trendy medicine pills and supplies
Supply human beings with many ways to support?
I share on the matter of preventing slurs.
The breakdown of moiety and the rise of risk.
For even the most ductile clay
may crumble in the quagmire of misuse.
In the seraglio of spurious bliss,
the simple and the iconoclast alike
grasp the absurdity of escape.
Acherontic powders, hexed and hissing,
wafture through the penumbra of parties,
where flapdoodle masquerades as rapture.
fear grips the veins—
a jussive urge, impetuous and egregious.
We extemporize joy, inhale incarnadine dusk,
and resile from reason with pertinacity.
turbulent dawns, wan and woebegone,
usher in ischemia’s kiss,
a paucity of comeliness,
a summary of sorrow.
The lush becomes lurid,
the sumptuous turns stygian.
Even the most miraculous odyssey
may cease in necrotic silence.
Meliorism in time to come
Yet still, amid the desiccation,
a scintilla of optimism coruscates.
The riparian soul, lithe and lit with Love,
may manipulate a raw moiety of meaning.
Through the shield of empathy,
the one who heals
may reclaim the palimpsest of self.
Not all who inhale are lost—
Some merely seek the empyrean
through alternate doors.
Let us not belittle
the addict, the patient, the seeker.
Each belongs to a consanguineous ilk
of yearning, of zoetic ache.
So let us offer not just palliation,
but propinquity,
not just summary judgment,
but the sacred burnished balm
of understanding.
Let Love be the panacea,
let compassion be the coruscation
that flickers in the penumbra
of every pharmacological night.
I am the bird that is in the cage
choosing to fly in the enormous sky
I am not a avaricious of liberation and exhale
Only deciding to display some absurdity
act the absurdity and live the absurdity
But, why my steps are barricaded by the boundaries
Only wishing to surface some absurdity
act the absurdity and live the absurdity
I am the teeny infant that is in the cot
Wishing to walk and cripple in this earth
I am not the avaricious of dependency and assistance
Only wishing to expand my limbs somehow
act the wandering and roaming
But why my each approaches are ceased by the anxieties
Only wishing to stretch my limbs somehow
do the wandering and roaming
I am a bud that is on the calyx
Wishing to bloom in this beautiful atmosphere
I am not the greedy of beauty and delight
only wishing to disperse my essence to all
Bliss others with my charm
But, why i am decayed by fog, frost and mist
Only wishing to disperse my fragrance to all
Bliss others with my charm
I am the girl child of my parent
Wishing to show courtesy and do my responsibility
i am not the greedy of praiseworthiness
only wishing to do my duty, i must
do what my heart says and my obligations
but why this social rituals and traditions are pushing my behind
Only wishing to do my duty and what i must
Do what my heart says
i am the citizen of this nation
Wishing to do some reformations and dynamism
I am not greedy of name, fame and popularity
Only wishing to do what an individual must
Do what i feel right and i don't care if others don't
But why this country is not acknowledging my tries and activities
Only because i am a girl not a boy of this patriarchal society
Or a victim of this already corrupted society that always drags me behind
i feel shame for this, even in this present century
our country is the slave of this belief
I am the freedom fighter, i do not say that
I am the reformer who brings changes, i do not say that
i am not the revolutionary person who brings revolution
I am only the simple girl who has big dream in her eyes
who has also the right to dream, the dream of happiness and success
i am the ordinary girl with some expectations
who has right to fulfill her desires
i am the girl who wishes to live and do her task in her own way
But why i am tossed among such conditions, why??
I’m drunk, but you’re beautiful,
a line I used to rehearse.
The Dreamers’ artistic longing felt noble,
but it came with a curse.
I bought the ticket when I didn’t know better from worse.
Now I’ve got a tale of rebellion,
and I’ll share it in verse,
it all changed one Star Wars Day,
when my thirst reversed.
May the Fourth, and I felt matured.
No Padawan—now Jedi Master,
just a little unmoored.
Met some friends inclined for chilled wine,
drinking enough to feel ruthlessly divine.
That hazy day, glazed in the usual sway.
That familiar vortex, melancholy perturbed.
Soles stained deeply by the absurd,
fermented grapes, chaos,
and the dark side assured.
The dark side calls as we sit with the thirst,
but Skywalker’s force starts thinking first:
“Unlearn what you have learned.”
Yoda’s wisdom, unrehearsed.
I needed a change, something absolute.
Had to break old habits
and reroute my pursuit.
Flip the script, exit the Aristotle loop.
We can still have fun.
Still embrace the absurd.
Someone said, “It’s Star Wars Day,”
and a spark then occurred.
We found a weird café,
celebrating in cosplay,
and somewhere in that moment,
a new hope was incurred.
Arriving at the venue, a little out of town, we found the clan,
Princess Leia sold us tickets on the door deadpan,
no droids allowed, no stormtroopers,
but there was a sandman,
Inside were Wookies at the bar, slamming shots like my mum can.
Han Solo in carbonite poster hanging on the wall,
Kids having lightsaber fights with bar stools, humming bishoooom loudly down the hall.
Glass cabinets with falcons and dioramas were neat.
Cantina soundtrack playing curiously on repeat,
Grabbed snacks, Empires on screen, so we found a seat.
We wandered deeper past merch and collector cases,
through aisles of toys and cosplayed faces.
The type of folk draw to these kind of conventions,
You know the type without me having to mention,
They filled the room with joy beyond pretension,
I watched them just be, and I wanted that,
but I found I had to be patient.
I don’t have to keep falling for the trap,
it’s not just escape, it must be more pure.
I lost a friend that day, and yeah, it’s still sore.
He bowed out—boozehound chasing the score,
while I found experience, absurdity, and something more secure.
Eons ago, near two flowing rivers in old China
Lived an old, white clothed man ninety-nine years of age
Who glared at two mountains he knew from his long-dead childhood
Who glared at the giants he always had dreams of
The first was a mist covered mountain, where all beasts were blind
With whispers of meaningless legends and theories
The second was a fiery mountain singing in passion
With trees and bushes with golden leaves, but no fruit
Both these mountains trapped the souls of the damned under the dirt
Both buried the light in the damp cyclical tomb
The souls were angels who defended their land from the night
Horsemen who guarded against the Prince of Darkness
The inner soul of light within the old man awakened
The youthful hoopoe bird within chirped for freedom
He began his work, to dig into the mountains themselves
He started to craft a path for all to travel
A wiser old man came up and saw the sweat raining down
And chuckled at the absurdity raining down
“Oh friend, you cannot remove one grey hair from the giants
How in heaven’s name can you crumble these mountains”
The foolish grey-haired man, singing and young in his caged heart
Said these words, roaring with his liberated mind
“My children shall tear the mountains by their blood-covered hand
My grandchildren shall destroy them with their chisels
My offspring will fight as unsleeping armies in the night
My offspring will never surrender their grand fight
The birds of the blue sky will peck the mountains piece by piece
The worms of earth will eat the fortress bit by bit”
These words reached the wise man’s inner heart beating with wonder
These words reached the sun and moon’s delicate bright souls
So the ships of light carried the message to the blue sky
The Infinite Father of Greatness and Lightness
The blue sky ripped apart the revolving grey clouds of might
The expanse of azure blue split all into two
Daylight shone in the highest firmament of dark violet
Daylight shone in the lowest crannies of Sheol
These two mountains vanished as if they were nothing at all
These two watchtowers crumbled in the gentle flames
Leaving no fortresses between the two flowing rivers
Leaving only an untouched garden, eons old
Somedays, I wake up and my mind is a buzz with the low hum of drunk bees. Other days it's the homicidal scree of the Purge siren meets the absurdity of Happy Gilmore. Those days, the mood stabilizers taste like tic tacs dipped in acid and it spills out of my gaping mouth into my previously placid pen, turning it to poison. My notebook becomes a study in disease, pock marked and creased with roller coaster highs and lows and the frizzing mania inbetween unfolds like an old moth eaten static charged blanket covering the gouged pages with foul temper, brutal honesty, utter despair, and doomed flights of fancy.
It's a curse, like a lesbian lost to menstruation...shes paying rent in a house she doesn't live in, the lonely walls sing or scream it all depends on the dopamine. Sometimes, I want to draw these breath stealing fiends, but their shape eludes me, they slide over my fingers like the rainbow slick of an oil spill, tangible but unable to be captured, just enough residue sticks to my fingers, daring me to try and paint the face of it on the sidewalk.
Somedays, theres jet fuel in my veins and my hands are brushes and my skin in an untreated canvas; the cool pigment dries and hardens inti crackling waves of war paint. My yawp shakes the trees and the birds and the needs, yes THE bees startle skyward into patterns flung by the breeze, stippling the sky in polka dotted relief. These days burn like untreated leprosy. Because, as bits fall away, I know the meat underneath is really me. I come crashing down to earth face first, eating my teeth so that the gaps in my smile are the map of a picasso and so my veins spew blue and my face twists upon itself like it was trapped in one hell of a vacuum, but you can still taste the salt of my tears and hear the howling of the out of tune guitar weeping in my uneducated fingers.
The area between the twp poles is the buzzing radio wormhole radiating lazy circles impaled by tight frantic circles, intersected by crazy 8s and venn diagramed with healthy doses of rage, creating a vomit inducing masterpiece of optical illusion bubbles swelling and flowing in wiggling vertigo. Illness is art. Art transforms illness. It's not always beautiful. Sometimes beauty is in the intersection of fascination and revulsion.
Dear God, my love for you flickers in wavering shadows,
Caught between the whispers of evening prayers
And the intoxicating allure of liquor’s path.
I am well aware that this habit I cling to displeases you,
Yet I beseech you, dear God, how can I find repose?
How can I surrender to sleep’s embrace?
Your kindness, a radiant beacon in the vast expanse,
Leaves me in awe.
But within your world, cruelty dominates.
From the break of dawn till the descent of dusk,
I confront the unyielding face of Your world’s reality.
A realm steeped in injustice and hostility,
Where love and compassion are futilely sought,
Their traces lost amidst the clamor.
In the sheltering hours of twilight,
I yearn to release the burdens that plague me,
To erase the echoes of nonsense, pain, and regret
That haunt my being.
And so, I turn to the amber elixir,
With its seductive allure,
Hoping to numb the jagged edges,
Seeking refuge and respite
In its transient embrace.
But God, please understand,
I do not fit into the vast tapestry of your grand design.
This world, this test of existence, eludes me,
Leaving me adrift in its absurdity.
Chaos and suffering entwine,
Weaving a complex web that ensnares those within its grasp.
And yet, despite this darkness that enshrouds,
My love for you remains steadfast,
Clutched tightly in my trembling hands.
I extend my apology, baring my heart’s vulnerable core,
Yearning for you, God, to witness and share
In the weight of my burdens,
The profound depths of my pain.
In your infinite understanding,
May I find peace and love,
My spirit reaching towards
The solace of your compassionate embrace.
Dear God, let your smile grace my wearied countenance,
Illuminating the path as I traverse the trials of this desolate place.
In the twilight’s whispered prayer,
Within the sweet surrender to liquor’s embrace,
I seek but a fragment of peace,
A fleeting glimpse of your boundless grace.
Though I stumble and fall amidst this relentless test,
Let it be known that my love for you
Will forever find its resting place.
For I am naught but a human,
Flawed and fragile,
Yet in my unwavering devotion,
Let my spirit prevail,
Resolute in its pursuit
Of your eternal presence.
…
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.
Issues, like mushrooms, spring up when two or more humans meet,
Issues start from how you are and what size is monkey's feet;
And thus my friend and I, like nail and flesh - same age - once met,
Debated on existence - theme fitting an intellect...!
Socrates, the thinking giant's thoughts on society!
Transcendence and idea-world of Plato’s gaiety!
Substance and categories of Aristotle - complex!
Theophrastus Botanical world - looked like an apex...!
Descartes –cogito ergo sum; Spinoza - sole substance,
John Lock - life, liberty, and property as confidence;
Discussions went endless like the flow of a stream fluent,
We had put a break and dwelt on matters very current...
Existentialism, like a thrilling tale, so exited us,
Concepts such as - God's no more - man is in confusing fuss;
Absurdity, null, void - A world filled with hell-like chaos,
If death puts everything at a standstill, what's not pathos?
Yet, there's no absolute end to creaturely life, I said,
Amidst death, there's the great resurrection and transcendence;
This theory, like a scorpion-sting, he soon reacted,
As though I'm an Orangutan, he got much protracted...
If so, will I rise, like Jesus, with my body and soul?
Or take rebirth into a dog or donkey or an owl?
Or from my ashes arise an orchid and multiply?
Or in soil or molecules of the cosmos will I sigh?
When I felt the arguments get heated like a quarrel,
And could bring in our heart cracks like drought dismally cruel;
I thought friendly relation is greater than life after,
And tried to replace the debate with some jokes and laughter!
Well, whatever way we exist after death, is life too,
Existence unblemished in heart, I said, is always true!
This too did not cut the cake, and he stood firm on his view,
I thought, within: if he holds to his view, why should I woo?
The world's vast; life's great; could I close growth in a cool cocoon?
Thoughts, like seas, are wavy and endless; is life a small boon?
My cat may have three legs; can't another have four or more?
Hence, in a world of views, should arguments have any shore?
08 October 2021
Difference in opinion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shreya LN
In a mall that could only be described as a circus of chaos, Penney and Gus found themselves in an absurd game of cat and mouse. The air buzzed with a mixture of excitement and anxiety—it was just another day at Mallville, where the ordinary became extraordinary, and every moment held the potential to be either hilarious or downright dangerous.
Penney eyed the bright signs that advertised "Escape Rooms: The Ultimate Adventure!" The fluorescent colors felt oddly welcoming amidst the pandemonium that was unfolding before her. She couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it all. Who would've thought that the mall's Easter Bunny would become an unwitting ally in their escapade?
“I never thought I’d be saved by a giant rabbit,” she murmured to herself as they ducked behind a row of chic retail displays, barely avoiding Michael’s frantic gaze.
“Look! It’s a bunny!” Gus exclaimed, his eyes shining with an idea. “If we can trick Michael into thinking that bunny is the true prize to chase after—or maybe even a secret agent—we might just have our distraction.”
Penney nodded, catching a glimpse of the furry creature adjusting his oversized glasses and attempting to regain composure after the chaotic encounter with Michael. The bunny, apparently, was more than just a seasonal mascot; he looked sharp and surprisingly agile.
As Penney and Gus strategized, Michael was already on his feet, brushing away faux grass and chocolate-covered Easter eggs from his attire. His nose still dripped crimson, but his focus remained unwavering. “I will find you, Penney! You can't hide forever!” he yelled, the intensity in his voice suggesting he was ready to unleash chaos on anyone who got in his way.
Gus noticed a group of teenagers nearby giggling as they filmed the unfolding drama for social media, creating a modern archive of what could easily be titled “Mall Madness.” They seemed oblivious to the seriousness of the situation—distraction was their specialty after all.
“Hey, you!” Gus called out, pointing dramatically at the teenagers. “Zany TikTokers! How about a collab? We need an epic stunt for your next viral video!”