Long Aggressive Poems
Long Aggressive Poems. Below are the most popular long Aggressive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aggressive poems by poem length and keyword.
Our beauty is hidden in our words!
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
Our content in contentment
hides within commitment toward integrity.
Our beauty is hidden in our words
said only toward ourselves.
Barometers of mental health
for how we are and are not feeling
beautiful,
good,
fair,
balanced,
just,
harmonious,
confluent,
content,
graceful,
like good mentors without external hypocrisy,
and sometimes not such good mentors.
Mentors with words redolent of harmonic peace,
or maybe sometimes too much non-violent peace,
passive aggressive surfing, searching back and forth,
or even violently imagining unworded diverse futures
of yourself,
those around you,
generalized economic and sociopathological
and therapeutic
States and Species of thrive or demise,
and planet Earth,
and our Universe,
sometimes a metaphysically closing system,
sometimes more beautifully opening
although with considerable stress
tipping points,
trimming tabs and scissors,
adjusting balance, halves of ecologic,
within our internal voices of environ-mental health
as hope for cultural beauty.
Humaned nature adds economic
and cultural
and psychological freedom to evolve
kindness of mutual subsidiary intention,
an active love of peaceful mind.
Nature is only limited by absence
of regenerative orthopraxis,
caring and nurturing,
economically and politically powerful values
exercised within the classroom of each day.
Ecotherapeutic voices in our nights
and days of reconnecting consciousness
create our daily practice
of natural systemic design,
this song of synergy,
creative universal intelligence.
Cooperative kindness and competitive unkindness
are capacities coincident to all of nature,
a polar range from regeneration through decomposition,
from synergy through negentropy,
Kindness and love self-optimize as "Truths of Beauty"
when we freely choose sufficiency of contentment,
with full will and ecojustice intent.
My words surf my beauty and hope and synergy,
in and out,
back and forth,
listening for my listening gracefilling bicameral heart
and comprehensive consciousness,
discovering contentment within my content,
form within my information,
ecobalancing function within form,
fractal frequencies within bioregenerative
self-optimizing function.
Surfing echo frequencies,
Earth's words of microwaving grace.
I invited my oldest daughter to dinner for her half birthday.
It was highly embarrassing when she wrestled me to
The ground for the check, and I landed in some guy’s lap.
Sorry, I said. “This is my daughter.”
She glared at me.
“Why did you do that?” she asked me.
“Why did you bite my hand?” I asked back. “I have not had a tetanus shot.”
“You had one last February, remember?”
I suddenly remembered who FORCED me in to get one, because she did
not (prissy voice now) “Want her mother to get lock jaw.”
I had screamed and wailed and begged and sniffled and sobbed.
It did me no good. I got the shot that hurt less than my wailing and sobbing had.
“And could I please have my credit card back now?” I asked Miss Aggressive.
The waitress turned and looked when I said that, so I stuck out my tongue.
I had told her up front I would be paying, after all.
“Do you want to go shopping?” my daughter asked.
“I can’t,” I replied. “You have my credit card.”
So we looked at the dessert menu, but everything
was costly, and we both knew we would end up on the
floor again, maybe in sumo diapers, and we were too full
to wrestle without guaranteed bouts of flatulence the next time.
So we went to her house and watched six TV shows she wanted
me to “see” in about forty-two minutes.
Oh, my, you ask, how does anyone watch six TV shows in less than
an hour?
Easy when your daughter has the remote, and fast forwards through all
the parts she already saw that were “too boring to see” which means you
get to see some of the beginning, maybe a minute in the middle,
and if you are very lucky, the ending. Another enjoyable evening
with an assertive-borderline-aggressive-beyond-belief daughter
who obviously takes after her daddy’s side of the family.
I took her gift back, and went home.
It might be her birthday, but she did not deserve a gift,
due to blatant arrogance and having to be in charge of me.
No one else EVER tries to be in charge of me!
I dread the bleak dark end-of days when I end up at her mercy,
days in the future, when I cannot see out, or walk or talk, and she is my jailer.
Maybe she will deserve this birthday gift next year but I doubt it.
I have brought this birthday gift over six years in a row, and as
you can see, the less-aggressive one still has it.
Jesus, the incarnate, told parables to his people.
Like the poets, figurative language, he cleverly used.
Pharisees and Sadducees showed as though they were legal.
At the law of love of Jesus, yet, like Gnus, they're confused.
Were Pharisees and Sadducees like children in the street?
They weren't simple, immaculate, sensitive, and thoughtful.
In them, hatred for the counsel of God had been complete.
They were arrogant, aggressive, cowardly, and spiteful.
They were pipers, who wished the poor to dance to their tunes.
They wished the lowly to live like mourners at funerals.
Theologies and philosophies, they thought, were there boons.
In their mental equipoise, yet, they were mere juveniles.
Though Jesus mocked them, molding them was his mere intention.
As flesh needs blood, they're in need of divine intervention.
A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.
As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.
Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.
Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.
A Word Collage For Chan Hurst
(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)
A story is told of a Roman soldier who came upon an area and needed further direction to reach a certain destination. His guide informed the soldier that if he insisted on proceeding in a certain direction, it could be fatal. The soldier replied, " It's required that I obey orders, not for me to live". Without a doubt, the Roman soldier was a warrior.*
They were vigorous, courageous, and aggressive; in wins or losses, gentlemen no less. I would consider them the greatest duo never to have won a finals championship.** One of them received NBA MVP awards in '97 and '99, a great personal achievement.*** The duo was like H2O, the formula for water, or like two well-tuned music machines.
One year those dynamic duo warriors nearly won it all, but for the heroics of another warrior.**** The unsung, unawarded quiet giant, was one of the greatest sports warriors of all time.*****
070720PSCtest, Warrior Contest, Silent One *Warrior: A person engaged or experienced in warfare; soldier. A person who shows or has shown great vigor, courage, or aggressiveness, as in politics or athletics. Dictionary.Com. *2 Karl Malone & John Stockton. *3 Karl Malone *4 Michael Jordan. *5 John Stockton
Under the sun and moon, flawed men linger in the cold
Who in the mist of darkness, cut and rip apart trees eons old
While stepping on grass and insects for wood to be sold
Deaf to the pleas the light within makes to them while men seek for gold
To make for themselves gods to care as well as impugn
Blind to the Father of Greatness who stands above the sun and moon
Carving the wood with knives with the edges razor thin
Into aggressive lions, venomous serpents, armed men of sin
Maidens with iron-grey painted on their senseless skin
Leaving spikes to pierce through the lights of purity trapped within
And with skill, they craft horned bulls painted with bronze for flair
Leaving the spirits to burn in despair, with smoke to fill the air
And to sell them like slaves that customers have to pay
Though these gods are the apparent wisdom and light, or so they pray
Hanging them with silver chains by their necks as display
Trading them as property despite calling them the gods each day
Painted in blood red to make them easier to trade
With tears unseen flowing to the blue sky for tranquillizing aid
Bowing down to the wailing statue to be devote
With the worshippers filling the room with prayerful chants with each throat
Maybe praying for their deceased children’s river boat
While blindly bowing, with raining tears, to their children’s wooden coat
A statue sitting down with a serene face and veil
With souls in that chaotic Samsara, in that cyclical flail
Giving fruits of all colours that are pleasing to see
For the trapped souls to smell their brethren rotting as a death-filled sea
Pouring fish blood unto the wooden corpse of a tree
To show loyalty to the wooden carcass with their prayerful glee
Half the wood they burn for food which is perishable
Half the wood they worship as a god who is imperishable
Craftsmen make wooden crosses of a man crucified
To honour the one Christ whom the world of winter’s darkness denied
While nailing the Suffering Jesus with hands applied
Further crucifying the Cross of Light within the wood that died
May the light be free from the lion-headed craftsman
May the light, through the sun and moon, become the one and only Perfect Man
Than all those whom promote killing
as progress science has said life begins in the womb
shade it which ever way you truly wish
shows an aggressive side which is very heartless
to say the least because i know
how deeply you have insulted me
in every way from having an opinion or sense
plain as ice to be seen on my stand in the protection of life
are you trying overturn my good values
shame on you with such ugly agendas towards others
also very aggressive i find cursing my existence
abort like my view trying to overpower my comment on an article
so sad really focus your energy on your children
not killing other peoples I lost a child
you even try to dehumanise my thought process
that is sick in my book of life long live our children's rights
I am a survivor for many, many reasons
I cannot write about the source of them all
However, I grow with all the beautiful seasons
Triumph always follows each and every downfall
I have survived years of trauma in childhood
I have survived the death of loved ones, I lost
I face these hard things head on, as I feel I should
To grow, to heal, to melt the cold, painful, frost
I have experienced an aggressive cancer too
I have survived that miraculously, back then
I came out of it with gratitude for life that is new
You never know the time left to leaving, or when
I also bear the recent chronic pain from injuries I had
I have the will to survive, to offer the most while I’m here
Yet, I always feel feelings I need to, no matter how sad
I climb all the mountains in life and face all of the fear
I hold gratitude for all the good and not let the bad win
I live out my purpose and pursue all that I love to do
Turn the bad memories into beauty, erase all the sin
This can happen for anyone, the survival instinct is in you!
Heidi Sands
*Placed 2nd in the I am a survivor contest.
8/21/17
In one big ocean were many schools of fish. Most of them were nice in their own ways, but this is the story of two types of schools of fish very different in their ways of thinking. One school of fish was fond of mesmerizing things such as the colorful lures the fishermen sometimes used as bait. Although they often got caught by fishermen, they still preferred swimming in the shallow waters. It was as if they did it by instinct and could see no other way to be. They also loved being part of the larger crowd of fishes in the ocean. They even followed the more popular schools of fish around because they wanted nothing more than to be popular as well. The popular schools of fish were sometimes quite flashy and beautiful, but so easy to be seen by the sharks that lurked close by.
Swimming in much deeper waters were schools of fish with different behaviors from the more popular schools. The deep-swimming fish seemed by instinct to know that they should hide behind rocks and plant life when danger was lurking, and they stayed clear of the shallow waters. They understood somehow that sharks more often attack above thirty feet rather than in the great depths of the ocean. These schools of peculiar fish were not flashy. Neither were they popular. However, they did not get caught as often by the fishermen who came from land in search of fish.
One day the hateful sharks, rulers of the mighty ocean, got together and went on a huge expedition to capture and eat as many fish as they could find. They would circle unsuspecting fish, capture them and then devour them mercilessly. The schools of fish in the ocean’s depths mostly escaped this day of entrapment. The sharks continued their attacks, growing more and more aggressive day by day as time went on. It was not long before many of the popular schools of fish were dwindling in the ocean. More and more, all fish seemed to be learning it was wiser to swim deeper.
Moral: Unwisely schooled, more easily fooled.
A school office.
A chair.
A boy.
A strained smile,
Owned by the principal,
He claims this was not an easy decision
He pretends to care -
The boy is expelled.
Distraction, aggressive, non-compliant
Nothing more, nothing less,
His crime: a multitude of reasons
A perfect score on his test,
Impossible, he is miles further than the rest -
Of the class,
He claims it is suspicious
Boys like ‘him’ don’t usually achieve success
Next -
Yelling at the the teacher,
For making multiple insensitive comments
Micro-aggressions passing for ‘truth’
The teacher, has a history of complaints,
From fellow black youths.
The teacher is white -
We already know whose side the principal will choose
These were never crimes,
They just couldn’t buy the black boys silence -
So they resort to calling him violent
The principal stands up,
He claims there is nothing he can do
That is a lie, we all know the truth,
He just couldn’t control the black student