Long Argued Poems
Long Argued Poems. Below are the most popular long Argued by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Argued poems by poem length and keyword.
She was a friend or so I thought, thinking we were quite similar.
Then I discovered she could not keep a confidence, and she regularly fabricated.
Even a baby confidence, she could not keep, and she added high drama, for effect.
I thought we could remain friends in a semi-friendship-way until I discovered she was wearing
My grandmother’s missing tennis bracelet on her right arm, and telling people it was hers.
“This is mine,” she argued with me. With a rhinestone missing in the exact same place as
My grandmother’s bracelet? With a clasp that did not stay shut, exactly like my grandma’s?
Friends no more.
I had had enough.
The Civil War and Vietnam
By Franklin Price
7/14/2015
The Civil War and Vietnam
Philosophically much the same
A different time a different place
Not such a different game
Two countries split in many ways
North and south were split in two
Must have a war to fix it
There's really nothing else to do
Wars not really wanted
Brought on by the politic
Results of which are argued
Are enough to make us sick
Many died in both the wars
No honor for the losers
The governments in both of them
Were very much the users
The victors of both wars the north
Concessions very few
For the losing south returning
To pick up their lives anew
The years have passed since either war
Vietnam vets are still quite mad
Civil War vets are all dead now
I think they're likely very glad
Don't have to watch dishonor
Being heaped upon their cause
Think of what we're doing
Don't run amok just take a pause
Because the north's the winner
Doesn't mean to pound the hammer down
Back off and think a moment
Before we take this country down
CHANGING WORLDS
.. An' Unc' Nathan -
Well.., he just kept right on ..,
You.., (he coughed a long one) eyes..,
They gonna' be square..
I blasted another.
'All that killing', said Ma..,
Lighting Grandpap's pipe..,
Pausing.., for her own pleasure..,
Then passing it on.
Brains blew all over the screen.
Big Sis' Charlotteen - out corner of my eye..,
Breezing in from work,
Dropping ash down her blouse, reading mail .,
Blown smoke, through nose..,
hanging.
Cigarette in teeth..
'Ma.. gotta' date.., got any microwave?'
Flick of wrist ., I laugh out..,
More aliens annihilated..,
Aunt Elz-beth leaned in closer.,
spilt her special 'medice'-whisky peering too far in.,
A glance ., it dropping off her chin .
'These 'puter things..,
That ain't no life' I hit pause. 'An' look at all the harm it brings'
Depressing the button..,
While all about,
Rolled tobacco, tugged, swigged, bickered, argued and snickered,
But nothing came through that, 'thick skull o' mine'.
Nothing got delivered..,
An yet.., way back when.,
O'er my shoulder.., forever..,
They all watched me save the planets..,
We all knew we were all heroes,
Kept stopping by as I solved the worlds.
Stopping by.., even now, decades away.
In rooms where futures are decided,
old men argued about small voices,
children who had been silenced
for a thousand years.
"Should we teach them in English,
the language of their masters?
Or let them speak
in their grandmother's tongue?"
One truth burned bright:
every word they chose
would echo in ten million hearts.
They decided:
Let the Kannada child
dream in Kannada first,
let the Tamil child
sing Tamil songs,
but teach them all
that two plus two
equals hope
in any language.
This was revolution
disguised as policy,
understanding that a flower
blooms best in home soil
but must grow tall enough
to touch the sun.
So they built bridges:
from village to nation,
from mother's lullaby
to the world's stage,
from one small voice
to the chorus of tomorrow.
Education became love,
the bridge between
who you are
and who you could become.
...It went up on the internet,
people argued in vain,
some said, “Monster,” some said, “It’s good
that ‘the rich’ know their pain!”
Tyler ignored all the hoopla,
knew nothing would be done,
all cops were bastards, after all,
he had already won.
When nobody came after him
he knew that this was true,
but in his ’hood’ several strange things
soon came into his view.
His boys would see some SUVs
too nice for this ghetto,
then his friend Maurice was shot down,
a head shot, brutal blow.
Two days later it was Andrew,
his throat cut from within,
then Marco was killed in his bed,
his face slashed to a grin.
One by one all his boys went down,
Tyler grew so afraid
he even went to the police,
they cared not what he’d say,
there were too few to walk those streets,
resources too far stretched,
Tyler retreated to his crib,
afraid that he’d be next.
He kept his last four brothers near,
their pistols well in hand,
then one night poor Rico was sniped
near where Tyler did stand.
He and his boys jolted to life,
three guns riddled his walls,
another man was hit by slugs,
to the ground he did fall.
They raced off from the crossfire,
to the hallway they ran,
only to see, at the far end,
a large and armored man.
His shotgun spoke and cut them down,
Tyler shrieked out and fell,
he heard many footsteps coming,
how many, he couldn’t tell.
He saw the man who had shot him,
a stern look on his face,
with a military bearing,
his eyes a focused hate.
The others didn’t look so tough,
just like middle-class dads,
but the guns they held were no joke,
and right now one seemed glad.
“This is the one who raped my girls,”
said one with an AR,
the stern one said, “You all did well,
better than most, by far.
The quick training did lots of good,
these thugs were not prepared,
and this bastard is still alive,
this human filth looks scared.”
The AR-guy stalked up and looked
with a face cruel and grim,
he had no need for trials as
he aimed the guy at him.
Tyler could only cry as he
placed a foot on his neck,
in his last thought he understood
just who the police protect…
Bluebells and bluebonnets sprinkled against the horizon
Azure sky smiles, streaks of turquoise and light blue
Delighting each other as they race in and out of the
Remnants of what is left of the bluest meadow,
The sky winks, knowing she will be changing into
Nightfall quickly. Travelling to a new place to blue up
The oceans, and show her full loveliness. Seeping into dreams.
Showing her lakes and ice floats her true color.
Some are calmed by her, which is why God selected her
To be the day sky. Some of the angels had argued for pink
But the ones who were tired of that color won the argument.
Blue polka dotted dresses, navy blue suits, blue, the boy's color.
Glorious, wonderful, soothing, powdery, pleasurable blue.
No painting is complete without her. No outfit either; dress her up
Or wear her in jeans, she is in style, and comfortable in her own skin
No matter what. Chosen by God, was blue, after all.
Chanukah lights grow by one
each and every night
And yet, no disguising that
the holiday slips away
quick as a cat
Six lights, seven, eight!
The menorah’s looking great! …
Come Day Number Nine
it’s back to our same old fate ...
Way back when, the school of Shammai
started Chanukah with eight lights
each night subtracting one*
Easing us back into winter’s long night
_____________________________________________________
*Over 2,000 years ago, Shammai's yeshiva argued
with Hillel's over how to celebrate Chanukah. Hil-
lel's yeshiva won: One additional candle each night.
And that became the law right down to today... As
for me, I would have it the other way. Oh, well...
Our marriage was a sham,
We fought and argued all the time
There was no love lost between us
We were like train tracks
going parallel in the same direction
but merging nowhere,
We were at each other's throats.
Finally, I had had it enough--
I caught hold of her arm
dragged her through the hallway,
Threw her out of our home
and slammed the door shut.
For a long time
I leaned against the door
holding my breath
in the grip of a terrible concern,
But finally breathed a sigh of relief;
Good riddance! That's it. No more...
I heard a feeble knock,
"I am sorry, let me in," She cried softly.
“No, absolutely Not,” I barked,
“I am not taking it anymore.”
"Please, give me another chance," She sobbed,
"I'll make our marriage work,
Please open the door."
“NO!”
"I...I...LOVE...You"....
............................
... And, I opened the door!
The prince was fearful when he saw the pretty faerie headed his way.
He held up his arm indicating that was close enough.
She was transfixed by his stare, so she kept flying.
Seriously! He croaked, please give me six feet.
She sat down, and he relaxed a bit.
I am here to transmogrify you back, she told him.
He had been afraid of that. Dreading the day.
Nothing had been worse than paying all the bills in the palace.
Please don’t, he implored her.
I love it here. I can swim all day, and the flies are tasty.
His huge tongue sizzled out and snatched one.
YUM!
But the king needs you, she told him.
He is lonely.
There are other accountants, he told her.
Please tell him you could not find this one.
She suspected there was another reason.
What about your wife? She misses you.
She was never kind to me, he argued. She put me down.
She made fun of me in front of my children.
Poor dead thing.
A mole some said.
Ugly for sure.
A vole others agreed.
The only thing we agreed on was that it was dead.
Poor dead whatever.
No funeral.
No service.
No words.
Just a hole dug in the earth
And a decaying body.
I wondered as I was digging
What else I would discover.
Hoping if I did it would not be human.
I have no idea what I would do about that.
A vole someone argued.
I rolled my eyes.
What did it matter?
It is not like we were going to be singing a song.
Or saying a prayer.
Or giving it last rites.
Too late for that.
I ignored them all and kept digging.
Hoping to find nothing….