Long Ascertained Poems
Long Ascertained Poems. Below are the most popular long Ascertained by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ascertained poems by poem length and keyword.
We are indebted seriously
To all free spouts covered
Whose nozzles hardly suspire
And hanged up to rest in subsequent sighs
But keep hoping the wait be over soon
We are indebted seriously
To all hands withheld from howdy to observe
Social distance relations it doesn't admire
As we do wanting to draw the heaven nigh
But only with words, most people reach for the moon
We are indebted forever
To the lives lost to Corona virus
That are most likely to have been saved
For more grace to sail in the boat of life
But to no avail, all efforts proved abortive
We are indebted forever
To the streets littered with corpses
Of the less privileged burnt as offerings
In fear not to spread the virus
But in surprise, the rich were given befitting burials
We are indebted forever
To the health personnel
Who lost their lives
Trying to save others' lives in duty
But beyond aid, they crossed the bar
We are indebted forever
To the press reporters
Spreading information and saving lives
Reaching out to audiences in risk
But for honor, they were not awarded
We are indebted forever
To those who lost their jobs to pandemic
And couldn't find another means of survival
Than to watch their lives in the hand of hunger
But for hope, it was just hoping for the uncertain
We are indebted forever
To those that died of hunger
Whose death was recorded as corona death
So as to make numbers and headlines
But while starving, nothing much came through...
We are indebted forever
To the stage of earth
And nature's reaction
Beyond science research
That no vaccine ideally set us free
We are indebted forever
To the kind hearted men
Who did give away in abundance
Than the societies less expected
In secret that sorrows flee many houses
Happy survival!
To all who God's grace kept
From the touch of Corona
And still breathe
Without trouble in healthy system
We can not do this forever
Crying for love, for hatred, for death
And forget the sick Rose and the healthy night
For peace ahead of us in regret
Wandering lonely as a thick cloud
In the eyes of time traveling through the clock
Where end is not ascertained like the blast of waterfall
When... when shall we gladly go
For cheers, for gaze and for praise
That are ceased up in Corona's craziness?
I just found myself clicking and
reading one of my favorite poet's Jennifer Proxenos poem's called
An Early Addiction
In which she spells out her joy
and love for poetry and how she
got started
Which inspired me to try make
sense and write or tell my story
After all is not the point of great
poetry to inspire other's
And i realized i have been posting
on soup for over 10 year's now
Given my lack of patience and
limited attention span 10 year's
may as well be a lifetime to me
The only thing i can recount or
recall when it comes to poetry
is that my Dad wrote a poem for
my niece Kayleigh
Otherwise i have no starting point
from which to begin
As when it comes to school i
was never interested in english
and barely passed with a D
To this day my spelling is atrocious
and my gramma little better
Sad as it may be to admit but i can
count the number of books i have
read on the fingers on one hand
and that's discounting index finger
and thumb
My sister was an accomplished
english student and even joked
it took me a week to read a comic
I only started or even wrote my first poem closer to fourty than thirty
year's of age
How on earth and why i'll never know
but i am eternally grateful i did
My only regret is i did not start before
my father died and i could not share
my poem's and poetry with him
And although i am not a poet
persay more like a driver
who needs assistance and
to use a sat-nav to get places
may need to cheat and use
spell check
That my wrote and verse which
posted ascertained as ugly duckling
attempted writting to me is shrouded
in my inner thought expresses
Are to this day still some of my
most proud achievement once
reading back
So much so i struggle to find
the me in self and fully
grasp my worth
Yet here i write and stand cap in
hand begging fir an auidance
proud of most of what i have wrote
Poetry is a passion
Poetry is my drug
Not merely just a hobby
Or passing phase
So cheers
Yours Sincerely
Kind regards
Thanks anyone for reading
From i the understated
Undersigned
Christopher of Flaherty
partygoers partying pock peck pock
A baa is just as good and effective as a peck for wools and beaks can repeal even the smallest of fleas through the movements of neck and the chewing of grass in meadows. It is said to be as hazardous as jumping out of a light aircraft at eight hundred feet when placing a bomb in a bucket. Erotic explosions explicitly excite. And a tidal wave of a tuning fork spins over and over a large table. Cute cockroaches cooing. And a bowl of leavened breadsticks chat to an operatic orange. It is to be ascertained that an orange can swim for many miles after leaping from a trawler at over fourteen million feet. Spool of solo spoon. And a wide angled shot video calls the cards caresses. Mystify nit a traffic jam on the highways, motorways and lanes. And bridleways are left to the little ones who charge through on horseback creating swabs of colourful criss crossed triangular orbs. Pan flash of a mystic mayhem delivered with a spade. But mystical mayhem's of manufactured monotonous musical movements move morously making moronic manic mortals. Pantomime is clever for ducks in tight bras. And whiskey drinking is best left when seated high upon twenty thousand whoopee cushions but when there is two billion people watching this show then the meerkats make money from fields of cane fruit. Stand then. Alight the purple bus backwards in a shape resembling a letter for alphabetical format is to be driven miles over many continents. Wow. And the little rat well he just got fat. Knitting rubbish in the sewers and attempting to sell the creations in the shops. But tinder for tender is not tenderness nor is it a temper tantrum in a glass avenue or a hallway. Hallucinations then. Wow. Fantastic frame. Interesting is it not to sit and dwell with over two hundred tuned bees. Hahaha icing a cake upside down on a ceiling beam. Baldry. And a dome arch very thin watching. Xxxxx catastrophically Z z z with a nice trotting mushroom cantering in a field. Z
Form:
You tell me I should never judge,
When I cross paths with you.
That I should always show respect,
To what you say and do.
But when I share what I believe,
You tell me not to speak.
You say my thoughts offend your ears,
Then treat me like a freak.
Profanity pours from your mouth,
Your movies and your songs,
But if I take offense at this,
You tell me that I'm wrong.
And yet, the mention of God's name
Is more than you can bear.
You tell me I should hold my tongue,
While you curse without care.
You say I need an open mind,
Yet yours is closed to me.
You claim that faith has left me blind,
While you still fail to see.
You try so hard to silence God,
To cast Him from your sight,
While everything that you believe
Is brought into the light.
With indignation you demand
That I get with the times,
And reject this Dark Age dogma
That claims sin is a crime.
No tyrant living in the sky
Will set the rules for you!
As long as you don't break man's laws,
There's nothing more to do.
Since I believe in fairytales
I don't deserve respect.
Why listen to deluded words
You KNOW are incorrect?
And that is how you justify
Your blind hypocrisy.
This righteous indignation hides
Your flagrant bigotry.
Yet you think our reality
Can fit into a box.
That realms like this create themselves,
No need for building blocks.
From nothing's bitter emptiness,
Our universe arose,
A cosmos from oblivion,
Is the myth you propose.
What you believe is based on faith,
Truth can't be ascertained.
So why should I show you respect,
When you show me disdain?
Not one of us can offer proof,
For the things we believe.
And anyone who says they can,
Is trying to deceive.
So no, I will not hold my tongue,
Nor spare your tender ears,
I'll march my faith right down your street,
Despite your stones and spears.
I do not yield to hypocrites
Nor bow to bigotry.
And I will give you my respect,
When you give yours to me.
A curse. It's what she was ascertained to be.
A plague which has been put on the burden of the residents of the world.
People discarded her as mere trash for they considered her as an ill-omen.
Misfortune embraced her when she didn't even know the real meaning of life.
God called her parents to his abode and left her with an odious, monstrous scar which blemished her chalky, innocent, baby-like face.
What was her fault in all that?
No one can obstruct God's Will.
Her scar hindered her joy, her happiness.
She was a mere victim of fate.
Left desolated, isolated up to no good, where no one was here to even ask her about food, where she spent sleepless nights hoping that someone will come to sing her a lullaby.
Longing for a melody, tired of being lonely, wishing that there will be someone, somewhere who will care about her, about her desires, her dreams , her wishes, her hopes.
Left in the darkness where she could not even see her own shadows, where it was even more painful to face the life, when survival has been a desire charred in the fire with wistful hopes.
She lingered, hovered as she cried over days and nights when her tears became colorless like diamond dust but who stained her clothes like thick crimson red blood.
The little lady waited for long in certainty that God is here, he exists, he'll help her.
Nevertheless, these dreams of hers were suffused by the dust that time left on its way.
Loneliness monopolized her life as it ruled over her and even bleaks of light was altered into ashes as it hit it.
Survival was solace for her, which seemed to be hardly an oblivion.
It then came when a cherub entered her life filling it with lights, blue like the blue hyacinths, yellow like sunflowers, pink like lilies, red like zinnias.
She flourished amidst the white, fluffy sky as she was lifted up to the crystal clear sky.
She came out of her shadow, up to somewhere were even a slight faint ray of it was changed into creatures of light.
Form:
Dragon went to the mailbox this morn,
And he came excitedly flying back, yes, toward the house…
So Now, you should… be doubly, doubly, doubly forewarned.
Yep! Now, you GOTTA know… We’re in for a LOT of ensuing chaos!
Yes, He had a letter addressed to him…
With a smile on his face and a letter in his hand…
And what, you ask, had him wearing, such bubbly, bubbly, bubbly grin?
He’s going, this year, to the Fireman Competition, and held the invite so grand!
By Now, you must know, such excitement, so fine…
As usual, made his fire to run, run, run… onto the letter in hand…
And that Date, and the Time? You know, that fire? Well… never mind!
Thought this would slow Dragon? No way! He’s ready, now, for that Laurel Strand.
He flew to the Firehouse, lickety- split…
Crashing into the fire truck, giving it a broken axel and 4 tires flat, flat, flat!
Leaving his head, stuck, solidly, through the window, into the trucks cockpit…
Fortunately, out ran the fire chief, to organize the rescue, of our little dingbat…
When NOTHING ELSE would work, all the firemen…
Put their feet on the door, grabbing Dragon, and they pulled, pulled, pulled!
Finally, it took old Grandpa Troll to pull his head out, by taking the door off…
And then breaking the door apart! My! What a day, I must say, THIS had been!
Then next week’s competition was explained…
As a Charity Event to enhance and outfit their old faithful fire truck!
Now a little rescue practice will never, never, ever… it’s ascertained…
Ever be turned down! And Oh My! And Oh Well! What’s that truck worth?
That is… compared to our klutzy, little clown…
Grandpa Troll donated repairs as Dragon worked it off, day after day, after day.
My Moral is: If great you will be, then mistakes will be made along the way…
As you walk to your destiny, don’t despair; just keep going to your brighter days…
Written By Carol Eastman 5-19-2016
Friends are supposed to be there for one another in times of need. Friends are expected to tell each other the truth even when they know it can cost them their precious relationship. True friends feel pain when their friends feel pain. Friends are not yet true friends until they have a misunderstanding and are able to contain it. At this point in time that you and your friends have a misunderstanding, it will go a long way to unveil their level of maturity and then puts you in a position to make a decision whether you really want them to continue to be your friends.
It is through the tests of time that true friendship is ascertained because when you are down and all seems not to be working both financially and otherwise, which is when you can truly know if your friends are really your true friends.
Among every ten friends, there is always a black sheep, that odd one out that acts strangely or can’t be trusted. Therefore, people should make wise choices before choosing their friends instead of just making friends. Our choices and tastes differ and when it comes to choosing, a lot of criteria’s are put into consideration. First of all, you really need to know and understand yourself, know what you want and don’t want before you can then make a choice of choosing the people you want to be in your life,
A bad friend stabs you in your absence and praises you in your presence. Friendship should be the brotherly type that we share and show love even in times of adversity. Love is not choosy, love never despises, and love knows no colour, tribe or race. True friendship is an epitome of love.
If friendship is all about talking, laughing and jesting and not about how to make a difference in our generation, helping each other achieve our goals in life and making positive impact the lives of people, then the purpose of God for creating man will be have been defeated.
Multiply a horseradish with a jar of mustard and gain what exactly? A pickled onion? A beetroot? It's simply quite fascinating the divination of an oven glove. Materialistic bacon joints in a suit can often jump very high in the air. Above the clouds of course. Naturally. Interesting isn't it? The equilibrium of a soup spoon cannot live in a right angled triangle but a circus tent in a kitchen can be very very entertaining indeed. As the lights from a cup spin in robotic circular rhythms it is then time to prance down a hallway holding a small number of items. And here they are. Twenty-five fish bowls, an arena in a casserole dish, and a lint cloth. But of course one must adorn oneself with a scent of the finest secretion. A nice aroma. Pleasant isn't it? Great. Apple calling knock knock bing bong. And a grinning backward flipping pig says hello to giant birds, horns in a field and a forest, paws with bananas and an igloo based penguin sends smoke signals to seals so don't dance anti clockwise in that dress or you may fall over the tables. A floor brings gratitude to a leaf. And a seed is watered gently to ensure even growth. And now. And then. And often. It is to be ascertained that a curtain pole dancing to electro guitar is very fashionable. Stylish even. Buttons baking breaded boiled baps. Pickled papayas playing polo. Aliens athletically aesthetically aromatically arriving. And a jar of milk sings to the orange juice on the breakfast table. Peruse news then? Pleasing pink whale in a frilly dress and waving to the Coriolanus in a corset. Haha and animalistic anarchy and not only for the sake of the entertainment. But a great holiday in the house. And now sleep. Z z z z z then wake up. Good. A rake in a cottage is akin to a spade in a tea cup. *** multifunctional and multidimensional si go multiply. Pratagonistical Z
Form:
She refuses to bring a child
into this cradle contaminated world
Even herself, she wished
were never brought into it
With stillborn immature regret,
she woulda flatline wrapped the umbilical cord
around herself ...
And let the ultrasound noise
drown her,
with a suicide note fetal writ
Earth offerings of paternal pain
(wars unending,
and violent efforts for material gain)
birthed her aborted truth
This is her Caesarian undeliverable proof
Empty bosoms of compassion
was all she could ever hope to give
this never-to-be love child
Faith and patience
was in limited, lactose-intolerant supply
An angry father prowls a-pace,
somewhere in a solitary place,
outside of her
present womb needs
His disaffected embryo concern
was readily ascertained
when the placenta news broke
He aborted his parental responsibility
in a drunken, vehicular homicidal rage
Now a penitentiary slave,
giving a doubled absentee decision
A ten-year burnt bridge
smouldering in a spiteful cage
Moon offerings of maternal pain
(tenuous peace unending,
and forceful efforts for emotional dominance)
birthed his aborted truth
This is his Caesarian undeliverable proof
Empty bottles of compassion
was all he could ever hope to give
this never-to-be loved child
Patience and faith
had been depleted for a nipple-intolerant while
Twin aborted truth,
neither has loving feelings
for each other
Tho’ they both want the same thing
Twin aborted truth
is the premature death-face of pain
Siamese in it’s suffering
Cemetery souls zombie shackled —
heads joined together,
with sporadic guilt shuffling
Sitting in the perpetual shade of grief,
having brief, awakening moments of lucidity ...
But only when the tomb madness
of hating life,
temporarily dozes off to a self-forgiving sleep
You see I've been misunderstood majority of my life
Its as though if living were war
then im the knife
Its not my fault society embraces suicide
Label me an aspiring mathematician
Cuz I have nothing to hide
but a simple substance I provide
for an affordable price
my life is nicked and dimed into a dynasty of ghetto capital
my product derived of natural organic matter
strategically cut and cooked for a simple way to provide
that get away you're after boo
Damage is collateral
See while you chase starts
I chase the dollars that make them
See I defy God and for a few
I can make you invincible
destroying your principles
Cuz ile have you feining for that next high
that next mucus mixture
with the snort of that booger sugar
Excess caked up til inhaled to the brain
that mental bugaloo
Cut into rocks of instacourage
for you weak pawns on a chessboard
checkmated before you had the chance
to advance to enemy territory
You've destroyed yourself
As I enjoy my wealth
Now whos the loser
When you look yourself in the mirror
and realized you've ascertained a habit you cant break
developed a hunger for a superficial utopia you cant make
You are
So as a businessman my product and I are one
but never mingle
So while you dibble and dabble with the snow
I create blizzards
Are you prepared for the cold cold life ahead of you
If im caught is federal
But you're worth the effort
Im just simply the man that makes the offer
And its crazy cuz when the streets were hot
and my product was mixed with soda pop
it was a shoulder shrug
Now I gotta hide my product
discreet with my customers
or metal bracelets will give my wrist
a colder hug
Load the slug
and aim it at your cranium
this is a ride youll die for
Literally speaking
No pun intended
It was more of a visual sentence