Long Autobiography Poems
Long Autobiography Poems. Below are the most popular long Autobiography by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Autobiography poems by poem length and keyword.
damaged and alone I am stained with
memories that never ease my existence.
soiled by dirty flashbacks, I’m never
relieved when I remember all my befouled
experiences.
contaminated and defaced, I can no
longer be subjected to such marred
recollections-
I don’t deserve such absolution as my
mind never required an outlook that
freed my bloodstained past.
abandoned, I cry for unblemished images
to crowd my brain.
I thirst for musings that can alleviate my
blackened reminiscences.
I recall my youth-
an improper childhood full of discolored
souvenirs.
my autobiography should be written
in terms of battling ten thousand
wars-
dividing my life into factions of pain
and unwarranted pleasures.
my yesteryears have diminished into
unreasonable doubt-
I feel so ancient;
like a shriveled up messy essence at
just thirty-eight years old.
I never knew how deprived I was of
lucidity until last night-
I pondered on the mirrored reflections
of my bygones.
all I saw was unfathomable filth
with no way to cleanse my soul.
what shall I do about my conundrum?
who shall I turn to for comfort?
the answer lies in the depths of the
deepest seas;
in the heart of the greatest heart
that ever was to live…
“I cry to thee who hears my plea,
an aria of tarnished reflections is me-
I hunger to be stronger,
can’t live with this pain any longer,
please free me from this lewd debris.”
so I move on.
live on in my own world I created.
I am left faded and stoic---
longing for someone to unpollute
my jaded aforementioned past.
Tarnished Relfections
John Lawless
March 22, 2018
Despite all the political upheaval we still live in the best country around
Having the freedom to live our lives the way we want keeps us firmly on the ground
Many unique opportunities will cross our path along the way
Find things that will positively change your life while keeping negativity at bay
Reach out and find the one thing that is going to make you happy
Put your heart and soul into everything you do,even though it may not be easy
Life is for living and that is what you exactly need to do
Be the best you can be, set goals for yourself, and be sure to follow through
Challenge yourself every day to do the things you most desire
Knowing you are in charge of your destiny, go out and see what you can acquire
If someone wrote your autobiography, what would it say
Truly a person that respected life and what it had to offer every single day
Without a word - you speak to me through particles of pigmentation
For centuries held within the grip of linseed oil
Where now I gaze upon the many faces that you wore
And their beauty shakes me to the very core
For in each one I see and feel the life you lived
All the different stages - on which you played
Each faze of life - portrayed in raw emotion
So powerfully and brilliantly displayed:
Surprise, confusion, anger and mockery,
Humbleness, arrogance and gaiety
Contentment, resentment, agitation and condemnation
Impatience, sadness, bitterness, and sorrow
And finally resignation all conveyed -
In vibrant shades of autumn leaves
That without a word, so loudly and profoundly - speak to me.
~~~~
Written: July 8, 2011 - 0:03 a.m.
Inspired By Brian Strand’s contest:
POETA -ANY FORM/ THEME max 15 lines
Awarded: 1st Place
~~~~~~
Note from author as taken from Time Life Library of Art:
No artist has left a loftier of more penetrating persoanal testament
than Rembrant van Rijn. In more than 90 portraits of
himself that date from the outset of his career in the 1620's
to the year of his death in 1669, he created an
autobiography in art that is the equal of the finest ever produced
in literature---even of the intimately analytical Confessions of St. Augustine.
Seedier media’s spewed a lot of late
Crude is all about lewd Bazball’s fate
Ben eschewed then stewed had to wait
On Stokes & ECB feud did concentrate
A tomfoolery catapult at a summer fete
Deranged but change won’t contemplate
Glummer fans can berate but no debate
Won’t halt dumber all out assault template
Fawn this new dawn to thrill will facilitate
Once did reinvigorate now does agitate
Ban this bland brand just a T20 ingratiate
Test tragics thirst perverse curse won’t sate
Hiss Brook took the piss & will aggravate
Ben we no longer trust and must castigate
When he then lost his zen & did denigrate
His men & all the plaudits he did generate
As Test cricket’s saviour we didn’t hesitate
Defending best sort of our sport appreciate
Stopping unwise franchise rise we participate
Tests out of date follow a reprobate mandate
Cogitate let's all just trust Bazball & meditate
New chapter couldn't create must abbreviate
Lust did rust so deviate to your ego capitulate
Ben did abrogate before he then did abdicate
You bled said in red Tests would emancipate
New autobiography a publisher did ingratiate
Was a helluva scheme to your team castrate
Then on Test cricket you literally did defecate
From embers lets remember when did venerate
Rule of cool cats & sexy sultry strut of their gait
We did anticipate how they did titillate & titivate
In the thrall of the gall as Bazball did captivate
Is this the future of Test cricket we did ruminate
Rid of Covid new bid to stop the skid scintillate
Calling card is freeing the old guard to salivate
Enjoy the game again as wins did demonstrate
The swagger turned to stagger did defenestrate
Of course horse bolted.. before closed the gate
We’re entertainers the reason they did extenuate
Facts and their foolhardy acts will still repudiate
Our chagrin as on seriously thin ice they do skate
The plain disdain for the WTC did really infuriate
England is in such a state has enough on its plate
From the ruins nothing to excavate as we excoriate
But blunder here and down under won't exonerate
Uncouth truth can’t be hid from livid fans who hate
Bazball gesticulate just a cheap buzz like amyl nitrate
I wandered the Vale and Harvington,
A singin' me songs with passion,
Back then I liked to live frugally,
But me melodies were never on ration!
One evening whilst singing in Banbury,
The Police pulled up in their car,
Out stepped a tall copper
I'm in trouble now proper!
But he wanted to play my guitar!
I wandered around the city streets
I roamed away so far,
With stories of women and nights suppin' ale
And a kippin' in the back o' me car!
I sang in the pubs of Evesham,
I felt like the star of the show,
But the very next day I'd be rockin away,
It's that busker again Trevor Yeo!
The shoreline is the diary,
the tide keeps rewriting.
Each ebb a retreat
to revise again,
what the last wave wrote
in memory.
Its dry high-tide margins
filled with salt crystals
driftwood, seaweed,
empty shells,
and half-erased footprints
left there,
long after,
the water had receded.
An autobiography
written in flood and ebb
returning.
Each tide signing in
with a different hand,
leaving behind
only what the sea
could bear to lose.
Never mind what the shore
begged to keep.
Enough to remember
what passed this way,
but never enough
to know why.
The beach recalls
each wave differently,
never the same.
Leaving
shell grit,
kelp knots,
weathered glass,
old toys,
bottle caps,
bird feathers,
seahorse skeletons
and empty whelk spirals
holding the hush
of vanquished seas
pre-recorded.
The emptiest beaches
collect the best stories
after a storm has passed.
There's nothing left to ask
only what the wind forgot to mention
in departing hand-in-hand
with the ebbing tide.
For the sea cannot leave
without taking part of the
shore it knew before,
out offshore with it.
Nor return without leaving
another handwritten
goodbye note,
on the last page,
with what the last tide
could not quite erase.
I stand on this plot of ground
thinking about my life
the good I have done the bad I have done
the love I have created the hate that I stirred
My autobiography is filled with happy moments
painful moments
The world I see before me is not the same
neither am I
God seems so close at times yet at times so far away
An anxious mind creates restless thoughts sleepless nights
Time is now...the past is but a memory
hazy and biased good or bad replayed with a new script
some scenes better left on the cutting floor
This world I helped create...helped to create me
regrets have become my drinking companion
I stand on this plot of ground breathing in
and breathing out the life I have lived
I have seen sadness and joy both can be misguided
when I was a child I looked to the future
now that I am old I replay the past
I have walked on this tightrope swaying side to side
balancing these frisky emotions never looking down
having faith the safety net has always been there
Frank (Black) Blacharczyk
To all my Poetic Family, I would like to start a new word game It's very easy You pick a word
Define it and sign your name ( see examples below ) I will then with each author's permission
compile a PoetrySoup dictionary Anybody up to it ALWAYS...HG
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Armrest --- Sling --- HG
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Cackle Fruit --- Hen Egg ---John Moses Freeman * see his Comment Below
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Broken leg --- Putting down three and carrying one --- Also equals new math--Sara Kedrick
Poetess Extraordinaire --- Extraordinary Creative Lady --- Linda-Marie Bariana
Poetic --- A little bug on a writer --- Sue Mason
Life Class --- Dress down, no gown --- Brian Strand
Senoir Moment --- No sap, need nap --- Brian Strand
Cool --- Kool now Koolio --- Lovely --- James Fraser
Satin Doll --- "Candy Sweet --- Alias linda Marie --- Linda Maria Bariana
Beatnik --- Long Locks, no Socks --- Brian Strand
Consultant --- Freelance Faience --- Brian Strand
Old Age --- Same Chat, Off Pat --- Brian Strand
Teenage --- Back Chat Off Pat --- Brian Strand
Autobiography --- Timeline, All Mine --- Brian Strand
Google ---Quick Look, Word Book ---Brian Strand
Errant ---Deniably Naughty --- Dane Ann
Ferocious --- Fierce Folly ---Dane Ann Continue to PART 2
Kathleen is a kind person who strives to be kind to even those who are not kind to her.
She is a musician who loves music and makes it a large part of her life.
She likes to laugh and even laughs at herself when circumstances warrant.
She is a poet, who often handles life by writing about both the pain and joy that takes places in the realm of life.
Cats make her smile in a way that is truly special and she has a very special feline in her life, as well as other felines that live nearby and brighten her days often.
She has two sons who are adults and are trying to find their own place in this big world. She loves them immensely and is there for them when needed.
She shares life with her husband of 31 years, who is truly her soulmate.
Overall, Kathleen lives a full happy life!
A bad break came to my kid brother Curly.
It happened during the filming of “Half Wit’s Holiday”.
A stroke at his age is considered too early.
He will be unable to act they say.
A replacement for Curly is needed right away.
I told them Babe’s condition is temporary.
The studio is auditioning candidates today.
I insisted Curly will be back, you’ll see.
However, our producers said they disagree.
We need a third Stooge immediately.
I mentioned my older brother Shemp as a possibility.
They said Shemp looks too much like me.
I told them to take Shemp now that Curly is gone.
If not, then the Three Stooges will walk on.
Information obtained from the late Moe Howard's autobiography.