Long Begrudged Poems
Long Begrudged Poems. Below are the most popular long Begrudged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Begrudged poems by poem length and keyword.
The Tally Up Ceremony was used to announce
the Creation of the
Worlds Championship for heavyweights.
They had announced during the summer
that a series of matches
had been taken place
that would
be calculated and scrutinized.
A
"In Name Only" bouts
and series had taken place
some unify partners
who were begrudged
were once the
professional opposition clause
had to be used might
the management go to far in there
promotions of matches.
The company president reffered to one
match making attemp
to be either unified or challenged
the partners didn't jive and even there ambition couldn't keep them straight.
We anyway. The specail announcement was that durning
the series of matches
a tournament had been issued
and the stats had been keep secret.
twelve teams
were entered
six matches
one bye( if a team or teams were to forfeit due to inability to compete)
or The Professional Oppossion Clause) two teams opped out.
and a battle royal withthe remain members
was issued. The last two men were
beleived to then
tag against there next obsticale
not knowing
that these two finalist
would be
the two men to compete in
the finals.
They din't know and we didn't tell them or the fans what was happening.
We knew that a new company would be formed within the framework of this unified collaberate.
Durning the intermission and change f our company
we would show these matches. and then annouce the new champion. at the conclusion of finals.
That din't happen someone leaked the fianls and the championship match.
I woke up one day and there was a message waiting. they had seen the fianls and the crowning of the champion.
this was to happen weeks from now. We were screwed!
I've given up on the poetic quest
of writing for another Soup contest.
I confess that for many I've written
for with the challenge I was smitten.
Once at sixth, I'd climbed the ranks
but now I'll only say, "No, thanks."
There are several reasons why I quit,
but no longer can I condone any of it.
I started entering when a dare was made
by a Souper who said he could persuade
me to enter contests that determines
which of us would get the most wins.
That fun challenge ended months ago
and one of us earned the right to crow,
but it's safe to say we're still good friends
and that is where the competition ends.
I've many entries, that are not yet judged...
Win or lose, time spent was not begrudged.
About a dozen entries are still "in progress"
but I've decided to take a permanent recess.
The happily ever after...
He searched the kingdom for a fortnight 'til all saddle sore and weary,
With his eyes bloodshot and bleary,
The prince arrived at the last door.
He found two sisters, far too ugly, and an even uglier mother,
And asked himself why even bother,
This whole darn quest's become a bore.
Then from the kitchen came the vision he had searched so far and wide for.
He asked stepmother what she'd lied for
To say the three of them were all.
A flash, a crash, there was the gown, and then he saw her bare right flipper,
And on the left, a crystal slipper…
The girl he'd danced with at the ball.
The stepmother feigned regret that they had sadly so misjudged her,
T'was for her good that they'd begrudged her,
But to a prince one shouldn't lie.
On her wedding day the trio met the fate they should have dreaded,
They were arrested and beheaded,
And Cindy never blinked an eye.
The wedding feast and celebration were the grandest in the nation,
The king and queen felt jubilation,
Their son was "normal", after all.
They could retire and the crown would be passed down to their descendants,
Their kid, grandkids, and co-dependents,
They were so glad they'd had that ball.
But on their wedding night the prince confirmed his sexual confusion,
And forced them both to the conclusion,
Theirs was no fairy tale romance.
But still they made the marriage work, although they had no little nippers,
Sometimes he wore her gown and slippers,
And Cinderella wore the pants.
So, in conclusion, Cinderella got her semi-happy ending,
In spite of all the rules I'm bending
To tell her tale and make it new.
It wasn't meant to be so grand,
But what my muse commands, I do,
And now in bidding fond adieu,
My hat is off to those of you
Who stuck it out and read it through.
The End
It was a staggering night.
A bruised but honorable knight
An empire at its height
An entrapped and bloody victim
Just more real life, not a sitcom
It was the passing of a great king
The mourning as the choir sings
In memory the bells ring
The kings daughter, makes her way to the alter
Begrudged peasants stand in "Wow!"
Noble knights fall on bending knees "How!"
The arena is packed
In cages body parts are racked
Nightmares circle the stage
No specific date, time, or age
Emotions flow
On the ground lands a crow
If hatred fills the room
Then love brings a satisfying doom
The spirits of many men rise
Never knowing the enemy lies in disguise
If an ambush were being prepared
Then broken hearts were being compared
Dubbed by a sword, but only serving one lord
Peasants rally, too many for one to tally
The river flows strong
Revenge awaited to long
As outsiders charged the gates
Every soldier puts a hand their sword
As if fate were to show up late
In a moment of silence
Before the commotion of violence
The princess closed her fathers eyes
As war was to come before the sun were to rise
She turns to every soldier
With no man looking over his shoulder
Grabs a shield and prepares for the battlefield
But as she draws her sword, she blows a kiss
A wish that no man could miss
Madness,
How nice they felt
To be free,
From the dampness of humanity.
They are plunged into a different universe
A free life of toils
A prodigal,
Of a profilial,
Feeding from oral to oval,
Your earn for your oral,
And not for your keep
All squashed in a heap.
The sane man is begrudged
Wittless
Penniful yet penniless
Live yet but vegetable
The luck rests on the insane
Oh! The madmale
Only he is live
Yet free!
Oh! I am the luckiest,
As a Madmale as i am,
No one knows my thinking
No one knows the meaning of my face
As a mad male i am insane
But!
As a mad female i am sane
As i still remember my feminity
Vividly as it is not vivid,
Clear as unclear..
As water on a stony path,
Yet unclean.
My madness my solace
Be me him
Be me her
All are free
What all seek is a reality escape
A fleeing route,
Yet a fleeting one
Yet, yes oh yet!
How her remembers you say?
From a skimpy scarf
To an able polythene
All these she remembers
To aquire,
So her heart is intact,
But, her head is In turmoil
But! the her norms intact
Forgone him you say!
No cannot be!
Him is a negation
Of her.
They roam and roam
In woe with foe
In joy with joy
On any path
Of any choice
All, choices of theirs
But, him is a lost cause
Hmmmmmmm!
I sighed at the sight
Painful but comical
All is well,
Will be well
Oh! How envious
I seem
They just exist in their imagination
But comical in our sight
Free of old shreks and their queens
Toiling with their pawns
All in the name of a state control
How funny it is
Oh!
How my jealousy tickles me to an edge
Wanting all thus
Them, i like
Them, i must be!
...or What's science got to do with it?
Galileo looked through a lens one day
And, boy, was he astounded.
The Earth wasn't flat as he'd been told,
It was, in fact, quite rounded.
Pope Urban VIII then came along
And said, "No, that's absolutely wrong,
For, I, the Church, do not agree, and I'm the Wise One.
It's just as plain as plain can be why my pontifical decree's
The Earth is flat and ends right there at the horizon.
And for infallibility, you know, I am renownded."
So Galileo relented and recanted his boast
So he wouldn't be tortured or turned into toast.
A few centuries passed,
A new Pope said he guessed
That his theory might have been misjudged,
Since back then science was begrudged,
And the Church owed him a pardon,
Or a posthumous papal "perhaps", at the most.
*Image of Forgiveness by Pixabay.
Tale of a Forgiving Challenge
Albeit a notable stretch
that stars wouldst a fairer
share of thee and sheath
thy warm expanse.
Sire, alack thy humble
servant beseech thee,
me Lord, for wouldst
thee taketh to mind
thoust failed thee but
'tis once a wee hour.
Shouldst thou beg
the goddesses and
gods forthwith 'tis
thy noble quest for
virtue sake that thou
mayest risk a stable
footing verily proved
thy acts of decency.
Pall's errant gift thee
a habilitating ward,
a silhouette soul, its
quaint steps for a
merciful fortitude.
To seize caring eyes
fortuitous event of
a chartreuse field
of wavery rushes
and vibrancy pell
in crystalline spring.
A dutiful life longing
begrudged in the
greens of Evermore,
mayhaps thoust dwelt
in the recesses of thy
bosoms for they hadst
possesseth thee so
willingly, that thoust
act gently.
Nay, nary an army,
soothly a herald of
dreams that unlade
trails ifsoe'er mingle
charmingly, napping
in cases, perchance
to claim and rescue
thyself and possibly
pretenders begone
and ne'er-do-wells
that causeth a toss
and twirl fortuitously
erelong into the tuck
of episodic twilight's
unraveling sepulchral.
Sparkled specks and a
Chaser to settle scores
natheless thou mentored
souls that dwarf a sea of
their gilded hearts.
Less of a challenge when
substance, and grit, amidst
the generous few whose
serendipitously perpetuates
the moment -- forthwith.
Suite melody be the appeal
in the case of forgiveness
for there is proper cause for
the bestowment allocation
gratuitously and without
delay.
Forbearance is the footing
lain the acts of forgiveness.
2019 September 23
*Image of Forgiveness by Pixabay.
Tale of the Forgiving Betold
Albeit a notable stretch
that stars wouldst a fairer
share of thee and sheath
thy warm expanse.
Sire, alack thy humble
servant beseech thee,
me Lord, for wouldst
thee taketh to mind
thoust faileth thee but
'tis once at the weest hour.
Shouldst thou beg
the goddesses and
gods forthwith 'tis
thy noble quest for
virtue sake that thou
mayest risk a stable
footing verily proved
thy acts of decency.
Pall's errant gift thee
a habilitating ward,
a silhouette soul, its
quaint steps for a
merciful fortitude.
To seize caring eyes
fortuitous event of
a chartreuse field
of wavery rushes
and vibrancy pell
in crystalline spring.
A dutiful life longing
begrudged in the
greens of Evermore,
mayhaps thoust dwelt
in the recesses of thy
bosoms for they hadst
possesseth thee so
willingly, that thoust
act gently.
Nay, nary an army,
soothly a herald of
dreams that unlade
trails ifsoe'er mingle
charmingly, napping
in cases, perchance
to claim and rescue
thyself and possibly
pretenders begone
and ne'er-do-wells
that causeth a toss
and twirl fortuitously
erelong into the tuck
of episodic twilight's
unraveling sepulchral.
Sparkled specks and a
Chaser to settle scores
natheless thou mentored
souls that dwarf a sea of
their gilded hearts.
Less of a challenge when
substance, and grit, amidst
the generous few whose
serendipitously perpetuates
the moment -- forthwith.
Suite melody be the appeal
in the case of forgiveness
for there is proper cause for
the bestowment allocation
gratuitously and without
delay.
Forbearance is the footing
lain the acts of forgiveness.
2022 August 23
A sonnet by this arrant bard, an other,
whose sole half-brother, a real piece of work,
and single parent (mother like no other!),
together were no warm nor loving perk.
In her heart, mother disowned me in life.
My younger half-brother begrudged my genius,
whilst being a rival who sowed seeds of strife,
in mother, against me (how very jealous
was he?). But I, an outright bard, complete
and sheer, make their dysfunction a rhymed affair
to exorcise these memories: defeat
this duo by whom I'm “an other” in despair!?
But if I could return my estranged mother,
I still wouldn't—and call my half-sibling, “Brother!”
He kept the commandments in his coat pocket like smooth, cold stones—ready to throw, but never to build. He could recite the names of the angels but couldn't see the person shivering at his doorstep. To him, the pews were a fortress, and the incense was a smoke screen to hide the rot in his own floorboards.
He spoke of a mansion in the sky but begrudged his neighbor a patch of grass. On Sunday mornings, his voice was the loudest in the choir, a heavy, golden bell ringing out over the congregation. He washed his hands until they were pale and clean, proud that they had never been dirtied by another person’s grief.
But grace isn't a thing you can lock in a box.
By afternoon, his mouth turned back into a knife. He could spot a speck of ash on a sinner's sleeve from a mile away, entirely blind to the fire burning down his own house. He fasted to show the world his hunger, but his soul was bloated on its own pride. He loved the idea of a bruised savior, but despised the people who actually bled.
In the old books, it is written that the first shall be last. But he doesn't read the footnotes. He only looks at the cover, where his own name is written in gold leaf. His faith was a beautifully painted door that led straight into a brick wall.