Long Begrudging Poems
Long Begrudging Poems. Below are the most popular long Begrudging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Begrudging poems by poem length and keyword.
At the slightest cry, we rush to give,
But what of those whose pain won’t live
In vocal words or audible plea?
Will you help the one who hides silently?
Signs appear—subtle, yet clear—
Yet they resist, refuse to hear.
Why deny the aid they need?
What binds the heart that won’t concede?
Aching deep, worn thin by strain,
Fighting fatigue, yet masking pain,
In stubborn denial they remain.
Why veil the truth in mystery’s shroud?
Health is wealth, as voices loud,
But what is gained by suffering alone,
In shadows where no light has shone?
They say death is the ailment without cure,
Others claim silence seals our future.
Pray tell, what ails? Speak, receive—
Help is the gift we all conceive.
Help is not a sign of weakness,
Nor a chain that binds or presses.
Seeking and accepting aid,
Is the human strength displayed.
Cast away your doubts of care,
You are loved beyond compare.
Family and friends stand near,
With open hearts and arms sincere.
Though faith and spirit guide the way,
Healing is not theirs to sway.
Not begrudging sacred trust—
Help may come through acts of just.
Open up, calm your mind,
Trust and share, and you will find
Joy expands beyond oneself,
For God sends helpers as His wealth.
Come one! Come all!
Come to Carnival!
Let us celebrate the Fall
and partake a small measure
in the pleasure
of this season,
a party for no reason,
save tomorrow we die!
Hear the cries of the party-goers
the bauble throwers,
forgetting for the moment they are mortal,
have given up the portal
of glory,
the old, old, story
of Paradise tossed.
Tonight, we do not count the cost!
We forget
the bet
we lost!
Tonight, let us be glad
not begrudging or mad
that life
with all its strife
is short.
Hold your memories to your heart.
Come, you’ve no time to sorrow.
Eat, and drink for tomorrow
we die.
A humanity Slain by a black ghost flame
Because their God was an unspeakable name
A Mournful, Insane, multitude with emnity and self induced labor pains
An Eon that has never awoken - A Copt of Souls- skin of the seas soaken-
in the foamy afterbirth of aftermaths toil, in spoil
by the Unspoken strains
Alone without a soul, or meaningful, rich soils of cultivation, to be grafted in,
birthing anew, and not staying long enough to become unattended, mud from the rain and eroded by sins,
splitting image is a sea splashing your brain
i see all that you do, your stratas of civilizations
Unveiling me of the Mystery of the Unseen, in indignant stagnation
but mildew of what once was a nation
fingertips form fitting on the sill of the stranded looking after loves
dead bug
Dust dried, shriveled and Unspoken for encapsulated in your dung
The Unfitting glove, trying us on for size, tongue in cheek,
begrudging the nudge off the cliff closer
Eons are all too slow for you to fully comprehend its reign
As you grow further in age,
The light of the star
Beside you, fades, phase shifts as darkmatter
and becomes blacker still like soot on the page
Turn you cron-icon along its path
As the dark of the age "Comicon of the lost"
Engaging, you, along its malevolence you are its Priestess, caught
giving burnt offerings of garbage you made special issuance not
all your glimpses, a mirrors tear, somewhere in Time's, Lots
snapped on the dancing diadem dragons lair plot, Dune sand trap, left
"sleeping "in the rough" at the Gates Of Aurizen, a Phoenix Unrisen,
to the Denizens, of the left
Layers of nothingness-spinning placebo, cursing the dark side of our moons
And only silence in raft upon the voided rift
The Unspoken, unspoken,Apathy, ingratitude TheM Ulktra Violence
Them, Humans once lived
It’s Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we’re doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer.
If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.
"Why do you wear these," Peter asked, pulling and lightly snapping the hairband on my wrist.
I pull my hand back, protectively. "If I don’t have a hairband on my wrist I feel out of control."
There’s a new me. I’d decided - civilized, unemotional, clear-sighted.
"I've got a lot to do before summer,” Peter said earlier, “so I made a spreadsheet.” I felt a shadow pass over me - our future is, at best, undecided. So, I shifted gears, the way the new me is trying to do lately.
“A Spreadsheet!” I said, like I approved, and he grinned. I’d made him happy. This is what adults do, I’d decided, they have civilized conversations where decisions were made or avoided - but there was a small, dark thing in my heart.
I got a text from our dryer saying our clothes were dry, so we headed down. I love the smell of fresh laundry and the feeling of shaved legs against fresh bed sheets - a luxurious combination no guy will ever understand. I made a mental note to shave my legs later.
The last couple of weeks I’ve been working on summer fellowship applications. A successful summer fellowship is one of those things I’ll need when I apply for med-school - like grades, faculty letters, physician recommendations, community service, a great MCAT score, bla bla bla.
My mom knows the 200 things med-schools use to cleave away pretenders and she’ll rattle them off upon request and sometimes over groaning protests.
What I need, ideally, this summer, are clinical experience hours. There’s not much at stake, just my future, the respect of the faculty, and the begrudging acknowledgement of my pre-med peers. My mom was quizzing me on my progress last night. I confirmed that all the applications were in and I ended with, “I haven’t slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we’re still early in the process.”
She was not amused.
Some smiles appear begrudging,
With the lips a zippered slit,
As if somebody were judging
If they’d part a little bit.
Some smiles seem quite ironic,
Slightly turned up at the ends
And though possibly demonic,
Still, some happiness extends.
Certain smiles are full of mischief
And it’s mirth they do convey,
Like when cookies bake, one bliss whiff
Tells us joy is on the way.
Other smiles are shy and quiet,
Not quite certain if they’ll stick,
But if someone else will buy it,
That will often do the trick.
But the best are smiles so sunny
That they light up someone’s face.
Those are worth much more than money
And not easy to replace.
You can always gauge a smile
By the eyes, the lips, the teeth
And determine what the message is
That’s hiding underneath.
I have a secret hidden deep,
And that is where it must needs keep.
If love is one you wish the best,
Can truly say forget the rest,
A trusted friend you know is true,
Admired by the knowing few.
A few, I think, have loved me,
But mine is not who they should be.
With no begrudging, breath to flame,
There's only one whom I could name.
When, at night, I cannot sleep,
Every other thought I steep,
Will take the form of worried hope,
For one more day for one to cope.
Other lives do not bring worry,
And yet to one my cares will hurry.
I try each day, not to speak,
Of one whom I can never seek.
And to the one I daily touch,
I'll wonder if I've said too much.
The only one for whom I'd pray,
Would hate the thought if said that way.
With each of us of Albert's ilk,
It comes to not with silent silk.
Yet now I know there will be two,
For summer brings his breath anew.
My tiny heart will soon forget,
The one for two that I'll beget.
The one will know and take a seat,
To selfless smile and happy greet,
A more befitting love of mine,
For whom to write a simple rhyme.
I was scolding you
You were a 4-year-old
sitting in a big chair
at the dining room table
hunched over your copybook
the pencil in your hand
held straight, halting, looking lost
as you dragged the tip across the page
that has turned into a minefield
because one more misstep
another dot out of place
would set off a new explosion
projectiles masquerading as words
from the mouth of the preoccupied father
sitting next to you
not wanting to be sitting next to you
begrudging the time
Then I saw it
onto a blank spot on the page
a solitary teardrop lands
as if in slow motion
splatters
spreads
a translucent bloodstain on gauze
I don’t know if you remember it.
I certainly do.
Will.
Cramps creeping and crawling,
an unwelcome reminder.
Why does my body betray
me like an unfaithful secret lover,
chaining me to my bed.
When did my uterus become my enemy,
even the pills offer no sympathy.
As a contradiction of contractions,
crush my organs like sharpened
shards of glass, these strange
territories tighten like heavy torture,
as linings of sore pelvis feel
a tugging pain of shame.
Unable to distract this
typhoon-like monstrosity,
I'm a hostage to
this turbulent intruder.
For those who question body
frames that do not beam,
my frowns are not an option,
they are a veil to the weight
of excruciating fatigue
that feeds the sanity in me.
There's no 'super human' strength
left to curl my fingers into
brass knuckles holding my
burning edges in peace.
Drained by the cries that
crack the surface of my womb,
agitation is expressed
in begrudging outbursts!
Unexpected and unpredictable
pain is a cureless curse,
behaving erratically within
a finely constructed system of tubes.
Once again, I wonder if
this shall be the month that
validates my womanhood.
I saw its crooked shadow
dragging its mind along like a leashed dog.
It went out and came back in
fretting over its own begrudging existence.
This morning it peers out of a window,
looking to see if anything has changed -
nothing has.
I know it will be up all night
wondering where its days went,
where the lost and lingering hours
slipped between the cracks,
of one dawn after another.
It will be shutting a door on itself soon,
when I am on the other side
I will nail that door shut,
then walk undaunted.
into the timeless light,
with no regrets, and not even
a single afterthought.
Let the dead bury the dead.
Aye Writhed With Agony...
Unbeknownst to any
innocent onlooker, aye
underwent extreme internal
torture with silent cry
ying whimpers, whence,
(either left or
right) post-
pubescent myopic eye
didst readily espy,
an aesthetically pleasing female,
and most likely stunning
to any other generic guy
and suddenly rendered mute, NO...,
NOT even daring
enough to say "hi,"
which close proximity of sizzling
hot babe wrought me fancying
myself being whisked away
(in a one horse
open sleigh, despite
the remote possibility livingsocial
in Montgomery County,
Pennsylvania suburban) igloo
to be frozen
with fear, petrified lo'
while terror seized thee Oh No
bliss oblige emotional status quo
of much younger Matthew
Scott Harris head to toe
induced a deplorable woe
imaging other (prospective
obscured individuals) probably
considered yours truly
tubby unstrung mama's yoyo,
and at this present time feline
less in timid
dated noticing a sultry,
leggy, and foxy anatomical
and physiological arrest
ting, though such hypothetical chest
a coy gal, nonchalantly, innocently
with non verbal expressed
charm and demurely
posing as if intending
to serve as guest
of honor, nonetheless,
this brief illusory invest
ment, sans quasi
voyeuristic poetic, shrug jest
sheen, and imagistic distraction,
thy sole rhythmical
motif, since n'er nest
sold with any
purdy young thang begrudging
natural animalistic proclivity,
which absence young adult quest
ting, oh yea
definitely in apropos now,
yet...that self deprived
self discovery stage of life,
that "smarts" me psyche,
when clumsy teen
age dating experience,
a electric kool
aid acid (litmus) test
until twilight age
senescence doth wrest.