Long Bore Poems
Long Bore Poems. Below are the most popular long Bore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bore poems by poem length and keyword.
Poetry is dead
We’ve had a good life together, but all things end.
I know I couldn’t be, but I tried to be your friend.
All the thoughts that I had in my mixed up head,
They are yours to keep now. Poetry is dead.
Nothing left for you to criticize.
Watch me smile as you question my lies.
Give it time and the fire inside will die.
The light is fading, more and more, all the while.
Passion is gone, because love is a bore.
I believed more than you ever did, but no more.
The time has come, this love is done.
I can no longer run and catch the sun in my dirty hands anymore;
Because I am so bored and high flying birds do nothing but fall.
Standing before a ten foot brick wall,
With no will left to break through an imaginary door.
It does not exist, because I am not a kid;
I do not write it, so it does not exist.
I no longer open my mind to doors.
You walk through me like I used to matter, once.
Red light, stop sign, dead end view.
Words are done, give me a gun,
Are you sure this love is bullet proof?
What does a green and black cat in a dream mean?
I was at work at the electrical shop and all the while I was sleeping.
We were having a meeting and the cat sat on my lap
And while they talked and talked, the cat was suddenly gone,
And that was that…
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The hope in my head starts to drown
The clock ticks fast, but I’m slowing down—
Why am I a side character in my own story
Why do my own interests now bore me
Silence is where I constantly sit
I’m happier there than I’d like to admit,
I talk to myself, but I don’t hear me,
Just a voice on repeat, endlessly
The thoughts pull me out of my body—making me see how tragic I look.
It traps me there, like a fish on a hook.
I’ve slipped out before, but just for a breath
“I’ll escape soon” I wish I knew the depth
Inside all I want is to be free
But I wear a mask for no one to see
Only I can’t cover up my obvious reveal
Because even my eyes won’t lie for me
Little did I know it
I might be a poet
Though I know it will take time
To get in the groove
If my legs can't move, then writing will do.
I never know what to say
It's like getting caught in the rain
Or tip toeing past your parents room at night
It's like sitting with the wind,
Getting caught in your hair
And at just the right moment
Someone stops to stare
I have to work on the flow,
It's like rowing a boat
But what about the scenery
Im in the garden of time,
I don't really mind.
It's calming, the greenery.
And the way that the time passes me by.
It's hard not to get stuck there.
The sound of the waterfall is a delight
Its like getting the rhyme right
Somewhat like a wind chime
But isn't there more
Like a story to adore, I cant let it be a bore, right?
Where do I go from here, I guess we'll see
A poet who didn't know it, is it meant to be?
Digital is the Devil
and my
Does he revel
In the details of sin
A vile lottery
That everyone will win
Big winners
All around
Clapping happily
To the sound
Of feeding morbid pleasures
In unlimited measures
A buffet to be consumed
At your leisure
Please sit down
Grab a plate
Gorge yourself
On a snack of fate
It's a lovely repast
Full of hate
Plenty to go around
To add the pounds
And continue to drag you down
To the sound
Of the bell, buzz, and ding
Like Pavlov’s dog
You've been trained to listen
For that satisfying ring
So, you can answer the latest tweet
And drop your head to meet
That soul sucking screen
Filled with programming
From the unseen
It's sad they have us by the neck
And shaped us into a
Media seeking wreck
Bowing when that yank that digital collar
While dangling that virtual dollar
With you craving more as you holler
Gimme more
Without it life is a bore
I'm a drama seeking whore
Feasting on the endless gore
What is really sad about all this
Is that we accept it as bliss
Instead of realizing
We are amiss
And lost in a digital fog
Stuck in a binary bog
Nothing but a robotic cog
Going round and round
To the sound
Of the bell, buzz, and ding
Like Pavlov’s dog
You've been trained to listen
For that satisfying ring
Master of it all
An empty King
Being Human
Used to be a thing
Now just a temporary fling
A waiting room
Before the grave
Nothing but a digital slave
This is what technology gave
A spiritual raping
Is all the rave
We need an E.M.P.
To pull the plug
And set us free
Eric (and sometimes not)
P ythia at Delphi, a famed Greek oracle
Y ielded much wise counsel; that’s a fact historical.
T ales are told of famous kings by whom she was employed.
H erodotus, when told that a great land would be destroyed
I f he crossed a river (which by Pythia was shown),
A ttacking Persia, found the land destroyed to be his own!
A pollo was the god for whom this female was a mouthpiece
T hus Pythia was sought by both the poor and rich of Greece.
D istinctively she proved herself to have authority.
E mmisaries bore her words back to their kings, for she
L oosed Apollo’s prophecies. and Socrates, the great well-read
P hilosopher, would store up knowledge, for the oracle had said
H e was the wisest man in Greece. That woman could inspire!
I n all her world, she was the muse of everyone’s desire.
For the Contest: Oracle
Sponsored by A Pondering poet ~ Rick Parise
Cool stone received my palm; the incense lay
in threads that curled like breath along the nave.
A bell gave one thin sound, then slipped away;
Wax climbed the brass where earlier drops had clave.
I bent—my breath caught short against my teeth—
And asked, in lowered words, if such a sleep
with women bore a mark. He did not sheath
his pause, but let it rest, as men who keep
Their counsel do. He mused; his beard struck gold,
And measured me from heel to lifted sight:
“No sin, my son, to sleep with women,” he told,
“Yet men like you stay wakeful, lie upright.”
The tide within, long thinned by watch and fast,
Grew warm, grew near, and found its former way;
My spine held still; the count of breaths ran fast—
My knees drew close; the bench knew where I’d stay.
A splinter kissed my heel. I fixed my eyes
on stone between my shoes. The bell stood mute.
The door stood wide. I rose at measured size,
and walked out lighter-footed, quick, and mute.
Through Author’s Lens:
I chose this moment because it hath abided with me not as counsel nor as turning of the soul, but as a brief alteration of the flesh, which asked no gloss when it occurred. It was bounded in place and hour, and so seemed fit to bear its own weight upon the page.
The line grievous to fashion was the priest’s utterance. I was oft tempted to temper it with preface or to dress it in comment, yet each such labour dulled its edge. To let it stand unguarded required restraint.
From the first draft I struck away much declaring: the cause of my going thither, the temper of my mind. I also removed plain naming of the body’s stir. Whenever I named it, the verse grew coarse. What remains is nearer the manner in which the moment first stood before me.
He died for me
He bore His body
Hung on a tree
For you and me
His blood ran warm
With eyes bore, looking onto heaven
His words WHY GOD…
He Himself bore our sins;
His body hung from the tree;
This tree was a cross;
My Jesus hung for me and us, the lost;
Oh, so that we might die to sins;
When forgiven;
Repenting with our mouths;
Turn around with grace, live for righteousness;
For by His wounds I am healed;
By your strips Lord I am now healed so;
I’m freed, grace your mercies grace has forgiven me;
He died for me
He bore His body
Hung on a tree
For you and me
His blood ran warm
With eyes bore, looking onto heaven
His words WHY GOD…
Jesus died for you and I
His wounds have healed us;
Thank you, thank you Father God
Thank you for saving me, Jesus
Thank you, thank you Lord, thank you Father God
8/28/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
-1 Peter 2:24
You know it kills me to see that sad
disappointed look upon your face
Knowing quite full well I was the 1
who put it there in the 1st place
Just like how you instantaneously knew
just by looking at my face that
you could tell when I was lying
Or making something up to use as
an excuse to try and justify whatsoever
stupid thing that I had done
Because you ended up knowing me so well
eventually even better than I knew myself
And why you had to leave once you realized
something so broken and missing cannot be
fixed not saved by love alone
And then you left with my full blessing
on the premise from that second on she
never looked back or gave me another
single thought
I just hoped and pray you would find
somebody who could make you truly
happy and worthy of your love
Otherwise love then just may well be
the most worthless pointless commodity
barely worth giving up or recieving at all
Part II
So I am ever so sorry and sincerely apologize
For being such an insufferable bore
But I desperately need company at
night
As I can't stand sleeping alone
So much so I think i am afraid of the dark
And without you here with me and
your body to hold onto
This bed now feels colder than a coffin
full of nails which is slowly burying me alive
And I am suffecating underneath the weight
of all our happiest memories disappearing
out of sight
And wish though I may I fear this what
I am feeling now isn't going anywhere or
anytime soon
Neither is why love's makes us do such
silly stupid thing's
As hide our true selves and feelings
away just incase we get hurt
Yet still end up anyway
The truth is love is in part hurt and once
born we all open our own individual account
and rarely get the balance right
Answers were needed, like wind direction,
she could feel him heavy in her heartbeat,
it was a good weight, the kind carelessness brings to capricious carress,
his toe prints still in the trail of beach paths in her fantasy's shores,
were his words an omen of futurity's obsession,
is his face a language for love or lust,
could there be blessings in knowing his total nature,
is he alive as art in her soul, or is he a bore when brought before her banquet,
to the mountain mystic she journeyed with joltings in her guessings,
a Seer who fed the mountains spirit syrup from a collection of wasted wants
spread forth by reused wine bottles, labels changed but all blue from experiences,
the gypsy, to wise to be pretty, and too natural to be ugly
enquired of the woman with youth as a weapon and curiosity as a concern,
"What is the most dangerous thing you've ever done?",
and she replied, 'falling in love', smiling out of embarrassment,
the gypsy smiled too, remembering all that,
after being given the man's name, a simple photo, and a birth date
she stared into Time gone missing, exhaled from a soft stun
and told the inquisitive girl,
"He'll meet you in these mountains,
where gypsies speak of love in cards and legacies in crystals..."
J.A.B.
Birds stop singing That summer spring morn The Son of God His head forlorn No need to tremble The gardens scene With men and angels For friends look mean Come they say see The simple man Hands together With touch the plan No need to listen The whispers cry For will not wishes To live To die Yet sparrows simple And lilies tilt Upon a rock The riches built Then look no longer His feet His Side With all or nothing And there abide With near and closer A vision see The man The moment Upon a tree For with His wisdom He bore and kept The few the faithful With crosses yet
2019
Dedicated to JP Munhall