Long Chided Poems
Long Chided Poems. Below are the most popular long Chided by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chided poems by poem length and keyword.
Is He watching?
When my tongue thirsts for sin,
Gamble my faith with filth,
When my tongue spills its worst,
My ears long to be filled with corruption,
When my fingers linger to steal,
My feet tread over and along faults?
Is He watching,
My unrepentant soul thrive?
Growing more in strength and glory?
Hardening it’s shield against good,
Gambling what is right and wrong,
Yet making the choice to dwell in the wrong?
Feeding itself with shades of deceit?
Is He watching,
When I am unrepentant but care less?
When I don’t consider His feelings?
Strive to please me rather than Him?
Meddle in the pleasures of earth?
Dump off the cares of my Christian race?
But I know the truth but become blind to it?
Is He watching,
When I return spite for His care?
Neglect His expensive price of love?
On a daily routine visit the gallow of sin?
Clad a false Christianity in my personality,
Yet judge others at the slightest fault? Still nurturing the hypocrite I protect.
Is He watching,
My unrepentant soul thrive?
My unquestionable strategies of pride,
When I stay balanced in the kingdom of the enemy?
Stain my soul constantly in mire,
Even when the truth hits me hard.
Brings to my realization how wrong I am?
Is He watching?
When I lay finally to my last rest,
And stand before Him to be judged?
When my soul headed to Him is rebuked?
When my deeds in my face is reproduced?
How my own vanity has chosen for me doom?
So helpless to reality I stand.
Is He watching,
My guilt wager my strength as I spare not tears?
My offense like chains stroke my existence,
Hangs my living in the face of death?
When my past with pride divulge my wrongs?
Plastered with faulty stains I forever I’m gone,
Lost to the sins I once chided unethical.
When my eyes met his,
Met his, for the first time
I could discern a ray of
incensed passion and love
intense, so I thought, piercing
gently my heart and filling it
with true love, so I thought;
so thinking, I surrendered
myself to him, like a fool
only to allow him to have
all liberties with me and freely
play the game of love, for I
thought without doubting
even a wee bit that he would
remain, my man of love, and
ever so till we live ..............
Love's true devotee to one another
But oh ! how will I, say that now
he chided me today, for no reason or rhyme
and in a fit of anger, said he loved me no more
and left me, deserting me all at once;
I remained in great shock thereafter
God knows for how long, till
I came to my sense to, realize
that I was cheated by the very man
whom I thought was Eros and me his Venus,
All these thoughts suddenly vanished
vanished into thin air
And I lie here, under the tree I met him
for the first time, writhing in pain inconsolable
And now see the very ray of hope that he shot
at me when our eyes first met, piercing my
heart, shattering it, emptying it of the nectar of love
I thought it poured in first.
And I now remain emancipated from this love false
realizing at last the meaning of true love
from this experience so bitter
bitten by pangs of false love and deceit
of a man whom I reckoned wrongly
was going to be my Eros in life.
oh women harping love
please beware of men
who wander for lust
wandering as foxes
in the robe of deer.
The waiter asked: “Do you want that here or to go.
I replied: “if I eat it here don’t I get to take it with me?”
((oldies but goodies}}
“Waiter! Waiter! There’s a fly in my soup!”
“Well keep it quiet or everybody’s gonna want one.”
“Waiter, what’s this fly doing in my soup?”
“Hmm, I’m no expert but it appears to be the backstroke.”
“And how did you find your steak sir?”
“I looked under the mashed potatoes!”
The waiter placed the bowl of soup on the table.
“you have your thumb in my soup” chided the diner”
“Sorry Sir, I sprained it last week and the Dr. told me to keep it warm.”
The irate diner replied: “Why don’t you stick it up your a..?”
The waiters retort: “I do sir, when I’m in the kitchen.”
Sign in a diner.
APPLE PIE LIKE GRANDMA USED TO MAKE - $2.50
APPLE PIE LIKE YOU THINK GRANDMA USED TO MAKE - $5.00
And that old favorite outside the roadside rest area….
EAT HERE AND GET GAS
John G. Lawless
11/4/2022
It is not the case that Jesus ever physically rose from the dead,
Only that he was spoken of as alive afterwards by his followers,
Because his offer of medical treatment to the poor stood, the fed,
As it was obvious that it was moral to validate such behaviours.
John had seen a beggar with a bloody leg and attended quickly,
But he was spat on by rich by-passers who would loose status;
They would have to sacrifice the prestige of their visit specifically,
That doctor’s visit just for them as part of life in the wealthy stratus.
Because he had been Jesus’s best friend he looked up and replied,
“Jesus is risen,” and that communicated his stalwartness and resilience,
That Jesus’ principle was not going to go away as just one man’s tide,
But that his friends and the apostles were set on continuing his brilliance.
And Andrew who’d been a fisherman before he’d befriended Jesus,
Knew all the kids of most of the other fishermen, and some were sick,
And because Jesus had taught him medical practises as there was a fuss,
Andrew made their children better in one and posited Jesus would stick.
But their neighbours chided him and scoffed, obviating them as poor,
Not entitled to a doctor’s time, and not entitled to free health care,
So Andrew emphasised that these people were his friends, the lure,
And that he was no scare but that he would himself by ignorance scare.
The intelligensia of the time, or the prophets, had predicted Jesus resurrection,
Not his actual one, but just as a euphemism for Jesus’ power after his death;
When people said “I believe in Jesus!” or claimed that he was risen in dedication:
They asserted it by their acts and so could claim the resurrection in a breath.
As a child, I hated getting my hair cut.
Pixie-haired-me; never had a chance;
Mom would always insist and enforce,
the hair cut of doom.
I would sit in that awful chair;
itching, squirming, bawling me;
a prisoner of the scissor-beast.
When the ugly was complete;
how Mom would brag,
about the talent, of the scissor-beast.
Unfortunately, the kids in the neighborhood;
Never quite saw that talent
and until I was in the forth grade;
I was labeled, “boy”.
This, nickname, grossly lacked appeal.
Kids chided me about being a boy in a dress;
hammering out cruel insults and names.
One day, I said, “I don’t like pixies.”
This statement was followed,
by what elephant tears I could juice,
from my ducts for the next half hour.
Mom didn’t understand until I spilled
the pitcher of nicknames, which I daily endured.
Then she asked my preference…
“Mom, I want to just let it grow.”
She responded with,
“You’ll regret it; long hair is a tangled nightmare!”
My mom was the queen of child manipulation.
She failed to realize, that I was on to her schemes,
She gave her firm reply,
“Ok, but, the first tangle, that I see;
It’s all coming off!”
Everyone has a childhood witch. Mine was Florence. I would run and hide when she walked past our house, stooped over, staring at the sidewalk.
Her hair was an ugly gray color, held away from her face by a man’s hat, and she looked to be at least three hundred years old.
Her face had more lines than corduroy pants and her tongue came out when she talked.
There was a gap or two in her teeth; she was a character, we were told.
A character must be someone you’re afraid of, because my blood clotted when she
Walked down my sidewalk with her goats.
Many children would run to their mama when Florence walked by, so she must have been other children’s childhood witch too.
My mama always offered to get Florence a cool drink or whatever, but she kept walking.
She would mutter all the way up the street – terrorizing us with stories about six foot snakes she had
To hoe to death in her garden.
The adults invited her to neighborhood things, but she never came.
Childhood company on the coach would stare openly if Florence walked past.
What’s that? They would ask, wondering about her layers of dresses over bibbed overalls.
Her clothes were like her hair, sticking out in all directions.
That’s Florence, she’s very nice, our mother would tell company.
We would laugh, but not loudly.
One time my sister and I were playing “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
I want to be Florence, I said. We laughed until we cried. Every time we looked at each other
For the next two days, we would get the twin look, and know, and laugh again.
“You girls are awful!” our mother chided us, but I suspected by her dancing eyes that she was laughing too, only inside, and secretly.
When I reached 40, I really wanted to learn to garden. Everyone in town referred me to Florence.
From her I learned how to plant, and water, and mulch, and prune, and replant.
She was one of my best teachers.
She was my great aunt, a cousin’s friend confided to me one day not too long ago.
She was lovely, I replied.
He stared at me.
Did you ever get to know her?
Hell no, he said. I was scared to death of her.
Now isn’t that sad?
I had a rival whose name was 'Susie'
The streetwalker I'd nicknamed 'the floozie'
Through the night she would strut
Wiggling her pudgy butt
If only I'd been holding an Uzi!
One night Susie and I had quite a spat
She called me a brat. I chided, "You're fat!"
But when she pulled my hair
I felt my temper flare
Bellowed at her, "Susie, you're not all that!"'
She said I was such an annoying prig
I tore off her cheesy Barbie Doll wig
Her horse teeth were gnashing
as she lay there, thrashing
Squealing much louder than a suckling pig.
Told her I knew her buxom boobs were fake
She shrieked like a witch, burning at the stake
I turned to walk away
That's when I heard her say
"You'd better be afraid of me, Cupcake!"
I stopped and glared into her startled face
Susie cringed as I stepped into her space
I smiled with hands on hips
Laughed at her trembling lips
Then calmly whispered, "Name the time and place."
March 6, 2022
Tall Tales 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jeff Kyser
They say just there beyond the valley, that
there lived inside a house, a little cat
who never went outside to run and play;
she had to spend her time indoors each day.
Beside the window, curled up on a chair,
her heart was saddened by the nasty glare
of every cat that passed within her sight-
with eyes of fear and looking for a fight.
One day, a while back, she’d gone outside,
but never stayed out long- came in to hide.
The kitties laughed and chided her, and so
would not befriend her; she became their foe.
They called her Rainbow Cat- her owners named
her that, because her fur was brightly flamed
with colors- yellow, green and red, and blue
laid out in arcs; like rainbows, her fur grew.
Now Rainbow Cat, aware that she was shy
and different from others that passed by,
began to think of other ways to cope-
to make them like her- so there was some hope.
She thought and thought, whatever can I do
to let them know beneath this colored ‘doo’
there lives a nice smart kitten just like them
and, not a kitty cat they should condemn.
That night it came to her within a dream;
come morning, she began to smile and beam.
Her owner left the door somewhat ajar
as they left home for shopping in their car.
Her bowl of yummy dry food in the room
was filled up to the top and without gloom,
she carried dry food nibbles, one by one,
out through the door onto the porch, till done.
She stood beside her feast- began to eat;
and soon the cats came by, did not retreat-
But, closer to the porch they came to see
that Rainbow Cat had planned a cat party.
They came to share the feast each, one by one,
and Rainbow Cat was happy they had come!
The cats now saw beneath her rainbow fur-
she was a kitty just like them and purred.
November 2, 2014
~1st Place~
Contest: Sweet Fairytale For Children
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Judged: 05/06/2023
~1st Place~
Contest: Fable to the Rescue
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Judged 11/18/2014
Moral: Never judge people by how they look:
What is inside is what really counts.
Behind the parchment screen and eye to eye Punch chided.
Who are you? Who is she? He’d point it out. You’d see.
No marionette with strings was he. Their paths collided;
Judy stands and faces his animosity
The play is writ by man and maid and staged to teach,
the right and wrong of woman’s position, our place.
Standing on two legs, she meets his gaze without speech.
What shenanigan have brought on this crutched lambaste?
Let us ponder Mr. Punchinell’s stance, his missing leg
let his two-eyed profile tease, has Judy been upstaged?
Stumped by the shadow lore, the punch, the audience begs
for the stiff-necked tirade to end her pick engaged.
Speared by humour, we see two realities spar on
with no means to run, the missing third prong’s a pun.
First Published by The Ekphrastic Review
It was a tedious trek down the hill.
The Sun was shrouded in darkness.
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed.
Knew I won’t be reaching home without getting wet.
I longed for a shelter to be in.
By accident, saw a small building a little away
I thanked God and all my stars.
Walking into it as fast as I could,
Sat on a wooden bench at the patio.
By then the rain had started pouring in
It was so quiet inside except that of rain drops,
Battering on the corrugated tin roof.
I waited there for the downpour to subside.
Felt uneasy as I saw dark silhouettes moving.
Soon, I saw a tall figure by my side
A creepy sensation ran across me.
My blood froze, screaming I tried to run.
He came closer to me and smiled.
Wow! He looked so familiar.
I had seen him before, but couldn’t identify.
When I stood confused and somewhat puzzled,
He asked me in gentle tones
“Don’t you remember me, a friend to your father?
I had once been living opposite to your house.”
He sounded quite meek and open,
That set my mind at peace.
I chided myself for my fickleness.
Felt ashamed of being so stupid.
He came and sat by my side.
In better light, I recognized him….
He had been our neighbour for some time.
But….., died years ago, in a road accident.
I knew my meeting of him was not just an accident,
But the precursor to a greater accident!
I took to heels braving the pouring rain…!