Long Cliche Poems
Long Cliche Poems. Below are the most popular long Cliche by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cliche poems by poem length and keyword.
Once I prick my index,
all is gone,
the love,
the hope,
the past,
all of it.
Cause without forgetting you,
I create this hope-
this drastic thought-
that maybe one day you'll want me back-
that maybe you long for me and miss me-
that really you can't live without me.
And then reality hits me in the forehead,
shoots my temple softly,
and I wake up.
I realize we were and never will be
I realize all that we once had was merely an image-
an image of those in love-
hand in hand on the beach,
the cliche couple, talking for hours at end.
And I realize now,
that you're far better off without me,
without my needing heart,
complicated mind that rapidly changes-
and my situations I boil up so they become malfunctioning.
I realize that everything I created
you never wanted
you never will.
So I don't know why I cling to your pure soul.
I don't know why I clench the unkind past-
one of not yours-
but my mistakes.
I don't know why I thought I forgot you-
when it was merely a distraction.
And right when you come back into my life-
I can't deny you.
I can't say no.
cause when you had something so good,
something that should have been cherished-
and you risk to lose it-
game over.
And the things I wish I knew now,
have no impact on the past-
no influence on the future.
But the things I know now,
the things that you helped me learn
is to never let go,
never give up
and love deeply without that fear-
that one that throws you curve balls
that doubt that eats you up-
when your wondering where he is-
when he's simply buying you flowers.
So what I know now, what you taught,
was really needed to be taught
because now,
though I lost you,
I know what to hold on to when it comes,
and never let it go.
So once I prick my finger,
you're forgotten,
a blink in history.
It's probably for the best,
it's probably supposed to be the truth.
Form:
Avoiding work like the plague is my main aim
Picking the low hanging fruit sounds very lame
The least I can do, at the end of the day
My hope is that this dog will have his payday
Critics will say it’s a shame and call me slack
It sounds like the pot calling the kettle black
You really don’t have to read between the lines
It’s not hard for you to find my clever rhymes
I believe laughter is the best medicine
I open doors to thoughts like a gentleman
Then I just add some kids from the candy store
and silver from a lining for a bit more
I live outside the box and find there laughter
I live for the happily ever after!
-Kim Rodrigues inspired me to break some rules..not for contest-
my first love, my high school sweet and shy girlfriend.
a feeling never felt before, I prayed it wouldn’t ever end.
the drive-in movies, the carnivals, we did them all in style,
I had no car, to see her, I walked more than a mile.
as years went by, after we wed, the arguments began.
I tried my best to calm the waves, but shattered was my plan.
now on the restless sea, tuna fishing in the hunting season.
I left her in Ohio, I had to leave, I had a single reason.
to see if absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they always say,
I don’t know who “they” are, but in my case it’s just a bad cliche.
months have passed and homeward bound, It’s hard to hide this feeling,
that hopefully she has missed me badly, and we can start the healing.
nowhere to be found, I read the note that felt sharp as a knife,
she wants divorce, she’s with someone, she’s starting a new life.
living in Montana, a rancher now her new found love,
I must not haste to find her, this pain I must now rise above.
what can I say when it’s all over?, give me another chance?
no, when it has died, it’s hard to wake a dead romance.
time has slowly passed, the years have been unkind,
lines upon my face, my fate could well be signed.
one thing I know is true, I had the best years of my life,
to know that once, I had a young and loving wife.
the story is not yet over, the search is not yet done,
someone may walk into my life, and claim me for the one,
the one who’s more than ready, to give my faithful heart,
to someone who will stay, when things may fall apart.
if by chance a new love will be made, in some old fashioned way,
she can count on me, count on the years I will be hers to stay.
out on the hungover gray moor
having morning coffee with the old man of the sea
we say nothing in this silvered wooden shack
lots of coats to put on, it's all very humdrum
the boat cuts through small yapping wavelets
possibly never to return, but of course we will
the mind vaults vast arenas in this place
we pass the westernmost cape on the continent
we lower the killing nets
waiting, trawling, smoking, it's a cold day
at this moment, the universe is so small, enclosed
like one cloudberry, in a much bigger bunch
all exotic fish we find like
two species of endangered turtles
even a few angry sharks
most of it unidentifiable by-catch
at the end of the day, what a haul of slime
all these words stinking in the shrinking twilight
regurgitated without end, coins without face
cliche, our deity, ready for blood sacrifice
Waves in my brain
to your cliche songs they entrain
Background music in the store
It takes me over to my core
Others keep looking for merchandise
Or converse with each other to break the ice
But I sing along with nothing to prove
Just taken over by a nonlinear groove.
(chorus)
Waves in my brain like a tidal refrain,
When you can't think, the vacuum's the pain
I sing other people's words, can't think alone
cobwebs grow on a stalling stone
My cortex resonates to the rhythmic beat
I start dancing in the aisles, pounding my feet
It's like I'm under a spell by a witch
As my brainstem resonates to a higher pitch
The people with the white coats come for me
My shrink is puzzled, he just can't see
When your brain is one big empty hall
Music rules it, better than nothing at all.
They were right, I'm just an empty suit
So don't play that piano, guitar or flute
Thinking is hard, But I'm going to be brave
I'll find a way to make my own wave.
Reactions trolls give never give me negative
more the opposite, a great positive
seeking to collapse my spirit until forgotten
attracting spirit of "thank God I'm not them"
If the song to you sombre
and you protest in comment
making unhappiness last longer
cause negativity more constant
when I'm displeased I will move on
search a pleasing as is my need
I don't comment like a moron
wait for miserable replies to read
psychology sits sorrily
as you cliche unoriginal
septic personalities
to me only pitiful
you distribute your negative,
in life this what you do,
a gift of positive,
pleased I'm not you
Lost was I amidst the Scottish highlands
The evening sky was blushing heaven-kissed
Hilltops pierced the dusky fog like islands
As soft a horse came swimming thru the mist
Pausing to consider its intentions
I stood there hypnotized and still as death
Thus its beauty quelled my apprehensions
And naught there was but magic in its breath
Like the grand Bucephalus he gestured
Nodding with his head for me to follow
With the trails deep in the brume and vestured
Held no greater hopes until the morrow
Building in my gut were pangs of hunger
Outside the hopes of finding further aid
Sixty and not getting any younger
My future hinged on choices to be made
Little left to lose I started hiking
Just steps behind the stallion as he led
Even in the dark his hide was striking
His color white as sheets and purely bred
On we walked for miles through the night, dim
Until I spied some farm lights further on
Stopping to remember him and thank him
But searching through the darkness ... he was gone.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Some Paradise Where Horses Go" Poetry Contest, Michelle Faulkner, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Eight Words Challenge - 24 Lines Maximum" Poetry Contest, Robert Haigh, Judge & Sponsor.
( Ten syllables/line, counted at HowManySyllables.com, no cliche's, via cliche' tool at PoetrySoup.com )
Such a busy life some parents
have, running here and running there...
never telling their kids to sit down
and have a serious talk with them.
Yes, all kids should be heard,
yes, all kids shouldn't be silent: that's
when they start to break down
and take their anger somewhere.
Don't turn your shoulders on them,
had they been heard: no harm
ever would have come to them;
had they been loved: no lonely
tears they would have shed in misery...
hold them tight and end their agony.
Be the teacher they need when they
seek answers, then they can understand
themselves better and be very lovely;
be their best friend in any way you can.
Had they been loved as others:
no isolation they would have chosen;
had they been loved: their smiles
no sadness or pain would have known.
Song: Mad World by Gary Jules
Cliche': Frightened To Death
Picture: # 1
Written on 4/21/2016
New Words
Oh, Ye of hackneyed verbiage;
We sometimes love those old Cliches’.
Seems no other words be more befitting
than those repeated in poems of scorn.
Wit and humor marks the points,
made easily, through brevity.
Enhanced by less, and not the more
For a shallow listener, will surly get bored.
Though Hackneyed poems, some will detest;
Repetition, quickly captures the mind at best.!
Let us not disregard those points well made
With an abundance of redundancy throughout.
Words, of worn out repetitious phrases,
graced many, many a poet’s pages.
Some great writers say things that way;
As for knowledge, I must say;
Hackneyed poems may be cliche',
perhaps for some, could be the only way;
To get a message to "stick n Stay"
And to know what you have deduced.
The only cliche girls nowadays are labelled on,
is the cliche that girls think they're labelled on a cliche,
a cliche that girls came up with,
and,
is only ever said hypothetically by girls in adverts,
cliched because you cliche,
wasted time, that,
you could have spent proving yourself outwardly,
and not talking cliche inwardly.
JOKES....... that's humourous if you're a man though,
because it's a cliche.
Stupid bloke spelt the title wrong,
men are useless, can't multi task,
I mean he's got to look at the screen
and press the button at the same time.
men have malign brains.
Men everywhere now looking up malign.
Form: