Long Cliches Poems
Long Cliches Poems. Below are the most popular long Cliches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cliches poems by poem length and keyword.
Who are you?
God
Passion
Forbearance
Whom strides with glory
Mended each fragment of me
Never a button undone
That’s an understatement
That time,
Your good light
Returned with silence by society
Society hasn’t met you have they
No wonder they don’t have manners
Who weaved the universe?
The reason to live
The meaning of life
Such cliches
It’d take 10 generations
Perpetual writing
To fully classify you entirely,
That’s an understatement
This time,
Let me be the one to mend your broken fragments,
Let me be the one to thank you unlike society,
Let me be the one to write perpetually for you,
My Aiden
This 6 liter hard candy girl
tickles my eyes and curls my toes.
Makes me dance to music I can’t feel.
Sends me where I’ve never been before,
on a tour
of Big Time, Small Town, Milky Way Heaven,
wearing clumsy sneakers that reek of old cliches
and humming sad tunes from all my yesterdays.
Don’t sit and weight for your bowels to move
lost in the groove caused by your life’s last fall.
Get up and do it again.
Well, perhaps it’s different now, I can’t tell:
We’ve all been to Heaven of one kind or another.
We’ve all seen our own brand of Hell
and I can tell
that walking down the road together might be good.
I might understand you better,
might be understood.
But Gee,
what kind of picture does love really paint
with brushes of passion and canvas that aint
really flat.
Well, just put on your traveling hat
come along for the ride.
Cause Man
Cause Baby
Cause Geeesh
I ain’t got nuthin to hide.
Maybe you got your own kinda dreams to share
about some hunk of six digit brand of Macho Care.
Prize pupils starin’ back at you
with guns still smokin’
and pot shots making swiss cheese outa your ROMANCE.
Maybe you learned how to dance
the hard way
banana peels taped to the sides of your skates
and fish eyes staring out of
all of your restaurant plates.
And maybe your hair has lost its sheen
or lost you completely
and gone where its never been
without you.
Well what else is new?
We all gotta tune
of one kind or another
and we all learned to dance from
a sister or brother
and whether we walk with a bounce
or a cane
we all been caught sometime out in the rain
and it aint nuthin new
it’s only me.
and it’s only you.
Mightier than the sword they say
This weapon of mass description.
Little changed for centuries
Through dip, fill, refill, magic.
Trailing on paper
A story of where once was,
Telling a story of where we are going.
Power of words, ink, paper, language.
That power to love, embrace, impart and despise.
Sticks and stones will break my bones,
Words can leave a deeper scar.
Todays news no longer becomes
the chip paper of tomorrow.
The cliches written out time and time again
Down through centuries of type and form.
The pen relays, portrait thoughts
Feelings, images and words.
Still through the myriad words,
Syntax and punctuation, still one dimensional.
Nothing can replace
The spoke word, the face to face.
Human interaction of minds met.
Speech and hearing, communication.
The beauty and simplicity,
Of the human conversation.
Oh Ye of hackneyed verbiage. We sometimes love those old Cliches'; Seems no other words be more befitting than those repeated in poem 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- An abundance of redundancy throughout the ages,
Words or worn out repetitious phrases, graced many, many a poets pages..
Some great writers say things that way; As for knowledge I must say;Hackneyed poems may be cliche', but for some could be the only way; To get a message to "stick n Stay"
The raw delight and
wonder of an eager
child-poet lay scattered
across the floor.
A baby's coo squeals from
the aging pages babbling
forth childish nonsense while
tired cliches wind lazily through
trite rhymes lacking lyrical luster.
Still, each precious verse endears
me to the memory of a precocious
youth when poetry was simple
and an unspoiled world
lay bare age old secrets
calling out to be discovered.
Author's commentary:
I don't remember what inspired me to write my first poems, but there was always something about
language. Something profound, something powerful, something pure.
I had no natural talent, and thankfully I didn't know it for I might have given up.
But eventually, and by sheer accident, I pieced together something that worked proving
poetry is not reserved solely for those with the predisposition but is also born of
passion, study, and discipline.
It was 15 years of frustration and tears as poem after bad poem was ripped to shreds by
seasoned writers with invaluable, albeit sometimes harsh, advice before I created anything
worthy of being read. But I am in love with poetic art so have persevered with humility
and gratitude in the face of rejection until finding a rhythm of my own. And though a bit
of time may sometimes pass before I am moved to write again, the words eventually spill
forth, and with a bit of luck and ingenuity, I will write a profound piece of insightful
prose stirring pride in the hearts of my mentors whose opinions I hold so dear.
For me, it has never come easy but with a deep-rooted love for the art and an obsession
for one day authoring a single, perfect verse, I hope to be unified in spirit with the
ghosts of poets past inspiring and encouraging others to keep the craft alive.
You told me I was not just average!
But when told that all one's life we
are...
We define ourself as such.
Till some metaphysical angel blows
the cobwebs off your mind.
Then, like a baby,we learn to think
and talk in ways of our own..
We grow beyond definition.
We rise to new heights with grace
and precision.
No boundaries, nor inhibitions!
The nay Sayers are still clinging to
their cribs and cities,
We live in states and in countries new!
Make new friends and we don't look back.
We lay track. We are not sheeples.
Lessons learned, openness to life
Not stuck to cliches from long ago..
Have made my life a meteoric ride,
An original life of which some may
disapprove.
The joy is one not need the stamp
Of approval from anyone in the present.
You, yourself, must give yourself the
coveted prize.
The past is but a wonderful to visit,
a soul vacation.
But the transformation into a butterfly
of a being...
Freedom and not seeking adulation!
Living in this day, in the now,
fully,
Has by far more a deeper meaning
And vast spiritual implications.
Pangiota Romios
3/6/2019
Attention:
This one is the problem child.
Mom and dad deny autonomy
take authority over a diary
supervised at all times; no privacy
door hinge wide open
so why are the walls closing in?
This home is an emotion free zone
Mom says save it for therapy
but stops taking me
says my borderline personality is burdening this family’s budget
believes I’ll be cured if she just burns enough cliches into my brain
“Just be happy with what you have,
what have you crafted in your head that is such a tragedy?"
I got pills to pop and prices to pay
I got emotions but I keep 'em oceans away
beyond the combination lock on a black box
Warning:
This medication may make it worse.
Unbearable.
And ain’t that just ironic?
peace of mind partners with possibilities
of seeming more psychotic
but it’s better this way.
Right?
Anticipate a thirty day delay
and lag like yesterday on your last leg
It’s better this way.
burrow into bed and brand yourself braindead
Just pretend, society says, suffer silently!
act as if any abnormality is absent
accept that it’s actually an act
learn to lock down your breakdowns
let them drown to the box’s rock bottom
Growing sick of cloaking conflicts
in courtesy of concealing others' comfort
so sorry if you choke
I will not spoon feed what you can’t swallow
I will scream my anxieties
annunciate every aspect of agony
trapping me where serotonin's lacking
Lab rat crawling its way back
taste-testing chill pills
forgetting how to feel real
sleepwalking through a social setting
so sick, yeah, I’m real ill
Everyone tends to forget,
the tension doesn’t rest when the poem ends.
With a K or maybe a C is often misspelt
Leprechaun sworn torn from green felt
Billiard baize suit worn with a big belt
Scorn cliches like Romans Cornish pelt
Taffs...the Jocks or Shamrocks smelt
In foreign lands so many have dwelt
Velvet villainy Galician or Brittany C/Kelt
Falter but not at Catholic altar knelt
Riff raffs playing the cards we're dealt
Life & death debacle glued a shoe's welt
Riddles tango with fiddles so heartfelt
Calms disarms always buxom not svelte
Lovers then in each others arms melt
No qualms rascal sparkle charms of a Celt
Poetry is moving as an opera to me.
It brings some, to your very soul’s gate!
Some poets only pen for a witty fast laugh.
I don’t think life is a bowl of chuckling human gaffes!
Some will never comment to you.
So what?
Make this not a popularity zoo, poetry is not akin to showing off
brand new shoes!
That is called “egotitistical blues!”
True friends are not like a bag of apocalyptic popcorn!
Spitting philosophical gems like a freshman, all over a college dorm.
All kinds of poets show poetical talent here!
Some write way too long, some only write short.
Then, there are also, humble deep philosophers.
Find those few who make your heart purr.
Those that make your heat in your blood stir!
Read well known poets each day.
This is a must_ a learning foray.
These are just things I learned, since being here.
Beautiful poetry really brings me to tears.
Cliches as comments, meaningless, should be
banned, sounding like empty tin cans...roll both
Empty and cold in this poet’s heart and hands.
Be specific in comments or comment not.
Don’t reply as “ I am in a hurry” snot!
Comments are surely not homework, that’s a sin.
Reply with your soul,this is not a children’s game to win!
“Oh, but they won’t read me, if I don’t comment?”
Then become a sincere soul, a dazzling, artistic grommet!
11/2/2021
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.