Long Condescend Poems
Long Condescend Poems. Below are the most popular long Condescend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Condescend poems by poem length and keyword.
The music beat is loud
As we dance through the crowd
Create your own verse
It could be far worse
Let the music fill your ears
And erase all your fears
The lights flash before your eyes
Do it before the party dies
Time is running out
No time for silly doubt
Take the art in your hands
And twist it for your fans
Purples, pinks, and scarlet
All splatter the walls for a harlot
Perhaps I'm a mannequin
Who parades himself as a charlatan
A mass of bodies is an ocean
It's easy to get lost in the motion
As we dance through the crowd
The music beat is loud
Twist the art, twist the art
Pull the strings and it falls apart
Create your own verse
It could really be worse
Tally ho I'm above the rest
With a biting commentary of the best
Let the music fill your ears
And erase all your fears
Twist the art, twist the art
It's your last chance to look smart
Time is running out
No time for silly doubt
The colors fill me so serenely
My thoughts are so unseemly
Take the art in your hands
And twist it for your fans
The chorus burns to an end
My eyes could condescend
Purples, pinks, and scarlet
Oh no, I feel I might love a harlot
Twist the art, twist the art
The strings pulled apart it kick starts my heart
Really I'm just a dancing mannequin
Who parades himself a charlatan
4/30/18
The prequel
Of good vs. evil
Did they ever consider each other equal?
One side peaceful
The other deceitful
In the beginning
Neither side was really winning
As the globe continued spinning
Brimming
With things that were living
Meanwhile one was only taking and one was giving
Back to the Earth while grinning
While existing
One was focused on fixing
And enriching
All the while being uplifting
The other one was drifting
And always tricking
So a bad reputation began sticking
Endless blood spilling
From all the senseless killing
Sad that they found it thrilling
Next came the middle
Each side continuing to chisel
Away at the other little by little
Even though it never was all that simple
One remaining civil
The other trying to swindle
And cripple
But the opposing side wouldn't let it all dwindle
There had to be an end
Did no good to pretend
One a true friend
The other only there to condescend
One wants you to ascend
The other wants to see you descend
One would send
You flowers and a letter that was penned
The other wants you dead
And to never see you again
There's something to be said
For those that bit the hand that fed
One saw many opportunities ahead
The other was always seeing red
Finally here comes the sequel
For the people
Still to this day good and evil
Co-exist as they have for many a siecle
By: Dalton Ogletree
An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind
They become thy home, a home that thou can't even find
Seems like seamless love, that doesn't involve mind
Staring without eyes, faceless yet wild
A little too longer to remain what's best to pretend
A little too close to what's going to happen in the end
A little too late to comprehend
A little too late to condescend
Worse the part when it comes to render
Worst it becomes, when dived into,
transcribing the vocabulary not meant to be rendered
Atrocious it is, as surrendered
Bled on paper as thou bled in time
Scarce is translucence
Abundant became reticence
Those words, coy! result of which was no rhyme
Bowser and Mittens, Pooh, Fluffy and I
sat with the Queen for her afternoon tea.
Minding our manners, all silent and shy -
each of us awestruck by Her Majesty.
We all were rescues, she loved us in spite,
though we were commoners, she took us in;
loved us and fed us each morning and night,
asked how our day was and where we had been.
Sought our advice on all matters of state -
whether she ought to play hopscotch or jacks,
make paper dolls, or perhaps roller skate -
always she'd come back to us to relax.
She was the Queen, but did not condescend,
took time to play with us under her tree.
Though it's been years now that she's been our friend,
we all remember our first "Royal Tea"
Written 3 Nov 2021
When we're young, if we were lucky, we learn truths that, in life, will help to see us through…through the good times…through the bad times…because we know these truths…are true.
Truth about how to treat another person…any person…always with kindness…never condescend…truth about how to love ourself…and others…and what it means to be a friend.
Truth about how our planet is important…from her sky…to her trees…to her tides…not only for our survival…but for the beauty she provides.
Many of these truths we learn early…soon after showing up…we’re taught them by our parents…it’s all a part of growing up.
Sometimes, however, as we grow older if we’re not careful our intentions and our actions become misconstrued and misbegotten…when those truths we learned when we were children…are buried or forgotten.
My hope is if that happens…if we ever lose our way…
we find the path back to those old lessons…those old truths of yesterday
For I can think of nothing sadder…once our youth has finally sprung…
than to grow old chasing truths…we once learned when we were young.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Your holiday in Italy
Has besmirched your legacy.
Your Cantos, they plead,
But don’t exonerate,
Not as far as I can see.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Did praise from Hemingway
Whet your narcissistic thirst?
As an ex-pat abroad,
Did you assimilate
What enlightened nations curse?
Dear Mr. Pound,
You made Il Duce smile.
There’s evidence that proves it.
Was your Republic of Utopia
Bi-polar by design?
Or was it simply hubris?
Dear Mr. Pound,
You strain my intellect
With your imagery of life,
And turn my conscience
Hard on itself
With a keen, dissecting knife.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Your lyrics sing to me,
But your politics offend.
You peddled fascist ideology.
If you want my true opinion,
I refuse to condescend.
He stood all alone, helpless and cold.
The vile words thrown at him, how bold.
They don't know his situation couldn't be controlled.
If they would only listen as his story is told.
They think he is a drunk, or that he is crazy.
"He probably has no home because he is lazy."
His life before this is all really hazy.
I bet they never knew he likes Swan River Daisies.
He's not a person in their clouded eyes.
They don't risk talking to him, it's probably all lies.
I see how people treat him and a part of me dies.
If only they could see he's an angel in disguise.
He once was a CEO, a husband, and a father to be.
His happiness was stolen when his wife's car hit a tree.
In a downward spiral, the future he no longer could see.
It wasn't two lives lost in the crash, it was three.
His pain so great, he just couldn't cope.
He thought God failed him, so he had no hope.
To ease the pain, he turned to dope.
He'd hang himself, if only he had some rope.
Try as I might, I can't get him to come home.
He says he is better off on the streets, all alone.
He thinks he ruins lives so the streets he'll roam.
He has all he needs, he says, a toothbrush and a comb.
Its sad to know, I'm his one true friend.
If only someone could make amends.
I listen with my heart and I don't condescend.
I will be there for him until the end.
I pray for my "Skater Man", every night.
The hand he was dealt, just wasn't right.
I pray he will one day see the light.
Sadly, its his battle and one I just can't fight.
Draw the curtains
Dim the light
Get settled down
For this long winter night
Almost dozing In my chair
A sleeping cat on my knee
Feeling warm and content
A pleasant place to be.
A fire in the grate
A red hot ember bed
Before which my lady sits
Toasting crusty bread
An old fashioned fork
Holds the speared slices down
Which the embers very quickly
Turn a shade of golden brown
A buttered toast and coffee supper
The toast spread with marmalade
One of those special snacks
Hot, tasty,simple, homemade.
The cat stretches and grumbles
As I reach for my treats
Not the sort of thing any
Self respecting cat eats.
With a disdainful air
She leaps to,the floor
Haughtily strides away
Knee not needed anymore
When I’ve grovelled sufficiently
I’ll in time be forgiven and then
I’m sure she’ll condescend
To occupy my knee again
Its a scene repeated nightly
And I’m getting used to that
It’s hell being appointed human
To the disdainful resident cat.
a carefully curated posture
shoulders back, chin high
bathed in self assurance
wearing a veil of confidence
thinking can sway the earth
always at centre of stage
fishing for recognition
taking inflated credits for success
bragging of achievements
fancy knowing all
not inclined to learn
to avow mistakes
self-conceited
sense of self- importance
holding themselves in the sky
others as inferior
on low ground
heart turned to stone
seeking own gains
rooted in self exhaltation
raising own ranks
heeding not what others think
words chosen
like precious stones
each syllable weighed
polished, and displayed
for admiring eyes
speaking of journeys
never taken
of battles fought
in hushed rooms
victories whispered
to an invisible court
laughter too loud
too bright
a manufactured chime
to mask silence
that would otherwise reveal
hollowness within
inhabiting a rarefied air
where common ground
is but a place
they condescend to visit
a fleeting curiosity
before returning to their peak
building castles
on fleeting sands
fortified with opinions
that echo their own voice
a fortress of ego
impenetrable
sadly, alone
constant striving
not for growth
but for image
reflecting in lake
that never ripples
always perfect
ever staged
in quiet moments
when performance falters
when mask slips
a flicker of doubt
a tremor of fear
reveals the fragile soul
beneath the regal facade
soon curtain rises
spotlight finds its mark
and the curated posture
steps back into place
the perfect illusion
restored once more.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1:14
And when you condescend to contemplate
the message that has been received, the very
Word of God, who, in order to relate,
became an empty version of Himself,
flesh fused with the divine, the incarnate,
and when you scoff at fairy tales that God
dwelt on high but chose to condescend,
among your chief objections known to
us, that these are myths best left at childhood’s end…
and having been exactly where you are,
we sympathize, once shared your unbelief,
have walked the roads you walk, or ones akin,
seen life come crashing down in pain and grief,
His seeming absence, time and yet again,
glory withheld, providing no relief.
Glory bestowed upon ourselves kept Him far off,
as did our misperceptions of our need,
of our supposed good weighed on a scale,
the god of merit surely sees indeed!
Only stop a moment and consider that the
Son did satisfy your penalty for sin decreed.
From hands and feet and side, his love poured out;
the precious drops were spilled on your behalf.
Father, tearful, pouring out His wrath,
full weight of sin falling instead on Him.
Of what are we to make of sacrificial love?
Grace thus given overwhelms the mind
and in the end, our hearts are put at rest;
Truth comes down in lowly form, His wayward sheep to find.