Long Contradicts Poems

Long Contradicts Poems. Below are the most popular long Contradicts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contradicts poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member The Meaning of Life

I am not worthy to tackle
this subject. To battle
‘The meaning of life’.
A culmination of hope and
a persistence to overcome
that which we cannot face.
With no prior warning
we are thrust into life. No understanding 
of that by which we are bound.
We often cannot find
true happiness imbedded within our mind.
We are unable to comprehend
that we in fact all alien beings, it contradicts
that which we see all about us. 
Oneness is a contradiction of individuality. 
There is no ‘meaning of life’ per se, 
life just happens to be that way. 
The ‘meaning of life’ for you
is most probably that which you might wish to be. 
But we are all different fish
in an ocean of millions, all with a different wish.  
The ‘meaning of life’ is as complex as life itself. 
I’ll let someone more worthy than I contemplate this subject. Someone who can adequately express in words this most challenging concept. 
The meaning of life - 
until then, remains a mystery.


Premium Member Don't Read This Poem

Your boss told you what to believe.
He is tanking badly in the polls.
Still, your boss told you what to believe.
It contradicts all the evidence.
But you’ve let him paint all your images.
You’ve let him create all your facts.
Don’t Read This Poem.

Your boss’s surrogates tell you what to believe.
They are his lip service, his yes men.
Their words belie all the videos and images.
Their brains are hollow vessels hungry for truth.
You’ve let them manipulate your world.
Don’t Read This Poem.

Your boss and his spin doctors control you.
These ministers of propaganda need you to believe.
ICE killed American citizens in cold blood.
They spun this as killings of domestic terrorists.
It is best that you bury your head in the sand.
                                 It is best that you never read this poem.

Prescribed Celebration

(yes, I'm serious)

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took
to name a swarming mess:
A self-appointed poet
with rogue chemicals sizzling in her nerves.
The diagnosis long and fancy—
bitter but addictive 
on my tongue,
like the gin I’ve grown fluent in.
(Is that why his voice was slurred?)

                         “…The patient flinches
                         at the morning rains in May.
                         Her ink contradicts herself…
                         …and her thoughts betray.”

                         “…Well, this is why.” He pointed at my brain.

I sighed and rest
my head against the chilly wall
painted a welcoming shade of yellow.
The nurse lit branded candles:
they reserve lavender
for calming the stormier souls—
but I blow out the flame
with laughters drumming in my rib cage—

All this time,
I’ve been stuck
in debates on who’s to blame
But finally—finally,

Printed on stapled prescription bags—
a long, fancy name.
Now we can toast 
with tablets in paper cups—
Here’s to 
finding an enemy that's not me.

Premium Member Women are like Wild Honey

They start thick— 
not the polite kind you stir into tea
not the mild drizzle on breakfast toast
but the kind that runs hot
slow
dangerous 
coating your tongue before you grasp
the price of its pleasure.

They start golden— 
dripping off the comb 
sun pressed into their marrow 
too rich, too syrupy— 
gumming up the gears of your schemes 
too luminous for hands that flinch from light
too wild for walls meant to contain them.

You want squeeze-bottle love. 
Clean. 
No bees. 
No stingers. 
No buzz.

But they ferment in kitchens
where no one thanks them—
same way their grandmothers did
spooning fire into each serving
stinging their own tongues
just to stay sharp— 
drizzling down your better judgment staining 
Sunday shirts 
unraveling wedding vows
spilling past boundaries 
no one asked them to obey.

They get called— 
too much.
too loud.
too open.
too shut— 
like they were born to fit into your grip
instead of slipping right through it.

You try to jar them. 
Slap on barcodes: 
Best before. 
Handle with care. 
Discount if damaged 
for quick sale.

But wild honey won’t kneel— 
it contradicts logic 
defies preservation 
reason 
perfumes the air
wrecks your thirst for tradition.

You mistook raw for reckless 
Reckless for ruin 
Ruin for something to fear.

You laughed when they wept— 
like grief was a spectacle
like tenderness was weak
like softness 
was a defect to be filtered out.

But by the time you realize 
she’s the rarest thing
you ever tasted— 
she’s already sweetening 
the hands that never swatted her

And now, 
we sit here— 
jars without lids, 
spoons still sticky— 
trying to remember 
what it meant to taste something 
that never begged to be caged.

Maybe— 
the glass wasn’t meant to hold her.

Maybe—

it was meant to shatter—

to let something wild 
and feral 
flood in 
and leave you 
pleading 
for ruin.

—it’s a reckoning, 
unapologetic, 
untamed, 

final.
Form: Lyric

I don't understand 2

I don't understand.
the need to cover wrinkles up-
they are the story of your life!

I dent understand.
the need to improve on nature-
what`s wrong with accepting, you being you?

I don't understand.
the need to change your appearance-
thinking this will change your life.

I don't understand.
being too afraid to say what's on your mind
because another might see it as stepping over the line. 

I don't understand.
when they state the number of friends they have-
but they haven`t meet many of them.

I don't understand.
why the opinion of someone you don't know-
 is so important.

I don't understand.
what the screen says-
is more important than now!

I don't understand.
your fact is more truthful-
then the real fact.

I don't understand.
when the truth contradicts your fact-
you call it fake news.

I don't understand.
when confronted with the truth
and it contradicts your facts-
you just ignore it, hoping it will 
all go away.
© w.e. rone  Create an image from this poem.


Life Fights Against Tomorrow

And suddenly we realize
that life fights against tomorrow:
it contradicts the parting of the orange sun
that there might be no sunrise
for anyone who plans to wallow
in pleasure, not relieving somebody's pain!

With each fear we hold,
we'll be asking others
if they envision more tomorrows,
or nothing that really excites...
until they grow old!

We'll reward the humble givers
and condemn the avarice hearts
standing still, not feeling emotions;
giving less doesn't mean you haven't
given anything, be glad of your deed...
bread can fill up bellies, water is different:
it has  the power to quench the thirst
and give back the fortitude lost:
an arid garden can grow roses only when rain falls,
any dreamer can materialize the vision of his efforts;
constantly feeding his ego, trusting more in his creed!

And suddenly we realize
that life fights against tomorrow,
and having no minimal strength to lead
ourselves in the battle to sustain our convictions,
we'll be caught in a dense blaze...
where all hopes turn to ashes:
unless we rise above the causes of greed
and vanquish every shadow!
Form: Rhyme

Sluggishness

Central air conditioning quickly
found this creature comfort acclimated,
defies, contradicts, bumps uglies...
up against rugged individualist
I meekly profess to idealize
admitting propensity nothing

distinguishable differentiating
all talk no action, no less tolerant
than aversion to extreme heat index
burrowing into sixty degree Fahrenheit
climate control mancave
quite divergent weathering

humid, hot, and hazy
dog days of summer,
when boyhood at 324 Level Road
lacked luxuriating aforestated amenity
first poetic line
introducing anonymous reader

familiar or otherwise
regaling modest literary versatility,
whereby yours truly
dealt with temperatures
registering bajillion degrees,
especially level housing bedrooms

about half dozen steps above landing
suddenly experiencing indisputable
scientific principle hot air rises
undermining ability to function
no more active rather equally inert
as inanimate object

mainly cuz estate complex edifice
formerly christened "Glen Elm"
built approximately half century
preceding incorporating
said modern HVAC conveniences,
no modern building lacks,

plus ability to tolerate hardship
much more omnipresent
before yours truly
racked quite numerous
orbitz round the sun
versus now, when
greater sensitivity prevails,

I admit pioneer spirit plummeted,
and if forced to forego
custom tailored environment
would be immovable prey,
for even the most 
harried styled carrion,

which admission would 
only present challenge
predicated on severe disruption
compromising being hermetically
sealed, linkedin, cocooned...

within man-made dwelling
hardship analogous no name brand
garden variety slug
essentially homeless snail
shell lacked with mew cuss!
Form: Bio

Berlin

Berlin's a place that contradicts -
It's vibrant, but it's haunting,
The paradigm of hipness, with
A history most daunting.

The damage done in World War II
Reduced it to a rubble 
And then the famous wall went up,
Which led to years of trouble.

You can't forget (and never should)
The Nazi reign of terror.
Memorials abound atoning
For that awful era.

Yet everything has been restored.
You won't see ancient buildings,
But modern takes of what was lost,
Replete with domes and gildings.

This is a city worth a trip,
With coolness overriding,
Defiant that to all the world
Its past will not be hiding.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member My voice will never be heard


Don’t protect me from NATO countries
I didn’t ask you for that
I need some Atlantic breeze
Mixed with fume of my cigarette
You brave or coward warriors 
Don’t shoot me for the music I play
I really can’t get your phobias
There is no point to stay
Wild people clash and fight
For the reasons they can’t explain
Or in case they can, I’m in fright
To know they’re completely insane
I could be shot from both sides
Freedom fighters from the West
With beasts from the East collide
Me is the victim among the rest
Who doesn’t support the world
Of disastrous competition
But my voice will never be heard
Cause it contradicts the tradition.
Form: Rhyme

Letter To Society

Dear society
stop bringing me down
stop making it seem like my thin eyebrows whom I inherited from my beautiful mother is wrong.All because it doesn't fit your beauty standards.As if the only way for eyebrows to look good are for them to look thick
stop bringing me down just because my lips don't look like kylie's injected ones and don't get me wrong she looks amazing !
When you degrade the features i've been made with 
you degrade my parents,my parent's parents and so on
Stop bringing me down just because my body does not demonstrate a small waist
big butt and boobs
it does not mean i don't define beauty
My skin that suffers with acne and scarring
does not mean i do not fit into the category of beauty 
There is no such thing as perfect skin or a flawless human being 
I am made up of many flaws 
My nose that contradicts the portrait of a beautifully shaped barbie face
And my tiny eyes that hold together my tiny lashes.
Everything about me is flawed and that's okay because I am proud to be who I am and how I look

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