Long Contrary Poems
Long Contrary Poems. Below are the most popular long Contrary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contrary poems by poem length and keyword.
Don’t get confused mates
I’m not talking of any primates
Picking through each-other’s fur
Neither am I asking you to concur
In fact, according to you
There might be very few
Who would have any objection
To helping someone
Especially if that ‘someone’ returns the favour
Goes ‘scratch-scratch’ on others for want of a back scratcher
It may appear as if I’m against social grooming
Please dears, no cause for that fuming
I can very well understand your irritation
Believe me, I’m not pointing at you or anyone
On the contrary, you are welcome to assist me
However, I may not be able to return the courtesy
I know there is a term- reciprocal altruism
And now if you permit, I want to end with this truism
“I scratch your back, you scratch mine”
I am sure without a quid-pro-quo, you’ll decline
Definitely I’m not the one to feel bad or whine
I know, it’ll hold you back and that’s perfectly fine.
Rejoice and shout with laughter
Throw away any contrary matter
For marriage is a life promise
And wedding is done just once
Since God has been so gracious
To let you witness this bliss
With his grace and in his pleasure
To day shall ever be a treasure
Marriage is a life contract
Of time of laughter and of the rest
With his love and in his pleasure
Today shall always be a treasure
Rejoice and shout with laughter
Throw away any contrary matter
For wedding is done just once
With you, family, friends and I rejoice
To Iyabode.
29th July 2017. is her wedding day.
For The Creative Collective Anthology Series -
Poetry Contest. Sponsored by Geraldine Taylor.
28 July, 2017.
The clandestine creep
Started with a grandiloquent speech
And his surreptitious subterfuge
Has everyone confused
He said "Now grapple with the apple"
He said "has God really said"
Did God really mean that if you eat of it
You will end up dead?
The clandestine creep
Is after Jesus’ sheep
And His hands will reap
And He will forever keep
He attempts to rival God
Even walked where God trod
He attempts to corrupt things everywhere
He is the prince of the power of the air
Once the anointed luminary
Once light, until he was found contrary
Parading as an angel (as one of the guise)
To gain converts for the lord of the flies
Not as an aesthete, he steals
Instead of enjoying what God reveals
He realizes as bell’s knells, as the bell peals
He’s an A.I. of God that never kneels
An artificial insubordinate (A.I.)
Unfortunately, you are real
You’re the Godzilla to mankind
With our blunders we must deal
Declarative mantras in tenacious pulchritude
reiterate the unbound verisimilitude.
The cohorts cannot comprehend the vicissitude.
Learning and judgments are encumbered in lassitude.
My thoughts are accomplished extemporaneously,
although they are all confronted adversatively.
Examples of life’s essences contrary to me,
adulterated by each potent adversary,
appear contiguous with each stark antonymy.
I seek honest truth from an external faculty.
I search for a scrupulous freelance authority.
Though time is quick, I seek this elusive entity.
I beseech your unencumbered intact allotment.
This installment will help elucidate my judgment.
Will supplies be exhausted in a fleeting moment?
Be munificent in this required fulfillment.
I write to water the 'seeds unknown' which the broken
Body of Truth has sown, through unlikley servants with
Unclean hands. Who require renewal from the one God
Man..' against contrary winds that chance' and smiling
Demons that flit and dance, cajole and offer yet? That Condesend in pandering messages by air they send.'
So much to offer! they'll fix you well.' They've a cure all
It involves sin, delivered by drug you can share that win?
You only have to have' ( the need ) a hunger? Some greed?
Just always know you are important.' Until something
Comes! and changes (that format!) You'll find theres not
Another chance you must continue on in satans trance
Kiss under the green of a 'cancer on trees' right through
Christmas and old year leaves.' Just embrace tradition till
The pagentry ends, the glitter has worn' Well? like drunken
Bad friends..Yet amidst the turmoil.' the churn, and rush'
Jesus is real you should know that much' his armies are
Mighty! in His name, call out for renewal and He will send' 'less blame' Don't Chase the empty and dark cold winds, as flattering tounges in hell will recind..' No light of Creation there you'll
Find! yet evil upon evil, your soul will bind.'
She’s a beautiful flower, the elegant kind.
If you’re tempted to pick her, just keep this in mind;
Though she smiles on the surface, the full picture shows
She has too many prickles and not enough rose.
In her typical manner, her grace and her charm
Will be sure to enchant without giving alarm,
But you’ll see when Madame strikes a contrary pose
She has too many prickles and not enough rose.
I once fondled her blossom, her glistening gem,
Put my lips to her petals and fingered her stem,
But I found out the hard way what everyone knows,
She has too many prickles and not enough rose.
She’s a beautiful flower. What more need I can say?
I’ll just finish my business and be on my way.
With her scepter of thorns, she can stay where she grows.
She has too many prickles and not enough rose.
There is only one true freedom we have in this world,
That is not hindered by the Time and Place of our Birth,
Our Religious Beliefs,
Family circumstances ,
Or even the dictates of the regime we reside under.
We can try,
And keep on trying as long as we have a breath left in our body,
We are free to try and be kind,
In the most adverse circumstances,
We are free to try and make a better world,
If not for us, then for those yet to come,
We are free to try out new things,
And free to try standing on our own two feet.
It is only in the knowing that we tried,
That we can call ourselves truly free,
And shout from the roof tops,
That by our own standard our life has been worthwhile,
Then no opinions to the contrary,
Will hold any sway,
And we can be truly content,
Within our own skins,
And hopefully have made some lifelong friends along the way.
In the beginning, there was Chaos, Hesiod*
of old tells us
then
with the passing of time and the intervention of the divine,
slowly and persistently, the order was established
but
Chaos has not disappeared at all as it is lurking:
into the core of Cosmos-
into every heart
into every mind
and
into every soul
waiting
for the right moment to strike
to overthrow harmony and back to anarchy, triumphantly, us
to bring.
Imperative it is, therefore,
with each step we take,
vigilant we have to be, my friend,
questioning
everything that concerns us-
our being
our dreams
our becoming
thus
advisable for us would be
never accept something at
face value
but
on the contrary, we should, everything that concerns us
in-depth to examine
so,
good would be, suspicion's shield high to raise
for
to protect the inner order that we have so painstakingly achieved,
and
by doing so, to Chaos victims we would
never fall!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
03 February 2020
* Hesiod, an ancient Greek poet, lived between 750-650 BC, author of Theogony!
The day the internet stopped working, I opened the door and let my face embrace the breeze of cold air,
I looked around to find dainty plants for which I never cared.
After a long time, I stepped out of my house and strolled through the park for a while,
Funnily, I felt as if I had walked a mile!
I stopped and was astonished at the sight that beheld my eyes,
'Oh dear!' people are conversing with each other and being nice!
I sat on a huge rock at the corner of the park,
Soon I realized it was getting dark.
After ages, I looked up at the sky contrary to my daily routine of looking down at my mobile screen,
'So that's what they call sunset!' I happily scream.
For a moment I felt my life was a lie,
I guiltily looked at the Earth, for which I never batted an eye.
A familiar sound shook me out of my thoughts,
I was notified that the internet connection was back and I was pulled back into the same knot.
To glorify the leading star he obits the big named performer
with blank face in shabby clothing and for his part is so minute
it doesn’t matter whether he exists or not.
Although, he falls under the sword with gushing blood,
killed by a single gun shot without a word, or dies
by a thrusting spear with a short groan, no one cares
to cry for his tragic death, because he has no name, no tomb.
A day of extra’s life is to learn how to wait and to survive
through one day at a time. He roams around the studio patiently
for his given day and, while roaming around the empty studio
he becomes a dim shadow under the darkening sky,
and when the sky getting darker and darker he follows the sets
with a moon, with the stars, to the location where the scenery
that is to shot and glorify the big name, as the truckloads that
move along in a long formed line.
If you spend a day in Hades, it will shorten a day of given life.
For death is proof of the contrary to the living, and waiting game
is the part of extra’s life, though the life seemed to be worthless, and therefore, no cast of a play is given for his sake, the extra, the leftover life, also is the existing being until he falls under the sword, killed from a single bullet, trusted to die by a spear.