Long Cynical Poems
Long Cynical Poems. Below are the most popular long Cynical by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cynical poems by poem length and keyword.
Depression has caught me within it’s talons,
Leaving me with a feeling of pure disappointment
Making me to believe that I don’t deserve happiness
Or the love that helps me to find my way through
This desolate, desperate place of darkness and gloom
Worry has trapped me within it’s lasting clutches,
Forcing me to feel like an impatient, yearning neurotic
Whispering pessimism across my cynical nakedness,
Coloring my spirit with hues of deepest ebony
Withdrawing all hope, faith and belief in intimate dreams
Nervousness has ensnared me within loss and anxiety
Causing me to believe that I deserve this rigid irritation
Defeat breathes it’s scent of disillusionment and suffering
Dancing decay and menacing death through my heart
Welcoming me into a world of fear and apprehension
These feelings of wrong thinking fight my hopes and dreams
Anchoring me in heartache, echoing through my silent reveries
Wishing to destroy my peace and serenity, yet I finally see
I can fight these feelings of discouragement with inner strength
Power that weighs in on my warrior’s spirit and combats my doubts
Slowly, I am learning to listen to the faithful heart living within,
The core of my spirit’s breath where that warrior lives and breathes
Shooting out fiery darts of kindness and compassion and faith
Everything that I need to reach out to the goodness I need to see
To know and discover within myself so that I might be able to live
A life filled with honesty, sincerity and all that can be expressed
Through grace, hope, joy and peace… sweet love that lives and gives
Sends darts of intimacy through my soul so that I can dance merrily
Expressing the sense of pure charity that lives within me and reaches
Out to those around me so that I can know what it is to share my humanity
Thankfully, this warrior that lives within me is there to protect me
From the anger, pain, bitterness and sadness that life inflicts
Sending me toward the edge of defeat, but comes back from there
To show me that love is real – love is a mystery and promise and whisper
Breathing into me that warrior’s assurance that everything will be okay
Because I have the love I need to give back and to thank God for everything!
Warrior Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
July 7, 2020
At the strike of midnight
In the moonless dead of night
A kaleidoscope of apparitions
Whirl in a blur ominously
When a vile curtain unveils
The hollow menacing cosmos
Grim theater for hostile
Archenemies and demons
As rejects of heaven gather
Wicked and tempestuous
Cynical malevolence
Senseless cacophony
Languishing laments
Resonate inside out
Perpetual hysteria
Nebulous shadows
Bewildering and chaotic
Spiraled descent into
The inferno of my soul
Swirling chimera of apocalypse
Into the wee hours
On a cold moonless night
My heart on a leash meandering
Till the sun comes up
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted for contest EIGHT-WORD CHALLENGE IV sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON on September 18, 2017 - RANKED 3RD
He was alone and lonely.
Sadness swept his eyes
before he jabbed at me
with his cynical sarcasm.
He slowly lit his Camel.
It was a simple act of murder
and he was a scholar of sorts –
a player of chess, a fan of poetry.
I knew I was under his scrutiny.
I agree it looked rather suspicious.
After all, the body was there
and I was found holding the knife.
I squirmed under his hard eye
but leaned back into the chair
in front of his desk knowing
he had a soft spot for women.
A hard drinker, he took a bottle
from his cabinet and offered
a glass to me. I didn’t accept
as I knew I should stay alert.
“It was a man, a squabby man,
with a glimmer of glee in his eye,”
I said. “He looked at me, then
threw down the knife and ran.”
Marlowe said, “I don’t think you did it.
There was no blood on your clothes.
Your shoes would have soaked
in the blood and crusted.”
I relaxed a little and offered a smile.
I knew I was home free.
I was glad I had changed my shoes.
“I’ll take that drink now.”
She took the bait…
Inspired by but not entered in Natasha L Scragg’s Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
The sun has shined brighter ever since that day
Destiny made our paths cross
I was stunned to find out I could feel this way
My cynicism about love was lost
The shadows wherein my heart did lay
Due to failed love I so often saw
Melted in the brightness you sent my way
Proving its darkness a terrible flaw
Just because others have loved and failed
Didn’t mean it would happen to me
I knew the moment I saw you love would prevail
For the rest of my eternity
From a cynical world that was lonely and dark
Your aura, so bright, has rescued my heart
by Joe Flach
Written for Francine Robert's "Sonnet, sonnet, everywhere" contest.
Written and posted on June 8, 2011
Written: November 10, 2023, For Edward Ibeh Contest
__________________________________________
As if to atone, I gaze into the obscurity of my soul.
When I glance back, I feel vulnerable, as in a hole.
A thrilling and ticklish time tumble in the future.
Whilst sorrow stitches, a suspect sears sans suture.
I still wear knit garments, worn with time and care.
The fights I've fought are icons of moxie and dare.
With the things I've done and how stout I've come,
A potent sight of mettle is where I'm coming from.
Whilst a place where shadows gleefully dance.
Where deception is woven in tandem, a prance
Fabrics of lies, woven from threads of deceit.
Embroidered by the demon aiming to cheat
Evil One, with his dirty lies and cruel smirk.
The worst delusion arises slyly from lurk.
A Janus-faced one stays hidden in the shadows.
Mere ambition to deceive and instill harrows
Janus-faced, dicey, dodgy, deduce the scene.
Ambidextrous by a sly smile, sharp gaze, unclean.
A cynical wolf in sheep clothes tricks sans shame.
Their fraud, plotting, and spite reveal obvious tame.
We can't hide the quilt of deceit, an art of smears.
Web grows with each knot, tying souls and ears.
A key prevaricator took delight in havoc, ruin left.
Only heartbreak remains in his wake, and bereft.
With an iron tongue, they lie naively and conceal.
Their faith is brief; it is phony, as they lack ideals.
In the gloom, they thrive with guile and strive.
Twisting and scheming with no regret or drive
But worry not, for honesty will always prevail.
Deception's weave will crumble into a false quail.
Pits of deceit shall cease, and lies will never last.
Truth will heal souls, as lying is torn with a blast.
A grim warning of vile traits shows guile.
Their souls are dark, and they generate wile.
Their authentic hues and pain will never heal.
Stay true and fight deceit with candor and zeal.
Why
You made me know poetry
Learned some
But still illiterate
Uneducated
Reason is to be with most people
To be like them
Bliss is complete happiness
Bliss of morning came
Wanted to write poetry
Poetry about the unknown
Thought of publications
Making the fifth
Was reading Psalm of Divine Mercy Bible
Bliss of heart can finally understand
To form easy words for all people to comprehend
Writing is like Singing
Singing to convey heart songs
Singing and writing is alike
Lost voice of singing from a tragic car accident
Right arm is present
Present to write heart songs
Heart Songs are feelings
Why did You make me know poetry
Poetry is Therapeutic
Did some of Your publications
Formed prayers as poetry
For the mothers and the unborn
You telling me that the unborn is safe in heaven
How will the world know
I am in cynical world
World is big, Blue, round
Earth
You made me be a saint
Saint to help people
Mothers and the unborn
Tomorrow will see the bliss of sunrise
Poetry Form: Free Verse
Date Written: 9032022
Time Written: 11:03am
Source: Mirriam-Webster Dictionary
I raise my glass against the creeping night,
And laugh at shadows clawing at my flame;
Let death come slow or fast-I hold my light.
For what is life if lived without a claim
To fire, music, madness, reckless cheer?
A sober world is sober than it's shame
So let the cautious tremble, clutching fear;
I'll dance where fear runs red as mortal blood,
And drown the ticking silence in jeer.
Let saints preach duty, labour, sweat, and mud-
Their sermons wilt beneath the club's loud roar;
I choose the storm,the glitter and the flood.
Though bones may crack and lungs may breathe no more,
My name will rise from every emptied cup-
A toast to nights that burned my spirits raw.
And when the final reckoning adds up,
Let death itself bow down before my spree;
I lived unchained, and never once looked up
Colors of Confusion
Red
Orange
Yellow
Green
Blue
Blue, I feel blue as I stare into an idea confused by the new:
Divided States of America.
Formally the United States of America.
Epstein’s dead, suicide they said…
Hollywood’s elite, they are all creeps.
Antifa/BLM cynical groups that believe Police are criminals.
Trump was President, it was pinnacle; a miracle that we survived in a country divided by hate.
What is the real mission of the politicians?
It’s the have and the have not’s, the keeping up with the Joneses era.
The Carbonaro effect.
The Media implants these thoughts of sorts, controlled by technology we are robots
Looking for a hotspot, wifi, somebody let me in, let me online.
We have gone mad, it’s sad.
Slaves, modern day slaves to tik tok, instagram, Facebook, such crooks robbing us of human interactions.
What’s the attraction?
Dear Lady,
I heard you say that you still trust President Trump
to do almost as good a job as he says he is doing,
despite all the lies,
because "they all do that",
just say whatever the audience of the moment
would most like to hear.
Really?
I believe Abraham Lincoln,
our first Republican President,
would be surprised to hear his Gettysburg Address
was "telling them what they want to hear"
in his best cheerleader,
go, fight, win voice.
And it seems to me that Thomas Jefferson,
one of the PreRepublican forefather type Presidents,
would object to hear his rather specific name-calling
Declaration of Independence from plutocratic,
and perhaps greedy, and maybe slightly cynical, Elitists,
was just telling the good King what he really wanted to hear.
But regardless of whether our quality standards for Presidential integrity
should reasonably be expected to go up,
now that we're into our 40th-something incarnation of this Office,
or reasonably be expected to go down
after the first two or three, or sixteen,
or whatever
back in ancient integrity times,
when the premillennial pubic person was worth his/her word
in trust repaid.
How can you trust a President
who is significantly less sure of your right to health and climate care giving
and receiving
for yourself
and for our multiculturing grandkids,
than was the former President?
How is that going in a direction that you
and your healthy extended pro-life family,
your tribe,
neighborhood militia,
or paranoid klan,
or whatever
you continue to trust
as some direction that could be good enough
for those you love the most?
Health,
like racism
and sexism,
does not optimally arrive in individual-portioned packages;
they only sustain resilient climaxes
on interdependent through empty and bereft social scales
of qualities for cooperative wealth v WinLose competing pathologies.
Still Listening
Your Democratic HealthAsWealth Advocate
I once knew a music man, remembering his callous palms, he had natural charm and a gift to be effortlessly lyrical
This music man ,that I once knew, possessed such character like no other.
Many Quirks, his smirks and simultaneously original.
I later learned this man of music had premeditated moves, oblivious and in a trance, I missed the unforgivable.
A man of music ,set the tone , one of which coloured slyly cynical.
Maybe it was his dreamy eyes, mysteriously dark and mystical.
They say love is blind but in this case, I believe my love was deaf
As I danced along to his melody, of written verses critical
I once thought I knew a music man, how presumptions of me and empirical.
Was I just another catchy chorus of his, and to him typically predictable