Long Cynics Poems
Long Cynics Poems. Below are the most popular long Cynics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cynics poems by poem length and keyword.
Notice the way the good times roll,
Sliding away as pain unfolds.
Notice the sting in bitter thoughts,
Harsh, heavy flings that make things rot.
Notice the plight of mad desire,
Weird, crazy sight that curl of fire.
Notice the sway of naughty moves,
Tempting to slay that selfish groove.
Notice the rhymes that feel awkward,
Rancid such chimes that crash backwards.
Notice the smiles that cynics cast,
Skeptics now style words fading fast.
Notice the touch of ugly things,
Pain alters much with suffering.
Notice the pain that crushes will,
Words cream complaint as breath is stilled.
Notice the dirt of death's debris,
No pulse to flirt for time set free.
Notice the play that drama streams,
Enter the fray to cast new dreams.
Notice the way life knocks you down,
Get up to play the part of clown.
Notice the route that hard knocks hurl,
Be down not out and rise to swirl.
Notice good sense in being you,
Mask your pretense and weave your dues.
Notice all stuff both good and bad,
Feel just enough and dare the mad.
Notice that's all that you can do,
Heed your soul's call to spark fine cues.
Notice the way of appetites,
Fickle whims stray with stolen bites.
Notice the dead that lie so still,
Face then life's dread and live goodwill.
Notice the signs that symbols hint,
Link heart and mind to know fine mint.
Leon Enriquez
03 November2014
Singapore
When the Dance stops
So now the party in Singapore is over
pacts are signed, and the show of lies is over in the meantime,
I have been looking at pretty flowers FB, which inspired me
to go for a walk, the blooms on the terrace are
past their glory, they are pale shadows waiting for a new spring,
only my cacti are flowering it has nevertheless with by my
ignorance and little water thrived and have bell-like red flowers.
The sheep on the field eat the pretty flowers first
before eating grass, I think they are colour blind
or think beauty must be consumed before it pales.
Meanwhile, the two dancers in Singapore smiled better than a crocodile would and we cynics wait for the next step.
One cast his form upon the living age,
One lived his life above it, or below;
One legend for his vigor and his rage,
One craved the beauties only minds can know.
O, little good of either can be said,
“The Great” most so in murder and in wine;
And Cynics named for doggish lives they led;
But then, in all of life, there’s little fine.
A little thing, an idling of a day,
No, scarcely worth so small a poem as this;
Two lives a moment crossed upon their way,
And neither would the other ever miss.
But there in Corinth, now a common sight,
Where one cast shadows, and one sought the light.
The world needs a little
Good news everyday
Just look on the bright side
It's better that way
Kick up your heels
Say howdy my friends
Just smile at a stranger
Your woes you'll transcend
On the verge of disaster
Show them there's hope
To look at this world
Through a much larger scope
It may be contagious
You'll start a new trend
Who knows it might happen
You'll make a new friend
I know that the cynics
Will laugh and they'll scoff
To think that us humans
Past sins we can doff
We've got to start somewhere
So why not right now
The world will stop fighting
And wars disavow
Just call me a dreamer
I welcome that name
Don't need any medals
No fortune or fame
The best compensation
A world filled with joy
Where everyone's happy
And spirits are buoyed
We can't let our efforts
Just end up in vain
We must see a world
Where happiness reigns
It's crucial for us
To succeed in this quest
Else mankind will perish
My case I do rest
© Jack Ellison 2014
My food is simple, unlike my music
Most of the time I spend in excellent company
My muse is unobtrusive and only appears with dessert
If I were vain, I would compare my work
To the labour of Sisyphus, but incidentally, I don't consider it meaningless:
I see more meaning in the fall of a boulder than, for example,
In the jumps of parachutists who risk getting tangled in their straps
But vanity is infinitely inventive, I like to observe
The tricks of the psyche that justify these pleasures
My music seems abstract, although it is merely
Autobiographical, and therefore translatable into the language of emotions,
At least in allusive episodes
Although I am not inclined to reproduce ready-made formulas
To serve as a worn-out armchair for the audience
I am for leaving the comfort zone for the zone of sadness
The zone of rhetoric of deliberate inconveniences, where I am like a fish in water
I ask questions and answer them myself, or
I simply ignore myself, thereby mocking my
Scattered plebeian curiosity.
If the crowd listened to my ellipses and exclamations,
My falling cupboards and jokes at funerals
Would be appreciated and supported,
And I would be recognised as a genius, for which, of course,
I would apologise to the crowd, even though their romantic ideals
Are utterly nauseating, but well paid.
But the number of simpletons is truly infinite
It is inversely proportional to the number of geniuses
Cynics write music for the crowd
Something like Yesterday and Candle on the Wind
And my indulgent attention goes unnoticed
My subtle jokes do not elicit smiles
And therein lies my happiness as an avant-gardist
Success would destroy me, but the indifference of the noosphere
Prolongs my life, which I pay for
With my music of spheres, squares and tendons.
Follow Me
The Pitch
Live in my circle of simplicity,
Where loyalty plays no tricks.
A world that runs in parallel,
Without prejudice, or politics.
No longer capable of crime,
Dishonesty, just doesn’t exist.
Disciples are tolerant and caring,
A new life on Earth, no twist.
We have no need of Police Force,
Magistrates, Solicitor’s or Judge.
Follow the code in my good book,
No greed, no malice, no grudge.
Everyone will live to Ninety-Nine,
Then happily fall over the edge.
This is a promise I keep for you,
For Piety, this is my pledge.
Perfect people, in a perfect world,
That’s how it was meant to be.
So, sign your consent, now today,
Then worship and follow me.
Follow me
Clinching the deal
One Thousand pounds, is all I ask,
A life-time’s dedication, is my offer.
Here is a T-Shirt, just £12.99,
Bearing legend, I submit and proffer.
Yes, you can opt out at any time,
For a small administration charge.
No refunds due, read the small print,
As profits are small, overheads large.
Devotion doesn’t come cheap,
I have associates, with fat expenses.
Thank you for joining the team,
Let’s start, by weakening defences.
Sign up to my premium deal,
Just an extra ten pounds per week.
You will receive my free podcast,
Every time I sermon and speak.
Don’t listen to cynics and doubters,
Your fees, really do help good causes.
Only we alone, have been chosen,
Read section 6b of my clauses.
Go out there my friend and recruit,
Deliver my word with precision.
The more you put in, you’ll get out,
With a healthy, bonus or commission.
Guy starred at the Octagon,
when he was just a lad,
and all the reviews.
in the Bolton News,
said that he wasn’t too bad.
His mum said it was destiny,
his dad said it was karma,
when Guy got his kicks,
down the A666,
at Salford studying drama.
From the Exchange to the Everyman,
he took the stage by storm,
the London critics,
even the cynics,
queued up to watch him perform.
“Bolton’s talented Guy” they cried,
and followed the rising star,
but he couldn’t forget,
when offered Hamlet,
his dad thought they meant a cigar.
Guy knew he’d finally made it,
his mum wept tears of delight,
when she jumped for joy,
with news that her boy,
would turn on the Blackpool lights.
The world needs a little good news everyday
Just look on the bright side it's better that way
Kick up your heels and say howdy my friends
Just smile at a stranger your woes you'll transcend
On the verge of disaster show them there's hope
To look at this world through a much larger scope
It may be contagious you'll start a new trend
Who knows it might happen you'll make a new friend
I know that the cynics will laugh and they'll scoff
To think that us humans past sins we can doff
We've got to start somewhere so why not right now
The world will stop fighting and wars disavow
Just call me a dreamer I welcome that name
Don't need any medals no fortune or fame
The best compensation a world filled with joy
Where everyone's happy and spirits are buoyed
We can't let our efforts just end up in vain
We must see a world where happiness reigns
It's crucial for us to succeed in this quest
Else mankind will perish my case I do rest
Anagha, the faultless,
or a name that rings with perfection's grace,
The name that also embodies Shiva,
Born from a womb that radiates with magnitude
A beacon of light, a symbol of peace,
Anagha's essence never seems to cease.
Why is it that you are still so despised?
Know the power that you define.
Let your strength be mighty and bright,
Defying any torture that may take flight.
Anagha the sinless,
Devouring the deviltry of others.
Stand tall in all your truth,
Let cynics slip away like sand.
With unwavering power stand,
Unfazed, you'll tread on a steadfast land.
Discover yourself, be true,
For those who don’t respect, Adieu!
Gentle like a flower with thorns sharp and ready,
Show them all what you are made of and steady.
Proving that beauty and strength can co-exist,
Rise to the challenges and persist.
Anagha the uninjured,
Unscathed only by name,
Yet impugned by fate.
For though life may give you many a blow,
You rise above,
Your resilience ever glows.
Uninjured by name,
Yet scarred by fate,
You are the embodiment of sheer strength.
Pain may come by hits and blows,
But not to hold you down,
You still stand unbroken,
In an unyielding crown.
They might try to tear you down,
But your spirit cannot truly drown.
For every blow just fuels your fire,
And strengthens you,
Your soul truly inspires.
Though life may try to bring you low,
You stand triumphant
Your spirit aglow!
©Chitra Arun
13th June 2023
MEMORY OF NOTHING
Listen:
Drag branches comeback
Across the forest floor:
Knowledge of the rough¡
At water’s edge
I gather some things up:
“Happy Ending Story”.
We’ve the time to give the Babel Tower
A close reading.
Awful good, Tú
As Roy A. Rappaport’s
Ritual... as Communication and as State.
Our preferences might be
Toward more emphasis
On species places:
Smooth textures of dead wood
Knowledge of our hands on arms
The body-art of ********
Drinking cocoa
And tend to the faith
With a Vampire’s short stick
That smells of infinite urine
As Madonna.
History reveals itself to us
In this way:
Poetry, Tales, Essays are pamphlets
Of impossible interest
Multiplying voices-human, voices-animal
Voices-plant
Voice-life of Earth
As Dan O’Neill’s
Holiday for Cynics.
Look, little one
Courtney Love
We live this close to disaster
There is no turning back
From the tops of the trees
Which are so dense
Almost no sky is visible
Only the odor dilates the nostril
And quickens the heart
On a marijuana tortilla.
The buddhists have been tellig us
That the Self (Ego)
As we conceive of it
Is an illusion.
A good tip
Thinking about Gurney Norman’s
Jack and His Ego.
Is it?
It is that we are of a Time-Sexual
Wherein all species has been joined
To the Wo/Man
Of *****Sapiens
And Life is a single exercise of Cannibals
In constantly elevating towers
Of Bureaucracy.
Nothing in Somethingg
Something in our Nothingness.