Long Damnedest Poems
Long Damnedest Poems. Below are the most popular long Damnedest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Damnedest poems by poem length and keyword.
I saw the news today
I'd like to know what the hell you're trying
I want to find away
to silence you, and stop all the dying
You think you're above the law
You'll send to die just as many as you want to
Damnedest thing I ever saw
the mess you've made doesn't even seem to daunt you
You spit in our eyes and say
I'm gonna hate you now
because you are more evil than I am
and I'm gonna hate you now
cause I hate your point of view
I'm gonna hate you now
cause daddy's so proud
and mamma's still crying
and I'm gonna hate you now
cause my God told me to
When will it ever end
You'd think you would have learned by now
and what about you my friend
could you please tell me how
How will we find our way
when the God you pray to is a fat cash cow
who'll stand up and say
This has got to end.
but you slap mommas face and say
I'm gonna kill you now
because you are more wicked than I am
and I'm gonna kill you now
cause I hate your point of view
I'm gonna kill you now
My daddy's so proud and momma keeps crying
and I'm gonna kill you now
cause my God told me to.
Manipulation games
and broken promises from long ago
You put out the Lady's' flame
You'll reap what you sew
The children have to pay
Old men, and old women too
they just get in the way
of the bombs I drop on you
I'm gonna hate you now
because you've always hated me
I'm gonna hate you now
For all the oil that I've bought
I'm gonna hate you now
Cause hate is all I've got
How will you return
all the lives that you have wasted
watch the babies burn
Say this will keep us free
I wish you'd drink the blood
I wish that I could make you taste it
You've never understood
and you refuse to see
You turn your back on God and say
I'm gonna kill you now
because you are more wicked than I am
and I'm gonna kill you now
cause I don't agree with you
I'm gonna kill you now
cause Daddy's so proud and Mama's still crying
and I'm gonna kill you now
cause killings what I do
When will it ever end
You'd think you would have learned by now
what about you my friend
could you please tell me why
why can't he see the sin
of worshiping that fat cash cow
just look at the mess we're in
You're killing for a lie
I, (though ye feel averse associating
with birth father) attest,
perhaps undeserving your vicariously quest
regaling, surmounting, and triumphing
storied Penn ultimate academic conquest
affirms his pride and joy at
stellar success no credit to this beastliest
inept papa, who winces with tragicomic,
woe how animosity toward me increased
smoldering rage at actual/
perceived paternal transgressions,
and do not expect to receive forgiveness
within your wounded breast,
but please allow this opportunity
to suspend any smarting rancorous
loathing, and bitterest
emotions that still sting from deep
seated psychological wounds
indelibly piercing chest
within eldest daughter,
whose unconditional boundless love
spurs whim to express
optimism at Edenic future blest
with praiseworthy largesse of commendable
laudatory, and noteworthy brainiest
accomplishments driven by ambition,
doggedness, perseverance, cleverest
ploy, plus revulsion emotionally costliest
psyche rent asunder courtesy yours truly,
he will not challenge, nor counterprotest
thee, asper his (i.e. mine) crassest
peccadillos, and significant damnedest
accursed personal weaknesses thee detest,
and unintentionally unpleasantly
impacted impressionable offspring, I dust
regret, and thus
figurative figleaf extended
without any expectations, though earnest
sincerity to accept culpability, asper
your anger, animosity, antipathy
maybe ranked as evilest
person on Earth, nonetheless,
and perhaps futile attempt feeblest
against affecting, sans fondest
best wishes despite scathing foulest
faux pas, I abhor lament ghastliest
inflicted upon an innocent progeny,
whose truevalue impossible grandest
to assess preciousness bestowed,
and wisdom proffered as biological guest,
now on her way to glory with handsomest
eminent beau linkedin heading toward happiest
days awaiting as ye embark
on destination unknown - honest!
I like the smell of leaded petrol,
pure, unadulterated,
the destructive euphoria of which intoxicates me
innocently unaware that it has forsaken me;
before I could realize that
olfaction influences gustation
and addiction is not a hoax,
I had become a car
that wouldn't run without petrol;
like a plant that requires photoperiod-
except my plant overdosed on sunlight.
But I drank all my water yesterday,
and choked and coughed
to drink the black gold again.
I like to see the impasto yellow,
the paint that's toxified by lead,
the real natural joy, the drug I need,
like a rat gnawing on my living skin;
we fail at realizing that
the eyes, sometimes, have it,
to activate the taste buds;
I had become the kalsomine,
deathly pale without some paint-
perhaps, a thick layer of it.
But I tried gobbling up real food last night
I couldn't gulp it down my gullet,
because my throat had inflamed
that wouldn't let me eat anything, but the paint.
I am faded, and wasted,
moreover tired,
my muscles spasm one after the other,
you could see the burton line on my gums
while I uttered incomplete sentences
whose sounds my pinna refused to collect,
my senses have deserted me-
you put one finger up and I see three,
I bite my own tongue
and my teeth grind each other-
while pieces of my brain explode,
but my skull opposes their projectile;
yet, there's enough lead left to score.
The doctor gives me some popcorn to eat,
and makes a list of the things I shouldn't eat-
that consisted of all the things I love to eat,
and another list of the things I must eat-
all the things I choke on.
I tell him about my sore fauces-
my voice breaking, trembling,
doing its damnedest to sound stern-
and with a well-crafted professional voice,
he tells me how he would starve me
if I ate what should not be eaten;
so I go home and self-medicate,
with more petrol and some more paint.
The Antics Of A Would Be Mama's Yoyo Thief
(now a penchant with less Zionist trenchant ululation to vent.)
Not a peep passed thru mine -
aye vaguely attest
what ten? eleven? twelve? age
of following anecdote at best
guest, but no
doubt yours truly
with figurative heart in chest
scared puny meek boy
tight lipped silently confessed
to foiled attempt, sans trying
unsuccessfully to steal a yoyo,
inviting tummy prepubescent
unbuttoning, a substantially
sprawling Holy skype sizing breast
of mine upon be nabbed,
thus aye didst detest
foolish kid ploy, and
(prematurely nipping
in the bud) messed
up potential life of crime
with first and only
shoplifting heist jest
for getting caught no a pest
key yoyo, mama would
(IF FOUND OUT)
axe me no quest
chin, but whack me itty bitty
teensy weensy derriere lest
quickly putting to rest
any Robin Hood
fantasy life of
high stakes crime pressed,
and squeezed out the noggin
with apropos punishment addressed
thankfully, neither parent
got wind, nor ever guessed
their beautiful darling
boy did test
petty theft, never
matured nor didst crest
into a profitable "yoyo
string Ponzi like
scheme," thus ballsiest
dare devilish and bitterest,
and laughably noble lest
act yours truly ever attempted
immediately ceased to shelve bravest
sleight of hand find
delve during broad est
daylight, I immediately
didst shelve, when clumsiest
initial foray into
the world wide web
tubby come cleverest
lad, this side of
Lansdale, Pennsylvania
many damnedest
yesterdays ago, never
took another earnest
tempting gamble since security
detail nearly wrest
head possible zapped feeblest Ames?
to pilfer from other
Department stores if pressed
for money no matter,
I might miss an enforced
hated ballet class,
with abs salute zest!
("FAKE") King Harry Kane...
also unknown as (D. Lucian Null)
Sprung from the best
over active imagination damnedest
confection of this fictitious
writer of fiction earnest
and frankly hoof
avers zealous zest
(with sud'n soap er
ream conviction, undressed
compunction, and
especially divine collusion),
who proudly didst wrest
(however wrung er...
right), the presidency, (you guessed
correctly) from the ghostly
buster of Honoré d Balzac
("FAKE alias Hillary Clinton),
and bankrolled by Univest
in coordination with
Ham R. Sickle, lest
who didst hack private emails
of said Democratic contender
(during the 2016 presidential election)
successfully, and sufficiently
(amidst sudden unrest)
did (ill) legally
nominally sought after
highest stakes political con test
the dub bait hubble,
and admits rigged
a satisfactory farrago,
which predictably suppressed
any fat (or slim)
chance (Hill's Billy) more unlikely
getting struck by lightening,
while climbing Mount Everest),
which non barren smugness
of mine brought elation, messed
up supposedly clinched Clinton win,
whence foretold by gerrymandered
Oracle of Delphi, which
prophetess imp pressed
particularly how nefarious nest
of thieves spearheaded, schemed,
and sabotaged visa vis
ex post facto American government
didst discover sinister, sly, and
"NON FAKE"
surreptitious shenanigans
which laughably vaunted
I accord to Trump
"stupid, weak, lightweight"
Central Intelligence Agency.
Burden
Would anyone notice if i were gone,
How long before anyone would come,
What if i just slowly became withdrawn,
This game of chess i am simply a pawn,
Is it easier for them to just ignore me,
Not acknowledge the issues they can see,
Sweep it under the carpet like its dust
Creating a complete persona of mistrust,
No matter how much i hola and scream,
Stop talking nonsense, going to the extreme,
Just pull yourself together they spit in disgust,
Then I am scolded and relentlessly schussed,
If only it were simple a switch to turn off,
To change how i feel, the thoughts to stop,
But the tough love hurts, it makes me kick off,
You say I’m ignorant just an adolescent strop,
But if they would take the time to listen,
The depth of the hurt isn’t easily hidden,
But its easier to just ignore my position,
Than acknowledge I’m an abomination,
How long will i be able to live this way,
Hiding my feelings, slowly fading away,
Trying my damnedest to not ruin there day,
I wish i wasn’t this way, pushing them away.
I don’t want to be the burden i have to be,
I wish they could see what asking does to me,
Grown and helpless without the help i need,
The embarrassment i feel but i have to concede,
Burdening their lives and stealing there time,
The curse of my paradox within my paradigm.
Of course they're courteous when i chastise
When the anger fades i of course alchemise
Aware of the burden i hinder their lives with,
My apologies soon come verbally forthwith,
Of course my actions cause them to be gainsay
All i hope and pray is that i can be saved one day.
Try your damnedest to rise to
whatever challenge that confronts you.
Try keeping a positive state of mind
in the midst of your trials and tribulations.
Try to always take the good with the bad.
Try to always take the bitter with the sweet.
If the bitter is too strong, don't spit it out;
swallow every single drop and belch with glee
Try again if you take any shot and miss the target.
Try to run up that mountaintop of dreams...
if you tire halfway, don't run back down. Pause,
take a deep breath, and keep on pushing.
Try using your spectacles to see through
the misty fog of defeatism. Listen attentively
to your inner voice telling you to try again.
Try not to dwell too much on previous missteps.
When the rope you're clutching is playing out,
try tying a big knot at the end.
That knot will stop it from escaping...
your slippery hands.
Submitted for...
Strand Choice 6,Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest(Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/25/2020
Any July 2018 Poem- Poetry Contest/Winner(3rd Place)
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Date written and posted: 07/22/2018
“THE MASKING OF LOSS”
we used to talk a lot.
we collaborated our ideas
into something that's had
me hooked since.
she's been in a new
relationship for a while
and it's clearly gone
to her head.
there hasn't been much
time between the two but
if you ever saw her, you'd
know why she has a boy-
friend every few months.
it's the damnedest thing
though, she's losing her
hair on top and it's making
her forehead bigger.
she's also getting wider at
the hips and as it goes her
butt is getting bigger too.
but it isn't a bigger that's
good.
don't get me wrong, all
females are prepossessing
but this just isn't working
for her.
she's arrogant.
that is the ugliness of the
combination.
she used to be decent and
now it's falling apart.
if she humbled herself into
submission then all of what
she's lost control of, would
fall into place.
females are affected by
everything that enters their
lives.
some use it for change,
others use it to mask deeper
desires.
I can only watch as the hair
recedes, as the hips get
wider, as male after male
rack up stories of sexual
performance out of
insecurity.
as her name gets whispered
in the dark night of sexual
filth, she still has to count
the hair strands that fall
and the number of jeans that
don't fit.
no amount of sex can keep the
walls from closing in.
at the end, inside her
nights, she still has to look
at the crack in her ceiling.
By: Chicano Eddie
9-28-2016
How do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
Do my words paint pictures,
Do they cast a spell?
What would someone say if he wrote a critique
About what it is that makes me unique?
I am often a dreamer,
And in my dreams I'll be found
Singing and dancing and prancing around
In swell musical productions
Full of glorious technicolor,
Stupendous cinemascope,
Quadrophonic sound,
And, of course, the more recent innovation of spectacular HD.
These days my slumber's not nearly so deep,
And my dreams are interrupted at least twice a night
And, often as not, I can't get right back to sleep.
So as we come to another year's end,
I find myself sitting alone here again
With pen in hand and tongue in cheek
Painting word pictures,
Casting my spells,
And trying my damnedest to be unique.
Is this an attribute of,
Or homage to,
My latent creativity,
Or a reflection of my artistic vanity,
Or merely a part of my all too-natural fallibility?
After all, I'm only what I'm here to be.
So how do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
I was born, I grew;
I learned, I knew;
I loved a few;
I won not one;
I lost a lot;
I proved, I got to here today,
Scribbling and painting and casting away,
Still trying my best to weave a spell,
And hoping that some future critiquer
Will find me, not trite,
But a trifle uniquer.
Midnight screams
Wildflower dreams
Of John, her true beloved
And of Vince, her man
They raped her again
Midnight surprise
A starlit sunrise
Wildflower sleeps
While Mother Rose weeps
For all her child's desert years
Self-abuse and twilight tears
Hey hey Thanksgiving is today
I wonder what He would say
I have no food but I have tea
So I give praises joyfully
I give thanks (of course!) for John
Whose broken dream still lingers on
Thank you too to Vince Yarrow
He shot through my heart like Cupid's arrow
Happy joyful singing fair
Psychic dreams and long long hair
Satan tried not once but twice
Did his damnedest to entice
The maidens down by the river ran
Each believing John was her man
Every fair young lady doing all she can
It is an enigma because he didn't return
He swore he'd prefer to burn
For his misdeeds and his biggest sin
Believing that he was a god therein
He went to the mountains, drank from the fountains
I understand why he ran away
He has no fear of judgment day
But broken promises and broken hearts
Is why he had to depart
Will he return? You never know
But I can feel him, he is the greatest show