Long Daunting Poems
Long Daunting Poems. Below are the most popular long Daunting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Daunting poems by poem length and keyword.
Time's Birthday
by Odin Roark
How daunting it must be
Choosing a celebratory date
Invention adrift
Save the blue veined appendages
Holding firm the drift of time
Like a floating surreal image
Making its way up 5th Avenue
On Thanksgiving Day
How buoyant Time
Yet arguably ungrounded
Measuring not how life will continue
But only how existence has passed
Each year
Month
Week
Day
Hour
Minute
And second
An ancestral funeral
Survived only by tomorrow's unknown
A system invented to archive
Circuitous syndromes
Man-made phobias
Moment by moment reality
Representing synchronous movement
Rhythmically evaporating into
The ethereal collaborative
The indeterminate character of eternity
The immeasurable
Unfathomable
Moment that is now
No wind-up needed
Still Time insists on benchmarks
Symbolic definitions
The behind and ahead of calendars
Noted by way of bell-ringing
Clock-chiming
Sun rising and setting
Unlike us
Time's validation
Knows not culinary vices
Ice cream and cake
Champagne and caviar
And those other accouterments
Hauled out to attest
Our superior intellect
Noisemakers and confetti
GHOST AND THE DARKNESS
Daunting, a late night movie, just before the verge of night spills into your lair. You can’t bury the dark at those times. The roar in the blackout. The snore at the opposite side of the bed deters the sound of brightness from alleviating the crushing bones of dendrites. You can sense the mane burgeoning, prickling your pulsing veins. Tenuous, the trick of closing your eyes in the dark, then opening them. The bough of a Tsavo tree clings to an impotent rifle. Ghosts hang on even as your eyelids hit the whites of your pillow. And the snore next to you, the heaving in and out of an otherwise safety net, reminds you of the full-bodied lions. Sleep well, before the images pounce, with muscular and meaty might, landing on your mattress. Your sheets pin you to a nightmare with no escape. Thunder and rotting breath roll you onto the dusty floor, long grasses hide only the scanty mane duo, the stuffed carnivores of Chicago’s Field Museum fame. Night at the Museum, the score not a respite. The bite packed into stateside, impactful. Sleep well as the window panes rattle, and morphing morbidity sneaks up on you. Keep watching scary movies just before your tired bones grind out a toss’n turn.
12/14/2020
Tsavo Maneaters were fictionalized in the movie Ghost and the Darkness. The real cats were maneless. They killed around 35 men who were constructing a bridge in Kenya. Night at the Museum is a comedic movie that brings a museum to life as the night security guard keeps watch
Life feels hard at times, pain and suffering,
Love seems to be the only comforting.
Fear of loss and being unwanted,
Anxiety kicks in and life becomes daunting.
Questions asked to hopefully lessen the pain,
Sometimes feels like nothing gained.
Answers aren’t always what you hope to be,
Crossing your fingers with hope to see.
Love can be a struggle when timing is wrong,
Continue to believe, for your time won’t be long.
Life is hard at times, it’s easy to see,
Keep hoping on love for it’s meant to be.
One thing is for sure a friendship was made,
You will always have that, which will never fade.
Scott W.
“The Difficulty Of Change”
Written: By Tom Wright
2-18-2006
I’m sure it’s been a most daunting task,
Parting with things you held most dear.
But in God’s light you continue to bask,
Seeking guidance to combat your fear;
Another location you’ll now call home,
Though it may not seem quite the same;
To neighbors, you’ve tearfully bid shalom,
For a new milieu and neighbors name;
Age has crept among us on velvety paws,
There’s but one escape to this fact given.
You have lived upright, obeying God’s laws,
And your witness has been most driven.
The mental mementos of life you hold,
Now, summon from mind’s corners deep.
But continue on in Christ, being bold,
Until, in Christ, you are called to sleep;
They loved me when I sung
My songs of jubilant tune
I poured out both my lungs
They'd listen till the rising moon
But one day inspiration left
My instrument had died
The sounds of Melody bereft
Now till the rising moon I cry
Where could they have gone...
Her precious sounds and keys?
In my arms she died upon
My eyes poured out a sea
Her strings were ruined and plucked
All her notes were out of tune
From veins her music eruct
Under the rising moon
I bowed, I blew and pressed her
To play her one last time
I heard the broken chords infest her
And I screamed into the sky
The same sky that bore the sounds
Of luminescent, peaceful tunes
The same skies that bore the round
Daunting,
Deriding,
Disgraceful!
Rising moon...
The deathly screams! The cries of agony!
Louder than marching drums could fabricate
My felicity obliterated by her rhapsody
No tune may ever patch or mitigate
In a world with too many, I still sing alone
And they boo me off my stage
They decrowned me from my throne;
They'd rather hear a tune assuage
Their hearts as hard as stone
They don't want to hear my voice
My unfortunate epiphany;
I don't really have a choice,
They can't stand my misery
And so now I'm off my stage
They listen to a newer, happy tune
I think of Melody in my cage
Under the glowing, falling moon
Now I am quite realistic
Never ever fatalistic
Fantasy never tickled my fancy
So you can understand my surprise
From their daunting size
On the streets of New York
My air left me as if released by a cork
For before me shaped like giant potatoes
Were ten gigantic too big toes
Human in everything but weight
Any want for fainting this can sate
Did I faint? I’m not sure
A want to run this did procure
But connected to these toes
I found their much mightier foes
I beheld feet
Which smell is no treat
I suddenly felt the urge to run
For what was in front of me could block out the sun
Upon the feet were legs
On those legs a fat belly
The deodorant was very cheap and smelly
In awe I looked up more
They wore a jersey with the number four
Their arms could hold sky scrapers each
Humility to all the muscles could teach
And on their head they had a fashioned mullet
The hair spray could stop a bullet
They had fingers that could carve a valley
Which would never fit in any New York alley
The giant chuckled and skipped
And a bow they dipped
To a giant almost completely alike
Who was inspecting a shop window’s intricate bike
The new comer was female
But description is mostly the same tale
She was well dressed
And a laugh she did suppress
As the male stumbled after his bow
Then he joined arm to arm to her allow
And walked on
On to where there was no concrete to trod upon
Groundhog day 2021 - Tuesday, February 2nd
Coincides with astronomy's cross-quarter day,
marking the midpoint between
winter solstice and spring equinox,
which will occur at 5:37 AM on
in Northern Hemisphere
Saturday, March 20.
Small consolation old man winter
spans fewest days
of all four seasons,
especially when massive nor'easter
predicted today January 31st, 2021
including within neck of woods
named Perkiomen Valley Pennsylvania.
Yours truly remembers
when spry Jack (hoar) Frost
(just yea high -
both arms stretched to sky)
came early, left late and bossed
vernal equinox
rattling barenaked branches
obviously inapropos
to budding friendship.
Now (courtesy global warming/ climate change)
mother nature experiences feeling strange
within valleys and atop many mountain range,
wherein goods traded away on stock exchange.
Fortunate concerning yours truly
versus daring to brave
inclement weather
getting stranded in the process
(possibly becoming gratefully dead)
risking life and limb venturing forth
amidst near whiteout conditions
creating debacle perilous and grave
shoveling snow lest he get buried
he can remain holed up
(in tandem with the missus)
snug as a bug in his mancave.
While nestled inside warm abode for awhile
(at least until temperature upwards doth dial
safely ensconced against elements (of style),
I stopped at metaphoric woods edge
trekking until... for no rhyme nor reason
the poetic metered equivalent,
viz another mile
then stopped for coffee break
burst of energy gave me cause to smile
fording imponderable stream of consciousness
impossible (airy) mission to dodge regarding
aforesaid daunting task to craft worthwhile
poetic endeavor to entertain anonymous readers
gleaning how one bard (with his shaky spear)
evokes fiction being snowbound
as if cast adrift within Siberian exile.
Straightaway I continue writing askew
aware how literary trademark modality
characteristic of Matthew
unwittingly indelibly embedded
analous to mine Caucasian
versus swarthy melanin hue
man automatically confers eligibility granting
innumerable known mighty opportunities
(privileged skin color - how unfair)
bigoted prejudices shade those,
either hashtagged as black, brown
naturally copper toned gentile and/or Jew.
which mess do I dive into first?
When I left my schools this year I took it all.
It was easier to bring home to sort.
This was a daunting, horrible energy-stealing task.
I put it off for over a month.
Leaving the boxes out on my porch.
Messing it up, an embarrassment to others.
To me, something I could not yet face.
To avoid this mess, I created another mess
In my art studio, where I was frantically painting
one canvas after another, in order to forget the porch.
And the job that was waiting.
then company decided to visit.
I knew I would be horrified if she saw the porch the way it was.
So I began to sort; most of this went into the trash.
There were twenty-two boxes which I burned
I have gone down from five messes to two messes.
Big messes; one in a bedroom, the other in an office.
The bedroom mess was stealing my energy.
Causing me to feel depressed.
Would I ever be able to face it?
I began facing it yesterday.
Sorted about eight boxes and three bags.
The more I sorted, the easier it became.
I was born on Dec 7th; a day which lives in infamy.
A Sagittarius; a Zodiac sign of positivity, optimism, and a love for adventure
I laugh at their “sign” in hardy derision
I am 5 feet 5 inches; I weigh 135 pounds; I don’t know how to whistle.
I come from a place of darkness and trauma,
Where shadows dance with whispers of despair,
And every step a struggle against the weight of past sorrows.
I carry the scars within, for they are the map of my journey,
Each one a testament to my strength and perseverance,
In the corners of my mind, echoes linger, memories etched in the walls of my soul,
And though the road ahead may be daunting, I walk it with courage,
From the depths of the abyss,
I rise, a phoenix born from the ashes of pain,
With wings outstretched, embracing the light of resilience.
I find solace in the beauty that surrounds me.
In the laughter of my children,
The embrace of loved ones,
The simple moments of grace that illuminate the darkness.
For I am not defined by the darkness that once consumed me,
But by the light that shines through the cracks in my armor,
A beacon of possibility, illuminating the path to healing and redemption.
So let the world bear witness to my truth,
For I am a survivor, embracing my scars as badges of honor,
And though my past may be filled with darkness and trauma,
I refuse to let it dim the radiance of my future.
A heavy fog, misty gloom, sadness
Spreads all around me, sinking deeper
Into my spirit, my heart – my depths
Singling me out for the doubt
That feasts on my broken dreams
Devouring all my happiness and breathing
Slowly, urgently…. Through my veins
Flowing uncertainty, suspicion, skepticism
Powerful plasma of despair and dread
Sinking my joy into the intense blackness
Stifling every splash of inspiration,
Shining panic, terror, through my silent
Need for something to heal, to help
Comforting the disquiet that leaves me…
Anxious and afraid
A vague sense of ambiguity, desolation
Sweeps through my heart, my thoughts,
Discouraging, daunting, dampening
Every feeling of goodness, acceptance
hope
The joy that once danced there within me
is numbed, stiff, frozen beyond thawing
tenderness, once liquid, is cold and solid,
like a prayer that has faded into the past
leaving only the memory of how amazingly
my heart has been blessed
Night creeps into my bones, shattering
All the optimism that I’ve known
Ominous, ruined songs of anticipation
Mysterious suspicions attack, even my fantasies
Feel like pessimism buried beneath
Masks of gladness – the nervousness
Rages through my stillness, covering me
With threads of incumbrance, alarm, trepidation
Fear is never ending, always there, speaking
Louder in the silence than it is in the noise
Intensity pouring out hopelessness through my soul
Dimming even my very best aspirations,
Courage is gone and I am ashamed
That this fear, this dread… it wilts my pleasure
Recedes into the shadows, weakening
Failure shrivels all my inspirations, colors me
In hues of death, grief – lasting phobias
When the panic rises, on the inside
I know only to hide – beneath the silhouettes
Peace, prayer, praise… they wane, vanishing
Into the cryptic secrets of mental illness
Where light grows faint, reflecting only
The sighs of a night so yawning it speaks
In a voice of demise, a voice of passing
A voice so afraid it is as garish, stark…
As fear itself!