Long Deem Poems
Long Deem Poems. Below are the most popular long Deem by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deem poems by poem length and keyword.
Seems my handwriting will never improve,
Yearlong efforts, letters still oblong.
Not quite right, but we pretend it’s not all bad,
I fixate on each line, a prerequisite approach.
So next and then that line and its spacing, proper
striving for excellence, sentence, cursed to find
some semblance, a distant echo. Earshot.
Eardrum. POP!
Outward rang disdain, my reality indifferent,
Marks resembling a bell curve in chicken sketch,
It distorts my outlook, tarnishes self-image.
I try with practice sheets laid out,
Only to be reminded of the horrors I scrawl within.
Devastating, humiliating,
Suppressing nausea,
Sick of this, hating my own thoughts,
Ruining half-decent poems or ideas.
Regardless of merit or talent shown,
sent into the fire.
scribe on restroom walls
its contrived and
makes me writhe.
I discard writing tools,
My creative well runs dry, deceased,
Gone, past tense, already done in.
Progress slower than a snail,
with kidney failures
Skull soon exposed.
I’ll tear at my scalp,
Writing used to be fun.
You'll say, 'shut my trap'.
The torment I hold towards
every pen, pencil, or marker on any shelf.
Chasing after graphite,
specific utensils, lead grade, ink, acrylic,
I want them gone, obliterated,
Every trace, every hint.
EXTINGUISHED EVERY PEICE OF
. . .
Sorry, I get carried away...
This heretic! The disappointment,
Frail and brittle behind every attempt.
All result in zero, void, null, nil.
Here I sit, head in hands,
My task forever incomplete,
More setbacks, my drive
and desire to compete.
Now I understand why progress is elusive, unseen.
Hard-scoped when each step shown seems hopeless
rooted in the waste of regression.
I would be remiss if my speech lacked spirit.
Results: Inconclusive
Next topic: I digress,
I relinquish anima,
Lay to rest a thousand eyes’ constraints,
Seeking arrangements through attainment.
If there's space to graze, then seize the day.
Something bountiful in the invisible,
Nature's beauty in the winds of change,
Wrinkles on sheets of belief,
A moment for molecules deem insignificant,
Nested in the fabric of space-time,
An embarrassment that's all mine,
It is really all fine.
Signed, A construct for mortality.
Pray, do not be confused over the essence of the soul
Pray, know that it lives for a time, oh so eternal
Know that life was in the past
And that even after death, to its consciousness it shall cling on fast
Why, I say so not because I have read about it in Holy Books
I say so not because I do not want to seem fake
But I say so because I have felt it
Yes, of the mystical, life did give me a treat
Yes, my secret, the reason why I have accepted life
Yes, the reason why I have chosen to walk my mile
Is merely because the skies did open up to me, to spark up my faith
See, previously, I was but a mere atheist, over life's sins did I drool
But then, it came to me and I got to know why my life does be such
Why, it is the same for each and everyone of us
Even if we are made of blinded vision and ignorance
Yes, for our time here shall come to an end
So, from an atheist I became one who does preach
Now, no more over life's petty issues do I fuss
Now, I enjoy life and take my miseries as boons given to me in abundance
For I have come to know that life does keep on being after death
Yes, I do affirm of such! But then, my secret shall be carried with me to my grave
For this world does not be for those who do deem themselves brave
Instead, they are taken to be fools
Yes, fools too scared to live their lives fully
But I do calmer now, I do be sober now
In another realm, to live shall I be allowed
Indeed, life does go on
Even if Death does be the one with the crown
Of course, I shall remember my life
Of course, I shall cherish those memories
But then, I shall try my best to protect this Earth
Indeed, for it did allow me to live here for a few years
Pray, here, living shall be my memory
Elsewhere, living shall I be for eternity
Do not believe of such to be mere whimsical fancies
Do not, for the truth they do be, and certainly not made up stories!
Answer to Question:
Will your soul be conscious after you have left the Earth?
10 May 2016
To dwell in an apathetic realm between darkness and light,
not caring if people hear or listen to me, would be a plight.
Being stoical, taciturn and indifferent to pain or pleasure,
when emotions are unsung for there are none to measure.
Being aloof could never be my long-term objective.
I'm not passive about things, but it's a stoic's perspective,
that being neutral prevents them from becoming fraught
over things they deem inconsequential, and care naught.
They wear the blank expression of a cow ruminating cud.
Though thorns may stab their flesh, tears will never flood.
In silence they suffer pain as if their heart has been ablated,
accepting apathy as the destiny with which they were fated.
Let others bow and pray to stone images of gods they make.
Fools, who do not know sentiments can cause heartache.
Stoicism is a concept, the accepted philosophy of the mind.
They find tranquility when indifferent, but I am not that kind.
Apatheia is the goal, detachment from pleasured passion,
but I'd not be stoic if love is an emotion I'd have to ration.
Tears well in my eyes when whispered words of love I hear.
I'm not stoical by nature. There are too many things I revere.
Written: May 06, 2026, for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
10th place contest winner
****************
If you wish for
your joy to wander on—
treasure it as a precious gem,
a quiet secret,
Cosmos cannot clone.
Guard it
akin to flame
trembling in the wind,
an elfin, sacred brightness
that warms everything
It touches.
Hold it close
when the days grow loud;
don’t expose it
to careless hands
or let routine
rub away its luster.
Don’t let it fade
into the ordinary—
Love is not common
unless we deem it so.
And if it tarnishes,
as all precious things do,
polish it gently
with tenderness,
with patience,
with the soft persistence
of someone who remembers
Why did they pick this heart?
It will gleam again,
bright as the first day
You held it—
brighter, even,
for having survived the storm.
For love,
when cherished,
does not merely endure—
it deepens,
it sweetens,
its radiance swells
than the moment
It began.
Cover blown
Your plan is now known
Deem dim your scheme
But don’t forfeit your dream
No man claims to deserve
But all want to own and preserve
To be lords in perpetuity
With their kind, kindred and fraternity
And so it’s a watchful game
Keenness and spying remains the same
The outcomes and trends are touted
And so is history routed
Propping up and talking down
Marks the contest for the crown
To sway those who sway at speech
And thin the contest in pitch
The prize begins coveted and dear
Until being weary and in fear
Heightens the cost for plenty
Heightening the stakes for a few and scanty
The mind plans and the eye takes glance
But both are slave to time and chance
All want privilege and privilege is to all
And to this, God extend His Call
K. Muitherero
Accept this rare and actual gesture I honestly mean,
My amends I direct towards the one who is unseen.
No more will my hatred be directed specifically at you,
I never offer this unless I deem it honest and true.
All I have to say is *I'm Sorry* no longer will I take it out on you.
I realize that it's not your fault that I finally got a clue.
Never can I just live the hidden lie,
Ignor the strength of my words that some will deny.
You shouldn't hate this poetry, it's where my words excell,
Within this framework of artistry i cast and control the spell,
So if you cannot handle words that i write,
Then so mote it be I'll accept your smite.
Don't take it so personal the compositions I create,
Yours truly and forever in eternal blasphmate.
day dreaming
beneath your ceiling
under your cracks of blue
on a cloudy Sunday
I was something
soothing you
Lying in the crescents
of a mystery
Am I spending
too much time with you
and we were a shoulder
alive and highly
candling the thoughts of two
oh, they say i was
spending too much
time with you
beneath your cracks of blue
day dreaming
in the streets of night
lights and colors
a shimmering absence
vacant promises
in these all night dreams
when day light seemed
to wonder and deem
until
the morning screamed
and i was crazy
how you crazed me
the jewels you gave me
drove me daisies
into hours hazel
crowded and hazy
and we were children
beyond a rhythm
waltzing in a melody
alive and highly
beneath the splinters
flowers rekindled
but they say i was
spending too much
time with you
day dreaming
in her cracks of blue
oh she loved you
she seldom left you
in the cracks of blue
across the avenue
it was nothing new
just day dreaming
souls were clinging
songs of signature
What is this strange place we find ourselves in?
Trapped in the open- we are free within.
Somehow the norms we always saw as true-
have been displaced by those we're not used to.
Some rules we follow for our country's sake
no longer held as true, replaced as fake!
A new world order- now our leaders crave-
and yet, within we know we must stay brave.
Free speech, our Bill Of Rights, grants one and all
to speak our minds on all things large and small.
But now, we're punished to express known truth
as those in charge may deem as so uncouth.
The matrix we are asked to now uphold
defies our Constitution's clear-cut mold.
And so we find our ways to follow creeds
our Constitution verifies as needs.
The underground of free-speech websites grant
safe haven for we patriots who can't
express ourselves- the truths we still adhere
without the thought of being silenced-fear.
There, lives support for spreading freedom's spin-
trapped in the open- we are free within.
A soft whisper
a buzz like bumble
singing springs songs quietly
Her songs I shall mumble
Once I lay neatly my body
Please do not disinter
for I shall sing loudly springs songs
Once I make it out of winter
Flowers lead to sleep
as sleeps fuels my pain
I seep into this darkness
with only winter to blame
Sitting in silence
Winter on my mind
That painful abyss
only a matter of time
Before the land of the free lay riddled in depth
Starting with spring
Ending with death
Starting with love
The seasons will change
the fall flowers will bloom
that I know
today it shall rain
Tomorrow it will snow
Today you will witness my glorious suicide
Tomorrow you shall act as if we were in love
Today springs showers deem me crucified
Tomorrow winter shall lift me above
I’ve waited to long for springs farewell
So I shall push the seasons myself
I shall Push with my songs
pain
Pride
& Heart
I shall push with my death.
Though Nervous...
Yours truly, quite dissimilar
to a woodlark,
nonetheless, this human
i(r)onically positively charged
to forge covalent bond,
hence this stranger
axon impulse to generate,
modulate, and spark...
assimilate virtual digital connection
with mine quark
key aura, charisma,
and karma acquired,
sans "FAKE" trumpeting
assertion tubby Ozark
Mountain Daredevil, I feign
boasting as true mark
Putin on Ritz storyteller wannabe,
incorporated with hallmark
card writer, and thus
feeble attempt to embark
upon eurythmic quest
to facilitate online journey,
wherever the whim
of reciprocity, spontaneity,
and transparency doth
deem reasonable benchmark.
Blatant camaraderie desire
explains rhyme and reason,
(and collusion) if such tactic appealed
within scrunched, highbrowed, and furrowed
forehead this whim congealed,
eyebrows raised with elan to field
said poetic laced metrical pursuit
(grammatically well healed)
unsure what outcome,
(perhaps duff feeted endeavor)
might be revealed!
At deux score away from
attaining Sant Henny yawl
whirl wide aging cobwebs
glom rusty cogs and wheels
of me noggin pine to flip
(the hands of time)
growing old steals
often playing back gauzy past,
where silently musty
Old Virginny hoary memory reels
squeakily turn, yet revisiting,
painful remembrance of things past
only reminds me how this Scottish Matt
got stepped on by many heels.
Numerous unpleasant vivid bro
kin recollections of doomed,
foregone smitten loves flit to and fro
many awkward boyhood infatuations never
broached to secret paramour,
asper this common Joe
forever embossed pretty thang,
penniless and dolorous 1959 minted
baby boomer lass ne'er did know,
probably snickered (out of mine earshot),
a painfully shy lad, who stood
(rather small) apart from status quo
sported nerdy skinny as toothpick physique
encompassing scared kid accumulating woe.
Even at this instant forlorn romantic
notions finds this papa craze
zilly wished courage existed to
whisper "hello" during prepubescent days
for one gull in particular engendered
unstoppable fervent gaze
especially within cat's whisker
visiting her hypnotic gaze
leaving suppressed, locked, and bottled
languishing testosterone
squelched in confusing maze.