Long Defeat Poems
Long Defeat Poems. Below are the most popular long Defeat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Defeat poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell me what does it mean to be free?
I find myself not free but locked up in a creation that desires... creation! Freedom is not just to move beyond the walls of confinement. The walls of confinement are not just of mortar, brick, iron or wood. These walls that confine this creation are more than just walls of flesh. These walls are walls of idealism and ignorance. These walls are reinforced not by bone and marrow. But, these walls are reinforced by the unknown. For if it was known then the freedom of this creation would pass beyond the strings of entanglement and would fly to the greatest height and to the lowest depth. This creation would endeavor to dream and create. This creation would move freely from realm to realm and would be a part of the greatness that created it...
The glass of images is just a mere reflection of creation. Images are reflected from the ice of hatred. Images are reflected from the heat of illusions. Images are created from pain, sorrow and defeat, and yet, images are created from victory.
How the heart is smothered in the sorrow of defeat... Yet, the mind soars as if freedom is the energy that propels the heaviest soul. Tell me again, what is freedom? Adventure is the glow that shines from lucid eyes not hindered by life taught.
Life taught? Walls are made from experience, from damage, from the hurt of another creation. A child. A new life. A beginning fresh and untouched by creation. Adventure seen through the eyes of a child... freedom from entanglement, freedom from illusion and images.
The prison begins it's walls of confinement as each day becomes weeks and months. The walls become stronger and impenetrable as the years go by and turn quietly into decades. Hardening of the mortar brings a numbness that reaches beyond the tenderness of kindness. This hardening grows colder as the eyes no longer are lucid. There is no fear in this state of prison... Nothing can tear down these walls of confinement. Nothing!
Yet a sparkle of remembrance goes unnoticed as a new life begins and thoughts of freedom start a crack in the walls of a hardened fortress. As a bubbling brook in spring cracks the ice of a cold winter, a heart begins once again to search for the freedom that will bring to life the adventure that no image of defeat or sorrow could ever again mire the soul...
Tell me... what is freedom?
Pernell Rodocker 8/19/13
The day you abruptly went away,
My heart became frozen and my soul grew shades of gray,
My little eyes watched as your cadillac pulled out,
After listening to all those screams and foolish shouts,
The driveway was vacant, the house became dark,
I knew at that moment we would never again go to the park,
When I got home from school you would not be there,
I prayed to God that you would still some how care,
No one explained to me at seven years old,
That I would have to watch so much unfold,
Depression set inside that vacant place,
I no longer had that bright smile on my face,
The tire swing we built together fell apart late that June,
I would now have to learn way too soon,
How to fend for myself and take your place,
I had to fill your empty space,
I tried so hard to be like you,
Even built a tree house in honor of you,
I learned how to fix things around the house,
I even protected mom once from a mouse,
But no matter what I did,
It did not make up for me not allowed to be a kid,
Other kids got to see their dads, even when their parents got divorced,
But that wasn’t the case for me of course,
All I did was think of you, my first love had been devastatingly untrue,
The events that happened after can’t be written in just one poem,
Only God could possible have the right size thread to have sown
The chunks that life took out of me,
All because my daddy never came back to be
What every little girl desires
The protector, provider, the one who inspires
All grown up and it is now bitter sweet
For now I help other little girls whose dads caused them to have years of defeat
One day when I have my own
I will be able to set the right tone
I will be able to feed my inner child
Embrace her and enjoy what you so freely defiled
We either repeat are parent’s mistakes or do whatever we can to prevent
That generational cycle from becoming like cement
Braking it now and forgiving you
Was the best thing I could ever do
For I harbor no resentment and I have no anger
I just know that not having a father put me in a lot of danger
But I am blessed to have had my heavenly dad
He was the one who was there when I was sad
He was the one who protected me from strife,
The one who taught me how to reverse my life,
I can live free because now I see,
what you did in the end, hurt you more than it did me.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written 9/6/11
The Tiger General
Hobbes
The Tiger general strode onto the field of battle,
Tail flowing eloquently as he walked.
And then he turned to his men and began to speak,
They fell instantly silent as he talked.
The general led his men with a strong presence and iron resolve,
They fell into line at a quick command.
When they marched he always took the head,
And lead his men across the fields of sand.
His men followed him with love, respect and admiration.
His feats were the stuff that make up great tales.
Each fur who followed him took every order to a tee.
And when it comes to plans he never fails.
The tiger knew this battle was different then the last,
He felt the tides turn on the winds of change.
He knew that something horrible was about to happen.
He didn't know about the scope or range.
It was in the thick of the combat that he found it out,
and his face changed to one of hidden pain.
But he never showed his men a shred of doubt,
And each passing feeling he would detain.
He started loosing men at an alarming rate,
And he drew his blade and rallied the boys.
But the enemy had an advantage so large,
It made the master steel look like toys.
The guns were blaring left and right as the tiger stood his ground,
Never surrender he yelled to his men.
And nobody saw that he had shed a few tears
For brothers he would never see again.
The general never backed down and stood his ground,
He screamed that he would fight ''til his last breath.
And he fought with burning desire and passion,
He brought many a Soldier to their death.
And when it came time the tiger knew a showdown would occur,
As the two leader met amidst the fight.
The wolf opposite him unsheathed his own katana,
A true battle that would be quite a sight.
Each great leader was gifted with amazing skill,
They fought each other with tremendous guile.
And the further they got the more the tiger thought,
Soon enough the wolf will show his true style.
The battle went back and forth in a clash of sparks,
And then the wolf took out the tigers feet.
The cheater finally showed his true stripes and colours,
And brought the tiger general to defeat.
The tiger general's men rallied on to win the battle,
And even through death he drove them forward.
His men will always remember him as a friend and a brother,
And a man who truly lived by the sword.
Though (supposedly) only
the good die young, urn holding
cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
cuz nobody else
escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
or aging gracefully,
the unavoidable eventual fate,
(mortal fateful demise),
sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
with each and every individual
(non plus ultra all other
life forms as well)
gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
scythe lent lee appearing
to whisk away the
honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their
first meal of the day,
and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
when body electric
amp pare rent lee
receives ohm
my word fatal invite,
whereat permanent shocking
quiescence doth, sans
stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
and blithely
mowing down innocent civilians,
and/or training fate squarely
upon heads of soldiers
life during wartime,
where opposing armies regale
while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
to a story field day),
winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
asper winning lottery
and/or Stanley Cup
major blood bath rendered
significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing
fields sliced minced,
chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
et cetera, nonetheless,
grimly forced to greet
a bonanza coup won,
only tubby beat
tin to pulp by adept
skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
weathering stance versus
alternating between defensive
and/or offensive
use of cross bones,
in a hail of bullets
instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering
deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
phalanx gone, where
(metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
can never call retreat.
10/10/2019
I tried to write today, but I couldn’t manage it.
You see, there’s a speck of dirt stuck to the paper.
I tried not to let it get to me, but to no avail,
And had already begun trying to get it off.
Scratching at it was no use, I couldn’t get under the thing.
And washing a paper would defeat the purpose.
It seemed impossible to pry off.
I can’t live with it in my sight, yet can’t throw it away.
I’ll have to take my mind off it somehow,
So I can rest easy tonight.
Just the thought of it will haunt me.
Tomorrow I can write again.
10/11/2019
I got another piece of paper today,
And had managed to get the speck out of my head,
Just long enough to get some thoughts out.
But something else is bothering me.
Now that I think about it, I can’t stop myself.
All the abnormalities of the patterns on the wall,
The crumbs on the desk,
Even the nearly invisible creases in this paper.
I need to get out a bit more,
There’s no way I can function like this.
I can talk more when I’ve dealt with this,
But for now this is all I can think about.
10/12/2019
I couldn’t go to sleep last night.
I had turned on the fan in my room,
But its spinning motion had fascinated me.
The quink motion blurs it together,
But if you focus on a single blade, following it,
It starts to become clear.
After a while I decided to get up.
There was nothing to do, but anything was better
Then staring at the cursed fan.
I found a rubber wall stick toy, molded into the shape of a dragon.
My brother probably got it from a teacher.
After spending the rest of the night trying to keep the wings apart,
I passed out.
10/13/2019
I can’t stay in this house,
The abundance of dust has only become more clear.
My brain won’t rest and I’m seeing things I haven’t before.
The edges of my nails that are begging to be cut,
The imperfections in the palms of my hands,
The papers not all in a straight pile,
The lines of my handwriting inhabiting them,
The dust scattered over the tables,
And the finger marks breaking the unity.
My head is spinning
And I can’t make it stop.
Round and round the ceiling goes.
10/14/2019
Ah, the beauty of sleep medicine.
I finally had a good night’s rest,
And I think I have an idea on what to write about.
Until next time, Journal.
And please, deal with the erase marks,
I need a break.
-Connor Lotts
Riding a roller coaster
Propelled by life’s velocity
Governed by instincts and thought
Driven by an urge to emerge victorious
Sentience deadened to conscience
Flitting thus from desire to desire
We built an imaginary script
Of narrow ego identity
Some conquests won
We saw not unshed tears
Of mute weaker souls wasted
Owing to our callous, feral savagery
Likewise, we encountered defeat
Whereupon we steadied heart
Resolving to rise once again
Imagining ego as the doer
Our face in the mirror
Reflected pride and conceit
Beggars too began looking away
Recognising our cold, hard countenance
So it chanced to pass that by grace
One day we chose to look within
Shocked to see soul shrivelled
Lonely in our bleeding heart
We stopped the flow of time
Frozen for what seemed eternity
Crying out silently into the vast void
Wishing to be healed and feel complete
A divine voice instantly responded
Asking if our resolve was strong
To walk the talk as affirmed
In thought, word and deed
The path simple and direct
Liken it to a hop-on hop-off bus
We hop off the ego bus and choose love
Shifting consciousness from head to heart
Voice of conscience grew stronger
We dwelt not on material gain
Shifting into mindfulness
A stillness continuum
Yet love that is imbibed
Takes time for assimilation
But what matters time any more
To the one who has since vaporised
In timeless time ensconced in bliss
Empowered by a magnetic pulse
Which we may give any name
Kundalini or The Holy Spirit
Baptised in the stream
Twice born, we yet lived on
Our soul within, one with oneness
Seeing now earth life as but a lucid dream
Wherein we are being breathed by God
As He does for all sentient life forms
To fulfil our soul’s smallest wish
Now aligned with love alone
Now we do honestly confess
We know not what scriptures say
All we affirm from our life experience
Is that once we align with God’s love impulse
For each step we take, He leaps forward
Gathering us in His warm embrace
Lighting the lamp of love within
Darkness then is no more
20-January-2022
Repent and Believe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Poem inspired by the contest prompt: 1 John 1:9 KJV - If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
If you have a story to tell of how the birds met under the tree, if you have a story to tell of how the wilderness submerge into the sea, the coastguards were not around and destiny could not be found. I stood on the mountain of hope and watch the seagulls circle around the trail trying to pull up the fishermen boat from behind the vail but it was already at the bottom of the ocean and making way to join a thousand more missing souls. If you had a story to tell of how you live for ten years beside the dry well, no food to eat, no place to sleep and your body becomes a punching bag for stranger and the unknown but hope keep you confound. If you have a story to tell, let me hear it now, let it out and let the bitterness walk about; get ready for the big show, I will show you where to go. The story of life is filled with life; the story of life will tell you where destiny dies. If you have a story to tell of how you confront and defeat twelve vicious enemies, when they surround you with guns and you had nothing to defend yourself except for the wisdom in your head, they attacked you from four sides but compassion was among the lot to save your targeted life. They could not raise a gun, they had to get up and run when you stare them in the eyes and faced the sun with dignity and pride. If human could fly many would build their sanctuary in the sky, and the heavens would die. The story of life is not about paradise, the story of life is not about passion and pride, the story of life is about life and how I survive. The music in the air is what I have to share, it reminds or life in a faraway cold country, when the birds and the beast were living in harmony, I had no shoulder to lean on when the temperature was minus zero degrees and the sheet was so thin, I got up in the middle of the night and start to sing but I kept my focus and rub my hands together to keep warm, the story of life is about life, it is not about your materialistic bride, it’s about how I started from nothing and came out to something; I remember those days when I was studying alone and it was the music of life that comforts my soul, my days quickly fades into night and the moon light was my only guide , I could not explain how I feel but all I know, my emotion was real; If you have a story to tell, tell it now and set you spirit free. The story of life is just about life.
Interpreting Poetry (mine)
Similar to scrutinizing
an abstract painting,
this author begetting
obscure words dumbfounding
readers, he eludes
(no shade tree fore rest)
clear cut discerning,
yet oft times his words
garner reviews raving
esoteric word choice,
how mind boggling
to this logophile despite
more than one reading
brow (sir) furrowed -
cognitive region scrunching,
no matter intent concentration
utter futility attempting
bedeviled comprehension, whether
literary master (me? ha...
not yet), among pantheon partying,
but nonetheless birthing
present day profoundly thought provoking,
undoubtedly tirelessly expending
mental energy eventually exhausting
effort in futility understanding,
asper mine stymied
linkedin attention getting
(then just as quickly losing)
registering resignation defeat alluding
to challenge physical prowess daunting
engagement well matched savvy sparring
partner, or possibly life
and death battling
against unwittingly aggressive brutal questing
archenemy, sans toward all living
species wretched nemesis ultimately deciding
mortality tacitly accepted proffering
transient longevity refusing
to compromise, haggle, negotiate,
et cetera casting
deadened demise of victor or villain
all thru civilization starring
as unopposable tour
de force quietly biding
end date, versus indiscriminately snatching
hero, heroine, coward,
et cetera requiring
impossible ransom while donning
mask of Melpomene
(Tragedy), or trumpeting
Thalia (Comedy), no exit stage door left
only joie de vivre
until last second ticking
unbeknownst unexpected, and uninviting
deathly hallows ringtone alarming
anonymous (oh Henry)
words worth struggling
to hash meaningfulness, viz
finite existence germinating
since birth, yet
terminal realization pressing
with greater frequency when aging,
and deafeningly ear splitting
amplitude bite the bullet clamoring
to tread welcome matt acquiescing
unavoidable phase of dying
devoid of any bargain, but requiring
unconditionally punishingly suffering
silent non binding
resolution, no exemption decrying
unfair contractual obligation, nor unionizing
worth a fig yore of
speech as cosmic arbiter
blithely doth shear - pruning,
without rhyme nor reason meeting
identical fate toward everyone
even posthumous destiny yours truly awaiting.
she carries the child on tired hips rested on chains ‘round her waist
wasted on freedom designed to serve a white man’s lustful desire
branded inferior as time repeats itself and the pain knows no end
a tattoo on her skin confirms her as chattel in self-righteous shackles
festering wounds of Apartheid resemble the foul stench of humanity
as her child suckles from an empty breast and cries out for more
they did not really abandon slavery merely gave it a different name
too sweet are the rewards of exploiting the world as we know it
division of labour and they enshrined her firmly as an illiterate pawn
her soul wrapped in skin and bones and her eyes like rusted steel
an empty gaze almost gave up on merits of justice from hollow eyes
camped in concentration of power domination she is raped daily
of her dignity while she ploughs on in fields of plenty and the dust
of history and yet she never gives up on struggle for emancipation
some got the vote in a rigged system with dice slicing the fortune
disembowled by wolves in capital’s fangs her innermost treasure
has become hope that succumbs to memories of her forebears
born into poverty and meant to stay there she rattles her manacles
in vain in defeat because leg irons and handcuffs are made from
diamonds and gold in the heartland of theft and misappropriation
when her child dies she carries another from the master’s loins
expendable and forgotten her tears are salty and polish the gyves
and just maybe might help to corrode bilboes and unholy bonds
because human emotions do not forget who triggered the hurt
outcast in a so called homelands or locations she requires a pass
to enter the kingdom of opulence in which she serves as a maid
but the young maiden has become old and dies cleaning their dirt
a stolen life is all that her daughters will remember with hatred
and when they rise they too will die by the greed of their captors
but one day the tables will turn and revolve in anger and retribution
20th August 2020
‘Apartheid’ in South Africa was the system of racial discrimination
Workers needed a ‘passbook’ to enter rich suburbs for work
‘Homelands’ were the allocated regions where black people would live
Their abodes where called ‘locations’ to sweeten the tongue of evil
I worked towards this dream my whole lifetime
But it always seemed just out of my reach
The harder I tried to achieve it,
the further away it seemed to become
I was always told growing up
That I could be whatever I wanted to be
As long as I worked hard for it,
And kept my eye on the ball
No one tells you
No one prepares you for
what happens when you fail
The feeling of defeat, and loss.
That feeling of hopelessness
that seems to envelope you
Mind, body and soul.
I have fought so hard over the years
Tried and failed, just to pick myself up and try again.
Only to realize failure once more
How long do you ride this never ending Carousel?
constantly and consistently
Round and round,
only to end up in the same place you started.
Back to square one, over and over
When is enough, enough?
A day, a week, a month, a year?
When does one decide that
it is no longer feasible
To continue on this path?
To continue the ups and downs
on this roller-coaster of life?
You may even momentarily feel
that you actually are in control,
only to be holding on for dear life
within the next moment,
hoping and praying that you won’t
be ejected and thrown from
the false security of the car that is
barely being held upon the track.
One after the other,
time and time again
Failure after failure,
try after try
As I sit here once more,
after being thrown from
the proverbial horse
Trying to decide if
I should continue this
seemingly never-ending
spiral of failure.
I look back at all of
my attempts to succeed
that ended in failure
Never realizing the pattern
that was before me all along
I see those who have
supported me and had been
brought into my life at the
precise moment they were needed.
I see the places these attempts
took me and how each one
changed me in such a way that
I have become a better person
than I could’ve ever imagined.
I realize how each failure
caused me to become more
determined and more courageous
than I ever would have been
had I not experienced that failure.
So I guess it cannot be perceived
as a failure due to the good that
each experience has created.
I may not have reached
the goal that I have dreamed of
all of my life but what I got instead
is something greater,
something that goes beyond
all of my wildest dreams.