Long Derange Poems
Long Derange Poems. Below are the most popular long Derange by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Derange poems by poem length and keyword.
When I see those eyes,
They’re filled with lifeless lies.
It’s no wonder his skin is like ice.
He tells me, “Come closer,”
His promise of wealth wins me over,
But then I see the black blood running through his veins.
He says, “Five years, then it’s time for more games.”
It’s now year six,
This monster finds comfort in the pain he inflicts.
The tormenting things I’ve seen,
His toxicity poisoning my dreams.
It leaves me in a cold, wet sweat.
He steals me away because of a forgotten debt,
My pleas and sorrows pave the path to his inferno.
In the distance I see a burrow,
He leads me down the dark, wet cave,
Fires emerge- I find myself wishing for my grave,
They bathe my eyes, I shut them tight,
But he promises that the fires won’t bite.
I gaze into his Hell engulfed in raging flames,
The fires beckon me closer with their playful games.
My muscles tense and my body aches as his evils fill a dense lake,
The bodies swimming give me life.
I begin to see that maybe he’s all right.
I feel my body start to change,
A wave of power surges my derange.
This Hell pries open up my eyes,
It shows me all of his lifeless lies.
It chills me to my very core,
Just one sip from the sea of dead- and then I will be no more.
The new air I breathe,
The new scent I smell,
It’s almost as if the Earth is now Hell.
He fooled me just once, but the reward so sweet,
Prepare for a fight- I can’t be beat.
He thinks I’m grateful, but he shouldn’t hold his breath,
Remember, “You have the black blood, I have the red.”
The fury I have is stronger yet,
He’s about to regret that forgotten debt.
I’m losing control as reality slips,
This boiling being flips the switch.
I see a reflection- surely it can’t be me,
Those must be his lifeless eyes rippling back at me.
My stomach twists and my head spins,
But I’m on a mission that requires a win.
I’m in a dark hole- there’s no turning back,
With one swift whack, I put a knife in his back.
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)
I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
against misinterpreted faux attempt
to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet
patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
dutiful, and blissful (or at least
prior to being sniffed out) innocent
long time laborer on American soil now get
ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
(despite living social
as law abiding righteous folks) fret
full, cuz unfairly punished, and
cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
pained visage non verbally articulates
at un war rented deportation you bet!
with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts
with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
and for good measure Mulatto twist,
where original writ (signed into law
by President John Adams in 1798),
historical footnote, aye cannot resist
spooking (like a ghost), those pee pill
born south of the border pooped and pissed
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave
now frightfully get flushed out
glad to feign dis guise
as one among select Geronimo cadre
we henchman lubricate
wheels of injustice myst
tuff hie hiding dark shadows
(along the edge of night)
thence paddy wagon comes
to screeching halt nabbing
an "illegal alien" name on hit list
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
and score a win
for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated
impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
fearless to shackle wetback ranked big hest
catch also including booby prize,
as you correctly guessed.
We all fail in one way or another, and failure
is an essential and painful way to learn...
while searching for that life's treasure;
and if it is never found, rejoice in what you have
by honoring the gifts that were given to us:
to love with an immense desire to be loved,
to be comforted when others turn away and
you can't find a shoulder to lean on!
Why be a perfectionist in all you do? But altruism isn't fair,
and you may miss out on those chances for acquaintances,
look around: people are happy with only significant things:
being heard and surrounded with inseparable friends...
even birds gather on the roofs tops to chat among themselves,
and notice this human misery, not wishing to be us indeed;
and we have more intelligence than them, and are much stronger
and wiser to let unhappiness and envy derange our existence!
I tried all and nothing determined or guaranteed
how successful or gratified I would have been,
if had impersonated the role of perfectionist;
meekness flees from us when we detour,
to shorten the distance and the struggle to get there...
to devise a plan is to start being human to the very core,
detesting the absurd idea of being a perfectionist,
and deviate from the dilemma which devitalizes our energy!
I spoke to a perfectionist who was as sharp
as the expressions he used in his flawless speech,
a well-educated person with an unlimited knowledge:
what I wasn't impressed with...wasn't his worth or ample pride,
or his self-importance and the self-revealing attitude
towards his brilliant personality and self-esteem:
but a lack of perception...to seem so worried about his age;
and seeing my deriding look, he took off his shades and cried!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Serendipity
By Rick Rucker
I was searching for Love, when I found You,
At that moment, I stopped, what else could I do?
I may not be the World’s smartest guy,
But I knew I would be foolish to try,
To improve on the Goddess in front of me,
On my best behavior, I would have to be.
My speech probably sounded strange,
In my defense, my mind, you did derange!
All through dinner, I was worried,
Wanted it to be over, yet not seem hurried,
I thought that the longer we talked, I’d say something dumb,
Then out with me, you’d never come,
Again,
Offering, instead, to be my Friend.
Friends was not all I wanted to be,
Nearly blinded by your Beauty, I could hardly see!
Before I met You, I had a plan,
Within a short time, to be a married man.
You tore my Plan apart,
When you totally captured my willing Heart!
I realized that I would have to go slow,
My chance with You, I did not want to blow!
I tried to appear calm,
While feeling as if I were sitting on an atom bomb!
That I would do or say something so bad,
That this would be the last date that we had!
Our date over, you drove away,
I didn’t know what to think, or say.
I was so mild, and meek,
I didn’t call for one whole week.
Imagine my elation,
When you accepted my second invitation!
We’ve had countless dates since,
You make me feel like a Prince,
I will try to return the Favor,
Giving you Love forever, that you will Savor!
If from the falling sky on the high sea,
the pole star disappears
behind the tempestuous cloud,
the ancient mariner in you loses the bearing.
The halcyon horizon will bloom again
with the enchanting flowers of hope
in the sunburst dazzling dawn,
embellish the yonder chromatic shore waiting.
If you derange the rhythm of footsteps,
lost in the consuming clutch of loneliness
on the tortuous track called life,
don’t forget you have promises to keep calling.
You are destined to run
the long marathon race of fulfillment
to reach the winning post
at the end of the painful pursuit pining.
If the delightful time runs out at sunset,
the gloom of dark night enwraps you,
don’t forget the sun must sink
to ascend again with splendor of joy enticing.
It’ll enliven the dormant Phoenix in you
to rise from the debris of despair,
and to recoup the sunken essence,
you need to wait for the divine dawning.
If you are adrift disoriented,
search for the escape route
in the dismal labyrinth of living,
you may see all the exit doors closing.
Don’t lose the invisible trail of hope,
created by the invincible urge of recovery,
for at the end of the dreary tunnel
you’ll be revived by enlightenment suffusing.
_______________
October 20, 2022
Contest : Er : Entertainment Recovery
Sponsored by : Chantelle Anne Cooke
I see two roads of a twisted fate
Lying before me like hell's gate
What sins have I done to be forced paths
To suffer such torments of opposing wraths
Down one lies pain in pouring rain
Trying in vain to cleanse the earth's stain
With no notion or idea it's not all in vain
The other lies sin and self gain
Demonic laughter clang with chain as nature rides its lane
With pleasures of flesh and blood flowing on a corrupting plane
So with disdain I pound my brain
As time keeps dripping from my vein
Is it the sins and lust that cover the crust
That I must make meeting before my head bust
Or must I refrain because it's truly insane
For what value can debauchery really contain
Why must I suffer and strain if I can't be vain
How humble can I feign to those who let life drain
I can't take this, it's just not fair
No one lends a hand or care
Not even when I help them
Does a seed of ardor stem
It hurts less and less... so strange
How much less til my thoughts derange
When will the falling water remove pride and fear
When will I see worth when those rainy skies clear
When will restraint and reverence leave
How can I dance with flesh if I must grieve
These paths, they are so twisted
Yet choosing one my mind's insisted
Do I swim upstream against the grain
Or reap the rewards of the slain
Do I fight, or all confide?
To unite, or to divide?
Time: the biggest landlord
At whose feet kings and queens bow
Cockiness and stubborn they can ill afford
When time wipes vanity and sagacity from their brow
In consonance with the mandate
Bestowed on time from on high
As no other candidate
Dares to ply
The trade in enthralling beauty
That leaves onlookers out of breath
The next moment, time being naughty
Crumples a hexing face implanting dearth
Of supple skin, agile gait
While time grows on a souse a protruding paunch
Signaling the haste
Time employs to launch
An assault on the juvenile
Appearance time lends to youth
Only to metamorphose a once sprightly body into a senile
Bundle of misshapen blob sometimes polite, sometimes uncouth
As time mounts a punishing foray
To age cells, weaken tissues, disorganize organs
Derange systems and diminish the ray
Hope plants as a hurdle to purloin guns
Time deploys in its onslaught
Against lifecycles
Although believers plot
To summon miracles
To plead with time
Begging time to slow down ravages
Inflicted on the lime
Souls scramble to sneak into garages
Where time assembles its tanks
Armoured vehicles, jeeps
To devastate life in all its flanks
Despite pusillanimous whips
Life gathers
In the face of superior savvy and guile
Time employs as it smothers
Life’s feeble riposte through its rank and file.
i want to believe
what you say is what you mean.
am i the only one you need?
sometimes it's hard to see
all the ways you love me.
you say i'm your one and only
and that you are all mine.
will that still be the case
when i'm not doing so fine?
i want to believe it will be
because you mean the world to me
and if you're giving me the truth
this could be the bloom of youth.
you say that you want me
and that i am your girl.
you want to explore me
see what goes on in my world.
will it still be the same,
this is all so insane to me.
will it stay the same?
how long can this heart stay aflame?
i crave ocean highways
and the taste of salt on your skin.
i'm tempted by all my old ways
but with you, there is no sin.
i crave the open road,
a hand to hold.
i want to feel that this is all
worth something more.
this is all worth so much more
than i can see right now.
love, oh so strange.
come inside just to derange.
thought my heart was sealed closed
but he got in unopposed.
he says im his one and only.
he says i'm his girl.
it's not just to me
it's to the whole wide world.
he says he's all mine
and i suppose i'm all his.
maybe this could be something
worth more than anything before.
How To Get Rich From Gambling
By Elton Camp
Probabilities is what gambling is all about
With enough trials, probability will work out
Though gambling will put most in the ditch,
There also is a way from it to get filthy rich
Chances stay the same for each random event
Ignore that and wonder where your money went
This, the gambler’s mind may almost derange
It’s not true that “My luck is bound to change.”
If you flip a coin & get heads 100 times in a row
The probability for tails is still one-half, though
It is a very foolish and dangerous logical slip
To think as if the coin has some memory chip
A certain slot machine hasn’t paid off for a year
Should you rush to use it if that fact you hear?
No matter what some people will insist to say
The odds are no better than on the first day
So for getting rich these facts don’t bode too well
But how wealth can be achieved I will now tell
If you want to keep your financial matters straight,
Then it’s the gambling house you must operate
It’s true that gamblers may make an occasional win,
But nearly all will just lose it back to the house again
So if, of the casino, you are the wealthy owner
Only then will your money not soon be a goner
Free Verse : Translation of Paul Verlaine’s Vers Libres
(Yet another possible translation of Paul Verlaine’s « Vers Libres » by T. Wignesan, though I prefer in my translations not to derange the visual structure and syntactical and linear layout – with some exceptions - of the poem)
I admire the ambition Free Verse invokes
And me, what do I do at the moment
My attempts to derange the equilibrium evokes
The number of syllables only by two rhythms rent
It’s true I count myself among these syllable counters
And rimers, a sin for which I well know
How sorely it drags and how heavily it clutters
Yet something intrinsic to our French art’s glow.
Otherwise it remains submerged in poetry,
Since the language is oblivious to accent.
What can you do there ? And wild fantasy
Here loses its rights : riming is of the moment.
That Free Verse’s ambition haunts
Youthful brains venturing to take risks !
Such passion for a dear illusion daunts
One cannot but smile at alienating mistakes.
Frisky foals which go gamboling over the green
Manifesting their sincere nature dear !
Insane they might be but at their age - supreme,
Truely fetching, Free Verse tempts us here !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013