Long Deranged Poems
Long Deranged Poems. Below are the most popular long Deranged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deranged poems by poem length and keyword.
Why oh why have we become so woke
To the point of companies going near broke,
All for the sake of garnering support
From vocal fringes, then quietly rushing to abort.
Is the effort worth the prize
Pandering to an audience that must surely realize
Division is not the path to integration
Empowering voices that just believe in denigration.
Acceptance is rarely mandated or imposed,
It's a result of customs willingly transposed
To reflect a kinder more inclusive world
And in the process eliminating the absurd.
Activism can often be the kernel for steep
Change,
But in the wrong hands is alienating and deranged,
With effects that counter all that would be good
Demeaning the very essence for which they stood.
We the silent throngs just watch and wonder,
What's brought on this wave of mindless thunder,
Strife and upheaval causing nothing but confusion,
Resulting in a world of societal delusion.
Democracy is not another word for anarchy,
Where a vocal few usurp reality for fantasy,
But one of tolerance and communal understanding
To mold a world where actions are outstanding.
Where parent is not set against their child,
Or leaving differing opinions unreconciled,
Where sexuality does not become a sword,
Or Race the blade to cut across the board.
When will politicians and the media say enough,
Accepting that their narrative is huff and gruff,
Full of potholes and dead ends
Turning people into enemies not friends?
Why not allow good sense and wisdom take the stage,
Willing denigrators to turn another page,
Supporting causes that are simply just
Thereby forging a society sure to last.
The wood is too seasoned, the grain hoary.
the moppet has grown insane,
its wood now riddled with timeless lies.
A cat in a dark corner will not look at it.
Mice cower under its grim shadow.
In a twilit kitchen an old man mumbles
as he gums a boiled egg
while deranged eyes peer through walls.
Pinocchio is old,
he has been set on a hook.
fibrous sinews dangle
from his notched frame.
knotted veins grind together
inside the oaken cage of his chest.
Made to imitate and deceive
he has become what we dare not look upon:
a hollowness within a dead core.
In the potbellied stove,
logs pray with crackling flames
hope to never become that thing
that hangs and glares,
a wood wormed ruination,
its painted adolescence flaking now
to a crackbrained fantoccini
gone feral.
Enough of this silliness, this one's more serious
What am I saying, I'm becoming delirious
Best see a doctor, got a strange kind of malady
Hope it's not going to affect my mortality
Now let's not be silly, it's just a wee glitch
Be back with the sillies, though I'm starting to twitch
What if my serious side has turned off for good
Whenever I try, I'll smell burning wood
A chill just came over my Adonis-like body
I shudder and shake and start thinking naughty
Okay I promise to try a couple more times
Not promising nuttin', from this very strange mind
Last vestiges of a smile I've tried to erase
Solemn and serious taking over my face
Are you buying my attempt to convince you I've changed
You're not buying it, still think I'm deranged?
To convince you, here's my medical report
“Cured of the sillies, but needs your support!”
© Jack Ellison 2015
Shoes on the lawn
every single one
a reminder
of someone
no longer there
cause no one would dare
speak out or decry
yet tears haven't run dry
so there they are
a colorful panorama
it's not frivolous drama
this is real
Feel...
Each pair's a silent scream
of a parent's shattered dream
empty places
grief stricken faces
empty seats
No after school treats
empty beds
because of the empty heads
of politicians who are fed
blood stained money instead
shoes on the lawn
night goes down to dawn
a mother cries
another student dies
shooters shoot
emotionally unstable
undetected, they are able
mentally deranged
from society estranged
they roam in the land of the free
more guns is NOT the key
what about the stats
all those bloodied facts
other countries? not the same!
Here mass shooting's a game
BS is the name
to give to the excuses! What a shame!
A shame!
Look....See
Shoes on the lawn
Don't just stand there and yawn
put aside your pride
Think of all who have died
Look...see
The next pair of shoes
could belong to me
or to you
there's so much you can do
you know it is true
You can help stop the madness
and help heal the sadness
Oh...how my heart aches to see...
those shoes...
those multicolored empty shoes
scattered on the lawn...
Eileen Manassian
Twin “Tee” Poems for a twenty-dollar bet, yet better than the setup in this setting
Begin
You have hurt feelings
Been in shady dealings
The consequences
Fence us in
Abuse
Something strangely
Is deranged
How will my baby
Be the same
Ambition
Somewhat crazy
Out of use
I am NOT lazy
I will NOT lose
Loss
In a dark existence
It seems like no one listens
Losing so much power
Hour after hour
Good life
Rock and roll and women
The gifts we have been given
Poetry for our souls
None of it ever gets old
Poetry NOT proses
Finding out the meaning
Of what a video is streaming
While children run around screaming
I sit with a finger up my nose
Game
Being a teacher
While standing in the bleachers
Cheering on students
Doctor
Sick as a damned dog
Going to the appointment
It is somewhat a relief
Overwhelmed
I have a few followers
Appreciation comes after creation
There is always a new realization
Favor
I took some pictures
I wrote a book for my mother
It did not help myself or my brother
Yet it still worked wonders
The gift
Her Mom is NOT hot as a soul
This is what I have allotted I have been told
Still, what can be brought?
Sharp
Putting on a suit,
Learning to tie a tie,
Just being a guy...
Fate
Waking up late
I have an important date
Just one more mistake
New Love
Hitting second base
A pretty girl in my face
All I do is chase
Starving
Playing guitar
Feeling like a star
So far,
It has been very hard
Queen
Prince’s wincing,
At the messed-up world,
Someone is hinting,
On what can be unfurled...
Teacher
Slowly scraping
Across the blackboard...
It is like being raped as a whore...
Behavior
Say, “Yes ma’am...”
I say, “God damn!”
Is this a sham???
Or part of another scam...
Blackout
Strip club member
You do NOT remember???
What you did?
You are a ed-up kid...
Fake
Friends turn on you
You can barely trust anyone
All you can to is to pretend
In the end
On gin we depend...
I’m not an ego maniac
you know the type that gives others a heart attack
I get my vital nutrition
From a dietitian
Who only asks for my Submission
And he gives me the ambition
To fight back
On track
Promises me that I will never lack.
There’s a battle every time I wake
There’s a battle in every move I make
I am Jehovah's daughter
That’s why I can walk on water
I don’t need a psychic to read my palm
I have the prophecies, of his words, on my arm
I don’t need soothsayers to give me a premonition
I have fire from heaven that is my ammunition
Everywhere I turn their speaking death
It rains down until I have nothing left
Everyone is believing a lie
How can I sit back and watch as time goes by
The devil has sung many too sleep
Wake up, men of God; you’re being slaughtered like sheep
Resist the temptation
And have a deeper appreciation
For the lives placed in your hand
Or they’ll sink like quicksand
Into the abyss of despair
God’s presence isn’t there
This is a warning in these last days
To surrender your rebellious ways
Judgment is coming whether you believe it or not
Children of Niniva repent on the spot
And the God of "Mercy" will change his mind,
He calls out, “ Is there anyone I can find
That will abandon their ways and come into the light
Put on righteousness and fight this good fight?”
Spiritual anorexia
Emaciated the rest of you
Spiritual abortion
Has led many to extortion
Who will bow? Who will plead?
Save this generation which bleeds
Fathers gone estrange
Birthing violence that’s deranged
Suicide… the anti-Christ
Don’t you know Jesus paid the price?
By: Sabina Nicole
Clatter claws cascade downward into listening drums.
Pigeons are the worst. Rose bushes sit quietly all summer
then only after they have lost their heads
do they scratch and squark nightly.
Toilets that are not in your home haunt and taunt.
Dry joints crunch down - listening synovial cartilages
stick shift and slip out of gear.
There is the jack-hammer juggling of junk mail
as it flaps its paper wings and falls untidily.
Sometimes dreams climb over the hedgerow,
clamber up a back wall, and then hollow bones play
upon the rooftop - deranged harpsichords
goad a hungry moon to howl for something dead.
Knuckles crack under a sheer cliff of silence.
Hopefully things will go up from here.
The new world leader is Angela Merkel from Germany
She is well-educated and wise.
She is not afraid to show people that she is a book reader.
Quotes about her are: "she is willing to learn new skills"
So all those crazy rumors about women not listening do not apply
Wait, there are no rumors like that. Women are the best listeners.
She serves on international councils, and she shines brightly.
She is inspiring women to get into politics and do something
Not just collect money until they are taken out in a body bag.
She is my hero. I adore her. I am intrigued by her integrity.
She has morals, and she is hiding nothing. She wears no mask.
I applaud Germany for again leading the way into the next century
Showing the rest of us how silly we have been for trading integrity
For the NRA's excitement about giving every deranged person
Their own brand spanking new assault rifle if they want one.
Who needs an assault rifle? No one, not even the police.
Angela Merkel, Chancellor of Germany, cannot be bought
Her integrity is not for sale at any cost; she is a beacon of hope.
She will lead the international committees into the next century
Understanding what integrity looks like, earning her own respect.
Within the fragile frame of my fervent heart,
tinged with the tinsels of the amorous night,
my love gleamed with a gorgeous glow,
draping the sequins of your enthralling elegance.
In my psyche I felt the tempting tender caress
of your intangible mesmeric charisma,
but you sauntered away from my entranced sight
like the autumn cloud across my dream sky.
From the threshold of my desire reverie
your footprints faded away beyond the twilight.
With the turquoise thread of lingering longing,
I weaved the filigree of fantasy in my dream.
From the ebony edge of the night of despair
storm clouds surged with thunder of tearing strife,
destructed my dream, dispersed in the debris,
as my lost love turned into a fierce whirlwind.
I heard the squelch of the submerging sorrow
swathing stealthily my broken heart,
resonating the deranged lilt of indigo pulsation
with the splitting echo from the sensory strata.
The soft touches of your departing kiss turned into lashes
of desert storm as I drifted across the dunes of deprivation
with shifting sands of time designing myriad illusion.
In the mirage flashing in your eyes I saw my demolition.
When the roosters crow at dawn
Trump the clown, the president
Who thinks he's a ser and king, a prophet
Because he always has his fly half open
Surrounded by his entire celestial court of zealots
Well protected by serial killers
What will he say, perched atop his deranged head:
-“I announce to the new day
That today, like yesterday and tomorrow
I will do whatever the hell I want
Because that's how it has to be
For the good of all nations.”
Laughing and dancing like a disabled person
He will repeat:
-“What a mental masturbation of mine is worth
Given on time here in Mar-a-Lago
Soon to the twelve best beaches of Cuba
Which will soon be mine:
Varadero Beach, Paradise Beach
Pilar Beach, Cayo Blanco, East Beaches
Sirena Beach, Fishing Beach
Santa María Beach, Ancón Beach
Coral Beach, Cayo Guillermo
And Guardalavaca Beach.
Don't fall asleep, my Cuba
Don't fall asleep, my beloved
For your Trumpist dawn is coming
Full of life and death.
To your twelve precious beaches
My criminal drones will descend singing:
“This is how it must be
Because this is what this clown
Who thinks he's a seer and king wants
Who, without any bet
Full of rage will pounce on Díaz-Canel
And, in the shadow of his own balls
Will leave him half dead
Making Cuba a great Guantánamo, once
Causing his coastal Guantanamero people
From the municipality of Bauta
In the province of Artemisa
West of Havana
To laugh and be scared on his Baracoa beach
Contemplating that enormous cock of his
Hypocritical cock made drone
Of truly obscene balls
Of a terrible and fierce transsexual
Who employs so much ardor, so much effort
In annihilating, with the Jews
The peoples of the Middle East.”