Long Deride Poems
Long Deride Poems. Below are the most popular long Deride by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deride poems by poem length and keyword.
TEMPER
My love,
I am pained by my pain which leaves me in pains
Oh!.
Have you not drank your fill
Of my will's will?
The tug ever drains me
Temper!
Temper my love!
Are you listening?
My mind is a mine
Mined In fields
Of my faces
Oh!
By whom you ask?
Oh! Please you know better of my foes than I can number my woes
I seek a treaty of decorum
For I hide and seek,
which glances to give at every waking morn
It tires me
Temper heed!
It tires me.
I am stuck in a bowl..
No a bowling alley
Sorry, I went bowling..
Temper dearie.,
See as my sanity flees from me
With every whistling intake
You are priceless to a fault
Sorry.. A point
I have drunk dry of my purchasing power of you
My minds bank seems bankrupt
Please!
Do not loan them in.
Whom you ask?
Your offspring
You play my sanity as they delay my insanity
Imagine the pain of injecting you in
Yet I commit a felony if I let you shine
Besides giving me an audience,
You get me an audience
They differ in purpose
One to hear, one to leer
Nip you in the bud they say
But I really love,
The psychopathy you give
The satisfaction of deride
The aloofness of my prey
As they are caught In my web
Listen!, do you hear
The drums of their quaking despair
The loss of steering which is lost
But is still in their hands
But my deride is far from the labeled cups
Of despair
My weakness unnerves my being
Their weakness display calms me
Why?
Cannot let it show
They toy with the truth
Seen alot of their cinemas of toy
Bottom line
Their pain for my pain
Loss of steer for my steering
Insanity is a constant in all
But!
It's levels varies for all
So I seem mad
Am I?
Maybe mad indeed I am
It's all your fault
I can't withdraw, the symptoms
Are too pathetic
I need this job
You can't throw me a cliff hanger
Of your depature
The adrenaline pumps to my mind
Blemishes me with deadly wits of control
What you define as manipulation
The edge It gives
Similar to an addiction
Is the key to my survival
... So we die here, right?
I am hooked to you with a line and fingerlings
I hope a good shark snaps me
I really want to quit you
My sweet addiction
But you are just too sweet.
CUB.J.PRINTS
Paul had a near-death experience,
one of the most incredible ones...
he visited Heaven: the place of bliss!
And as he climbed the gold stairway,
he heard many familiar voices he had
known in the previous life...they happily
chanted glorifying God, who was seated
on an ivory throne surrounded by Archangels,
Saints and Prophets whom he remembered
from his Bible readings. He tried to look at
God's face, but he was blinded by an intense light...
more brilliant than the sun itself, then Jesus
approached with his out-stretched arms.
Paul smiled and was elated to have found salvation,
but Jesus kindly said to him, " Paul, your time
hasn't come yet, return to Earth and tell them! "
And briefly pausing He continued, " When that time
comes, your honorable name will be written
in the Book of Life, and angels will carry your new body
on their swift wings and you will enter Paradise! "
Paul's face was expressive of disappointment
and bitterness and weeping replied, " The people
of Earth deride a grave digger so groggy and grubby,
and they mock him with their delirious laughs;
I would rather be dead than return to them! "
" Go and show them your mercy! " Jesus commanded him.
Paul had only minutes before he would be buried,
so he rushed back and surprisingly saw a large crowd
attending his service as Father Michael, the Chapel's priest,
performed the last rites by splashing Holy Water
in and around the shadowy grave. They heard a knock
coming from inside of the coffin...Paul's voice became louder,
" I am alive, not dead...let me out! " Everyone was horrified
and shocked, but Father Michael ordered the mortician to open
the casket and let Paul out. Jubilation filled the chilly air,
and streaks of light filtered through the murky clouds...their shouts
were heard as far as the outskirts of town: Paul was alive!"
I sat with Paul the day after under the shade of a fragrant pine,
and he told me about his visit to Heaven with tremendous joy
and fervent faith. He admitted that he was wrong not to have
shown them his compassion and with the sincerest smile
he proclaimed, " My anger and grudge have vanished;
I have forgiven them...I am so glad to have returned! "
Entered in the ramblig Poet's contest,
" In Search Of The Human Mind"
Assignment: A Near-Death Experience
The mountains engulf and embrace me,
Like the sun shining through a window,
Pulverising the darkness and gloom,
With hopefulness and truth,
Making me aware of my possibilities,
Not numerous but few -
Allowing me to choose between two.
I prioritise, and focus just on one goal,
Resolve to achieve my ambition,
Find in myself my actions and am spurred on,
To proportion the gulf which stares up at me:
The chasm flees when normal people interact;
The unsaid but spoken disappears instantly,
Providing me with care constantly.
The view exists as humankind exists,
But while many people beg to differ with one another,
Nature eats up those who can't be edified -
Those who augment it with a god to trace,
Whatever is said, whatever is done,
Mustn’t be normal, easy - natural,
But rather should be contrived and conventional.
That we evolved is dear and liberating,
As a lover who wets her beholder’s cheek:
Faithful relationships soothe our spirits,
Connecting us with nature and public;
I know I came from the mountains and the hills,
From which I take courage, vigour and have duty,
From rugged, sheer beauty.
Is this beauty crude, or does it manage,
The looks of my accusers who bare me?
It dismisses them with assumptive glare,
Kindness gently certifies their stabbing buzz,
Until heaven and hell are constructs waiting to touch:
Which, but for the inside’s surmise, will indeed myself mar,
And but for my silent thoughts, which do the spartans bar.
The view also relinquishes flightiness for me to pour,
Over the collars of the parallel and the same:
Marched in by sociopathers, the directors of freedom;
I receive from naturalism’s stance, it's posit,
Billowing amounts of heart, drive and chance,
And decide to accept the opportunities which will embrace -
In concern - with well-being, affection and grace.
My suspicions, intentions and instincts see the complex,
How it should be deconstructed, with pleasure,
Out with the validated by a clergyman or Christian leader,
Who evince as harder and more boring than nails;
What entails then stimulates on into waving meadows,
And so, not silenced by the silence I sit in having cried -
Feeling accepted and taken - I'm respected to them deride.
“Once a king or queen in Narnia,
Always a king or queen,” said C S Lewis,
And I think I can just about let you in on,
What he was talking about, as I'm no novice.
I was forced to read the bible twice daily,
By my parents until I was above twelve,
And they always reminded me and assured,
That they’d said Jesus to me as a new born elf.
But I got so confused and bedraggled,
By that dogma which screeches and screams,
That after a brush with that old fiend,
Decided to secretly read it to check its memes.
So I devoured the bible ‘cos I read it historically,
With time’s context in mind and aware,
And understood it as a recital of progress,
And a story of the availability of healthcare.
Ever since then I’ve been understanding and able,
To reply to fundamentalists who loiter to attack,
Able to react comfortably and with peace,
With answers on which I’ve never looked back.
You resign that Jesus wasn’t a psychologist,
You put to bed that he wasn’t a philosopher,
And in insight realise he was really a doctor,
But the first one maybe to treat those poorer.
And you get that Jesus death did good now,
Let the grass roots of the sick speak freely,
As the inception of personal empowerment,
As a voice for any man with a daily disability.
People were so enraged, and Jesus’ bitter,
About his suppression and criminal death,
That it became the symbol of the church,
For the underdog’s freedom and health.
After you get it, you know, and are content,
Solid in an understanding of modern society,
Of the NHS and how it came and has got there,
Of Lord Bevaridge’s prescription for poverty.
You never look back, but you regret knowing,
Sometimes when some intellectuals stare,
When hard atheists say Jesus never existed,
When about your reputation you do care.
But after you explain simply to those you like,
That you’ve read the Bible atheistically,
Historically and remembering the context,
They never deride you again uncaringly.
You’re not an evangelical but just explaining,
What you know from a school’s analysis,
From how your teachers with you interpreted,
Roman, Tudor and Victorian histories.
What's the espresso this evening, Rubicam?
My random access memory will light upon it
As I riffle the files of my brain.
Pulling out something fresh,
I burst out with words to cover the enigma.
Bones
Bones are the fare--
Stewed bones with marrow deep inside.
Cracking the bones of the chicken leg,
I find essence,
Everlasting purity so well stored and tucked away,
Like a savings account or DNA.
The vapor of mud rises fleet and narrow.
This is the conduit of the inner sanctum,
The railroad across Canada in the snow.
Red vertigo covers the wheels as they turn,
Rolling asunder like a sky.
We eat and gorge on the beauty of it--
The holy thing--
Sent all holy and shiny new.
We split the marrow with a scalpel,
All sharply tooled and honed.
The operation is a success at last--
Liberation is at hand surely.
The vice has fallen away,
And the orange center is revealed.
My word-center is on autopilot;
I am still, silent, patient.
Then the marrow grows overabundant,
Needing quick hands to capture the thief,
Lest escape be granted.
The expository hose is drawn up.
The bare leg is covered and modesty satisfied.
There is no canker in this truth,
Being pure to the core,
Pure as blood-marrow.
The stigma is gone out of it.
Holy is the anthem and the chorus
Sings a greeting to the little people
Who stand waiting in line.
They watch for some illumination
Of the dark letters written on their souls
Bandits would not deride them
in such an instance.
Horses in a fever will trample words,
But words re-form; they cannot die.
You who bear the mystery,
Who cannot die,
You have palpated my heart
And signified a vast reference point,
Pleading to me with a sad song.
My turbulence is all inside me,
A stormy affair,
Always sorting and reeling back with shock
As the ivy vine climbs the ancient wall.
If you had no device,
Would you not read more books?
The man dignified in the third person
Will ask the questions here, mind you.
Return to me again loon of the wide lake,
Loon hiding in the reeds.
Show me your face before you fly,
And sound your voice in the evening.
1. You have the illness you have always been fearful of. The cause is your fear. You will never sleep, and tea and yoga are only placebos. Welcome to hell.
2. You cannot evade exactly anything you ever experience.
3. I. Zombies are only an abstract concept.
II. So is your entire life.
4. You impulsively set your clothing on fire with the post-justification that it is an archaic craving and without fire, we'd all be dead.
5. We don't live on different planets in a communicative solar system because some of us don't handle diversity very well, and a human-sized crater is large enough.
6. The universe does end, and outside of the edges, there is only pure whiteness that goes on forever. I know, I've been there.
7. I. There are villages inside the carpet.
II. There are worlds inside the molecules that make up the villages in the carpet.
III. There are kingdoms inside of electrons and protons. They want each other's land.
8. You have a hard time choosing between the four of spades and the seven of hearts. But no matter what you choose, they're both just cards.
9. Any moment that is filled with emotion will feel like it will be the like that for the rest of your life. It will not be.
10. You deride them but you have no idea you're in the same thrall.
11. I. You remember engraved metal spoons hanging on a kitchen wall. Yes, you do.
II. You remember the song that played during the car ride on the highway when you passed the
aircraft warning light in the distance.
III. You remember the green atmosphere when you were a kid in a swimsuit licking ice cream
outside of your neighbor's house.
IV. You remember there being a small blue swimming pool.
V. You remember looking through the lace curtains of your living room window and seeing snow
and holiday lights on the suburban houses across the street.
VI. None of this ever happened.
12. The main reason you can't fall asleep is because you were told to.
13. You have dark circles under your eyes that only some can see.
GTF
Wizened skin like burnished leather
Thin, grey and long, disheveled hair
Clear, sharp blue eyes that seem to stare
Through sun scorched face, alert, aware
A ‘lived-In’ face that’s so expressive
Tales he tells read like a missive
His arms and hands he flails about
To all he jests, he seems to shout
Belying age with youthful vigour
He starts his day with seeming rigour
But, easy going, he always jokes
With folk at whom, light fun, he pokes
He’s up each morning before the dawn
Striding, planning, never forlorn
Before sunrise you’ll hear with luck
His famous catch-phrase, “Get Tae F***!”
He’s worked on rigs for oh, so long
With everyone he gets along
On the “fine old lady” Stena Clyde
No deference – ALL he does deride
From owner, manager and high paid “suits”
To lowly boys who clean the boots
The tone the same, The grin, the look,
The cheeky laugh, the “Get Tae F***!”
Sub zero frost or tropical heat
His ardour you will find hard to beat
Old habits die hard they say
Not his – he does them anyway!
Does a place exist he’s never been?
That has a port that’s never seen
This tall slim figure filled with pluck
Or heard his raucous, “Get Tae F***!”
They say he’s always been a sailor
From Antarctic wastes upon an ancient whaler
15 years old in the South Atlantic
A hardy life, forget romantic!
Steam driven ships before motor’s advent
He sailed near and far. Came and went.
A story true with each port of call
His audience he holds in thrall
But all through this, both feet aground
Though invitations still abound
To high profile golf tournaments
The best hospitality at these events
He mixes with the best of them
The rich and famous golfing men
Yet on the course when he mis-hits his ball
Not “fore” but G.T.F. to all
And so it seems his time has come
To rest upon his laurels some
He’ll sure be missed – God Speed, Good Luck
It’s been a pleasure Jimmy, “Get Tae F***!”
No dismissive snort from any here
From us, a greeting, a hearty cheer
Received with grace, a smile - a look.
You grin then tell us, “Get Tae F***!”
The Holy Spirit through our souls searches
and in despair silently He cries:
there are so many Pharisees in churches,
exhibiting hypocrisy and lies.
About Christ abundantly they know,
their knowledge they're happy to parade,
but not His holy image they show,
preferring to fake and masquerade.
Insulting Jesus Christ, our living God,
they're blind to His teaching's higher goals.
Theology so often twisted, flawed,
is flourishing instead of building souls.
Before you know, they can destroy
all hopes to find there a brotherhood.
Not fruits of love, self-discipline, and joy
they plant - not any seed that's good.
For self-promotion they grab a chance,
and their faith is shallow indeed,
and wallowing in their pious stance,
to their perils many others lead.
Cesspools of self-deception, gossip, strife,
they follow the idol of the day,
and in Christ's body they stifle life,
when they wicked qualities display.
Unable to detect their own sin,
unable to repent on their knees,
they care more for their own skin,
and their nature they want to please.
They easily their own wrongs excuse,
besides, Christ forgive them, they say,
but ready to condemn and to accuse,
they carry on to slander and betray.
They're always learning, but in their pride
the simplest truth, they cannot understand.
Who disagrees with them, they will deride,
such person from their circle will be banned.
They like to flock - it makes them feel secure
in their errors, which they promote,
and with their understanding immature
they verses out of context often quote.
They cannot listen, dim in their brains.
For them compassion is, alas, unknown,
and malice clogs their arteries and veins,
when arrogance is sitting on a throne.
Self-righteous, complacent with their sins,
of their salvation they themselves assure.
But what does their error underpins?
It's not the Holy Spirit, to be sure!
Oh blind pharisee, alas, alas!
You may appear dignified and smart,
but vainly you search for a bypass
to Jesus, who is looking in your heart.
29.02-1.03.2024
What would makes a dead ass belly moves
And scream and grunt in a boy's imagination
The ass was dead vultures presence proves
And flies abuzz add crude to consternation
And we in fragile school days state
Look, saw, and lost or broken slate
From fear the animal grunting in pain
Would chase our hearts out against the strain
Clarence had a good hand, our best Tarazan
He and Derrick armed with missile stones
Attacked first the beast, and buzzards ran
And flies cloud the air, while the donkey groans
And grunt and shiver in its belly
Oozing rotten scent miles and miles
The stones hit hard and sank into jelly
My trembling frame still now recoils.
The donkey lift its head, and books were strewn
And screams were heard, and feet thundering away
And some fell by haste, but not yet in swoon
Wait upon the gorging of their unbridled dismay
But brave Clarence, stood despite our fleet
And hit, and hit again the dead ass daring
To defeat our sensible and hasty retreat
Was this a new demon? Something in tradition missing?
For many had heard, and some even would swear
There was a rolling calf, a demon shaped like a little cow
But myth nor custom told of rolling donkey nowhere
What dark at was then flung against us children now
For we are the outcome of our beliefs, and we
And from tradition's soil we take our mold
Each in his custom his boundary carry
Children's fear are the superstition of the old
I know this now, but not that moment then
Until I see the pigs through the anus gorged out wide
Fleeing, and grunting their fear with ours to blend
Their dismay our innocent stupidity to deride
Yes, it was only the pigs at lunch inwards
Feasting safely from our eyes. But we
Afraid of signs, ignorance made us cowards
Safer in truth, but, O, vulnerable in our fancy.
Greys, Part III
Temerity, the crux of the Human Way -
We dominate what we can,
Deride the rest -
But the heart speaks in terms the tongue cannot frame,
Suggesting the worst is a part of our best
The ashen taste behind the use of insignificant powers
Tempers our pride in the midst of triumphant hours.
Beneath the greening of the summerwarmed Earth
Corruption proceeds in its slow work
Feeding the living on the fruits of its breakage
Of the form and substance of the dead.
The cold rain slanting down from leaden clouds
Softens and enlivens roots deep in the loam,
The desiccated pulp of yesterday's life
Many voices speak
In the pattering tears of the sky:
Many voices, not understood by the educated mind,
Not grasped by refined understandings:
Heard, interpreted in the dark chambers
At the center of the soul,
Where the meanings of things old as this world
Quietly abide,
Resting in the silent center -
The fertile graveyard of our primal thoughts.
The rain calls to us through its wall of grey
Addressing our Pride
Mixing truths forgotten with truths regained
The rain speaks, saying, among other things -
What are the monuments of Men
The works of their timid day?
The mountains that this Earth brought forth
In fevered fury, long ages ago
Have long outlasted the whole of your race.
These are Her monuments, and yet
For all their strength and glory,
I -
The humble soft rain,
I -
Have washed away whole chains of them;
For I persist,
Returning and returning,
Ages but moments to me.
We can watch our glories dissolve
Stone upon stone, great edifices rise
To crumble and fall again
Forgotten and fractured, always being replaced
By other stones upon stones
Which will decay in their due turn.
Impermanence is the standard
Of human affairs
The common complaint in which everyone shares
Consider with me those things that do last,
Thoughts and emotions which fade not with the past.