Long Desperation Poems
Long Desperation Poems. Below are the most popular long Desperation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Desperation poems by poem length and keyword.
In a storm the lighthouse beacon
beckons ship in peril to come closer.
There is no where else to go.
A shining light offers refuge
But fails to deliver, as the light
warns of danger lurking nearby.
Sailors see the light and head for it,
Hoping to navigate from there as a waypoint
But in the storm's turmoil and confusion
The light lures the seafarers closer to danger,
But by then its too late to veer away, too close to avoid
the peril the lighthouse warns of.
Safe within the lighthouse keeper watches in horror
Seeing the boat floundering, getting closer and closer
Hoping against hope that the ship will steer away,
Failing to understand why the ship has headed his way.
But the ship keeps on coming
In desperate plight, when any light offers hope,
to escape the relentless ravages of the storm.
The ship plows on and on, closer and closer,
Then flounders on the rocks at the feet of the lighthouse.
Smashing into matchsticks, the crew tossed overboard
Like rag dolls, limp; all hands aboard lost.
The lighthouse beacons beckons,
luring crew and ships to stray too close in desperation.
Happy birthday USA!
From your birth until today,
You have come a long, long way.
Two hundred forty-five years ago,
The U.S. was birthed in rebellion's pride,
Declaring independency from King George's rule.
Freedom from tyranny would not be denied.
From thirteen states we have grown to fifty,
Through extensive exploration,
Battles fought, purchases,
And fierce determination.
Through the years we became
A leader among the nations.
We've been a beacon of hope,
To those filled with desperation.
I pray that we will stay the course,
Of freedom and justice for all.
May God continue to bless this land,
Because without Him we will fall.
Happy birthday, USA!
May God give us wisdom to guide our way,
And forgive us when we go astray.
7/4/2021
never call the kettle black
it shines inside and out
needs a polish now and then
perspective insight and action
miracles and blessings happen
when the time is right
and the privilege is granted
therefore I dived into the cauldron
a baptism of fire so to feel
and the magic potion sizzled
cold blisters of angst and resentments
vanished meta-morphed into the light
an inventory thorough cleaning
of the house that is my Self
a ruin of sorts it had been
rubble carnage wreckage
and I could not choose
the colour of my rescue boat
the size or model of the life preserver
it would not have done to plaster over
the cracks in the pot
I could no longer attribute fault
reason or blame to others
it had to become an inside job instead
an act of desperation and gift of recovery
no one pushed me when I took the plunge
I forgave yet did not ask for forgiveness
became able to love and allow to be loved
today I swim with hot passion once more
accept the good with the bad
found peace and moments of serenity
enjoy enchantment and gratitude
no witch craft at all
but a fairy tale story
narrated by a cauldron
of magical proportions
April 18 Scripture Meditations Based on Esther 4-6
Key Verse – Esther 4:14 For if thou altogether holdest thy peace at this time, then shall there enlargement and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place; but thou and thy father's house shall be destroyed: and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME YOUR PEACE
Thank You for giving me Your peace of assured salvation
Always silencing my fears brought by doubt-caused desperation
To calm me down against panic about unknown situation…
Now, I’m confidently settled in Your eternal redemption.
Thank You for giving me Your peace of secured eternity
Always protecting my faith against any uncertainty
To teach me Your principles’ stability…
Now, I’m steadfastly kept within Your Word’s infallibility.
Thank You for giving me Your peace of everlasting life
Always healing my soul from wounds of transgression-strife
To strengthen me midst challenges that are oppressively rife…
Now, I’m definitely guarded by Your sword against foes’ knife.
Thank You for giving me Your peace of joyful worship
Always delighting my heart in Your offered relationship
To encourage me toward fruitful stewardship…
Now, I’m absolutely guided through Your leadership.
Thank You for giving me Your peace of sovereign might
Always controlling my being through Your illuminating light
To help me do what is acceptably right…
Now, I’m fully geared toward Your holiness-height.
Thank You for giving me Your peace of heavenly standard
Always moving my all for service against vanities that retard
To revive me to fulfill my tasks as Your steward…
Now, I’m willingly committed to work in Your vineyard.
April 18, 2022
American citizens in “bread-lines” to get little boxes of food. How desperate do you have to be to join that line? The sad, generous, little boxes of nutrition. We are all human, we all need our next breath and our children’s next meal. We all need shelter.
It’s a carnival of pleasure to mock human need. Tell me my mistake.
Watch our President’s Daily Briefing. He doesn’t mention bread-lines. He chooses not to. How counterfeit is his competence. No “fire side chat”, no promise of hope. How mean is this fat, grubby, “rich” man who s on golden toilet seats and ignores starving Americans’ desperation.
The tyrant’s plea, as the collapse begins, is “I’m not responsible”. Tell me my mistake.
We have lost our immeasurable strength. We are become callous. We are robbed, of our better, more generous selves by narrow focus, by zero sum greed. Our collapse will be just, like verse set down in primitive times when the margin of error was clear and understood.
It’s a calm discrimination to choose carelessness. Tell me my mistake.
This unfolding viral nightmare is but one of the fires along the tree line. The encroaching environmental disaster, the loss of our political system’s integrity, the militarization of police racism.
Maybe China will do better - if I’m reading my score card correctly, it looks like they’re up next as the world’s great superpower
Too long have I been staring at this cruel blank page before me,
My crazed, hysteric mind screaming and imploring
I know there is a message that's dying to come out—
I need to fill this confounded page without the slightest doubt!
It's a simple predicament to manipulate,
Into a mass of thought
A futile attempt to insinuate,
Weak hints are left with naught
I sit here in silent desperation,
What can fill this page?
I slap myself in indignation,
My eagerness becoming rage!
Like roaches sporadically running from light
My thoughts are but a haze
The words I write just don't seem right,
On this cruel blank page!
Living with an addict is a special kind of hell
You watch your child struggle and suffer,
Each day brings new challenges
They will tell you: “I am not dependent on that stuff!”
“ You are not?” NO! I don’t use it every day!”
Not knowing much about drugs, you ask stupid questions.
“Who would use every day! I should hope not.”
But money disappears, jewelry and tools walk away…
Many strange things happen.
Many homeless friends of your child hang around,
And you feel sorry for them.
You let them sleep in the garage and cannot believe their family would cast them out,
Not having reached that point of desperation with your child yet.
You don’t mind that they eat here but some are saying you are enabling them.
But you would rather that a stranger would feed your child if he was in that position.
Better than stealing, right? No one has the perfect answer.
You watch your child turn pale and listless.
What happened to the one that loved going camping, fishing and had many interests?
You try and make suggestions but they seem to fall on deaf ears.
You are afraid…where is my child?
This thing has power over everything! You look for answers and ask many questions.
No one knows the answer, no one wants to be involved.
“They have to do that on their own!”
You know that is not right! They are not in their right mind.
How can they be expected to make good decisions!
All they think of is how to get that next fix!
You know that your child is still in there, somewhere!
The child that has so much compassion, many dreams and wishes.
You remember the little arms around your neck.
“Mom, I love you!”
The hand full of dandelion heads he gave you with shining eyes.
“ I picked them for you.”
Many still have the belief that addiction is just willfull action.
“They can stop any time they want”
NOT so! It is an illness! Yes, you have to experiment with drugs to get it,
But they don’t choose to be addicted.
The DRUG is stealing their life, is taking your child!
All you can do is pray and wish and suffer…God help us!
Bridget Aubrey
PEDDLING HOPE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a small pill, solace in a blister pack
legally dispensed by a white coat
promises relief, a cure, a return to normalcy,
a life unburdened from pain and disease.
the ache returns, however, louder and more insistent
another pill, then two
the dosage creeping like a vine.
a pressed white powder, a crystal shard
illegally peddled in a dark alley
promises escape, temporary reprieve, abnormality,
a life numbed from pain.
the craving returns, however, the gnawing need
the body screams,
desperately clawing for the next fix.
addiction cares not about legality~
the hungry monster gnaws the same
whether fed by doctor’s script or dealer’s promise.
Big Pharma, a sanitized name
cartels in suits and white lab coats
pushing their product with glossy ads.
the cartel’s hand, a brutal fist
deals death blows and ruin,
pushing their product in seedy places and backstreet alleys.
one wears a suit, funds politicians,
smiles on commercials, promises relief from disease.
the other whispers in shadows
creates transactions based on desperation and fear.
Big Pharma’s towers gleam, untouchable
built on prescriptions, on the fine print no one reads.
cartels hide, their dens and caves obscured
built on blood, dead bodies, and broken dreams.
how many lives line the pockets of pharmaceutical giants,
legal drug pushers in suits peddling hope in blister packs?
how many lives line the pockets of backstreet cartels,
illegal drug pushers in hoodies peddling hope in powder?
Wait! don’t tell me about regulations, about quality control
when the end result is the same:
bodies chained; minds enslaved
lives bartered for fleeting highs and ephemeral repose.
A metal desk, dog-eared books, peeling shelves,
a teaching job I took in spite of myself.
Desperation. No time to think, just sign and go
across the state, no chance to know.
What waited there: dust, barren land, and desert heat~
Ninth graders entered with eager smiles and respectful feet.
Their nods so quick, their hungry eyes so bright
masked a language gap and a wall of fright.
August heat burned like molten brass; the A/C died~
we fled outside for relief in the desert wide.
Across the desert three dust storms spun like signs of death
El Diablo trae mala suerte! they shouted in horrified breath.
They spoke in a language I didn’t understand~
Oh dear! Their English vocabulary I must expand.
Not books, not curriculum~I’d have to take a stand.
I’ll use comic books! became my secret, unconventional plan
Seventh-grade books replaced the rest;
my students gave their all, their very best.
The risks were high, the stakes bold and clear,
but desperation sharpened my goals, sincere.
My students learned; their English skills grew
from stumbling words to sentences true.
You may find the memoir vignette I wrote about this event by going to: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/la_profesora_de_ingles__13610
In all things, give thanks.
Surrounded,
overwhelmed by disassociating depression,
learn gratitude.
Gratitude, a sacred noun,
positive attitude, a secular verb phrase.
Depression and gratitude,
depressed impress.
Impossibly essential
potential.
Suppression and hope.
Hope in and through
blind and deaf as faith,
senseless passion dispowering position
over doubling down negative consequences
co-arising dissonant experience
with resonant resolutions.
Repressing naked clarity,
dualdark yet light-squared
and cubed
in fractal dialects
of holy, trauma,
sacred enslavement,
immortal despair.
Desecrated Earth
by commodified inhumanity,
capitalized corporate stricture,
giving thanks
for dawn's promised dusk.
Within,
above,
below all,
giving thanks without receiving praise,
re-acclimating gratitude,
humbling attitude.
Great commissions,
emissions,
omissions;
elevating attitudes
descending through our past.
Elevators rise to fall to rise
within great and small
freedoms of commission.
Paradise fulfills embryonic passion
as pleasure grows roots in healthcare faith
emerging from fragile hope,
contagious absence of distrust's despair.
Desperation limns failed aspirations
lacking pathological denial,
returning Earth's holistic trust
with humanity's mistrust,
light squared lust
disturbing dualistic darkness.
Energy's massive capital,
our degenerating god
of depressing idolatry.
Craven subsidies
defy investments in future health
of divestments from past pathologies.
Information capitalizes derivatives of energy,
as exformation departs from pregnant entropy.
Great commissions
of gratifying robust relationships
grow from small omissions
of history's dissonant mistrust.
In all trusted passions
and distrusted pains,
give thanks.