Long Despise Poems
Long Despise Poems. Below are the most popular long Despise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Despise poems by poem length and keyword.
Bright yellow sun, a stroke of noon’s delight.
Ice cold, red hot, a ravished tongue of spurs.
In moonlight serenade she scales the roof.
The darkling wine on lips — a sparkling feast.
Her rhizomic heart drum, in mystic beats.
The beast detests the prince of pomposity.
Cracked branches fall with weight from snow and ice
and eyes despise the madman’s gaze, above.
Her soft-hued dress resembles candlelight
And leave a stain, a heart in pain – yes, both.
(1)Blushing Daisies
(2) Ice Cold Red Hot
(3) Crumpled Sheets
(4)The Bellydance
(5) Bloodroot
(6) The Prince of Pomposity
(7) Weathered
(8) Death Overrules All Judgments Her on Earth
(9) Pretty Harvest
(10) Shooting Blanks
I just dress
totally
in spirit ...
I never assume
any clothes
i wear ...
I never realize myself
as clothing,
for me i feel as
if I was naked,
which is the best
clothing ...
I don't despise the cold,
but no clothes
I miss ... since
that I am
comfortable, any
shirt wears me ...
Some clothes lead me
cold, I feel sick inside:
Outfit, coattail tuxedo,
ceremonial clothes, do not
have consideration, they disdain
of my short shirts ...
I actually wish I was
able to alter skin
the way some animals,
do
changing colors naturally ...
It would match
most in fashion with me
since I'm not just me,
I am several ...!
I try no, I’m sure I do. Or maybe…
With the whole weight of my being,
I try to enjoy the present.
I stretch each minute wide enough to step inside, to sit a while not merely pass through.
This existence with intention, this awareness I otherwise tuck away,
as if noticing the fine grains of now could slow their fall,
could hold off the blur of becoming memory.
Some mornings, the light lands just right,
casting water like shadows over old wood at the edge of the table.
And I tell myself, This is it. This is what it means to be alive.
Even as the thought folds into the next, and the next.
I fall back into another dream.
They say if you dream at dusk, it comes true but what of those for whom I grind my sweat and bones.
The alarm rings.
I slither from bed into a dress they call civil,
when I could be wearing colour, prints, feathers, joy.
I chug tea, the drink I despise the most,
because it forces the present into clarity,
waking me against my will.
I walk slower now.
Not from weariness, but hope
that dragging my feet through time might leave deeper footprints,
might anchor me to something more enduring than memory,
more honest than photographs.
A child with a balloon: a bright red spot in the dew dim dawn,
it slips from her fingers, and with it, her spark.
Still, no matter how I linger, how I pause,
how I hold my breath and try to feel it all,
the scent of this morning’s tea on my fingers,
the hum of distant traffic,
the sudden ache of a name I haven’t said in weeks,
the moment slips away.
Indifferent.
Dissolving into the forward pull of time.
Because the present does not wait for poetry.
It does not care for attention.
It flares and fades, flickers and dies,
and I’m left chasing its smoke with open hands.
And tomorrow unapologetic, unbending, rises like a tide I cannot reason with.
It looms behind every joy, every pause, every fragile instant I try to claim as mine.
It does not ask if I’m ready.
It does not soften.
It arrives regardless
often, as dreams vanish in its wake.
Friends, animals humanize us,
Whether it’s the fearful doe or the wise doe,
Fleeing from our presence, our wickedness,
May it be the fox, smarter than a star?
May it be the scorpion, which makes us fear death,
Whether it’s the monkey, mocking our laughter,
Friends, animals humanize us
Whether it’s the white, red cow,
Offering us her milk, butter and our cheeses,
Let it be the horse, raised by our gifts,
This horse, which walks us on the beaches,
Or the eagle that shows us how to fly,
Friends, animals humanize us, yes,
The lion, despise all our arrogance,
The elephant is much wiser than our philosophers
Lizards teach us to nap,
The ladybug speaks of God,
The cat distrusts our reasonable voices.
Friends, animals have many powers,
To show us our wrongful or unjust deeds,
They reveal our deepest wounds,
Friends, animals humanize us,
Let us frequent them modestly, beware of appearances,
They know us, they run away with reason.
it is strange to me that a color means something
by itself, it elicits memories and experiences
orange is my go-to color, not blue or pink
yet did they dress me in orange when I was a baby?
in the fifties? I rather doubt it.
Actually, most of the photos of me as a baby
show me in a diaper and nothing else
and there are lots of them.
When I think blue I think neither boy or girl
I think, sky, the eyes of one of my children and the sea
blue is a color I always reach for when I am painting
for I despise a white background
I have painted more skies and seas than most
Probably fifteen hundred skies and seas
color is important to me;
I would not want to live in a world without it
But I could never assign one color to either sex.
Or all boys or all girls
Since no two children are the same.
June 6th 1944
An Armada masses at Europe's door
Five sector landings, 160,000 troops
On the following beaches, our hero's would swoop
Utah, Omaha, Juno, Sword and Gold
Allow me to write, as my story unfolds
We, 50th Northumbrian Infantry
To repatriate Europe's lost countries
The Devonshire, Hampshire regiments but two
The Allied might in this incredible feud
Beach landing storm, between Le Hamel - Ver sur Mer
Sectors Item, Jig and King
Is where the 79th Armoured would sing
Beachhead established, Mulberry harbour plan
Reaching Bayeux, cut the road to Caen
East we will go, meet with the Canadian troops
Juno Beach they landed in their infantry groups
King sector assault, casualties high
Our tanks now landed, their shells fly
Enemy positions pounded
Men of both die
Jig sector assault, Le Hamel fell
Village by village, only time will tell
Creully and Crepon reached and taken
Forsaken
Item sector, commando strong
Harbour to take, enemy thrawn
Important target, supplies to land
Eventual demise of this German stand
From this landing, our masses advanced
Through deadened lands, i never glanced
To absorb the sights that i witnessed there
To look ahead, no stop no stare
As i sit at home and close my eyes
Not knowing whether to despise
Being in the middle of carnage hell
Our Hero's fell, but I'm here to tell
" Dedicated to Stanley Elton Hollis - the one and only recipient
of the Victoria Cross on D-Day June 6th 1944, but they are all hero's "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
I've been good to you and I let you live in my house rent free.
You did something even though you knew it would anger me.
You've really ticked me off because of what you did today.
You came in my house with episodes of the new Doctor Who on Blu-Ray.
You know that the New Doctor Who show is something I hate.
You don't even like science fiction, you did it just to aggravate.
You're going to take it back to FYE and return it.
And if you don't, I'll take it outside and burn it.
I let you live here for free and I even pay for your food.
I told you from the start that I despise the new Doctor Who.
You knew how much I loathe that television show, you're a trouble making louse.
Return it or I'll burn it and if you do it again, you can get the hell out of my house!
Joe Biden now rules our White House
Together with his 'doctor' spouse.
His blunders, for sure-
We have to endure;
To caring, he does not espouse.
Those mishaps, like names he misspoke-
For sure, were not meant as a joke.
But much worse by far
His failures that scar-
Appeasing the will of the woke'!
Day-one, he shut down the pipeline-
made our oil production decline.
Gas prices- despise!
While heating bills rise!
We now must import and consign!
Appalling- how he shut that door
To exit the long Afghan war!
Left our troops behind-
Their rescue declined
In spite of their sacrifice bore!
Our vast Southern border, exposed-
All previous rules- he opposed.
He let millions in
And, to our chagrin-
Come outlaws and drugs- unopposed!
Bad crimes multiply by the day;
The victims now feel cast away.
With no fines or bail,
Or time spent in jail-
No need that bad guys must obey!
Inflation's gone way off the chart;
We dread the time spent at the mart.
Less food we now choose
For his brainless ruse-
Just printing out money's not smart!
And, last but not least, Hunter's life!
This son and his dad cause us strife.
With Chinese, each deals-
While 'The Big Guy' steals;
Through quid pro quo- they become rife!
Our media hypes left-wing views-
So, therefore, presenting fake news;
When really, they should
Show bad with the good;
Lay out all the facts to peruse!
November 25, 2022
Contest: The Bidens Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
No words can describe what you do to me
You inject in me some sort of venom-like sweetness
Mind and body erase
Making room for feeling and admiration
On my side of thought, you merely despise me
You leave me in melancholy wonder
Melting me like a candle, I become so low
And burn all the more!
Because this wax in me is lathered in your substance
Sometimes I wonder if you are made of venom at all
Sometimes I bring myself to believe. . .
That you are sweet. . .
And you want me to enjoy it
Why I suffer so profusely I cannot tell
Why I allow myself to believe
That I may love you
Only toughens my doubt of a shell
Perhaps I never loved you
Or perhaps I do more and more everyday
And the shell grows all the more fragile
I am low as can be in this room
This dreary, candlelit fantasy involving you
I age in a young body
Trapped in ancient pain
Wrapped in insipid, typical emotion
Bludgeoned with irrefutable doubt
Your very few words burn me
Melting me into nothing. . .
But when I am finally blown out
I have no choice but to harden
Sometimes I return tall
Other times I remain small
I wonder which one you prefer
Someone who once loved me dearly
Now despises me.
In such small things are paved the roads to hell.
A turning away from grace.
A tail-spinning stumble down the stairs,
Hitting my head on my lofty ideals
On my mistaken belief in cloud formations.
The death of romance sheds the most morbid shade of grey.
The diminishment of beauty.
The banal stretched over the profound makes a tight drum.
To beat ourselves with.
To the rhythm of the degradation of good true love between a man and a woman.
Nothing works the way it should.
Nothing works out except for death.
My heart has begun beating backwards,
An awkward, syncopated dance of the soul backing into oblivion.
Still unaware that the absence of pain is yet another symptom of impending death.
I am lost within my own mausoleum.
My hoof-steps clopping against the hard marble floor
In between the torn parts of my heart lying strewn about;
Unburied memories of the deepest wounds.
My heart is broken by the shards of paranoia
that spin from a fragile mind.
My curses are my memories distilled from the deepest wells of regret.
Time is but a dancer
But a spinning dancer; nonetheless.
Across a floor of tilting emotions
By which we measure so adamantly our sense of inner self.
I am not my monsters.
But I am the pain that they inflict.
Now falling like rain
On those that I love and those who now despise me.