Long Disaffection Poems
Long Disaffection Poems. Below are the most popular long Disaffection by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Disaffection poems by poem length and keyword.
We celebrate Guy Fawkes although he did not quite make the grade
I know and understand rebellion threatens thus he met his fate
Could have been worse he could have blown of his incendiary hand
Less body parts to torture in the name of country and King of the land
Guido as they called him fighting for the Spanish before his foiled plot
Was fully aware that he could be exterminated for an unsavoury complot
Can violence in the name of debatable justice be ever condoned
The masters of power today might agree when Syria is droned
Crusades in the name of some cause or other belie religion and creed
When money meets oil geopolitical persuasion derived from greed
Black powder in Guy’s case blew up in his fierce revolutionary face
Unlike Nelson an eye for a blind spot got him nothing but disgrace
Dark power gloved fists velvet resolutions and orange insurrections
Should of course release white peace doves from resolute minds’ disaffection
Nena’s 99 red balloons and Banksy’s street art reveal a powerful message
No doubt they beat anthrax in envelops and letter bombs sent by expressage
Yet Mandela in his armed struggle days was deemed a vile terrorist
Fought for the cause in despair but was labelled a mean criminal errorist
Suppose that leaves us with religion and Jesus crossed bleeding nailed
Whereas Guy stored explosives in Westminster’s undercroft with little avail
A white robed Ghandi marched for salt freedom justice peaceful opposition
Before him the Buddha sat quietly under a Bodhi tree for untroubled transition
Fawkes received victor’s punishment but is said to have fallen from the scaffold
Before being hanged broke his neck probably mocked the crowd that was baffled
Avoided the agony of the punitive rope before drawn and divided into four parts
Outsmarted the executioner retribution erratically broken in fits and starts
Few of us know the real story only shoot fireworks remember November the 5th
Blow money miss the pith dispense judgement in blessed ignorance forthwith
A lesson to be learnt from the historical legend some possible moral from treason
Is that words are superior to gun powder and it’s better to die for a right reason
My soul's eyes look upon the past,
and see hers meet mine for the first time;
I watch as our love's die is cast,
as the bells signaling our fates chime.
I watch as the fires within us ignite,
as everything we will be finds its beginnings;
this love at first sight burns ever so bright,
making our hearts rejoice at their lofty winnings.
I watch every passionate, yet tender
moment flow by, again kindling my emotions;
to her, I watch myself surrender,
diving into her love's boundless oceans.
I watch as we smile,
as we laugh and love.
We were convinced this would last awhile;
that this was ordained far above.
Then, we foundered, led ourselves astray;
her passion whisked away as if by a thief.
At this, I strive to look away,
to turn my gaze from this pain and grief.
But no man can shy away from the truth
of what he had and what he's lost.
He must forever contend with the mistakes of youth,
tears shed in vain and pain his cost.
Therefore I watch as the embers die,
as she turns away, headed for that door.
I watch as what I thought would be our life goes awry;
as we fade away, becoming no more.
I watch as she sheds
herself of what we were, gives up on me;
I watch as she tears into shreds
the heart I gave to her, and scatters the debris.
At length, after much introspection
I begin to wonder and muse;
if I had a chance to go back and make a correction,
what would I do to prevent these blues?
Would I try to discover the source
of her disaffection and our loss;
or would I simply plot a new course
from the start, never letting our stars cross?
They say that it's better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all;
but my disconsolate heart thinks that this has glossed
over the true depth of a spent heart's fall.
The beaten, weary soul knows not whether to pay heed
to the maxims of those dead and gone;
knows not whether to concede
that there might indeed someday be a new dawn.
At long last I reach the end of this vision,
the tragic finale of this bittersweet reverie.
The sad reality settles on me, of our division;
no greater agony exists in my memory.
Today wasn’t a good morning at all for Hassan,
a victual merchant in Baghdad
Thirty four customers got killed by a suicide bomb
A jihadist Arab wearing an explosive vest,
proclaiming to be fighting against the west,
ended up only murdering his own people
The sun rising on the eastern horizon
cast a bloody pale
Screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Ambulance sirens blaring ... death is a hard item to sell
Innocent people shopping for meat, dairy, nuts and fruit,
in a tragic transaction bought the farm
The sign outside the market said half-off,
it didn’t mean exiting with half a leg or one arm
Somehow, Hassan in dust-covered anger survived
He was one of the fortunate few to make it out alive
with every body part intact, except his calm Iraqi mind;
it keeps expanding and contracting
in violent, kinetic convulsions a million times
from such a vile, humanitarian crime
Anxiety fruit flies hover over unsold crates of apricots,
seething vengeance
ferments the not bought bottles of apple vinegar
Mass killing is always bad for business —
a lot of potential repeat customers will only
come to the open air stalls one time
Nobody wants to buy ripe pomegranates, fresh goat milk
and vintage premature dying
Terrorism is bad for consumerism,
fanatical death wish ain’t good for the merchant gift registry
Not when buying a bouquet of flowers becomes a morgue delivery
Suicidal shrapnel kisses don’t welcome tourism,
foreigners eschew dying on vacation ... death ain’t an easy item to sell
Prayer vigil purchases of screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Hassan says business has been bad
ever since that fatal, holiday dawn mourn
Only rueful disaffection comes
with the bagging of the cabbage and corn
Therein lies your beauty
testify to me no longer
of dandelions and daffodils
of butterflies and bumblebees
do not chant as crows
beyond sight scatter
then gather
in frigid naked trees
diseased with
discord
disaffection
malfeasance.
The recompense for
transgressions
lays waste to beauty’s cache
of finery
of magnificence
of splendor
do not disgorge sorrows
breathlessly
from your heaving chest
that conclave of muted
dreams vague and dreary
do not yearn
for lovely things
that
evade you
elude you
avoid you.
Talk then of
gnarled paths
overgrown with weeds
and thick brush
and rotting moss
sing soft melancholies
into indifferent airs
scatter
your tributes breathlessly
entreat this soul
to yearn ache desire
for hues of sustenance
those colors
those images
those portraits
of secret truth
lying in wait
for the impact
of despair
dismay
distress.
Therein lies your beauty
your truth
and your essence
yet do not brave
the chasm for
it is conquered
it is besieged
it is occupied
by forlorn sages
aching to know
what chance their hopes had
from casting dreams
and illusions
and secrets
undetected
into blackened pools
of wonder.
Even dread Beelzebub
hot with rage
blindly jealous
with furious hatred
ravenous for vengeance
who rose from putrid ashes
who rose from rancid death
who rose from deadly hell
fiercely intent on doom
is but feeble
and infirm
for scarcely could he
barely could he
set ablaze
reign terror
wreak havoc
on one tenth of
the thousand worlds
within this volatile
and eremitic imagination.
(click the pic for Angst & Anger)
Should the human tale
Become nothing more than a tear
Sorrow written quiet
In the dumb mouths of history
Grey within the sunlight
Dark inside the love
All proof to the conscience
We forgot
Where are we now in this grand future
When any child any where, dies of hunger
When medication controls the young
And sends it’s tendrils of disaffection into everyone
Should the human story, be written so
In entertainments celluloid war
Portrayed by the gangsters and bankster of bullet and blood
And marched upon the killing fields of propaganda
Is this us
Is this what we have become
To be governed and guided by the faceless
Bloated egos of wealth and greed
To be made ever less
And forced to live under their duress
Cowering now beneath our willing blindness
While the nameless skin tight skeletons
Beg us
For the mountains of food we store in supermarkets
We weep in the anguish of our souls, in silence
The truth carved among us
While we dedicate the boredom of our discontent
To the next phase of pressing entertainment
Should the human tale
Become nothing more than a tear
Sorrow written quiet
In the dumb mouths of history
We have become the weapons
And the finger trigger pull on them
For nothing more than mindless acquisition
To live in regret, this age of iron
To pass each day and each life
Burying the truth in an evidence of sand
We who lived
We who survived
Did so by the death, of our brother and sisters
In some far off and foreign land
Where out of sight
Became out of mind
I've lived and died for you a hundred times over-
slain in violence,
rebirthed in desire,
only to be cut down yet again.
You've killed me with sharpened sword
on Highland hilltop
underneath a shroud of fog to hide your guilt.
You destroyed me in lush fields of wheat
in a Spanish valley,
the sun burning blisters into my skin,
while you crushed me with your disdain.
I came to you on a shining vessel,
full mast,
over a blue-green sea,
only to be struck down by your winds of discontent,
smashing my constitution upon rocks of misery, drowned in waters of failure.
I once floated upon the breeze
in the form of a butterfly
and landed upon your flower
with your pistil my purpose,
just to see you wilt and shrivel at my very touch. With no home to protect me,
I was devoured by a beak of loneliness, regurgitated,
and consumed by its insatiable young.
I sang to you from a courtyard of white,
throwing stones at your castle window,
then witnessing your disgust at my very presence,
which caused my throat to spasm,
silencing my voice.
I died in the weight of the words not spoken, buried in the verbiage of your disaffection.
Yet, here I am again-
a bouquet of roses in one arm
and seeds with which to plant a tree of hope in the other.
Your resentment bears thorns,
and my arm bleeds for you.
The ground is barren and resisting,
thus, I diminish,
the wind whisking away the dust remains of my intentions.
Nevertheless, I shall return.
BLT
Supremacy permitted to carry out his work
greatly loved by heavenly beings
disaffection spirit, ripened into revolt
once again, get caution of the supremacy
thou refused to be cautioned
sophistry and fraud pioneer
hard to discern, genesis deceiver
supreme neither deceit nor flatter
that, he imbibed
apparently, waged dishonour was highly honoured
veering rectitudness cum fidelity
delve the frail of humanity
getting men similitude you
the thing himself, unmasked deceiver
why is thy path zigzager
manufacturer of sin and his clang
extirpate spirit of rebellion
modified the given tenet
against divine government
nature of sinful nurture
come on! you longing to rule?
yeah!
no obligation, rule the caliber of your sinful nature
forget not the allegiance of God's creature
rest upon a conviction of his justice
we are all acquainted where you will end
heavenly infernos
peerless you, with your clans
caliber of sinful nature
tainted sinister folks
ponder not, am not a stakeholder in your entity
not single I, but multiple dextral folks
solid rock I stand, not to be betake
prepare, zillions depart thy darkful cage
enter lightful space
... the hour has come to liberate the world!
divine inferno is thy ward
collectively citizenry crowd
greatest controversy ever seen
black snake under the black grass
Oh! death knell of yours was rung
Haaa! "it is finished"
ON HATRED
Acrimony is like a malignant tumour
Alienation confronts disaffection
Alienation takes the hand ill humour
Acrimony leads to separation.
Disloyalty commands anxiety
Love and animosity oppose
Disloyalty arises if one gaiety
Love does not presuppose.
Antagonism consumes impediment
Antipathy feeds on success
Antagonism creates contempt
Antipathy puts life in distress.
Contempt is an affair of intrepidity.
Dignity is the envy of distaste
Contempt lacks human dignity
Dignity is not displaced.
Pride is the envy failure.
Bitterness comes with jealousy.
Pride question behaviour
Bitterness sends one into loneliness.
Hate-filled with absolute horror.
Hostility turns people into monsters.
Hate waits cunningly around the corner
Hostility brand people imposters.
Ill will go straight from the south.
Loathing directly from the east
Ill will dominate in the north
Loathing deepest in the west.
Fighting against malice
Revenge is sweet sometimes
Fighting to eliminate prejudice
Revenge brings about crimes.
It is not time for revulsion,
The same goes for abomination
Again it is said to avoid repulsion
Immediately confront detestation.
Getting rid of abhorrence
Stay away from the hideousness
The heart fails by malevolence
The mind suffers from coldness.
Forever downtrodden by maliciousness
The tongue shall burn by spitefulness.
THE DIVIDING LINE OF FATHER AND SON
My son, my only son, my beautiful son
Where was that dividing line
that separated son from father, you from me?
And let an unwise imagination overwhelm our common sense
Do you still have a sense of the line?
between connection and disconnection of
my father’s love and your dissatisfaction?
The bane of continued filial disaffection
But necessary, I presume, for the son to grow and mature
reality embodies the will to live and be loved
but maybe not from an over protective father
especially if the father’s love is all consuming
Sometimes a father’s love chokes the son beyond gall
destroying the essence of a father’s intentions in the process
but such is life, the old philosopher says
life carries on but better without fatherly burdens on a son’s back
Life is elegant, generous and beautiful when embraced by a father’s love
as is sublime aweness of supreme spirituality
though irrational it’s difficult to define but you can sense the beauty of it
though hard to put your finger on
A sense of beauty in the love that can’t be explained
only lived to appreciate, to feel and needed to move forward
a forward thrust in the world to mature and perhaps gain wisdom
needed for posterity for fathers and sons to grow closer
Kind-hearted displays never was
part of her intrinsic, fashionable support view
Genuine concern often got the facial window dressing ...
Feelings dismissively expressed
with distant half-smiles of plastic disaffection
In sad times of other people’s tragedy,
the principal thing
was to show some synthetic sympathy
Walk into a somber room,
and with vacant, steely eyes
support the teary-cheek weak knees
Giving the smallest comfort measure of
a little false posing empathy
In someone else’s vulnerable moments of need,
her self-interest
was simply to deliver lip-service compassion usury
Talk like a mannequin ...
sealed lips don’t ever open up to share,
expressing minimal, wooden emotions over the telephone
Walk like a mannequin ...
confessing to be moved enough to care,
she only gives the slightest effort to help someone move on
Never wanting to get too involved personally,
or let the on-lookers see too deep intimately
Mannequin skin feelings,
possessing a harden body of plastic emotions
Synthetic thoughts hidden —
seen only on display,
when her exit doors of naked truth are closing