Long Discomforting Poems
Long Discomforting Poems. Below are the most popular long Discomforting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Discomforting poems by poem length and keyword.
Forward Motion
I have discovered
that there are two sides to myself:
one side good and the other bad,
with each contradicting the other
as to which way to proceed in life.
I straddle a split in the path
and face my dilemma.
The bad side favours the way
that is inviting and more enjoyable to weather,
while the good side tilts to the lane
that looks discomforting and, for certain,
less rewarding to follow with its arteries.
And so I struggle in the middle of the road,
which seems to go on forever,
and must decide which avenue to endeavour
with its subsequent consequences.
Which direction is right; which is wrong?
Voices compel me after the fact
to question my judgment
and to go back and rethink my decision,
but that is impossible.
Life is a forward motion,
and the past is just that, the past.
And the future! Avoid making the same errors.
—Life consists of learning curves.
As I grow older and hope diminishes,
I come to terms by accepting the facts
that my presence on this earth is not virtuous
nor overly ambitious and constructive.
Otherwise, I can pretend that I am Teflon:
no pain, indifferent, confident, like Rodin’s sculpture,
a piece of rock that exists—stagnant.
When I look at you,
I do not look at you with my eyes
For your beauty is as bright as the noon day sun
And burns these feeble eyes.
My eyes are for seeing the vile unclean discomforting things of this world.
No love, my eyes are not worthy of looking at your beauty
Your beauty is heavy, it is sharp, it is pure.
Your beauty pierces through my eyes to my inner being
Your beauty makes my heart melt in my blood
Your beauty awakens my soul to whirl in me like a tornado.
And for a moment,
my mind drifts away to another world-
a wonderland.
Your beauty is to be equaled with the angels
For your beauty is divine.
So forgive me when I stare
For your beauty looks into my eyes
and opens in my dark world
the light of the sun.
I've missed watching most clouds floating past
during this life,
probably better as a spectator sport
than an insider's game.
I've missed most summer-floating ferries
accessible in my love times of life.
Usually watching from the shore,
passed by to wonder how it would feel
to see and smell and taste more
of exotic destinies and erotic times
Tropical paradise
thick jungles and majestic ranges
crystal mountains of ice
feeding hungry oceanic eyes of other visitors
on this spinning miracle of life.
Perhaps in my next love-life
I will become a more resonant remediating ferry
bringing those who say Yes!
to ancient plateaus of earthquake riding
discomforting delight.
They doubted her, once again
Interrogating whether eyes are the most loyal creation alive?
Or it's just the exaggeration to bring the dead to life
A bit puzzled & hustled she became this time,
Asserting the question isn't from the wise!
"Considering the fact, it's easy to die than to survive
It's easy to wait than to arrive
It's easy to dive than to strive
Easy is the comfort from which deprived are those eyes
Easy is the lie, which can never give truth, a rise
Easy is the question being asked twice
What isn't easy is being loyal without any lies
Discomforting is to be like those eyes
Still, in a hope of debate winning prize?
Deceptive could be the whole world, but not those eyes!
Dare not to ask this question again, dear Unwise!
like a hinge of an old door
rusty and lacking of midnight oil
I am left speechless
unable to decipher the writing on the wall
it wails accuses belittles
mocks groans teases and admonishes
from cracks unable to hold its grout
where a couple of stones
have become loose
it is not an easy patch up work
bricks crumble under
a pick axe blunt and far too short
to keep longing at bay
but I wonder whether
there is a secret treasure
a message
pot of gold
old newspaper
an old marble lost
hidden behind my partition
with the world myself
and the past present delusion
that everything must be okay
a church bell distracts from agony
the cemetery must be a cold place
some graves are overgrown by moss
others too immaculate
not to scream out in numb pain
I can’t stop sad music playing in my head
too many voices opinions and judgement
a discomforting concert of sorrow
and a gramophone record hurt
by a needle unable to move forward
the clock strikes again and once more
endless reverberations of throbbing exertion
vibrations of torment and misunderstandings
and yet I can do this and my last thought
before overdue slumber
is that there is energy in the Universe
and sometimes it passes through me
that is when the silent scream
becomes a loud whisper
and shrieks become music
24th November 2022
contest pick a title volume 33
sponsor Edvard Ibeh
Time surfs over one page after another.
I wonder about the interludes,
the growth or decline of lesser or greater.
A few pages
stand out, creating pinnacles of inspiration,
that rise far beyond the print.
Other poems are workmanlike,
the tools are all there,
hands can be seen delving into unknown territory,
yet stopping just short of any new frontier.
The best are alien, strange, discomforting,
distressingly real,
they arrive with laser sharp pickaxes.
Then of course, there are
those rarified nuts and bolts
all poets must reshape into the stubborn word,
the perfect symbols of imperfection.
Today a white dove flew across a dimming sun.
As it gently descends below the horizon
I gazed down below from my Apartment.
And I see people up and about their businesses.
Only a few months earlier,
The space below my apartment was empty, no voices, no cheers.
An ultra-thin piece of non-living matter
Shut the world down, without weapons-
No guns, no bombs not even arrows
Yet the world stood still.
A reality that was neither phony nor funny!
And suddenly, gone were the days when we could sit across each other at work.
Or share a cold beer at the pub, or travel at will.
Our lives became regimented, we sit in front of computers all day.
And connect across continents at the click of a button.
We suddenly learnt to adapt to a new world order-
Virtual, eerie yet calm but somewhat discomforting
Masterminded and dictated to us by an ultra-thin piece of non-living matter!
It is now over 365 days since the virus tried to shut us down.
Many lives have been loss, families mourning.
National economies have suffered with damming consequences for the citizenry.
Yet the world remained resilient, like the great rock of Gibraltar.
We may have buckled but we stood tall, united and strong.
From the United Kingdom to Nigeria
Across the Americas, down to the Zulu Kingdom of Southern Africa
We stayed strong and stable.
And fought for our freedom!
And I can see that freedom is close.
Even though the ultra-thin piece of non-living matter continues to-
Raise its ugly head across different regions on our planet.
But resilient we are, and we will continue to be!
So, today, as I gazed down below from my Apartment.
And I saw people up and about their businesses.
I knew for sure- we would all smile together again.
From a place of love, peace, contentment and most of all victory
Against an invisible enemy that threatened our entire existence
Hopefully, we would have learned the lessons and be battle ready for future invasions!!!
Behold the abominable annals of the Storm domicile,
A living, groaning edifice of lumber and bureaucratic despair—
Where Allen Storm, the paternal prodigal of procedural pedantry,
Treads upon its creaking floors with the rigor of a misfiled memo,
And Betty Storm, matron of mundane mismanagement,
Douses its sentient walls with detergents of dire discontent,
While young Charles Storm, a cherubic herald of domestic disarray,
Lobs rancid vegetables at its trembling windows in a fit of unreason.
O disconsolate domicile, thou art no mere inert structure,
But a quivering, sulking house of living, loathsome lament—
Its beams and banisters pulse with the bureaucratic heartbeat of neglected archives,
And from its secret cellar, a staccato drip of mislaid paperwork emerges,
Each drop a damning note in the dissonant dirge of decay,
A relentless reminder of a dwelling abused by its custodians.
In a most uncouth and disquieting retort,
The living house retaliates with vile vibratos of revolt:
Its walls emit a stifled, staccato sigh of overripe despair,
As doors creak open like the groaning lament of discarded forms,
And corridors exude a miasma of forgotten memos and administrative regret,
So that the very air around it becomes thick with repugnant, repressed bureaucracy—
A spectacle so discomforting that even the sturdiest sensibilities recoil
In revulsion at the unholy union of living architecture and domestic abuse.
Thus, in the annals of the universe where Vogon verse is vile and void,
The Storm family's treatment of their sentient, suffering house
Breeds an unutterable and visceral reaction in the heart of any unfortunate listener,
A poetic penance of pulsating pain and perturbed paper trails,
That leaves one pondering in nauseous wonder the tragic farce
Of a house that lives—and dies—under the oppressive hand of the Storms.
CoArise each remembered
and imagined moment.
CoArise each bilateral inhaled
and exhaled breath.
CoArise each bicamerally conscious heart's light
and dark desire.
CoArise each win/lose work
and win/win play agenda.
CoArise each transactional commission
and transparent omission.
CoArise each binomial relationship
of positive value
with negative disvalue.
CoArise each eco-nomial
binomial.
CoArise each language comforting meme,
each silent
lusty
discomforting scream.
CoArise each impassioned mind paradigm
and compassioned body pleasure.
CoArise each neurosystemic individual
and biosystemic species.
CoArise each national Cooperating Space
within sacred EarthPlace.
CoArise EcoCitizens
of SunFather enlightenment
and MotherEarth empowerment!
CoOperate this CoArise;
cooperative systems form co-aroused
home again ReGenesis.
Glutted left-brain information media
actively hope to understand
Why does emotional intelligence
speak to egocentric concerns
of mortality and discomforting toxic defeat,
loss and difficult win/lose everyday choices
in a calming voice for unself-conscious contentment?
What is this ZeroSoul content of contentment
to feel we are right
sentient full beings
here co-present
within eternal now relationships of compassion
affiliating on this Earth
in our co-passioning interdependent webs
of health co-operative
wealthy co-investment?
Without mortal loss,
suffering;
Without unwanted walls between us
and them.
Why does emotional unintelligence
speak too loudly
intolerantly
of Earth-UnCentered constant concerns
of inhumane immortal overpowers
and toxic LoseHealth/LoseWealth
RightWing left-brain dominant choices
in cacophonous dissonant voices
claiming no rights to contentedly prefer
healthier multicultures
of win/win emotional intelligence?