Long Discontent Poems
Long Discontent Poems. Below are the most popular long Discontent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Discontent poems by poem length and keyword.
when the sky breathes poetry
through sepia-streaked silence,
and the earth reclines, listening
to the music of weeping wisterias~
blowing in the pulse of bleeding paradise,
I swallow sizzling stars
within cloaked scars,
comfortably blanketed
in self-woven wounds.
while you, the prisoner of my past,
keep revisiting empty journals,
lacking crystalline colors of comfort.
as crimson are the lines
across pages of pain,
and rhymes left unwritten~
stretching through margins of misery,
like flowers blooming amidst rain,
like fireflies flickering neon dreams,
oblivious to the darkness
that tastes like delicate storms,
gusting with glistening grief,
undressing dusks shivering
in blazing frost…
O tulip trinkets,
echoing ballads of brokenness~
I ache to surf through crooning chaos
in serene seclusion,
away from the fickle wind and
unseen waves, tortured by
twisted tunes of twilight.
I’ve long been the voice of love,
unsaid, intoxicated on life’s
whimsical woes~
a ghost of a wilted rose,
robed in restless redolence,
befriending demons within,
as shadows too
abandoned the healing
chambers of angst,
reluctant to sway
to chamomile chimes
of euphoric gardens
where roots of ruins
are watered with tanzanite tears…
perhaps the moon
was never mine to keep.
and in this distant affair,
I sing sparks of sorrow
to the soul of salt-kissed sapphires,
wishing the world could comprehend~
how peace is neither a lily nor a bird,
but a weathered tree
stuck in the forsaken
sands of felicity,
an eloquent ambience
where I thrive
in bittersweet solitude…
remember me ~
when clouds veil saffron
of the sanguine sun
and the zephyr forgets my name,
I remain the mistress, dressed in
distressed diamonds,
not a seeker of superficial lies
glazed in greed and gold,
I trace trembling chakras of torrents
with ink and sighs,
exhaling lunar-dust,
like a maestro of yearning,
perfectly flawed and unrefined,
still healing ~
tied to the faded lips
of an
enlightened constellation…
Yesterday walked away with my heart
When I asked her to bring it back, she spoke
“not today, not while you can say – there is no way…
I’ll never go back to that hope that crashed,
beyond recognition… my reason for such discontent”
Yesterday walked away with my heart
And I won’t look back, despite what she wrote,
The story of me – loving even though I had thought
If I left love behind, I’d never risk recollecting,
I’d never see her again, that moment of affection…
Yesterday walked away with my heart
If I want to find it, I’ll need to walk back in time,
Remember the feelings, remember and all I’ll find
Is the story of two hearts who just weren’t designed
To love forever and always, to love like life depends on it….
Yesterday walked away with my heart
When I asked her to bring it back, she just told me,
You’ll have to go back, teach the past how to bless,
Make your way through the pain and sorrow,
See that love will follow, always follow, tomorrow….
Yesterday walked away with my heart
But she brought it back when I finally thought
If I change, if I take the blame, quiet the shame –
I can honestly say, this new love of mine
It won’t be the same – It won’t be the same!
I’ve learned and I’ve come to a place
Where love remembers
And love – who might break my heart
Is still a love that I’ll believe in
Because love is everything I’ve ever needed!
Yesterday speaks with trembling lips,
Blowing out the candles
making a silent wish…
keep hoping, keep believing, keep seeing
there is good, there is light, there is the most beautiful love!
The wheel of time makes
the head drag the mind
on the winding pathway
of the confused existence
amidst the rising dust
of the senile summer of discontent,
but the heart still breathes
the young spring air,
like a flower blooming
in the flushing meadow,
swaying in the sunburst colors of joy.
The threads of mind and heart,
seemingly untwinned render
the entities of dualism discernable
in the intricate lattice of
the shrouding shade and the luring light,
weaving the tapestry of life
into seamless paired wholeness,
caught in the conflict of
twin attributes seemingly unaligned,
but harmonious in dichotomy
like the sparkle of joy afloat
on the rolling drops of tear.
Let the fulfilled life see
the setting sun sink serene
through the chromatic lens
of the crystalline mind,
the ecstatic heart aligned
will absorb the last spectrum of harmony,
the gleaming bliss will then suffuse
the sanctum of soul in the twilight hour.
___________________
Written March 14, 2021
September 7, 2021
Constance La France's Contest : "H"Contest New Or Old Poems
Dismay
I heard a splendid, discontent grumbling
And the cries never scaring
The tittering trepidation taunting
I channel not my displeasure my hurts and pain yet I remain DISMAY
Suddenly, I heard some retching
The flaunting and the fetching
My mind always strays to yells
Of the confusion's that is stretching my blood spills
I channel not my displeasure my hurts and pain yet I remain DISMAY
I crave the cree, complainant cry
I oft, guess I died
So do warn me about the fury
Life's is in no hurry...
I channel not my displeasure my hurts and pain yet I remain DISMAY
And its eyes have all the booing
Death shall bring howls demons chewing
The crouches came cooing
And the retch was wooing
Roaches in their aftermath yet still alive
After the atomic blast
I am shore of my doing, in doing
Death shall bring howls demons reaching and booing
I channel not my displeasure my hurts and pain yet I remain DISMAY
11/25/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
propagated and plunged,
into the depths of misery.
every muscle aches in cogitation.
a level playing field,
with missing bones.
a war hero composed
upon the compost of humanity.
eyes closed in memory,
vigor still agitated in extremities,
philosophy carved out of stone.
massive ripples and torment
cry out,
“Is anyone out there? Does God exist”
the eyelids heavy, shaded - umbrella-like,
the pavilion, warblind warrior, forgets
all the kindness and love of country.
mankind looks at him and frets.
a frozen neanderthal, a gypsy
amidst the city traffic - he’s no longer home
in this body cast.
his toes wriggle free, decomposed.
the young looks up at him, wrinkles the nose.
but the image, like a photograph remains
in the mind, a harbor of discontent
and a young man or woman must choose
to ponder every inch or plummet the thought
off a cliff, without realizing they are holding
on with an iron grip, to rinse and repeat
the horror,
with war, hate and the torticollis of love.
2/9/2018
we bob in high seas
of discontent
like Melville's atonement voyage
we ask ourselves if waves we breach
can ever be tamed in time
for women like you and men like me, Ahab and Ishmael are we
is there time to save this world?
the ending we know is clear
we've seen it all before you sailed
man's greed has turned to fear
there's one last chance we dare to take
before the end is near
cast myopic spectacles
from hedonistic face...... join in the last
true worthy cruise
to
save
the
human
race
Come walk with me
as I taste the field of our love
full of sweet incandescent blue's
the subtle darkness of our fights
Love is like the rose both bitter sweet
the thorns of love bite deep
on the winter fields of discontent
with sadness do I taste the bitter nights
Yet how sweet is our love
how tender the caress of the morning air
how sweet is our embrace
the morning's shifting warmth
To say I love you
a simple word that carry's the weight of the world
a word the has brought city's to their knees
a word that has carried people to the ends of the earth
continents and mountains are no barrier
love each day brings life to the living
light to the darkness of life
igniting the soul, creating the wings
My valentine
I embrace your soul with my love
I embrace your heart with my compassion
I embrace your love with my warmth
I embrace your life with my desire
Dedicated to my valentine
There’s a part of me that say’s I’m jealous
Another thinks my golfing friends just zealous,
Whilst I crave fresh air and healthy motion
They’re busy slathering on the lotion
Before they mount some little cart
That with intent they simply point to dart
At breakneck speed from hole to hole
The putting of that little ball the goal.
Then there’s the clubs, that myriad bunch
The choice of which for them the crunch,
To make the shot or fail once more
Blaming each for that bad score.
Tortured, ruffled, discontent,
They soon repair to that drinks tent
To then replay the whole long game
Masterful excuses quickly turning lame.
But here’s the crunch and my dilemma
The doubt that heightens my antenna,
What are they hiding, sharing not a bit
Of why such torture never makes them quit,
Instead they plan and scheme each waking hour
For that free day the calendar they scour,
When they once more may hold that special club
With surging will some dainty green to stub.
Utopian concept
No crime and punishment
For once stance becomes correct
Love divine remains as the sole sentiment
Yet the scriptures speak of both heaven and hell
Limiting enableabilities of entities who have strayed
Consigning them to darkness for eons as their fear swells
Our heart rejects narrowness where compassion is betrayed
Love that exalted divine sublime vibration that has no opposite
Employing no force, gently steering all hearts into the light
A singularity wherein separation becomes composite
Transmuting misdirected souls to do what is right
Discontent thus with the fundamentalistic view
We look in within for blissful joy perfect
Focusing on love to renew
Utopian concept
26-May-2021
Assassin
A hooded figure watches over the sleeping.
Peacefully, suddenly colder, soon to be weeping;
A body of a thousand slumbers.
Tonight will be its final number,
For without sound or any sign of remorse,
Death has come, and in due course,
The time will come when the sleeper breathes no more.
The clock has not yet struck midnight.
Witches are waking their feral beasts and al-
So, their frogs are leaping,
And all the while he lays there sleeping.
His silk pajamas and knitted blankets.
The bottle he was given, he slowly drank it,
And now through snores, he hears no more,
The open door downstairs where footsteps call.
If only he could hear them passing,
Maybe he could somehow foresee the morning happenings,
But this is not a happy ending tale.
This is a time for woe; a rose upon a grail.
A dearly departed letter of discontent.
A scarlet rose has been placed upon his deathbed.
As the clock strikes, a metaphorical piercing knife.
The depths to which some men will delve,
And all in aid of a silent war.
A change in fortune for another who did not fall.
For this assassin was bought and he sold,
His service to another victim old.
For as he stood above his prey,
A bag of monies did come his way,
And with no word, a swift hand grabbed,
The jewels inside the felt covered bag.
All that needed to be said:
“It is not yet my time; send your services back instead.”
Now riches bulged from spoils of war.
The hooded figure waited until he could wait no more,
And on the chime of the seventh call,
The end appeared, a discovery made, the snorer was no more.
Only silence, through such violence.
The hooded figure was never seen again,
But the world had swiftly and suddenly changed.
His services would surely once again be called upon,
Lest his deeds become ineffectual and his tale too soon forgotten.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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