Long Discordance Poems
Long Discordance Poems. Below are the most popular long Discordance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Discordance poems by poem length and keyword.
When the world was youthful
spiderwebs sang as they were spun.
Language was woven in the air
as accents of winds and trees
conveyed by an eloquent sky.
Untrammeled meadows annunciated
upon the lips of dens and burrows
scooped by shrew, mole, and vole.
Fresh bathed daisies signed a speech
as they swayed,
buttercups birthed calligraphy’s of sunlight.
Giddy rills gave voice to fritillaries
that flew to the sun or moon.
Words were idioms painted upon
the melodious leafage
of the up-risen and rising.
Then that shaggy brat
the primordial ape it grunted forth,
translating its gripey gut
through the clack of a creaky tongue.
Guttural and gregarious
it learned to babble and
belch an oral discordance.
It yapped and yawped,
yawped and yapped
until a spoken language
verbosely pivoted to prolix
polluting the very airy air.
Then it was
that a nascent poet boldly stood
rhyming would with could
until even the dumbest of his tribe
understood
and cheered him fit to bust
while the green grown world
with all its idiomatic kin
lost the will to express
as before
for the fluent earth again.
In hidden trails, away from the noise's claim,
Where tranquil whispers weave the tale of peace,
The path winds through the woods without a cease,
Amidst the solitude, a silent frame.
Here, splashing birds and water, nature's game,
Compose a symphony that doesn't cease,
Their melody, a soothing soft release,
A sacred verse that no discordance maims.
The rustling leaves, a chorus in the breeze,
Reveal the secrets of this hallowed ground,
Where serenity reigns and worries cease,
A sanctuary where pure joys are found.
These trails reveal a world so pure, so true,
Where hidden nature sings its song for you.
The cacophony, the clamor
The artificial glamour
The rush to acquire stuff
Fill the emptiness with fluff
Smother silence with yammers
Compressing questions, neglecting answers
Wisdom awaits in secluded woods
In scarlet sunsets, understood
Elicit bliss in solitude
The still in search of self precludes
Repose anonymities permeate
And soothe the restless agitate
From discordance, isolate
Reclusive paths both curve and straight
Frenzies lessens and abates
Turmoil lightens, evaporates
In lush quarantine of thought
Quietude of soul is sought
Equanimity in time alone
Replenishes soil in which dreams are grown
We pledged a portion of our lives training ruling,
When is it thriving to mandate and perform?
What do words feign in the theater of living?
Unlike dance, which is an achievement charm.
I've barely suffered to forbear a lasting mark,
By betraying these futile sensations on paper,
I realize the purity of the most significant task,
My way of life would radically grip to remember.
The business idea made Disney on the up,
The reality of a dream versus advert view,
Undeniably we don't soar but rise each step,
For the view and attain our genuine shaw.
My performance overtakes that of the wise,
I meander from one to the closest, awestruck,
How are you presently, they enquire? A gaze,
"Oh me?" I say gently. I'm doing fine, not stuck.
A mistaken view of such a rare performance,
My rarest bestowal in a decade of struggle,
Oh, how I awed, dumbs that its discordance,
An act of the stage never held a snuggle.
After exerting my skills, I left the spot right,
My faint dwell bears me with joy and calm,
When the sun sets, I gain peace in the night,
Hastily, the veil will fall off, so I won't harm.
Stain not letting, be diverted by anything,
Whatever deeds to hail you, elect varying,
Essay not inciting to be swung by any turmoil,
Any lifestyle drive love, trust, and verity,
Recall that life is too short not to dwell fully.
1st place contest winner
Written: May 14, 2022
The Greatest Performance of My Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: JCB Brul
Where harmony hoards the supposed hurt,
Symphonies belie me.
I rein myself in to not be curt,
But noise surrounds me.
Where time heals the freshly toiling,
I have old, murky bloodstains
Yet no one sees how quietly I'm boiling
Until the tipping point I shall hide my pains.
Why such a discordance in my disposition?
I desire to mourn the impact of this tyranny
Is this prophetic or an imposition? It's difficult to overlook the irony.
Someday I will explode, not implode
A magnetic, magnificent starburst.
For now, continue, continue to goad,
But this cacophony will not halt my bloodthirst.
your foulmouthed shout
weaves angry waves
bashes my ear drums
pierced I wail in vain
as the echo gets closer
staccato crescendo
climax refrain
can’t shut you out
cannot withhold
silence won’t come
until the final note
that fails to abate
our melody out of tune
sweet memories wane
why so cruel I dare
to object and stall
in anxious mourning
beaten I tap on my scull
hardcore discordance
dis-phonic noise pollution
where harmony morphed
into orchestral acrimony
until I dust off the harp
restring my guitar
triangular chords
block coda and pain
reclaim my own music
mute your assault
scream as loud as you want
eat your words
digest my freedom
croak as you wish
while I breathe fresh love
15th April 2021
Contest This or That Volume two
A far Cry
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Companionship or romance, what's the difference?
Is it through death that we depart?
But even friends share that remark.
Is it dinner with a view?
But with friends I'd still pursue.
Is it the coffee shop or show?
But with friends I often go.
Is it through language that we flow?
But my partners have no difference.
What's the difference?
Could it only be emotion?
That alone is not enough.
Then maybe too, devotion?
Could it really be this tough?
With friends there is adherence.
Then maybe it's appearance?
But that's not an interference.
Then maybe there's no difference,
What's the difference?
Within her sensitive heart, a storm brewed.
No one could see her inner agony,
Even when her mind to suffering glued.
Beneath the calm and serene appearance,
In her mind's cavern dwelt a silent grief,
And none could find in her a discordance.
She did not complain or show any guile.
Persevered not to make her pain outward.
Always faced the people with a sweet smile.
.
Instant joy and cheer she could ever feign.
Even in her life's most trying moments,
A calm equipoise, she tried to maintain.
She purposely put on this deception,
Not to make her ailing parents troubled,
While her heart was bleeding in dejection.
Such double life was so hard to endure.
How long she could do this, she was not sure.
May. 9.2023
Take a Chance on Chanso Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Kim Rodrigues
5 Verses and 1 envoi
10 syllables in each line.
Mark
The earth turns its face from you
as if ashamed. You
who tilled the soil, now marked
by what the soil received.
Your brother's blood—
how it murmurs, how it screams.
Deafness would be a mercy.
Wanderer
At Babel, you watch them build
their tongues a discordance of hope.
You know better.
The tower falls. Always, things fall.
In Athens, questions hang in the air
like ripe fruit. You reach for one
find your hand empty.
Constantinople burns.
You've seen this fire before
in your own heart, in Abel's eyes.
Love
Her laughter—sunlight on water.
For a moment, you forget remembering
the weight of your name.
Time, that relentless thief,
steals her breath, leaving you
with pockets full of silence,
her absence echoing in your eternal night.
Witness
Verdun. Mud and blood
indistinguishable. You've carried this earth before,
will carry it again. In Selma, voices rise.
You join the chorus, unseen.
Your story spoiled, yet written
in every cry for justice,
a testament to your own unending quest for peace.
Grace
The sea spilling secrets
waves crashing against the shores of your soul.
In a quiet cell, you contemplate forgiveness—
that impossible shore.
Your heart is a vessel of unspoken prayers.
Each wave a reminder: the divine
as elusive as your peace.
Mortality
She sees you—truly sees.
Beyond the mark, the myth,
to the man who carries centuries in his bones.
You learn to love in moments, not millennia.
Each breath a gift, each touch a benediction
her presence a bridge to your humanity.
Return
The earth no longer rejects you.
You lay down, finally
into the arms of the brother
you've carried all this time.
Abel smiles. You close your eyes.
The silence, at last, is sweet.
A Second to Work
With a hand that ostensibly
Caresses a fingerboard and bow gently,
Yet really holds with force,
Holds with vim and plays with vigor
The strings stretch and impart their somber discordance,
Turns out Wagner tunes into self,
Turns on raw terror, awe and fear
Awe with sorrow intermingled, the soul knows the notes no words can effect,
They tap the ear— touch the soul,
And Oh,
To play second fiddle
And fiddle with time, as the tune pours out,
A cosmic symphony that Wagner knew and shared with you,
That Nietzsche wrote
That I know,
That to be second to
To know the seconds in time
Lost to frivolous pursuits
To know that we have all but toil,
And work cursed to toil
And labor eternal under a relentless desiccating sun
To know that love comes second,
to toil
is the saddest condition of man.