Long Disliked Poems
Long Disliked Poems. Below are the most popular long Disliked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Disliked poems by poem length and keyword.
I was walking fast, then changed speed,
and texting and walking I paid little
attention to what was under my soles;
they seemed raindrops close to dew,
why so many tears in a small puddle?
I wondered...did another love end?
Yesterday I and Lisa walked this shady path
as the above dense oaks kept noise away;
we didn't hear the fluttering of a shy dove,
and the pleasant meowing of a docile cat.
I felt something slimy sticking to my my shoes,
it made me slide and then fall; with arms
flying like wings, with eyes rolling left to right:
I would have been safer on a roller coaster;
and landed I did while people started to laugh...
had it been planned by someone who knew
my route? Someone had played a trick on me!
Who disliked me to do such an horrible thing?
Lisa was sitting on a bench reading a comedy book,
I got closer to her in panic and started to scream,
" Some crazy dude or gal spread oil on the path
to make me slip and fall, only evil people do this! "
I tried to get her to talk, but Lisa kept silent,
she continued to read her funny story with a grin,
" Well, some girls get even when a guy cheats! "
And shaking I pleaded innocent of any wrong doing
before she found me guilty and slapped me hard,
" No, honey I was playing the lonely guy...I told her
I had no date, guys lie to get a girl's attention."
" So, sweetheart you lied to her to get a date?
That's why you didn't show up last evening?
How stupid of you...you are trying to get two girls
on two different dates? I am glad you admitted
your guilt, because the other girl played fake; now
we are even, you have lied and got caught! "
My dark soul of damnation deserves decay
as I drown in the abyss from deceitful debauchery
with the help of my decadent deluded mind
and the staged dastardly deeds of defiance from choices made
when my heart filled with delusion turned demon needing to damage
from my demonic dare of digging deeper into a self-created darkness
driven by the diabolical devastation of evil from disbelief
when love became discontented from a disappointing disaster
and my own mental disarray of disliked disorder
I hold my soul in disgraceful disgusting disdain
from my heart becoming demonized by dishonesty
12/8/21
My sister was horrified; you cannot give me that bucket,
She says, snottily as I try to hand her the renegade violets
She asked me to collect, complete with roots.
Why not?
There are dandelions in it. My husband hates dandelions.
Who hates dandelions?
I pull the dandelions out of the fray,
and plop them into a vase of water.
I have heard about a way to decorate a punch bowl with dandelions.
You put the head of a dandelion into each ice cube square of an ice cube tray,
Then you pour water in the tray and freeze.
Voila! Ice dandelions look lovely floating in a punchbowl.
I thought my sister was the only person in the world who disliked dandelions
Until I was trying to make fun of her at work, and other grown-ups agreed with her.
What kind of people hate dandelions?
They are pretty, they are the brightest yellow, they can be collected and made into faerie headbands,
Their stems are easy to link together.
I collect my secret box from inside the recesses of my biggest oak tree,
And put forty dandelions inside, to be linked later, when my sister leaves.
I will add a bit of fuzzy hot pink ribbon to complete my new headband.
But does she leave?
Heavens no.
She has to tell me why she hates clover now.
I am indignant, because
I planted that clover.
For my animals,
The wildest of the wild.
The bunnies, the deer, and the rabbits.
Submitted on 4/30/2018
To Jamie's Interesting Contest
A universe jumbles unfinished in the mind
picture upon picture
a laconic dimension of perception
where comprehension hides in brambles
and rubbish churns like a river
emptying into the soul
the murky and the luminous converge
forming an enclosure of concentration
where nothing exists, except focus
time melts away...a word
then another, then another
like falling leaves washed by the wind
carried to the inner eye
read, questioned, reasoned, unleased
spread across a white sheet
where a sentence grows
giving purpose to lucidity
translated by each reader
in their fashion
to be liked or disliked...as the page turns
When I breathe my last, and my soul takes flight,
You'll see the tears, the feigned sorrow, the hypocrisy in sight.
Those who disliked me, who never lent a hand,
Will eulogize me, with words so grand.
They'll contribute to the coffin, the food, the flowers too,
But when I lived, when I needed them, what did they do?
Not a single hand was raised, not a single voice was heard,
No visits, no kind words, no love that was deserved.
They'll say I was good, I was great, but it's all a lie,
For when I walked among them, they passed me by.
They'll give me flowers when I'm gone, but not when I was alive,
Oh, love me now, show care now, while my heart still thrives.
A dead body can't see, can't feel, can't know,
The tears that fall for me, when I'm gone, don't show.
I don't need help in my coffin, I need it when I'm alive,
Cry now when you see me suffering, help me now when I strive.
They don't talk to you, they don't ask how you are,
They see you struggling, and they just stare.
They take pictures, laugh, and mock your pain,
Your tears make them help, indeed they pray for your downfall in vain.
But when you die, you become good, and they'll be the first to claim,
They'll buy food, flowers, and eulogize you with fame.
Oh, love me now, care for me now, while I'm still here,
Check up on me, ask how I'm doing, show me you care.
There's no harm in showing love, in being kind,
We only live once, and our time is undefined.
Caring is important, for one day you'll need it too,
On the road to success, there's only we, not just you.
Let's love one another, care for each other's plight,
With one heart and one love, we'll make it through the night.
For in the end, it's not the coffin that matters,
But the love we share, the kindness we scatter.
Disconnected
I wish my child could write a poem and open his channels
I need my channels open too, because no one’s talking to me.
My loved ones and disliked ones whom have made their
transition, none of them will talk to me, they pay me no attention.
I need communication from the other side.
I got channels to open, no one’s talking to me...not even my child.
They gave my child a vaccination, which was so sadistic,
they knew this batch of
medicine could leave my child Autistic.
So, I called upon the ancestors to help
communicate.
My babies like a zombie, there's no light in his eyes;
They told me that he'd be just fine, but they were telling lies.
The side effects were harmful, more harmful than the cure,
I hate what I am thinking now, I know my thoughts impure.
My child is now a prisoner he is buried deep within
no wit, personality, or charm....
That dag-blasted vaccination has caused my baby harm!
I would love to hear the voice of my disconnected child.
I call upon my ancestors, but only the wind is blowing;
Sadly, I sit, moping all alone.
I call upon my forefathers/and mothers...
I got channels to open.
I try to hold my child; my hug is rejected;
I want to reach my baby-
But he is now Dis-connected!
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2010
Ninety percent of those I have loved are dead,
ninety percent of those I have disliked are dead also.
Ninety percent of my life has been spent
travelling to find new places.
Ninety percent of those places
I have left with no regret.
Ninety percent of my life I have wasted,
ninety percent of what’s left is now taking a nap.
A memory of anything real is ninety percent wrong.
A recollection of one thing is usually a ninety percent
reflection of something else.
I have learned that ninety percent of what I know
is ninety percent false.
I have more to tell I am ten percent sure
but ninety percent of you all don’t care anymore.
Madame sun has always had a bit of a crush on the moon
They see each other from afar daily, and of course, sometimes on zoom
the moon is conflicted as to whether it will work out
Go for it! Yells the star named Dave, who loves to shout.
But what if we can never fully together truly be?
The moon is practical, and has the wisdom of at least twenty-three
Madame Sun is nurturing, she is worth the trouble says the star.
If you do not go for her, I will, and I have a car.
This irritated the moon because he always wanted to have a car.
He had never liked Dave, but now he disliked him by far.
If Dave liked Madame sun, he would go after her now for sure.
Madame sun paid off Dave, a loyal sidekick for sure.
I remember that little girl who never doubted what others said
I remember that little girl who believed that everyone was her friend
I remember her
I admire her
She was so innocent and had such a pure heart
She would cry when she realized not everyone was going to like her
I miss her
She trusted so blindly
She looked at life as her oyster and only saw good in the world
What a innocent pure little soul she was
Everything about her was so innocent and full of love
I miss the innocent me
I miss the girl who didn’t have to look over her shoulders because she was inexperienced to life
Life has changed me and I’m not who I used to be
I couldn’t care less if everyone disliked me
I can’t trust you because my experiences in life has taught me that I can’t
That little girl had her heads in the clouds and it was a great place to be
To the little girl I use to be
The innocent version of me
I guess I’ll only see you in my dreams
The apostle Luke speaks of a friend who visits his neighbor, asking for three loaves of bread so he can offer the breaking of bread and other sustenance with his unexpected late-night visitor. It becomes a duality newly purposed upon the neighbor who disliked the 12th-hour disturbance at the door; he bade him to leave, but the persistent act went on until the neighbor relented and gave his visitor what was asked.
The irritable spirit failed in its task of non-compliance, and now the act of the hour was not the original sin, upon the unexpected, the visitor, and the neighbor, as righteousness of giving knows not the hour and should not be held accountable by it. The act of doing the righteous thing was through persistence, lest admitted failure descend upon neighbors for an unknown time, but do right, and there will be peace and harmony for all.