Long Distraction Poems
Long Distraction Poems. Below are the most popular long Distraction by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Distraction poems by poem length and keyword.
Chasing money to put gold in a pot,
Ground beneath your feet continues to rot,
Plotting the destruction of a species,
With pieces of paper spreading disease,
I'm pleased I can spend my energy,
Sending love through my transactions,
Knowing the impact within the action,
Gaining traction in satisfaction,
I can track truth within my reaction,
It's a distraction from the earth,
Spending lives collecting worth,
Since birth we've been trained,
Financial gain is the name of the game,
And the same source feeding you,
Being carved,
Starved within your view,
Through every hour devouring time,
The crime goes unnoticed,
Climbing into bed for the day ahead,
With a head full of thought,
Taught to reach for gold,
We sold our power to the dollar,
As Earth hollers for help,
Scholars tell of a prophecy,
Sit silently repeatedly to see,
Selling their Ideas for money,
Can somebody tell me why,
Our poor planet has to die,
Because you're trying to buy a plot,
That's rotting beneath the feet,
Of a species who needs it to eat.
All I want is attention.
If the light isn’t focused on me,
I get anxious and start thinking,
“No one really cares about me.”
I know this is my biggest flaw.
No matter how hard I fight it,
I crave to be in the spotlight.
I’ll always push myself to be in it.
I want to be praised in all types of glory.
I want to hear my name being chanted.
I want everything to go the way I want it.
Anything in my way is just a distraction.
If I have to be a clown, I’ll be it.
If I have to be a fool, I’ll be it.
I’ll take on any role if it means
I get everyone’s attention.
If I have to lie about my own life,
I’ll do it just to have someone listen.
I’d rather destroy the light than
Let anyone take any moment from it.
I know I’m messed up in the head,
And I don’t know how to fix it.
This feeling scares me, and I have to
Get rid of it before it consumes me.
As i sit down and think
somethings are not always what they seem
somethings have power if you know what i mean
i look towards the sky, and wonder is my life just passing me by
have i did all that others did, have i fulfilled my dreams, from when i was a kid
what ive done with my life is it considered a distraction
a distraction from the world, is it twisted up in a twirl
although im just 24, am i the answer that this world is looking for
Am i still what you expect less no i equalmore
sometimes i feel like a packaged deal,waiting to be opened, or like a game winning all the tokens , Am i unspoken or have i said a word
Am i still an image or can i be heard. i am not a dream deferred im what you consider real, i am the time in the clock, im the wound that can be heled
it seems so sureal can you understand, i feel like the power in the hour or the help in your hand
when i smile, i smile as if i have no worries at all
i lighten up the place like im at an elegant ball
when i cry, my emotions overflow, ive learned how to manage and how to let go
i am the paint , thats painted over the wall
i am the mural"Beautiful" its called
I'm the lamp that stands alone
im the child that wants to meet my ather on the throne
I'm still full of lifes expectations , im made by the best of creations
sometimes in life i feel like a cancellation, sometimes i feel void, but when my mind thinks of all these things i call on my "LORD"
I'm getting so tired of segregation, what is happening to the nation
People still looknme up and down as if im not supposed to be around
Sometimes all i can do is stare
and when i close my eyes seems like no one is there
Is it fair or shall i say more am i what you're looking for
The camping life is all we need to cherish a vacation
The low stretched arms of mountains, spread, have called for our attention
Our summer place, serene and free, no worries in our backpacks
No need to vent, just take a breath, to relish lodge-pole scent
My children play on the water's edge enjoying their own reflections
Tossing pebbles, one by one, and soaking in the fun
While tossing sticks, our Lab is quick, to run and fetch them all
He dives back in, ..we're once again, impressed by such conviction!
He's back on shore, he shakes! ... .His chore, is to drench us to the core!
Togetherness, envelops us, beneath the midday sun
I want to write a poem, a verse.....but cure my own distraction
Beholding beauty such as this, would cause the tongue to swell
My pen would dry, and so would I, for words could hardly tell
Serenity is ours for free, with earth and sky we dwell
So overcome with majesty, and tranquil peaks of snow
The stillness of a mirrored lake, unlike I have ever known
I've put away the waiting pen, and put away my muse
For, I hear the family calling me, and though I have excuse
It's time to gather kindling wood, for a fire in the pit
With s'mores to make, we'll not forsake, marshmallows on a stick!
--------------------------------------------------------
4//22/15 For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: Memorable Vacations
She stood in thrall to the Magyar
As, one hand cupped to a breast,
The other picked careful notes
From the guitar against his chest,
So they made a living figure
Sensuous and statuesque
Yet in in its way
Both comic and grotesque.
His foot tapped the rhythm
As he sang words of passion,
The stroking of his fingers
Near driving her to distraction.
An elegant Corps de Ballet pirouetted,
Here and there across the stage
And the blind percussionist thrashed
A kettle drum in state of frenzied rage.
The watcher watched from his dream
As the spotlight lowered to dim
Then swung slowly around to
Focus its harsh beam on him.
It was almost all too much
For any mortal man to take
So, screaming with despair,
He was rudely thrust awake.
Both woman and Magyar seared
To the very depths of his brain
His heart beating wildly to
Near bursting from the strain.
Images slowly fading
Until no longer there
He slipped back to sleep free
From any trace of his nightmare.
The puppet master eased the strings,
Let his marionettes hang limp and slack
Before packing them away
In their carrier on his back.
It was all a strange happening
In the name and cause of Art
Into which each participant
Unconsciously took his part.
The stage disappeared
The theatre was gone
The World of Abstract Dreams
Slowly shivered and moved on.
To allow no repeat
Of this macabre joke
The mirror resonated wildly
Until, shattering, it broke.
As the final glimpse
of the sun leads into
an everlasting spectacle
of twinkling dreams,
peeking through
turmeric traces
of an amber aftermath,
I listen to the
nesting nightingales
croon nostalgic lullabies,
and search for a
celestial ray
that would illustrate,
the beginning
of
butterflies
within
my glass heart.
When twilight is
just a
mere mirage
in the distance of
my destitute mind,
and tune
of your
laughter
reverberates
in rhapsodic refrain;
a raspy rhythm
ringing
through
rustic breeze,
whilst the
whistling
wind waves
to the
dandelions
dancing
to your
delicate drumbeats,
scintillating stars
fall upon
our silhouettes,
scattering pieces of
who I once
used to be-
within pulsating
flesh and bones,
before I felt the
warmth of your
cosmic whispers.
Now initials of
your amethyst
song is the
penultimate prefix
to my path
of
healing,
where
sentimental sighs
between us,
unveil
wordless
smiles electrifying
a classical crescendo;
awaiting beneath
instrumental wings.
I count the
flickering jewels,
splattered across
nocturnal
night-skies,
questioning if this
is
another
start
of a
weary winter?
or is this just
a seasonal distraction,
intoxicating my
procrastinating pen,
or is your voice a
heaven-sent elixir,
to soothe the satanic
seas evaporating
black salt-
drizzling toxic rain,
upon my
porcelain choir,
synchronizing
a symphony
of soulmates destined
to
reunite and rewrite
a
roseate rendezvous.
Maybe,
fate reignited
to align
the emerald
glow between
you and I,
Maybe, I’ve long
been a wanderer,
on a quest to reach
the rainbow
swirls
above your
musky garden,
where background
music is
the poetry woven
from your
cryptic ink.
You’ll always remain
the
last maestro
in my carnival
of chaos,
amidst the loudness
of screeching demons
chattering within every
darkest sheet of
dreary December.
I’ve sailed across the oceans blue
In search of promised treasure
I need to bid my pirate’s life adieu
For some riches you cannot measure
When I was invited to be part of the team
I was told it was a luxury cruise
Promised riches beyond my wildest dreams
Oh how I fell for the blackguard’s ruse!
Captain Bluebeard is a real mean guy
He promised me diamonds and pearls
But I’m so homesick that I sit and cry
And I never get to meet any girls
I’m stuck on this ship with sweaty sailors
You can’t begin to imagine the smell
I feel like the captain’s our jailer
My life has become a living hell
I’ve got a peg leg and a metal hook
Life’s not that easy for me
I stumble round the galley as ship's cook
But I really don’t like life on the sea
My parrot is my constant companion
He nags me that I drink too much rum
I drink it for medicinal purposes
This sailing can upset my tum
I wish that he would hold his beak
I’m fed up of his constant squawking
Why can't he shut up and not speak
We’re cooped up and he just won’t stop talking
So now I need to take drastic action
Tonight I’m going to leap overboard
The parrot’s squawking can cause a distraction
I can swim … I’ve got a swimming award
I stole all the diamonds without exception
They are hidden inside my wooden leg
The captain’s yet to find out my deception..
But I’ve raided his hidden nest egg
So now I can live a life of pleasure
And enjoy a happier life
I will relax and enjoy my leisure
And find myself a cute wife!
Contest- A pirate’s life for me
Sponsor Kelly Deschler
09~19~15
2022 Polar Vortex - Across Wide Band Of North America
Power outage here within
mine happy hunting grounds
(as well the ghosts of Lenni Lenape),
viz Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
December twenty third
two thousand twenty two wrought
(lasting greater part of twelve hours)
impossible mission to keep warm
generating body heat
necessity courtesy three dog night,
sure as I'm sitting here
nevertheless found yours truly
yearning for global warming
while dentures chattered
a mile a minute then jumped
out me mouth
and scrabbled, scrambled
and scratched along floor
leaving corpse like body abed
stiff as a board
dead cold analogous,
when rigor mortis
grips lovely bones
immune to brutal cold.
Ordinarily, the weather
considered non trees
son us, a neutral subject on par
with non nose
wrinkling odoriferous cheese
usually ranks as minor distraction,
without whether yours truly agrees
or not, except
during balmy temperatures,
an unavoidable tease,
whereat sub zero degrees,
whether Centigrade or Fahrenheit
demands human sacrifice
(me anima knocking knees),
no negotiating with Ole Man Winter,
he requests (lest
he continue deep freeze
maelstrom until the end of time),
nothing 'cept a healthy seas
sunned *****sapien to appease
his insatiable appetite
froze to the core,
when all body functions cease,
thus until onset of frostbite disease
transformed me into a human popsicle
obliging surrender of self,
no matter I always minded "p's"
and "q's", and adhered
to selfless decrees
not until that moment - this me's
lee sad excuse e'en for missing link,
said personal radar of this primate
suddenly went haywire madly wheeze
zing, as if giant hand (some
harried styled swiftly tailored
paw) did squeeze
traumatizing, suffocating, mangling
constricting, asphyxiating... sensation
(surprised muss elf, and all my enemies,
hence survived death as a breeze)
when similar to Socrates
ill fate found him downing hemlock,
necessitated, I reluctantly quaffed antifreeze
as preservative, plus
out of necessity to survive
being clobbered, buffeted,
assaulted...finally please
zing lee melting titanic iceberg
more bearable on par with a sneeze
than compared to frigidity
of writer's block.
I bleed poetry to heal through
midnight confessions.
Mistress’s ink does not seek
your caramelized validation;
it has no desire to please
your feed of presumed perfection.
I’ve never tamed this
skill as an online profession;
this is just an unbreakable obsession~
I’m drowning in for a distraction.
Don’t question my
hazy metaphors,
veiled away from towering
thorns of introspection,
too vague and meaningless
for the skies adorned
with sleeping stars.
These scribbles of sentimental
symbolism may cause
digressing reactions,
for I’ve been sewing a
waltzing nightmare,
whilst counting syllables
within concocted connotations,
surfing through wicked
schemes of sunset-colored
sestinas to sunflower sonnets.
Now I knit hyacinth haikus
in honeysuckle hues,
woven from pristine petals
amidst wilting wilderness,
awaiting twilight that
would awaken words written
in repetitive refrains,
reigniting the flames
between spaces on fragrant pages,
so dreams will no longer
be more peaceful
than the air I breathe.
Although these lines
do not rhyme with teal-green
tides that sketch
turquoise beginnings,
I still hope time can maybe
guide this canvas home.
It's the season of false prophets...
coming into thick bloom online
at the end of their windless chime
they tell you to click and subscribe.
When predictions don't come to fruition
(thinking we've forgotten), they reset the timeline.
Ayahuasca is the latest fad...
At 5 grand a pop, it's an expensive shortcut
to the Cheshire Cat of Alice land.
I see profiteers pretending to be shamans,
puppeteers digging graves of the desperate.
My Friends take the long brutal path
It's honest and pristine.
The book says we'd not know the time nor day.
but would see signs within the season.
The false ones have predicted end times
since the beginning of time.
Their time is twisted by fear
their wisdom stained by ego
and distorted in profit.
Despite the deep haze and barbed veil.
We must not lose sight of humanity.
Despite waves of distraction and suffocation
we must not forget to breathe.
Despite the devils of division,
don't forget to give and unite.
Most of all, don't fear the long, steep path; its reward is eternal light.