Long Distress Poems
Long Distress Poems. Below are the most popular long Distress by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Distress poems by poem length and keyword.
"As water flows down when a faucet is turned on, thoughts and feelings pour out into a journal cleansing the heart" ~ By Poet
I keep a journal, a treasure chest of memories.
Where I record each day’s activities
Where I divulge my innermost secrets
As my feelings overflow into each blank page,
I get the therapeutic effect of unburdening my heart.
Though I scrawl down in messy hand,
It is a slice of my heart and I treasure it,
More than any other document I have.
Every day I empty my heart into its pages,
My pen bleeds words in red.
I paint me as I am, honest and truthful.
I don’t want to be a sham.
Here I lay bare my life,
Fraught with aches, dotted with smiles.
My longings and my heart aches
My expectations, my disappointments
My triumphs, my defeats
My search through every nook n’ cranny for success
My plunge into the nadir of despair on defeat
My moments of escalating joy
My dark hours of crippling distress
Everything I want to be,
Everything I fail to be.
Journaling, poetry, and prayer fill my day.
They help me keep all my boredom away!
My reefs look dazzling in the dawn light.
A sea of hypocrisy and lies that we must fight.
They are held to what they are allowed to view,
And yield when they grip their identity and hue.
I can hear sighing while I'm still close firmly,
Millennia ago, by beings apt to live eternally.
I can feel their vicinity and smell their fragrance.
It clasps me from behind and grabs my flagrance.
We follow in the footsteps of our predecessors,
And behave visibly toward enticing assessors.
There was an aiming brain area you won't believe,
As surely as a harp, we allow creeds to leave.
I hear mirth while a harp plays awe-tune finery.
Father was the donor, and I await your midwifery.
When it's dark outside and you can grip the stars,
I dwell under the glow of lightning and scars.
A royal seagull holds all distress and saltiness,
Tears of despair fall freely and with snottiness.
Something floats over the burdened couple,
You've lost much delight due to this supple.
My reefs of logic, mystery, and terra incognita,
Ouachitas goldsmiths were jarred by Amanita.
Adverse times allude to a poet's stark weary right,
Ideal lovers, Poseidon and the neat Amphitrite.
Stop at the limit of the path, and then proceed,
When did most souls stop using spiked metal?
Set on the inert tools and the virtue laws creed,
It's time for testing, for ages to avow their mettle.
My dark and grim retentions fulfill my dream,
Lulling tones of a long-forgotten cradle scream.
In the twilight, forlorn and tender songs unfold,
In the pulsing beats of entering and release, untold.
My reefs look dazzling in the dawn light,
A sea of hypocrisy and lies that we must fight.
They are stuck with what they are entitled to view,
Focus on the future, not their burial lot due.
My boat goes across a cool, undulating lake,
Seven stars' light bulbs burn dimly in my sake.
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: August 05, 2022
This or That, Vol 13 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Writing poetry that comes to me when
Thoughts come around as in a rut
Distress fills those cogs again and again
Excellent to write, and not to rebut
Thoughts come around as in a rut
Writing distracts from most life's cares
Excellent to write, and not to rebut
Which would shorten life, increase despair
Writing distracts from most life's cares
Releases tension and gives ideas
Which would shorten life and increase despair
Satisfying poems which explain how nature is
Releases tension and gives ideas
Preferable to write, and not be stressed
Satisfying poems which explain how nature is
I think somehow it is the best
Preferable to write, and not be stressed
Distress fills those cogs again and again
I think somehow it is the best
Writing poetry that comes to me when....
Written: December 06, 2022
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
Contest: Pantoum About Writing Poetry
The lonely weed sprouts up against a stone,
It absorbs the sunlight it calls its own,
No fragrant neighbour or friend stands nearby,
Beneath the stretch of the wide open sky.
The woeful wind may blow it to and fro,
Yet deeper and stronger its roots will grow;
It drinks fresh dew at the dawn of morning
And rain drops when it pours in the evening.
It asks no praise for alone standing tall,
Happy to shoot on rock and show its all;
Loneliness is not a sign of weakness
Nor a mournful source of any distress.
It is a stamp of silent solemn strength
That spreads its cute emblem in breath and length,
A quiet potency in dusty ground,
Where the true lessons of life can be found.
The lonely weed, a banner bravely spread,
Where richer fragrant flowers fear to tread,
Blooming unknown, unseen is still a bloom,
Dispelling shaky shadows in the gloom.
oh how much i love you, i'll catch your aching heart,
with love i'll be here in times of your turmoil, when your heart is torn apart,
your strength is strong by my mighty hand, you just lift them up in prayer,
i hear each word that's spoken within, trust me, i understand,
you ask in distress for your answers, in my perfect time circumstance will tell,
the biggest accomplishment you've accomplished through me is that you have
boldly crawled out of your shell,
a shell that was covering this beautiful heart that i so want everyone to see,
to see the real you, the beauty you have, solely comes from me,
i gave this to you from birth, a warriors heart you hold,
always rely on me, and i promise, i will never let you go.
Form:
Awed by the scarlet cone flower’s beauty, I sense her purity.
I give her a reverent birth, thrilled by her loveliness.
Her confidence oozes into the garden with rapt maturity.
She has a delicate countenance that shows such finesse.
Hostile gardenias frown at her majestic ways and daintiness.
Jealousy has apparently reared its hideous head.
Goodly cone flower appears unsoiled, with no distress.
Mother nature smiles enough said.
There is an ominous feeling from the tulip bed.
They are giving the cone flower looks of a bully.
Enraged by her beauty, because they are almost dead,
They do their best to disturb and sully.
Enthusiastic geranium gives scarlet coneflower the nod.
He appreciates her tolerance for the garden varieties.
A butterfly light upon her pedals, which is not in the least odd.
Cone flower feels appreciated now in many degrees.
Baby faeries feel love toward the scarlet flower of the day.
They decided to visit along with their mystical mothers.
Coneflower exudes warmth and love in every way
Which eliminates the negative feelings of others
Written 5-28-2021
Type: Quatrain
Contest: Workshop Inviting to a Muse
Sponsor: Jack Webster
I love it when you're kissing me
I love it when your hands touch my thighs
Passion slowly increasing
breathing deeper
Gaining momentum for the moment
that draws nearer
Now you're whisperin in my ear
Temperature's rising
moaning, grinding
my body to the rhythm of each
breath
Enjoying kisses with your tongue on
my neck
While creating secrets between us
that manifest
into beautiful stories of lust and
fantasy
Unafraid to confess
Rivers flow
The scent of the pheremones
The beat that the song's on
Tuned in to your passion
I’m feeling it’s time to make this happen
Finally releasing fear and stress
through pure emotion and love
Freedom from hurt and distress
I love it when you’re kissing me
I love it when your hands touch my thighs...
I lay prone above the surface of the earth:
a boundless expanse of ultramarine blue,
gazing at every living and nonliving thing,
the air so clean and pure.
Where are they?
cotton pieces that loiter around
like fluffy soft white bunnies
that scurry around
scattering and wandering playfully:
clouds that float with fleecy wings
oh.. I do not see them today!
It is a beautiful early evening;
As no clouds to obstruct my view,
from above, I could catch a glimpse of
many a poetic mind: dreamy and forlorn
lying on their back in the grass, here and there
within corners of the earth,
staring blank at my vast serene blue
when waves of woes were crashing
at the rocky edges of their mind -
and into a deep trance, they enter.
To ease their distress,
I whisper into the ears of the infinite seas,
to send gentle cool breeze their way
and wake them up from their reverie
with a gentle kiss in their gloomy eyes,
igniting embers of hope in their dreary mind.
As they open their eyes
and wake up from their trance
with many a fresh thoughts to pen -
their muse gets charged
by the charm of my
ultramarine blue inspiration: I become
their unbounded diary of blue pages,
as they now sprinkle their inspired ink
on my vast blue expanse with their
bright gleaming perceptive eyes.
Date: 11/14/2021
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 19 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
"U" Contest, New Poems Only Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
I will not run from fear. Its torment I must shun,
when it threatens with distress and intimidation.
No song of despair will I sing when day is done,
nor will I cower, cringing with grim trepidation.
Though calamity assails me, I will not be alarmed.
Courage and faith will justly serve as my citadel
until the menacing enemies have been disarmed.
Then, in serene existence, once more will I dwell.
I will not burden my heart by anchoring it in grief.
Life should be a celebration, a mirthful affair,
but everything I fear will steal my joy like a thief.
I choose not to squander a minute in dire despair.
Death will not find me trembling on my knees,
for it's the dreaded price I must pay for mortality.
I will not plea with the Reaper, only to appease
him in granting me one more day before finality.
I will tend my garden on these hot Summer days,
and rejoice in knowing Autumn's chill draws near.
I will welcome Winter snows with words of praise,
and await Spring's arrival without anguish or fear.
August 12, 2022
Strong Emotions Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Emotions highlighted are fear and despair
My God! I won’t see you lie down beside me,
Won’t see you wake, turn, watch the Christmas tree,
I won’t feel your thick hair between my fingers,
Nor hear your breath, as you sleep next to me.
The second Christmas seems to me, much harder,
The first, I made sure I went out and served,
Now, first time we’ve enough inside our larder,
I can’t give you the feast that you deserved…
We always made do with our simple cooking,
I loved it most, when you made meals for us,
But you weren’t always up to it! Overlooking
Occasions, Seasons, Runaround and Fuss…
Our Way of Life! But now, I yearn for it!
To turn a roast for you, upon the spit…
To sing you music, buy you a new dress
And tell you, you are beautiful, again,
To hold you, comfort, quiet your distress,
And revel! (Your heart’s not for other men!)
How could I be so fortunate, that you
Preferred me, who had never been preferred?
And so unfortunate, once Life felt new,
To lose you in the summer – ‘my little bird’!
And now, it’s Christmas, and the frozen lakes
Are lonely for the sound of your soft voice,
And every wreath snow round about me makes
Is empty of your face… I have a choice…
Remember, hang your Virtues on the tree,
Or fade away into solemnity.
Written: December 9, 2018
For: A Sad Christmas - December 2018 Writing Challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart