Long Drudging Poems

Long Drudging Poems. Below are the most popular long Drudging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drudging poems by poem length and keyword.

The pearl-gray sky of early morning
harmonized with my mood;
color without color
life without meaning;
as I wandered through the streets
at a loss; no job.

My downcast eyes;
eye contact unsought;
watching my feet step by drudging step,
came across a twenty-dollar bill,
discarded, dropped, abandoned?
It lay there, slightly grubby;
as money often is.

To lose a twenty bill, I thought
for someone could be the difference;
food or hunger,
others; just a gamble;
on some bright spinning reels of chance.
But here it was:
Twenty dollars on the ground,
Andrew, staring at me; tempting.

A moments troubled hesitation;
I move on
and leave the twenty where it lay
for someone needier than I to find.

Yellow sunshine pierces the gray
My back straightens
my walk is brisker, zippy.


$ Poetry Contest placed 1st
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Date wrote: 13-June-2021

© Terry Miller  

Written: December 11, 2023
              ____________________________________________

While drudging impresses to cease,
        Within the ethereal forbearance of night
        And the cosmic vast space is stormless,
        From the hour of darkness until daylight,
        And anxiousness is ultimately formless
Imbrication is referred to as "Peace."

Imbroglio, languor, and hidden disarray
       This parade of nimble cued is wordless
       This will never genuinely be worthless,
       This is increasing beyond nerveless
       This spinning wheel is reverseless,
The periphery of the panacea display.

© Sotto Poet  

Drudging at the foot of despondency 
I dwell
floating in-between the far and the now
too tired to stand
knowing I'll be knocked back down
kicked and beaten 
by my own inner beast
a feast of undue proportion
salted and dried
a fortunate misfortune

nipping at my wounds
bleeding out 
failed opportunities
bringing me eternal death

for is that where my love lies in wait
with one foot planted in the darkness
the other eclipsing my moon

trust me when I whisper I want you
like a shadow needs her sun
the wind blowing off the sea
the clouds drifting away
you drifting to me

the sun will set in time
but for now
I let go of the mind
and become free

© Ts Poetry  

I was a “why child”
but unlike many others
didn't ask my questions
right out loud
for they never elicited satisfaction-
only bizarre grown-up reactions
discomfort shown
in odd looks or awkward glances
at each other, over shoulders
uncomfortable silences
growing colder
nervous laughter
qualmish coughing
even worse- the teasing, scoffing
or miserable mealymouthed
meaningless exchanges
in that drudging monotone
of “I'll explain later”
or “you'll understand better
once you're older-
or you're grown”

And so I dug for
the answers myself
delving in dresser drawers
combing through closets and
straining to reach the very
highest-high shelves
I wanted to know all the kinds of things
that people keep to themselves

Until one day, I finally found it
the holy grail I was searching for-
in an anemic cream-colored binding
weathered and worn
my Mama's diary of secret thoughts
from the years before

Breathless, I broke it open
impatient with worrisome wait-
wanting to savor it, to slow down, and taste it
every scandalous secret enclosed within...
so I scanned the dates before reading the entries
to find out where the story would begin

So far, so good
it was ancient to me
back before she was even married
and I couldn't wait to know the fullness
of it treasures trickling down
like a delicious waterfall
cool and refreshing
invigorating
but- Oh!
how she had let me down!

Ruining all my breathless fun
I found that my Mama
was not a very
exciting
kind of woman

© Rhona Mcferran  

Spring semester has started.
We’re all immersed in the ritual of change
and totally committed to that descent into madness
to the relentless drabness, the flatness, the blandness
for the hours, days and weeks of study
and a bone-deep fatigue that’s actually funny

We’ll live at the edge of intensity
near the the corner of drudging
and gather around the printer
at the media center
like a secular rite of passage

I think I need a daily grind—to keep my mind busy.
What’s wrong with me, that when I’m on vacation, I miss it?
What if work/study is one of my bone-marrow-deep love languages?
.
.
Songs for this:
Happy Dreamer by Laid Back
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
(You're Better) Than Ever by illuminati hotties

© Anais Vionet