Long Enervated Poems
Long Enervated Poems. Below are the most popular long Enervated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Enervated poems by poem length and keyword.
R- rare is the person , i have lost, red are the roses i still have, to remind me of what all he had cost.
O- oh! my lord , keep him safe , protect him always if demons attack just in case.
S- sufferings will reduce, the journey shall continue, shortly i will see you maybe in a year or two.
E- early the time has come the doctors say, nothing to worry the pain will sway away, anyways i am happy everything is happening the god's way.
B- breath i used to feel against my neck has been long gone, every day and every passing second i think about you from dusk till dawn.
E- enervated now i feel , as i have lost all my zeal , it all feels unreal, but soon shall all heal.
D- death bed is ready, it all feels a bit scary, days are less wishes are many, time is less dreams are many, one of them is you at least this one will be true.
S- sweven bout me till then, death is a part of life but i will always be your wife even in the afterlife. AMEN!!
I pulled over my car to the side of the highway road.
And went to an inn to get my hunger satiated.
An old beggar woman raised her frail hand and bowed to me.
She was looking gaunt, bony and fully enervated.
I nodded my head to the woman to say,' Wait!'
Had breakfast; paid the bill; obliviously moved away
Planning about the essential chores I had to update
She harked back into my thoughts and I was shocked with dismay.
At once, I took a U-turn and went back to the food court.
Failed to trace her whereabouts; a feel of guilt and remorse.
"Where has she gone? Is she all right?" doubts sprouted in my heart.
It's a painful hoard lasted in my heart with a deep hoarse.
The crisp note which I wanted to offer the old lady
remained feeble in my leather wallet and lost its flair.
As time passed, it became dirty and dull with many folds.
And it remained as a haunting memory of despair.
Emotion picked - despair
Strong Emotions Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Date: 24-08-2022
Putrid pus proliferates/purposely preventing
progression's passionate plea -
stifled cries...
Always ascending...and, assiduously avoiding
any acrimonious amounts accrued along apathetic
apertures..."Still I Rise!"
Incessantly fighting the urge to just drop
out of this rancid Rat Race we call living
Still, to abandon sanguine thoughts totally topples the
tenacious toughness that took time to temper...never stop giving
Enervated entities economically embattled
Man, each day we face trouble/In every Third World A Struggle -
singed and burned I'm like stubble/but, like The Ashes Of The Phoenix
to Resurrect from this rubble
Sometimes I shift towards arrogance; The Good Lord Keeps
me humble
Lifting languid limbs loftily to overcome this present Flood
Be Positive is my motto, the flip side?
It's my Blood...
B+
All of us are born under the sentence of death-
and there is no reprieve, for death is the judge
and jury- The Grim Reaper sits waiting for the aged
while sheepishly it comes for those who have not yet
tasted the petulant fruits of this world. There are those
who dread death, but these are individuals who have not
really lived. Death is just a caring mother who knows
the secret of the universe and must fulfill her role.
For who among us want to live beyond an enervated
age. She is the only one who does not discriminate
Lu Loo sponsor Jan 21 2019 10 words 0 lines
Enervated little child
could not guess from her tender mind
about where has she gone?
She wonders and looked around
later there was a continues cry
looking at the dad.
Poor dad didn’t utter a word
but pat tenderly on her back
How can he explain the real mystery?
Mum has depart from the little family having a divorce
Before that there was unaffordable patience
Suspicions, quarrels, disagreements and arguments
Can she realize the dissension between them?
Little one cried for want of mum
Dad exhausted, and put a glance at the couple of sun birds
making a melodious note
Resting on a fully blossomed branch of hibiscus bush
He murmured affectingly to the baby
in a perceptive manner
Look! Nice little birds… calling you,
Would you like to go their nest?
It is beautiful, neat, and peaceful,
Ostracized little girl
did not realize what father says
And she cried and cried
Poor man looked at the cloudy sky
Where floating a lonely kite
Jayaratne Weerakkody
It all could have been less serious,
more fun and played with more exuberance,
but like the lone tragedian
with his oft repeated dramatic scripts
we played ii out as an adversity,
a roll call of regrets.
We could have spent more time
doing nothing much in a more magnificent way.
Silence and patience
were never virtues, just a signal of ennui.
We could have enervated more days,
spent more time knocking over
sacred cows, or just being a happy jerk,
then writing a thousand poetic apologies
to a thousand strangers.
Speaking of ‘strangers’ a few more
jovial greetings and ‘how de do’s’
might have been the way to go,
more love letters and passion
just for sake of the spirits exaltation,
but no, we had to be the serious ones,
bespectacled and intense
the wise pretenders to a hoary old wizards throne
long abandoned by more astute jesters.
We imagined we were a sober business,
worthy of much studious scrutiny,
when in reality
we were just a walk on and walk off part
in a vaudeville show.
A place were the choice
between being a big banana
or a small sour grape was the only question.
At least let’s leave this stage
with an exaggerated clown walk,
and if we can’t quite bring ourselves
to laugh at the silliness of the human race,
then let us start and end with ourselves
as we wave a red-nosed goodbye
to a stunned and probably dead-pan crowd.
Saturday, December 21 Military Time 2319
(According to website:
https://earthsky.org/astronomy-
essentials/everything-you-need-
to-know-december-solstice.)
Hark the herald angels sing
yea, only one hundred ten days,
I started counting until spring
as proclaimed courtesy
yours truly, a fellow Earthling.
Mine tolerance to endure
brutally cold weather quite plain
decreases in direct proportion
as orbitz around El Sol increase,
hence subsequent heft to weather
old man winter doth wane,
no matter majority mein kampf birthdays
lived hashtagged Southeastern
Montgomery, Pennsylvanian.
Climate change slated
to ratchet up temperatures,
thus quaint Currier
and Ives existence dated,
whereby relics portraying
old man winter curated
within (ironically enough)
climate controlled and heavily gated
surveilled environment freighted
replete with trappings created,
back in the day when bomb cyclones
nsync with polar vortex precipitated,
where global warming naysayers skated
on thin ice ignoring strong voice dictated
by diminutive Swedish
activist Greta Thunberg severely castigated
passive grownups, said
slip o' lass generated
cult like following despite
her petite, yet enervated
larger than life presence, especially venerated
by young people cohort, who felt infuriated
unheeded apocalyptic warnings
inadvertently kickstarted,
motivated, and promulgated
green revolution proudly designated
government, née said youth
zealously, vociferously, righteously,
opportunistically arrogated
take charge attitude
(think) wartime economy escalated
forcing drastic paradigm shift
diminishing nightmare demise calculated
to reign death and destruction,
nonetheless untolled cruelty
permanently and wantonly eradicated
multitudinous swaths of life forms.
Have you ever watched a loved one die
Have you ever wished a loved one rather really died
To witness the one you knew in his might slowly become an enervated zombie
It is heart wrenching.
A miniature Atlas I esteemed his world high
Held it up to where it touched lips with the sky
Godlike in my eyes
He was devine,majestic,cool
Celestial,I looked up to him
His capabilities ran infinite
It was the saddest to find out one day that the one I thought could do no wrong,erred.
It is a must that we all eventually come to a revelation that all our idols are mere men of flesh
But to have them fall and shatter to pieces of rock
It is traumatising to a boy
God couldn't you have spared me the same fate
Stumbling in through the doors late in the nights
Eyes red
Reeking of alcohol
Rambling on
All pathetic
Tragic
I swear the sight of you in a coffin could have scarred me less
Where is the person I knew
You are here but not really
Form:
Enervated and energized after cold shower
the perfect tonic to gin body though o'clock
wee hours August thirty one two thousand
nineteen - natural buzz to stave off relished
sleep, thus refueled with zest able to chop
chop thru printed material (dictionary seat
of pants newpage turner with a-z characters)
and no crock, but refreshing douse of chill
kept mien ole body electric able to dial back
feeling akin to soap bar man tiredness life
came to buoy quite some hours with joy de
vivre vigor analogous to morning dove (or as
if submerged smooth as ivory into Irish Spring),
until... bubbliness peaked than plunged yours
truly into fast shuteye descent lulled into land
o' dreams courtesy double fan tussy "white
noise," until I awoke with a start, (albeit heavy
grogginess clinging fast - thick spidery whirled
wide cob webbed glommed threads) unable to
offset toe tilly stark realization bare little feet
(plaintively oinking higglety pigglety) felt like
ice cubes, whereby skimpy blanket inadequate
to allow, enable, and provide adequate quality
sleep, hence inspiration piqued to attempt cob
bullying poem gifted (thank you watermelon
pickle) despite raggedy state, not optimal state
string words together rendering sense and cents
ability birthing feeble attempt to sweat out small
medium thoughts lodged within fifty plus shades
gray atrophied matter - begetting literary stillborn
whereby intensive care unit medical team resorted
to heroic measures applying revolutionary punk
chew weighted equilibrium until state of the art
poetic license intervention wrought sudden jaw
dropping miracle – whipped courtesy last ditch
Shakespearean divine resuscitation, (plus all the
king's men and all the king's horses) rendered
dead as a doornail absolute zero metaphoric
lifeless limp bizkit verse, neither lickety split
rhyme nor reason could explain tectonic shift
witnessing pluperfect (donned with little non hex
pence booties) manifestation vital signs, but
metered metrical blue feet in toto - oz needed
close monitoring to ward off 10,000 maniacs.
He puffs in the nightly brume
His noctambulous proclivity
He calls it, a force of habit
Something automatic
Tonight is especially morbid
Atrabilious even
As he hunches gaunt
Over her headstone
That has grown verdant
Of many a night waxed lachrymose
The midnight wind is severe
A morbid creak fills his ears
He calls it his familiar
His body enervated
A chiliad of nights and tears
Have taken their toll
Gaunt from endless prayers
Then an icy apparition so clear
A familiar, sum of his fears,
Appears, standing in the midnight air
An icy depth and an icy glare his familiar
A formication forms in his chest
As usual no words exchanged
The wind blows the mist away
And soft rain begins to fall
And the owl begins to howl
She is gone, she is gone!