Long Excuses Poems
Long Excuses Poems. Below are the most popular long Excuses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Excuses poems by poem length and keyword.
Each time I see him, I see a clear reflection of myself. We function the same way. Slow to start. Easily lost. Reading the same line over and over and over until giving up feels easier than trying again. I know the feeling of not understanding what everyone else does. I know the feeling of believing I am stupid and 15 steps behind even when I work 20 times harder than anyone else in my class. I know what it feels like to race against my grades and hide my misunderstanding behind humor. There is someone I know and I can tell he is drained. Drowning in silence and sitting in a room full of people who never really see him. Helpless. I look, and I know I should help. I want to help. I see you when others don't, and what I see, I feel for. There is someone I know. Someone who talks loud until his friends turn away. Someone who sinks when he is alone. Someone whose head rests quietly on folded arms, low to the desk. I understand his words and excuses, saying he's tired. He is, but he's not just waiting for sleep. Not just in the way they think. Sometimes I wish I could just ask what’s wrong, let them know it's alright, be a space to land, to listen, to care. I can't. I care through the words on this page that will never reach this person I know. Once you become invisible, you stay that way. I wouldn't dare cross that line.
Killing women and children
Is absolutely unacceptable
Executing sick and old men
Is obviously low and despicable.
You can make countless speeches
You can invent endless excuses
Slaughtering so many is genocidal
Hurting so many can never be justifiable.
The world is now less peaceful and civilized
A cease fire is long overdue and warranted
This is barbaric; too many leaders are demented.
When will decency and humility be exercised?
Lies won’t fly, because they have no visible wings
This is horrific; too many have blood on their hands.
Copyright © July 2024, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Woe for those who shout for anger
Rumbling upon the fiery scene
Drooling vengeance spits within
Stinky Truth opens in awe and despair
Mirror of Justice, who’s to be blame
Poor am I but rich in desire
Weak as called, bullied your Sire
My heart is not iron enough to melt all my sighs.
Tell me, who’s mouths should be sealed,
Whose eyes should turn blind and ears in deaf?
Whose actions should be censored and fired?
Whose memories and judgment should we rely on?
Pounds of objections and complaints have been laid
Accuses and excuses are ready to crumple
A group of bystanders is called to ponder
Those in power truly proves their power
What can I do Mirror of Justice?
When weak I am to defend
My intentions are not on the frequency
Ears are built with own’s pride and views solely
Whom can I trust and hold a plea?
My longing rust for a slim chance to get flee
My confidence rots when they blow heavily
Am I destined to be crippled in such a way?
My heart was cut, sliced, and bled endlessly
Minced by the circumstances and pain within
Pinched to its depth ‘til it snoozed out mercilessly
Pail as it looks, shredded, squeezed until it’s called the end
Does my echoing cry reach you, my Sire?
My days are counted to what they desire.
Can’t help to burst floods by my tears
Rivers of aches truly need your divine spare
Mirror of Justice, to when should I stare?
No show of protection reflects in my situation
How many tears should I cry out?
To block my eyes and heart in such pain?
Mirror of Justice, Show me
To what extent I should carry? Enlighten me so I will agree
If pain could be a better me,
So, it be.
We were cousins and had grown up
Close friends, living not far apart.
When I was nine and he was eight,
(His sister and my brothers were younger)
We were going to get married
Some day and have ten children,
Ten dogs, ten cats, and ten horses.
We played on the park playground
(He broke his arm falling from a swing).
We climbed trees, played card games
And board games and soldiers, and
In summer our mothers and we
Cousins took the long trek by train
And boat to swim at Nantasket Beach
One day my father found a new job,
And we moved away, far from home
As we had always known it.
My cousins also moved away,
To another, farther place, so
For years we saw each other only
On holidays or special occasions.
Although we weren’t strangers,
We were never really that close again.
We grew older, married new sweethearts,
And started families of our own.
Of course we always made promises
On Christmas cards, “We really MUST
Get our families together this year!”
But it seemed only funerals or weddings,
A 90th birthday, or a 50th anniversary
Would find us once again together,
Reminiscing about the “good old days”
When we were all children, and
We were oblivious, and time
Seemed to stretch ahead into infinity.
We have lived nearer to each other
In the last few decades, but days
And years have drifted by. Often we’ve
Put off visiting ’til “tomorrow”.
Now we are grandparents, even great
Grandparents, we and our spouses
Suddenly surprised with health issues.
And so we wake to find tomorrow
Is not always a possible option!
Finally, next week, I WILL travel -
It’s not so far - to visit with my cousin,
His sister passed on, wife in the hospital.
He is not well, and she will not,
He tells me, leave the hospital.
Why, as years go by, do we always
Assume an endless supply of time?
We toss off, “See you next week”,
Or “We’ll get together next summer!”
But can we ever be sure of that?
Forget the excuses! Do it now!
We most regret the things we didn’t do!
CODA
We had finally made new plans to travel,
At last, to see my cousin Don
And, possibly, even his wife, Ginny.
We had bought the ferry tickets.
But the night before, a storm came up
And forced us to cancel our trip.
---------------------------
Tomorrow I will go to his funeral.
I hung out on six avenue and they teased me all the time.
Saying you're afraid of you mom, but I was more afraid of crime.
I found myself sometimes, doing things to just get along.
That's what we do, blame others, when it's us that's doing wrong.
I see young men on street corners, hustling to make a bill.
Putting the blame on society, because they rob and kill.
My mother went pass the six grade, her mother and father died.
Returned, finished school, three times she retired.
She lived during times opportunities for blacks were low.
With prayer, effort, with no excuses, there's nowhere you can't go.
She was the first black employee at the Pensacola Navy Exchange.
One or two gave her a hard time, but she never complained.
She took on Conoco, now Harvard law mentions her name.
She's now gone, her memory goes on, Google is her claim to fame.
Raising 3 boys & a girl. she said, I will not be your friend.
In the military we went and God gave her back 3 men.
On TV, young men doing time, momma's excusing their crimes.
Blaming the schools, the police and or anybody else.
Putting it on anyone or anything other than themselves.
We're to train a them in right way, not beat them near death.
Or break their spirit in a store, yelling at the top of our breath.
Strutting the isle in Sunday best, claiming how you are blessed.
Who's preaching to you? That's not bible, that's a mess!
You need to repent, read Revelation 20:12
Angels are recording you and before God you'll have to tell.
I raised two children all on my own, and I didn't do everything right.
Yet I'm amazed, how children are treated & parents sleep at night.
God gave us a conscience that tells us when we're wrong.
You ignore it too many times and soon it will leave you alone.
You can't turn the clock, back in time, but right now you can repent.
But the moment you die You'll account for every event.
God's watching our actions, every moment of the day.
In Luke 12:20 he said "You fool, I want your soul today!"
Two boys pushed me down hard into a mud puddle when I was eight
This was after Sunday School, I was dressed in pristine clothes.
The sister of Michael told her mother what he had done.
The other child was named Danny, I did not know him well.
After Sunday dinner, the doorbell rang.
Michael was standing there with his mother.
She was pinching his ear hard. He had to apologize.
We were both embarrassed.
I heard Michael’s mother tell my mother that she had phoned Danny’s mother.
Danny’s mother said “My son wouldn’t have done that!”
Danny’s mother made excuses for Danny all of his life.
He would not lie, he would not steal, he would not beat up people.
When Danny was eighteen, his mother could not longer help him.
He was incarcerated for the rest of his life for beating a man to death.
Michael became a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines.
Days turned to weeks as his screams echoed through out those long nights.
Residents packed up their children and quickly took flight.
Legend has it that his screams are still heard to this day
within the wind that should happen to blow by that way.
His father's endless suffering finally ended as it would
on December 25th, the birthday of Good.
He was a heartbeat from death but he managed to say
good bye to his son in his most compassionate way.
"Please forgive me my son. I had no idea
of the monster I had become to someone I love very dear.
I've no excuses. No reasons justify what I've done to you.
I blame myself for all this evil I have driven you to.
I'd suffer more if only for the hope that you would regain
the good that was my beloved son before I caused him such pain.
My time draws near but I swear my son I'll beg the Powers That Be,
Damn me to hell eternally but please set my son free.
You with the power. Restore my son. Once again make him whole.
Most certainly my son can't be an angel without his soul."
These were his last whispered words before he died
as he was drawn into the heavenly light.
"Merry Christmas Angelus," but over all, it wasn't a very good night.
To Be Continued....(Well, maybe)
Angelus's Reign Ends >
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=190792
Shoes on the lawn
every single one
a reminder
of someone
no longer there
cause no one would dare
speak out or decry
yet tears haven't run dry
so there they are
a colorful panorama
it's not frivolous drama
this is real
Feel...
Each pair's a silent scream
of a parent's shattered dream
empty places
grief stricken faces
empty seats
No after school treats
empty beds
because of the empty heads
of politicians who are fed
blood stained money instead
shoes on the lawn
night goes down to dawn
a mother cries
another student dies
shooters shoot
emotionally unstable
undetected, they are able
mentally deranged
from society estranged
they roam in the land of the free
more guns is NOT the key
what about the stats
all those bloodied facts
other countries? not the same!
Here mass shooting's a game
BS is the name
to give to the excuses! What a shame!
A shame!
Look....See
Shoes on the lawn
Don't just stand there and yawn
put aside your pride
Think of all who have died
Look...see
The next pair of shoes
could belong to me
or to you
there's so much you can do
you know it is true
You can help stop the madness
and help heal the sadness
Oh...how my heart aches to see...
those shoes...
those multicolored empty shoes
scattered on the lawn...
Eileen Manassian
In a world burning under the weight of its own infernality,
Empty words destroy suffering like a lost art.
Those who write only for applause and hollow idols birth dead phrases,
Devoid of pulse and blood, fragile facades of pure expression.
True writing is an exorcism, a confrontation with the depths of the soul,
Not a begging for validation, but a dance with inner shadows.
When the writer is carried away by fame and fortune,
They become just another floating object on the river of futile illusions.
It is a lie to write for money and fame,
A lie to seek the praises of literary snobbery.
Authentic writing is born from necessity, from a burning urgency,
Not a spectacle for crowds, but an escape from oneself.
Many writers, like gladiators, spill their blood,
To satisfy the modern Caesar, the hungry crowd.
Circumstances and misfortunes are insignificant to the writer,
They write through hunger, despair, and the slow erosion of hope.
The true creator does not wait for ideal conditions,
Does not seek refuge in comfort, does not complain about obstacles.
Excuses are the refuge of those who lack the inner fire,
Souls afraid of the weight of their own words.
For the one truly called to write, there is no choice,
Only necessity, for writing becomes an act of survival.
I may be hungry, homeless, wet, and in debt,
But if I write, that is enough, enough to give shape to silence.
To write means to cast meaning onto the arid page of existence,
To give form and style to the unspoken, an act as essential as breathing.
It is not enough to drown the world in moth-eaten words,
The world is already drowning in them, in clichés and empty talk.
If you must write, let it be because you must,
Because you have something original to say, something vital from within yearns for light.
You do not write because you want to say something; you write because you have something to say,
A final confession, a revelation cast into the eternal void.
You’re not my mate
lying to my face
just a fake
invading space
angry when you’re not believed
all I want is for you to leave
but you must always get your way
insulting me the more you stay
you can’t just leave or go away
until I accept the lies you say
Stuck unaware of all but you
narrow minded attitude
when everything you do is rude
blinded by your bloody mood
answering what wasn’t asked
determined so you fail to grasp
this friendship isn’t gonna last
just a dickhead from the past
predetermined like a fool
a plan of action non-tactical
completely unadaptable
you’re aware of bugger all
you planned this with an expectation
I planned too straight up rejection
out of line without detection
still here like a bad infection
telling me your daft excuses
selfishness I see as useless
go away you flipping duffus
absolutely flipping clueless
you aren’t aware of what you do
thinking I haven’t got a clue
you only see your point of view
now I just don’t want to see you
the cheek to say I don’t understand
like I am stupid and you’re the man
I would leave while you still can
yet you stay and make more demands
mate I’m going to knock you out
without a care or single doubt
teaching you to shut your mouth
forcibly knocking you down
you’re lying and I know you are
you know it too but disregard
you are a lying superstar
and now I’m going to leave you scarred
a pathological desire
speaking smoke there lies a fire
skills you think you have acquired
a credible friend? No! A terrible liar!