Long Failures Poems
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I never thought I needed to tell you,
Thought that was something you learned as you grew,
From listening to your parents talking about what to do,
Before they go,
And you did get a sneak peek at someone with eyes
no longer able to appreciate the view.
So, now is the time to stop pretending it is not true,
And accept that there is an end date, even for you.
If you want to prolong your stay,
And see more children play,
Leaving no debts for others to pay,
Knowing you had said all you needed to say,
Then in Isolation you should stay.
I hope you have not skipped class halfway through the session,
Before I ask this question,
If you are determined to continue your mission?
While in transmission,
Who else will no longer be in a position,
To man their station,
Because you gave them no consideration,
Due in part to multiple failures to right the misconception,
That you are an exception.
So many times I counted on you
Times only you could help me through
Reasons unexplained; you gave no aid to me
Every single day now, you are failing.
No excuses, no lines, no reason is good enough.
Getting too worn? Is your life too tough?
Think, for a change, about the children you raise.
How can you help when your fires of failures blaze?
Stay down just once, perhaps it will help.
Utmost quit giving, impudent whelp.
Children need you not, despite what you think.
Children need you not to pull them from any brink.
Eloquence, that language you do not speak.
So unlike them and, to their ears, your tongue does reek.
So much so, they ought never your counsel seek.
Lowly you, it is best you disappear.
Out from us, we require you be away from here.
Voids in our hearts your absence will not give.
Indeed, the lack of your presence would help us to live!
Never to be remembered would your memory be.
Gladly forgotten by all, even, especially me.
And now that you’ve suffered, dear mother, through preceding stanzas three,
Do not forget that which you yourself know is most important to me.
Other than substance and body of poetry
Remember how much thought I put into titling.
Excepting this verse, the one after, and its next
Yonder title applies to the words of this text.
Of course I would not truly let it be
Under no circumstance to write of you disrespectfully.
Mother, my mother, to whom none can compare,
Outshine all you will in both present and future years.
Mother, my mother, a burden like yours, truly few can bear.
Listen to the joy, the melody… silence,
peaceful as the forest’s streams,
Reassuring the soul of every good thing.
Listen to the melancholy, worthy of a tear
Falling in the shadows of a dream,
Where hope is glistening, a star so clear.
Listen to the music of a prayer, promising
Wherever silhouettes of oaks and pines linger,
There is a serenity that will always be remembered,
A quietude, promising the heart and the soul…
The wonderful that comes to those who can see,
Beyond the darkness, beyond the seas of memories,
Beyond the failures and faults and flaws,
Beyond the fears, the tears, so distraught –
Beyond the grief, into the wonderful of a light,
Who shatters the night and bleeds love so bright
Across the spirit who believes – just beyond the trees…
Listen to the whisper of God’s gentle rain,
The sigh of the wind who has nothing to gain,
The wonder of a faith that bleeds without any pain,
The mountain’s voice, the lasting choice…
Just listen and hear what she shows us…
As the light falls across the ridges, startling
Beckoning to those who hear His love…
In the quiet words of her forests, her winds, her storms,
All the reasons I have for deciding…
These mountains hold my heart’s treasures,
On top of their peaks, beyond their crags,
I can see the psalms they lay claim to –
I can see the light they radiate.
I can see the hills that will always give me chills!
I can see the story that shows God’s grace and glory!
Life is not just about assets, there is much more than that.
Life is a journey, we leave a path, a story, a legacy for others to see and follow.
All of our life is a story, the ups and downs, God told us that our life is our gift to him, that our choices our corrections, our joys and failures are all part of us, we are the creators, we make our destiny by our actions.
God also told us that we are not alone, that there are negative forces, forces that want us to fail, to fall, to suffer.
Life is a journey, a map, a road, all created by you, you can always change, grow, and make new, so make way that will make all of your dream life come true.
Life is a gift, each moment, each choice, is yours, so pick and go forward into life with positive ways and love in your pocket for life.
Yes, we want you to succeed to make all of your dreams come true, so love and forgive, and remember you are the creator of your life.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Most of us couldn't care less about another person's color
We're too busy with everyday things,
like working hard to make a living
providing for family
setting positive examples
raising children to be a better version of ourselves.
In between all these mundane things
we try explaining to them.
About the curious phenomenon
we call God.
The media -the wealthy -the radicals
are trying to topple democracy-to topple us.
They choose to focus on the rotten apples of society.
Make it seem like bigotry is the way everybody thinks.
To promote chaos and mayhem in society.
It's not just a white, black, or blue thing.
As they would have you believe-it's a human being thing...
The extremist blames their failures on {white privilege}..
The bell curve can tell you many things but not everything...
On either end of the bell are the anarchists and extremists.
They focus on and spotlight the exceptions to the rules.
These are the malcontents of our races and society.
In the middle are the majority of us-we the people.
Just trying to get by-fencing with everyday devils.
The middlemen- standing by our rights and freedoms.
Trying to deal with the violent, intolerant fringes.
I waded through the waist deep snow
Lost and forgotten where no one would go
Evading failures and faults of my own
Cleverly hidden but now I am grown
Expectations of Love and forever more
Unreceptive misgivings always close a door
And as I am so lost inside here I am free
In open unjudgemental ecstasy to just Be
Reservations unchained harsh words gone
My journey begins like a sad lovers’ song
Forgotten unloved pushed till I broke
They sat there and laughed to them a joke
A dog at my side a stick in my hand
A prayer on my lips no map of this land
Stars as my guide dog as my friend
Walk on hopeless soul till the journey ends
like the gold ring embracing my finger yet
cold and aloof, always more beautiful just beyond my sight
than within it
because illusion is impossibly perfect
a space beyond tangibility and compassion
where perception is a curse word, as we willingly hand over
our judgment for execution
like a gladiator doomed to die, sacrificed for the
amusement of spectators
empty spectators seeking to fill themselves
with the blood-caked sand of the arena
oblivious to the grain they sell across the street
you see
yourself amid the rapacious press and it is beautiful to you
for a moment, look closer
the sleek, glossy pelts of the hunt-dogs will molt into
skeletal mange
you see
that which you crave is an autumn leaf in the wind
doomed to roam until it crumbles to dust
unattainable
perfection is a curse word as we seek to paint meaning
onto the broken remnants of civilization
that which you crave is a lie you have been spoonfed
since you first took breath
you cannot be anything you want
some things are impossible
and you will never fulfill all of your dreams
but this is what they didn't tell you:
the power of dreams is in the act, not the fulfillment
impossibilities are the roadmap to your life
and who you are is beautiful, because
not despite, like you have been told
because of your flaws, your failures, your sorrow
these things do not define you
they make you complete
I may not be perfect but I'm still here.
Maybe I wasn't there for you.
Maybe I didn't fight hard enough or you,
for your rights.
I didn't fight the way you thought I should have.
I may not be perfect but I'm still here.
You didn't know how hard I tried, or
the many nights I cried.
I may not be perfect but I'm still here.
Does my admission of guilt give me a license to mess up?
To fall from grace, your good graces.
Does that give me the right to let moments
slip by? Not taking advantage of the opportunities
to set things right?
If my admission can keep others from falling,
I gladly accept responsibility for my failures.
So no one else has to miss out or
fall through the cracks of life.
I carry my imperfection with me, every day.
Do all my pretty words excuse my actions?
Just because I decorate the truth does that let me off?
Truth be told I did let us slip through the cracks.
But does my acknowledgment of the truth give me
any peace, how about you?
Admission of guilt isn't enough, is it?
I really don't know anymore,
But I know this I'm not perfect but I'm here
The battle scars of life are written not in blood,
but in tears.
Only God knows the depths of my sorrow,
only God knows the tears I've cried over this.
Yes, I may not be perfect but I'm still here,
Awaiting the day your forgiveness reaches your ears.
It was a fine mid noonday
The wind grasps itself against the heat
Finding its way toward destiny
Like a man finding his own way
Success and failures are **** hoes
Trading, its guise from one to another
By transposing throughout the generation
Like a man lost in his lust
In the same way, you are in search of purpose
That or that? Yeah!
It's both This and That
Like the way you lament deep days and dark nights
And you are in search of the past to see the present
But the present is perched next to you
With a fine bestowed gift
Like Samson longed for his love
In the end, only you know,
That Purpose lies in the present,
It might be how you present the contemporary
Like an ant finding its way on time
You say time reveals everything
But it conceals only the past
Nothing more or nothing less
It's all about the magic you witness every day.
Amidst the “pitter-patter” of diamond rain droplets,
As though tearing the soft womb of the dark sky like rockets,
Lightning “crackled”! As though electrified, thunder “rumbled”!
Will my hopes, like brim-filling drops from a pot, get tumbled?
I am hurt often by rocks of failures “flumping” on me,
Human life seems to be a poem full of irony;
He's the twenty-fourth soldier killed within twenty-four hours,
“Rustling leaves” and “whipping” wind used to sing of his powers!
Romantic scenes sound like death knells in sudden turns of life,
Waves of pains might be “crashing” in the heart of his young wife;
Hales seems to “snap” and asking where the future might leads to,
Soldiers saving the nation “whooshed” into undying woe!
“Booming”, “banking”, like the wars we fight; our lives dawn and end,
Sometimes “swishing”; sometimes “swooshing”; routines roughly resent!
Born with the breeze! Gone with the wind! Who cares, here, about whom?
Life is to live! When one lives, another is in the tomb!
Dead leaves “rattled” like my soldier friend's well-starched uniforms,
Others may hear mine tomorrow amidst “howls” of the storms;
Singing the romance of wars? Get wounded! Killed! You will learn!
When none left to cry for you, truths of life you will discern!
Stop your “gurgling” now, O River, rushing to join the sea!
Pay a short homage to my friend, who's like you in great plea!
Empty, he has commenced his journey to know what is more!
Lay him on your “laps”; reach him safe, to the eternal shore!
18 October 2021
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet