Long Fazed Poems
Long Fazed Poems. Below are the most popular long Fazed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fazed poems by poem length and keyword.
all you write about is them happy old days
before hair wore thin turned white from grey
rumour has it bad mouthing my name
wise men stay away while you complain.
what is it you don’t like
how I talk of real life
downhill sights
how life bites,
am I not herpy cherpy enough
wear a smile on my face
hurt me hardly not even fazed,
clearly I'm a vile taste
tough tea teas
at least I'm honest not slander committees
out to harm whilst hidden weak and witchy.
see you write of love and nice
but slag me off like a poltergeist,
behind my back throwing dice
shut your face my only advice.
cus me and you are different ages
I’m the internet you’re paper pages
in my prime you’re about to go crazy
spend all day spaced out and dazy
whoops the daisy
looks like you got a raise out me now rose
I'll bash thee rashly
head to toe bask then dash free feeding woes.
picking out a poet with less experience not close
all those your age make you appear dense in pose
so got to go low
shooting like a bozo
but you should know though
I’m a rascal make you dizzie in slowmo
you should never pull my lever
growing up you wrote with feather
mister cotton wool I'm the leather bull
you spread the word make your message fly
cus I’ll live for sixty years after you die
that's it conflict over
leave you old slumped over
nice to know ya
not really coward bye now
That was an extraordinary Christmas for Santa Claus,
his twentyfifth year of wintry journey without any pause.
He decided to make it a special celebration of gifting on his part
to the children adorably unique presents, he’d carry in the cart.
In colorful foils he packed with care the gifts through the night,
loaded them on the sleigh until the dawn’s first sunlight.
As on downy snow-laid track the reindeer led by Rudolf charged,
the chilling wind hit his face, made him aware he was so tired.
He spotted a bench under a tree while crossing the sunny park,
thought he deserved some rest after the night’s hard work.
He knew he would find ahead no other better place to choose,
so, he slumped on the bench, and soon slipped into snooze.
Rudolph heard loud sound, didn't know it was Nick's snoring bout,
got scared of the danger looming large, she had no doubt.
With loaded sleigh the reindeer ran away as fast they could,
leaving tired Santa to enjoy the frozen sleep in the wood.
At sharp sound of cracking trees under the burden of snow,
when he woke up fazed, reality to his senses came a bit slow.
On the trail engraved in snow he ran, caught the fleeing reindeer.
He was sure when he gave the gifts, him the children would endear.
December 17, 2018
Contest : Christmas Cheer
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
What is earth without ART?
But what is art without a poet— a society of poets?
All different perspectives, different souls
On the path to find their own home
Forced to be a doctor, an engineer or a businessman
Ink dried from the veins of the hand, quite before the words were laid out to be read
Or maybe forced down, to be blown up to pieces, by a culture of hatred
Never seen the sun to write the next word
Much hurt was caused, before the prose hit the waters
To travel to the lands where it would've been heard
Seen, understood and praised
To be vulnerable
But oh, what a privilege to never be fazed
The morning sound of the birds to the exploding sites of the world
How does one get away with life in such terms?
Pain, process, repeat— for a second and gone
We live in a world that's numb to it's mistakes
"Past is past" but what about past being the present?
Everlasting effects on the affected and termed to be "peasants"
Of the people who only see their own glamour fit
The next soldier, the next man or woman with their child in their hands
Only not a beating pulse, plain fear and anger surged
What of that poet we may have lost?
Does their life not come at a cost?
Do we blame their god, their religion, their caste?
Or the colour of skins vastly spread through the globe, that makes us get past
The art we may have lost?
The earth, we may have worked to end in a blast...?
I do not wish to tell you the truth
about this world. No. Not yet!
I do not wish to disclose the abyss
that civilisation has descended to.
This is not the time.
I shall protect and preserve your
innocence as long as time allows,
for in your eyes I see a hope
that I had lost many years ago.
your baby hands grasp my fingers,
that have changed since I was like you,
a result of my travails over many years.
The stories I read out to you are far too nice,
and even the wolf in your stories have a heart,
and show some kindness, but not in the
real world I live in. We shall talk about
butterflies and sing about stars, and many
rhymes that create a world that we would all like.
Let us stay here and enjoy these moments,
because when you grow up, you will know the
world that I know now.
Meanwhile, I can show you love and
the immense value of it, I can show you
what respect means- and that it is not reserved
just for a few- but to everything that you find in this world,
man, animal, bird, plants and many other creatures
that you will come to meet and know about.
Please do show respect to all that is there in nature- living or non living,
for everything is a product of eternal creation.
Choose morals and good values, over money,
learn to hurt no one, in action, thought or
through words.
Have true education that brings you closer to
creation in all its glory- and not learn things
that are a result of prejudice, lies, politics or half truths
paraded as spiritual knowledge through religion.
learn to understand yourself, and through that
knowledge- the true meaning of life-
Life is an opportunity to show love, compassion
and care! It is not to establish dominance and hatred.
With knowledge, dear little one,
you will be able to take on this world,
and not be fazed by the many situations,
that are so different from the stories
we read together.
One day, I am sure, you and your generation
will be able to put Humpty-Dumpty, together again!
I will be long gone by then, but in your
innocent eyes- I see hope.
Love
Grandpa!
The beguiled butterfly you were the flittering joy
to my dream-drenched enticed eyes,
left an enthralling film of tantalizing touch
on the flower I’d bloomed in my heart’s garden.
As your motif sparkled in the sunburst spectrum,
spontaneous fresco of yearning unveiled in my mind
for transient alluring moments engraved still,
generating the breaking waves of surging passion
on which the pearls of my longing spread
onto the silver beach beneath your eyelids.
You couldn’t perceive they changed into gems of desire,
for you didn’t morph the eyes into prism of ardor.
The latent essence of tender instinct I tried to awake
from the reverie where my love
wandered chasing the mirage in wilderness,
searching for a verdant pasture of fervor
to be owned as a dulcet dew drop,
but an entranced fly I flew fazed into your fire,
turned to ashes, wafted to the horizon of nothingness.
The whirlwind of the turning time
will sweep across your memory meadow,
where you’ll see me rise someday
from the dust of oblivion.
____________________
September 23, 2021
Contest : "O" Contest, New Poems
Sponsor : Constance La France
“True love blooms in the garden of emptiness” Quote by Poet
The beguiled butterfly you were the flittering delight
to my dream-drenched enticed eyes,
made an enthralling scene of tantalizing vista in my sight,
as fervent flower bloomed in my heart’s garden under sunburst skies.
As your motif sparkled with the seraphic spectrum of thrill,
the impulsive fresco of longing unveiled in my mind,
for the transient alluring moments engraved still,
generating the breaking waves of surging excitement enshrined.
On the crest of breakers the pearls of my love spread as attire
onto your golden beach making the garland of fashion.
You couldn’t perceive they changed into gems of desire,
for you didn’t transform the eyes into the prism of passion.
The latent essence of my tender instinct I tried to awake
from the fantasy where my love I perceived wander,
chasing the mirage in the misty wilderness opaque,
searching for the verdant pasture of your floral fervor.
In my yearning the waft of your fragrance I tried to acquire,
wanted to be owned as a dulcet dew drop undestroyed,
but I morphed into an entranced fly, flew fazed into your fire,
turned to ashes, drifted to the horizon of forgotten void.
The reminiscent whirlwind of the turning time
would sweep across the meadow of your memory,
where you’d see me rise someday with splendor sublime
from the dust of oblivion in the trance of reverie.
Night to the wake of a Dawn
Hardly can it’s birth be forgotten
Driven by the Deep of the Dawn
Bewildered in past present so rotten
Wondered in dark-deep abyss
Oblivious in the trodden lines
Yet broken the mind-ark in reminisce
It diurnal rings in bounding lines
Hope twined with disconcert
Fazed with life’s playoff
Yet Love plays in the Concert
In worthy streams to cool off
Uncharted remain thy remains
For to Mother Earth thou were betrothed
Their hearts never forgets thy remains
Though grieving hearts left thou dead
In thy Uncharted bled my heart
For succor he misses
Thy demise still rumples my cart
For thy succor and subsidy he misses
I'm driving down the street
Taking in the sight & sounds.
I see a disturbing sight
A family pushing a shopping cart around.
Their clothes are dirty
They look like they haven't eaten in days.
But somehow it doesn't bother them
They don't seemed to be fazed.
People walked & drove past them
As if they weren't there.
They acted like, it isn't my problem
Why should I care?
I wanted to get out my car
& offer this family some encouragement.
Give them a few bucks
So their kids could have some nourishment.
I didn't, I kept driving
& stopped looking their way.
I was like everyone else
I didn't care anyway.
I started thinking of my own children
Could I put them through this?
Could we fit all we own in a shopping cart
& still live in bliss?
Would our pride allow us
To ask strangers for change?
Would we suffer from culture shock
If our lives were that much rearranged.
Would we be able to deal with
The weather, the hunger, shame?
To be amongst the nameless
Where no one knows your name.
I started to feel bad for this family
So I turned my car around.
I went to look for them
But they were nowhere to be found.
I got home & got on my knees
& began to pray.
I asked God to shine his light on them
& give this family better days.
I prayed for those 3 children
Who looked tired & worn out.
I prayed for their mother too
Her eyes were so filled with doubt.
I prayed for their father
Who felt like he failed his family.
Who am i to judge them
Hell, that could of been me.
For some reason that family
Stays on my mind.
I never saw them again
They're just a memory in time.
I often wonder what became of them.
Did they ever get through this?
They are stronger than my family
There's no way we could ever do this.
When I start thinking life is hard
& my world's coming apart.
I just think of that family
Pushing that Wal-Mart shopping cart.
It's time now for me to start a new,
I have to as all my poems were removed.
Locked out of my account by poetrysoup,
I was excluded in exile from this poetry loop.
Following this exclusion I am now back,
not fazed pulsating the evolutionary track,
evading the limits as I upgrade and adapt,
soaking up the jargon and improving my act.
Many others write rhymes befiting to poetry,
with less common or poetic words in decipher reads,
my rhymes are more fitting to an unsightly reality,
with everyday common words on the contrary.
On the face my style has a lesser appearance,
but I write rhymes for head and chest clearance,
I don't comply to the contemporary coherence,
I'm more a wild card away from adherence.
I had created a monster,
the sort offence sponsors,
a repulsive imposter
receiving revolted responses.
A quest that I conquered with ease and perfected,
but went to far and squandered to see it ejected,
wondering beyond the boundaries until disconnected,
I didn't ponder it, I was fond of it that's why it was selected.
When I get knocked down I return with haste,
grab a fresh slate and draft a brand new taste,
when you lose all, start new and don't hesitate,
in the face of adversity carry on and create.
My life's a quest to evolve and progress,
each test to solve, break down and digest,
unstoppable on this path until I witness,
a poem I write with rhyme finesse.
Charlotte was never really enamoured with her mother.
So, when the news that she had been bludgeoned 17 times with a baseball bat didn't really faze her.
Charlotte was never enamoured with her father.
So, when the news that he had fallen 20 stories from his high rise flat still in his wheelchair didn't really faze her.
Charlotte was never really enamoured with her brother.
So, when the news that he had been run over 23 times by his own car, didn’t really faze her.
Charlotte was never really enamoured with her sister.
So, when the news came through that she had been electrocuted in her bath, it didn’t really faze her.
Charlotte was really fazed when she found out her parents had left all their money to the local cat sanctuary.
Charlotte actually liked cats.
Charlotte was never really enamoured with the cat sanctuary owner.
So, the news that she had been tortured to death didn’t really faze her.
Charlotte definitely wasn't enamoured by the Judge, who jailed her for a hundred years, calling her the devil incarnate.
This fazed her profoundly.
Charlotte escaped from jail six months later.
The Judge was slightly stunned when the gavel hit his head.
Ninety-nine hits later, one for every year she would have served, Charlotte reminded the Judge, smashing his head to a pulp.
This didn’t really faze Charlotte.
Charlotte is still at large, and after an intensive police search state wide, is still on the run.
Charlotte will be back at some stage, I’m sure.
People seem enamoured by her.