Long Fend Poems
Long Fend Poems. Below are the most popular long Fend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fend poems by poem length and keyword.
The day you abruptly went away,
My heart became frozen and my soul grew shades of gray,
My little eyes watched as your cadillac pulled out,
After listening to all those screams and foolish shouts,
The driveway was vacant, the house became dark,
I knew at that moment we would never again go to the park,
When I got home from school you would not be there,
I prayed to God that you would still some how care,
No one explained to me at seven years old,
That I would have to watch so much unfold,
Depression set inside that vacant place,
I no longer had that bright smile on my face,
The tire swing we built together fell apart late that June,
I would now have to learn way too soon,
How to fend for myself and take your place,
I had to fill your empty space,
I tried so hard to be like you,
Even built a tree house in honor of you,
I learned how to fix things around the house,
I even protected mom once from a mouse,
But no matter what I did,
It did not make up for me not allowed to be a kid,
Other kids got to see their dads, even when their parents got divorced,
But that wasn’t the case for me of course,
All I did was think of you, my first love had been devastatingly untrue,
The events that happened after can’t be written in just one poem,
Only God could possible have the right size thread to have sown
The chunks that life took out of me,
All because my daddy never came back to be
What every little girl desires
The protector, provider, the one who inspires
All grown up and it is now bitter sweet
For now I help other little girls whose dads caused them to have years of defeat
One day when I have my own
I will be able to set the right tone
I will be able to feed my inner child
Embrace her and enjoy what you so freely defiled
We either repeat are parent’s mistakes or do whatever we can to prevent
That generational cycle from becoming like cement
Braking it now and forgiving you
Was the best thing I could ever do
For I harbor no resentment and I have no anger
I just know that not having a father put me in a lot of danger
But I am blessed to have had my heavenly dad
He was the one who was there when I was sad
He was the one who protected me from strife,
The one who taught me how to reverse my life,
I can live free because now I see,
what you did in the end, hurt you more than it did me.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written 9/6/11
“i’m only happy when it rains,”
moans shirley manson when she’s backed by
butch vig & an orchestra of overdubbed
distorted guitars enhanced by sythensizers
a la trent reznor
the genius who is credited in garbage’s first album---
one doesn’t have to be a meteorologist to
think that she & her crew may be on to
something---
for the rain washes all the dirt away
the rain replenishes the earth so that it can sustain another day
when damaged endlessly by the
cruel
sun
scorching its surface & all the living things upon it
(during the spring and summer months especially, when all the idiots are
running round with nothing on & with no sunscreen, etc. to fend off
melanoma)---
the rain is what those unconventional people who
dwell in the shadows
feast on---
and who are these people?
they are the ones that choose not to smile when
everyone else does---
they are the ones that are not easily
amused---
they/we
are the ones that run out in the rainstorm &
dance naked in the cold wetness---
whipping our hair around in a rhythmic gesture
a middle finger in the air to any kind of
“creator”
that would shine its face down upon us all and
communicate
destruction with the poker face of
peace---
give us the rain when it comes
give us the floods
the hurricanes
the torrential downpour that accompanies it all
so that on the days that we aren’t struggling to swim
& struggling to float amidst the chaos
we understand how fortunate we are
to even be breathing---
so that our ever-complaining selves
die with the remnants of the wash-away
& you & i can wave goodbye to the old
selves
who thrived only for sun &
smiles
not understanding that in this pubic hair of a moment in which each of us
spend
together
on this beautiful planet
avec all the other plants & creatures who dwell with us,
that
we must savor every second
be it in sun or rain
and let it be known that the rain does so much for us
and yet is always pelted with insults & “evil” metaphor---
rain,
my friends,
is getting the bad rap---
and i don’t think i stand alone on the sideline campaigning---
there are thousands, albeit it
millions
marching for the rain to come
and keep our civilization
quenched---
news flash: without good ol’ h20 we are all dead as
doornails---
so stop worshipping the sun
&
give it up for the
rain.
Never ran from a fight, never backed down from a challenge and I don't fear a battle
I've been through too much to fear something I may see on my travels
I'll walk straight into The storm rather than cower away
I'll find a way to overcome even if you take my power away
I've been left out, abandoned, left to fend for myself
Got stabbed in the back by people I trusted, so I became friends with myself
Was raised in care as my parents preferred drink, and I was labelled the hopeless one
Got told I'd be dead by 21, social workers basically gave me a loaded gun
But instead of shooting myself, I filled it with ink and attacked the earth
I write for those left behind and people who didn't get a turn
I won't allow them to water down what I burn
It's your issue not mine, if you get offended by my words
I picked myself up from every fall, how could you be mad at that?
I made it further than expected, why would you be sad at that?
Oh I get it, because your prediction was wrong
And you're mad, I made it this far even though I've never belonged
All I need is a pen, pad and my pride and I'll find a way to win
Go ahead and judge, I don't hide the scars on my skin
I've been hurt more than most, Some self-inflicted from my self-harming days
But now I'm 5 years clean, and out charming babes
While you sit and judge someone you should have tried to inspire
But by the looks of it, your guidance is something I didn't require
Sometimes I feel like the world doesn't deserve my wisdom
I Refuse to serve a religion
I won't hate other people for believing in something different
Everyone has knowledge, if you have the ability to listen
My dad never gave me one bit of advice
Was never there, yet you act like I'm the bad person, because I didn't cry when he died
It was just another day, a random stranger dying
Just more words on a page, more poetry writing
I fathered myself, so of course I've made mistakes
I own up to it, you make mistakes and point the finger another way
Yeah I've been reckless, dated numerous girls at the same time
Pushed away the only girl I loved, this is my crazy mind
Bipolar, but I've never tried to hide it
Depression by my side, and I try to fight it
So go ahead, Tell me I'm wrong, I need to change, go ahead and judge
I've made it this far despite everything, so I've got my middle finger up
I was blessed to know a woman in my life
Who faced hard times, struggle, and strife.
A Chinese immigrant, she came from a poor town
Lost her husband, was kept from her daughter, but not kept down.
She had three other children who were born here
Getting them a better life was her biggest fear.
She had to fend for herself and them alone you see,
Speaking little of the language in this foreign country.
But, she had always lived a determined life
So she fought back...with a fork and a knife.
She opened a restaurant in a small community
Where her gracious manner made her friends instantly.
Her children would grow up in town with new friends
The restaurant she opened was the mean to her ends.
She worked very hard...sometimes eighteen hours a day
She never complained because that was her way.
Her life's expectations knew more successes sublime
The restaurant grew...one egg roll at a time.
She once told me of the anxiety she felt at the money she'd spent...
Laughing said, "My uncle said sell 2 qts of Chop Suey/Day...you've got the rent."
She was a woman who chose kindness as she felt had to her been shown
To people far and near her generosity was known.
She was thankful that she had the opportunity
To give back with love rather than animosity.
I first met her over some 30 years back
She struck me from the that moment as a person who had the knack
To make others feel at home though strangers they be
She certainly did, because she did it to me.
I still remember her caring for me...it was shown
Once caught in a blizzard, she opened her home.
So often was there a path to this woman's door
Though she stood, less than 5 foot 4.
Her heart was as big and wonderful as one would want
An earthly angel, she was heaven sent.
Though her health began to wane later in life
She never gave in to that world of strife.
Her eyesight began to fail and it was difficult for her to see
But that didn't stop her or her generosity.
She loved people and filled everyone with cheer
Ever thankful that she had had a life here.
Though she is gone I'll never forget her face
Or her love of life, devotion to family, and unstoppable pace.
To me I'll ever be thankful to have had the joy
Of calling her "Ma" ... ONE IN A MILLION~was Connie Moy!
1st Place Winner - "One in a Million" Poetry Contest
I have waited so long to compose a new song; I have waited so long for you to come along. Time is setting fire underneath my feet; time is igniting a motion in the third degree; time is raking up the dust and everyone is getting ready to board the bus.
The sun is setting fire to my mind and the journey from mega peak to California is divine .
I am walking in a straight line and the clouds in Angola are dancing about causing the people to run and shout. What on earth has gone wrong?
The Angolans are chanting a mournful song today they are here tomorrow they are there and the wind is blowing through the trees and moving across the hemisphere littering the avenue and the streets.
They have been waiting for fifteen years underneath the trees on a political promise that had no legs but it came in time when Obama had something to sell and nothing to tell.
Sixty-three thousand of them waited in the bush living in the wilds honey all day with nothing to cook, they survive every day on water and grain to enter America visa free but the promise was not fulfilled.
A new administration came along and everyone was singing a different song and the deal died peacefully in the bushes.
The new administration began to shout and the bush people’s fate was worse than before. They were tossed in different directions, and forced out of the woods to go and fend for themselves.
The sick and destitute start moving around in crotches and long gowns, and the old and feeble trod along praying to Allah in the woods but time propels them in different direction and the Americans watch from the big screen an epitaph of a broken promise lying among the trees and the promise was covered with dirt and those that survived moved boldly with courage to another place.
I have waited so long for you to come along to listen to your story of how you escaped from glory,
I have waited for so long to have a decent shower and walk in the book shops to feast my eyes on new literature.
I want to look at some focused recipe and the ingredients that is mixed with dusts and those that cause you to fuss. A combination of truths will draw a fine line around those terrific boots.
I have waited for so long to compose this song so meet me underneath the tree and sing along with me.
folks, there is a brand spanking new
kind of idiot
that walks amongst us &
no,
s/he is not a ****ing zombie---
some film mustered creature who
erupts from the dead like some
fictional biblical ********
to wreak havoc on the rest of us
who deserve to suffer at the hands of
something that thanks to
Romero, O’Bannon, P.Jackson & the
Halperin brothers, we have to
endure.
the idiot in question of course is the
rich individual who has taken the time,
effort & moola to create anti-zombie
fortresses in the US, to protect
themselves from the
“zombie apocalypse”---
a special example of american
stupidity,
which because of the few random events
in the recent past, where morons
full of bath salts & meth have
gone on to a career in
munching on the face of their
fellow
delicious-looking, human,
has plagued the minds of those who
have nothing better to do &
nothing more to worry about
than the impossible attack from
a work of fiction.
while not much different than the
rich christians who go to such great
lengths as giving money to senators
who will push the further armament of
Israel, as well as always supporting
any kind of instigation brought on by
the good ol’ US of A, in the
middle east, with the hope that it will
bring about their “armageddon” a
little sooner,
these fanatics doing their damndest to
fend off zombies
(rising from the dead & for some reason
showing up on said idiot’s doorstep)
have gone the extra mile to invest in
what are often referred to as
“modern day castles.”
ranging from $600,000 (drop in
the bucket) to $12 million (steep, but ya
know we are talking about zombies here
people)
these dwellings o’ the delusional
bear such amenities as fully
fledged moats surrounding the premises,
underground missile silo bunkerdom,
personal air strips, panic rooms, safe cores,
helicopter landing pads, sniper towers &
even windows rumored to fend off
missiles as well (because apparently
zombies choose from a wide range of
violent killing methods) &
to add to the hilarity (hopelessness) of
it all, now they are being put on the
market for whatever reason…
maybe said rich imbecile has had a
bad string of financial luck, maybe they
are moving on to better & brighter
anti-zombie apocalypse compounds, or
maybe,
just maybe,
they have come to their senses?
Maybe it’s unacceptable
Live a life capable of a true fable
True friends never end
But take you back to where it all began
But hey misery gave us something to believe in
Stress became a greater award as we achieved sin
What could I say? Our savior died on a cross tough as pig skin
Never once cried over the loss
Forbidden fruit, Eden garden
Excuse me, my lord, I beg your pardon
And so what if these medics carry life in a carton
But I ain’t trippin
Simply because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
That’s right until my dying day
True lost souls from the dark side
Forever, we as mortals ride
Peace is nothing, I fend for quiet time
Rebels in riot lines
Previous high school graduates
Symbols of an adjective running toward fate
True personality suffer the privilege of inmates
How could you hesitate to ask
There’s no stranger under this mask
Lonely and unholy, who’s there to console me?
I want to get away, forever restless
You can see my similarities with the ocean
I’m stress less
Because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
My son, my friend
We are but pieces of eternity
Mesh on, mesh off
Even at our best times we’re soft
Who’s to say I’d regret my decision
To lead a sinners life without God’s supervision
On a one man mission
And I know I don’t come around much
Got my palms in reality
Searching for something softer to touch
Whisper in my ear, death makes me blush
And Hell only flatters me
One and one, through matter the winds scatter me
I ain’t trippin, baby girl get off your knees
You’re in the arms of a future me
And I can’t see heaven from a distance
Fire me over clouds like a piston
Marching through blood
But it’s all mud and water to Darkhouse
Stand still let me mark my spouse
Live my life as an outcast
How could you even picture me at my last?
Dear lord show some mercy on my followers
Bless those that swallow dust to follow us
No need to borrow sympathy
Unforgiving sorrow made my enemies envy me
From devadasi in temples to women of the streets,
Form hooker to harlot,
From courtesan to call girl,
Whether a paramour in the hands of wealth,
Or a Whore engaging in promiscuous sexual intercourse,
So many names and so many fames,
Above all I am a human being too,
Often referred as the lady of the evenings,
People forget that I also have mornings,
I use my body for lewd purposes,
But this is my job may be the worst of all,
This is not for pleasure, greed or money,
I am trapped to this vicious world,
These callous men turned me a used good,
Now whom to be blamed?
This society calls me ‘Characterless’
Because I pledged my dignity for this profession,
May be the oldest of all,
I never dreamt of marriage,
I am an impoverished cultural outcast,
I am excommunicated,
I work in darkness,
And that’s why people fail to see me in light,
But Menaka, Rambha, Urvashi, and Thilothamma,
The celestial demigods – who are they?
Indian mythology says this as high-class prostitution?
This is the harsh reality,
I spare myself for making you elated
But you brand me the “curse of this society “
I never look at my mirror with joy
My own reflection titters at me
I see only destation and revulsion around me,
I scream in agony and excruciation
But for people they are pleasure sounds and sex noises,
I have dissolved my high spirits in the ocean of Hedone
Where my conventionality and morality have gone invisible,
Now I stand before this society as a misanthropist,
An elite lady – who changes her boy friend every now and then,
I love my John just for few minutes,
I eventually break up for the next John to stay,
When I walk down the streets I never look up,
For the eyes of women fend off,
For the eyes of men fond off,
They rate me based on complexion,
Being a black seducer I am paid low
But none discovered my hearts white glow,
From a lad to a gray man,
All try to touch my skin,
But none so far have tried to touch my soul
For them I am a doll – without feelings or pain,
But for me no pain no gain,
I can never change this world,
Or the way they treat me,
Likewise I can never change myself,
Or the way I treat my men.
I am searching my bright future in the night,
And I call this my nocturnal life.
BY,
MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM
Form:
Sunday afternoon my grandmother decided to take me down with her to the memory lane.
She seemed excited like a child traveling first time on an aeroplane.
"Those were the days,
when everything was fresh and pure,
these artificial appetizers I can no longer endure."
My grandmother is seventy three,
talking about her childhood filled her with glee.
Then she told me they were five siblings,
the elders decided to not send the girls to school because what they will do by learning the table of two.
"This was the norm my dear,"
she tried to explain,
I disapproved and showed my disdain.
I know how much she loved studying .
If only she had got a chance.
Her happy memories made me go into a state of trance.
She spoke about her aunt who lost her husband when she was sixteen,
she was forced to wear white and if there was an auspicious event in the house she was never to be seen.
She spoke about all of this without any emotions,
while her talks ignited inside me an explosion.
How could I think those days were good,
when women were dependent on men for basic needs like food.
God forbid if your husband died,
you were a liability who always complied.
My grandmother told me about this one woman,
whose husband left her and her three kids to fend for themselves.
It was god's decision my grandmother told,
my thoughts I could no longer hold.
Grandma,
"It was never god's decision for those kids to have such a miserable life or that woman to strive hard to survive.
It was the decision of the society as a whole,
to cripple every women and break their soul.
No education,no hobbies only bearing kids was their duty,
if your husband is nice good luck or the biggest curse of your life will be your own beauty."
"God never told that widows were supposed to stay inside,
or to shave their head and to never walk outside at night."
She smiled at me and told me I was right,
she was glad that today girls are given opportunities and that my future looks bright.
Her talks made me rethink,
were the good old days really so good?
The time when women were denied basic rights,
women who waited and waited but were never rescued by the proverbial knight.
Date:19/10/21
Contest: Difference in Opinion poetry contest
Sponsor : Shreya LN
Down in the white famed plains of Western Kentucky in the 19th century, Alpha Omega Latham was born. Days after his father was shot on the porch, was the beginning of being, and the pass of a torch. Now that his father was gone and bereaved, his ma took the duties, after pa’s life was thieved. A boy now in school confused of his route, the chants “go west young man” were dawning some doubt about the feudal trail that rendered much clout. Humble his beginnings, picking cotton for a living, snowball earned his name, being the only white kid in the game. Just 8 years old, a drive that once ran cold was burning from his hands that were yearning, he decided to up and hop west to Burley. Idaho he headed, decision imbedded, the lure of the west, assured a new life to invest. Alpha Omega began again, and ended a chapter, his life was in spin. Now was his chance, of success in the west, opportunities gleamed, held tight to his chest. A poker man, many cards he swapped, to scrounge and buy half of a sporting shop. With a mere chunk of change, a last ditch effort, his puzzle pieces to arrange. Snowballs sports shop, came to fruition in time, from the train ride alone, with barely a dime, now land and wealth, the ladder he climbed. Owned hotels and houses, made his mark on the land, now standing on top, he created a brand. A beautiful family, the American dream, he lived it and proved it, while swimming upstream. Make your own luck, the idea that he stressed, sink or swim, was life in the west. As the depression was sweeping the country abroad, Alpha had summoned the lightning rod; providing help to his kin in Burley, he helped the community, even when surly. Was known to help any poor old soul, altruism was his ultimate goal. From a bitter ending, blossomed a graceful beginning, just because he lost one fight, didn’t prevent his winning. Twas the life of Alpha Omega, his ending was much brighter, a hero in the eyes of many, a true american fighter. Beginning now is a different page, to snowball his vision in a different age, on west my friend; be brave, not afraid, flourish each and every stage. For one bad ending, cannot cage the transcending, of the flower contending to fend off the sour, bursting out in Spring.
(iambic pentameter, verse)