Long Fending Poems
Long Fending Poems. Below are the most popular long Fending by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fending poems by poem length and keyword.
(alternatively titled eldest daughter despises us)
Eden (beloved eldest daughter) icy
flat tone of voice spoke volumes,
when she talked with the missus and me
courtesy cellular telecommunications key
December twenty seventh
two thousand nineteen
unwavering listless dull verbalization see
I subsequently told spouse, she
thy super smart self reliant progeny
fending for herself approximately
last half dozen years exhibits je
ne sais quois profound loathing
predicated growing up dirt poor free
quint lee lamenting deprivations re:
guarding legal tender adequate specie
i.e. money - at least compared to every
MainLine millionaire flush with dee -
suppose able income, and oft times
lovingly, pleasantly, unexpectedly...
receiving largasse gift horse courtesy
zayda (my father), who art not yet
in heaven sprung monetary help, ye
this second born and only son did
profusely think him (papa) lee
ving voice messages on his landline,
and tracfone, plus wrote heartfelt poem,
similar acknowledgement modus operandi,
when said offspring
became twenty three
years old - five days ago, nonetheless thee
admirable, dependable, honorable... née
holds Matthew Scott (namely he),
who helped beget
darling feels angry,
and doth plainly exhibits contempt
(you) dear reader guessed correctly
towards sorrowful dada,
where inescapable thralldom
doth invisibly chain
(think ghost of Marley)
apologetic sir, whose
precious kinder, I
will unwaveringly cherish
forever love and Revere
despite up Paul ling
destitution, grinding linkedin penury,
and red hot poker faced
anger, yes... dismay
prevails how unforgiving
once (Benny sent) baby,
inside joke, I attest neigh
scent "star student,"
now grown young woman,
no longer - figuratively
wrapped around yours
truly her finger
father who fell short, natively cree
hated abhorrent within re
cent mammary, bosom (hers)
harboring scathing unmasked vee
hum mint, blistering, rancorous,
seething, volcanic withering...,
no matter disgusting revulsion
toward aging mommy
and repentant daddy,
I LOVE YE EDEN + SHANA!
I feel for gentle hearts in this loud world,
Ever suspect, dismissed and derided,
For long has been the shy a songless bird,
That Darwin dismissed as ‘odd state of head’,
Jane Austin gave shyness a broader scope,
Calling it a ‘moral, mental disease’,
And Freud, his fame fending for men no rope,
With sub-conscious cladding, a twist of his
That smelt of ‘displaced love of self-scored goals’,
A simple disposition framed as law,
Oh poking fun and scoring birdie holes,
In matters straight, cobwebs of gauze he saw,
And sensitive violets were on blame,
Poor things, shrunk with self-deprecating shame.
Violets shrunk with disparaging shame,
And shyness drawn from society’s unease,
Scarce unto standard mould can ever squeeze,
O get condemned— a jade that could be gem.
Though sensitive nigh to a gawking gaze,
Here am I basking still in benign bliss—
A shy soul, they say, more inventive is,
And tolerant the more to worldly ways
That mistake plane shyness as being cold,
Aloof, and worse still, somewhat arrogant,
And value those that be loud, neddless bold,
I’m happy now that they were ignorant.
Let critics bask under ill-informed bliss,
I marvel, how creative this bird is.
Creative, this touch-me-not kind of bird,
Or call it a flower called violet,
An introvert of an easy mind-set,
One blessed with fecund skills, a bit absurd—
Skills lacked by too talkatively inclined,
While some greats confess to ‘fainting with fears’
Ere giving speech to some so-called speakers,
Some loners lack the skills called social kind.
I know, shyness has no one ever hurt,
But self that feels cosy under own skin.
Let shyness stay forever verdant green,
Let it never make me an extrovert,
That I live in my own solitude proud,
Innovative, gentle in world so loud.
_________________________________
Two recent books set my thinking bird brooding over bashfulness: The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks; and Shrinking Violets: The Secret Life of Shyness, by Joe Moran. These books advocate that the shy should get a better deal, for they tend to be more creative. Here is the why: musing over, these three sonnets (crown of…) materialized that made me feel a bit elated.
Crown of Sonnets | 01.03.2017 |
TRAPPED
I run through life wounded with a steel trap ensnared onto my
foot restricting my life’s essence. Day in and out I’m never able to
shake it off, in relentless movements so no new pain touches me.
I fight for sustenance; I fight to inhabit this life damaged and
wearied, from taking life’s persecutions. The torment of my
afflictions you cannot see.
I hold close that God is always watching and will pull me from
the muddied roads I run. He hears my tormented cries; he
feels my tortured spirit; he sees I can’t stop this path I’m on.
You say I’m not getting free but the running is critical to me,
I’ll run as long as I can, let me be free from what haunts me,
it’s not something you'll ever comprehend.
You say the war is over but the hurt remains. I keep a mask on
in good times and bad. They think that my life doesn’t count
but God sees the merit of my existence.
Every day, it’s my struggle; no one can imagine the heartbreak,
as the sorrow cuts my soul as deeply as the rapt foot, it won’t
come off it’s always mine alone.
I’m still fighting, as the battle rages on in my mind, if you haven't
experienced this anguish, you can run with me or without me.
I've accepted the aloneness in this fight.
This trap keeps me from fending off life’s predators. I’m a
solitary being with a broken spirit. My desperate expression
is evidence enough.
I know God watches this burden I carry. I pray when
my time is up he gives me warning so I remain still as
I’m risen up out of this hell.
My Angels in Heaven see me; so I’m okay to die this way;
it’s not for you to say. I’m done defending this. I pray
for you without any prayers in return.
Positive mental map messages
contain no more sacred information
than appositional negatives not
not yet space/time body/mind
mediating organic territories.
Linear language 2D maps referee
spacetime's not not 4D-embodied referents
4D ecosystems
of organic co-binary living relationships
loving and leaving sunny days
and dark moist times
and pleasing peaceful co-passionate territories
Win/Win thriving
and Win/Lose surviving
dialectically changing re-collective DNA-fractal maps
as synergetic minds
re-experience dreams
re-ligioning
re-connecting
re-weaving
re-generating
re-creatively crowning neurosystemic 2D map ego-minds
and rootsystemic 4D territorial eco-bodies
Curiously exploring
for a more engaging
healthier
richer sacred song
and organic dance liturgy
Flash mob sacred hopes
resonantly thriving not
not fending off worst mass killing surviving
organically dis-organizing fears
dissonant
dissipating angers
triggering past hate crime win/lose rituals
unfolding Earth's dark and stormy
patriarchally misogynistic
too crown-capitalistic
not not dissonantly degenerative
dissociative memories.
Dark divine messages
neurosystemically passed down
through all Noah Arking maps
flowing through rivers
of fertile blood
and fevered crowning brains
Neural root systems
re-connecting ecosystemic pleasure's passion
for therapeutic win/win sacred mystery
de-connecting ego-organic displeasure's dispassioning
win/lose territorial trauma history
reweaving every divinely mapped polynomial thing
as also not
not any humanely co-relational polypathic territory,
every sacred co-binary referee
2D linear mind,
every organic co-relational referent
4D roundly dialectical body
Our territorial relationship history to love
not EitherWin/Or Lose survival
not mapping Both/And thrival mystery's
win/win re-ligious re-dis-cover.
HOME IN THE WOODS
Through the woods I roam and it's home I see one good breath and my soul is released when we climbed and jumped ran and had fun and in my heart I was once again young but as I'm too old to play in the woods as I stood at the edge of my childhood.
The countless leaves in the trees how they dance so wild and free and frivolouly so unaware how rare were the days catching fire flies neath starry skies so unprepared for the chaotic way reality would play as everyone betrayed their yesterday but the leaves in the trees still dance for me.
The stallwort trees fending the breeze sway every which way chasing their leaves as their towering might empowers and inspires me to stand up to the land razing lumber man proud and unbowed saving my timberlands from which my strength is endowed my oldest friend my wonder kin.
The underbrush moist and lush a plethora of smells making nostrils swell and gives my memory a rush reminding me of the times when living and giving were intertwined like the vines and the leaves fallen from the trees in the thicket with the crickets, and the birds in the trees and frogs in the creek, calling me home.
A short road back to misery
to self-loathing and acknowledgement of a cocoonish dystopia
walked with rotten teeth, fending off fever dreams.
It has been a while since the void had consumed
the remnants of light within.
And yet the haggard desperation of building a dam
ushers back memories.
The carapace is familiar against the skin.
Animated with the life of its own
it embraces its parasitic nature
and laughs for the world.
There was love in those stretched moments of utter escapism,
and joy and ecstasy of material gain,
pride thrived in radiating eyes
as life found meaning both in sacred and profane.
Things that had to go have long gone,
things that belong here will remain forever.
Acceptance can only come in such inertia.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 22/10/2018
Joseph Robinette Biden
now commander in chief yay
manning ship of state
tossing anchors aweigh
heavily pierced tattooed
donning sheepish pirate(s)
at heady roiling waterway
fending off trolling rapscallion
much more thrilling
than watching cabaret
January twenty first two thousand
twenty one marks his first full day
wherein Oval Office finally
flushed, ousted, and zapped,
whose paternal ancestry
begat genealogical linkedin émigré
name unknown, nevertheless
one Johann Trump born within
Bobenheim am Berg, a village
in Palatinate, Germany circa 1789
moved to nearby village of Kallstadt
where his grandson, Friedrich Trump,
the grandfather of Donald Trump,
born in 1869 gamboled
upon grassy fairway
whereby grandson notorious
to grandstand and gainsay,
but especially renowned
windblown coiffure
kept intact courtesy "fake" hairspray
said product he did fulminate
against and inveigh,
cuz he envied (as does yours truly)
the trademark thatch sported by J.F.K.
At long last, a stalwart adept candidate
unwittingly saddled
with onerous figurative freight
COVID-19, homelessness, joblessness
sober statistics impossible mission to inflate,
whose physique slender and lightweight
boot pulleys and levers of power
he quite savvily can operate
personable and suave demeanor doth resonate
allowing, enabling, and providing
law and order to materialize,
and accomplishments downplayed
(unlike previous commander in chief)
whose braggadocio would never underrate.
Concern still prevails
regarding that woman user
egging fascistic paramilitary
white supremacist ilk
twittering as a digital schmoozer
hell bent on sowing anarchy,
cuz other Democratic contestant
did not defeat
soured at prospect their man beat
(him - who shall not be named again
ranks as a sore loser)
nevertheless, an oafish shill bruiser.
If prognostications allowed me,
at bedtime, when a supine American,
one garden variety and generic
sleepy Joe among madding crowd
will experience glee
at prospective buoyancy, decency,
fraternity, harmony, jollity, levity,
nobility, prosperity, serenity, tranquility...
wishing no ill will toward
former forty sixth president.
A huge thorn stabbed my side
I could no longer find a way to hide
Carrying it like a heavy cross on my shoulder
I wondered how long my life will go further
I heard the thorn bore its twig
Seemed as if a mountain to carry, it was so big
A tumultuous wave engulfed my being
My hope was wreathed…vision was blurring
I tried to gather strength… fending myself with *****
As I clung to God’s Love and His Saving Trunk
I cried to Him, kneeling and praying
Entrusting Him my agony and everything
As lighted candle in front of me grew brighter
I looked up and found two grey clouds turning whiter
Shafts of rays were beaming on sides
Gliding slowly like doors… showing a blue part of sky
As the sun peeped on that cloudy and gloomy day
Big raindrops fall suddenly and sparsely
With my open arms, I tried to catch-- to feel each of them
Hoping to heal my wound and take away my burden
Wings of good words heralded the miracle in few days
I felt His greatest love, omnipotence and saving grace
Then I was led in the Yardenit where His Beloved Son was baptized
A precious gift of consecration to renew my life
October 30, 2013 7.15pm;te
( old poem)
First Place
Contest: A poem you've not entered in contest #4
Judged: 5/22/14
Sponsor: My dearest poet, PD
Dark, punishing days lie ahead.
Winter has crept up once again and I'm deep
in sad contemplation, saying a silent prayer
for the downtrodden without the creature comforts
I often take for granted, imagining how
they're muddling through life.
Each time the furious rage of winter roars
belligerently, wreaking miserable havoc,
and it's chill on my skin is immediate
and unforgiving; I think of those occupying
ramshackle dwellings with no heat
to keep warm, and say a silent prayer.
Especially on my mind, all the homeless folks
I've given money to while stopped at a traffic light.
"You've made my day, sir. God bless you!,"
I remember one once saying to me.
Where is this man now? Somewhere warm and safe?
Please, God, hear my silent prayer for him!
The mere thought of one,
just one stray animal, fending for itself out in the cold
is depressing enough to make me misty-eyed.
Why is life during winter so appallingly savage?
It's too harsh an element for such a poor creature. I say
a silent prayer for God's mercy. It's really all I can do.
Submitted for...
Your 2021 N-A Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Date: 04/25/2021
N/A in All Yours Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/20/2021
Date posted: 01/17/2021
Date originally written: 07/23/2007
Since advent of *****sapiens
objection overruled against immortality
all across millenniums humans
generated, amplified, and
idly reverberated (Billy me) rebel yell,
when finality 'twixt consciousness
eternal existence doth die as well
grievous news laudable hospice staff did tell
us (meaning yours truly plus
his deux darling siblings), I
in addition to older and younger sister,
thru passionate love making
intercourse did propel
seeds of life embarking
upon parent trap role
til sands of time did runneth out, and
for whom (him) the death knell
bell tolled, now funereal shroud covers dell.
Born April 9th, 1929 - Hebrew
ancestry papa never witnessed affection,
whereby his father - a liberal Jew
(mine paternal grandfather)
purportedly gave nary a blues clue
about welfare regarding youngest son
christened Boyce Brandon Harris,
who harbored quashed feelings
glommed like figurative ague
nsync with chowing down
into his esophageal flue
peristalsis allowing, enabling,
and providing gurgling goo
gull faintly sounding
to (my lard) Doctor Seuss
eerily similar to Horton hears a hoo
after milk (deciduous) teeth
gave way to papa's adult choppers
(by George), whereby
he could thoroughly chew
heavily saturated high caloric ethnic cuisine
(albeit American, Chinese,
and eats of ethnic Jew),
which high cholesterol comestibles
probably contributed to congestive heart failure,
now plaguing papa on his deathbed - loo
zing his tenuous grip on life,
where rigor mortis will find his body
chilled courtesy cold storage queue.
I feel sad today (September 29th, 2020)
and inconsolably weep,
cuz the man who helped beget me
after coroner pronounces
lovely bones lifeless heap
immediate fate most likely cremated
versus buried six feet deep
despite absence of his presence
cherished memories of his value,
yours truly will keep
plus recalling mine boyhood
chuck of full of bliss
particularly driving, fending, staving... off
bogeyman or any other menacing creep.