Long Fooled Poems
Long Fooled Poems. Below are the most popular long Fooled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fooled poems by poem length and keyword.
Frozen stiff like a cement gargoyle
Unthawed and unreceptive
The stoic man turned a cold heart toward the throng
Determined to hold onto his bitter outlook
Closing his heart off
Pretending to be inhumane
A grimace on his face
A cherub wearing a pink snowsuit
Was not fooled by the man’s narrow mouth
She pushed her way to his feet
He looked down and saw the circle of white fur
Circling her face
She put up her arms
“Grandpa!”
This melted every bit of his façade.
He reached down and pulled her up
There was a collective gasp by the throng
No one had seen his humanness before.
Now that they had they would never forget
We fooled the prying sun's eyes
Eyes that revealed our shells
The moon exposed us with shadows
Figures on the alcove with lost identity
We lurked in gloomy path
As stealth as nightmen with fingers
Interlocked. The night's breeze pecking
Our cheeks - 'Blessing' for the impending union
Came nights of locked lips in mild combat
And fingers hiding beneath the gown.
On one feverish night the tongue pierced
Through the sliced halves. The forbidden fruit
Devoured with missing dental dam.
That night I died.
After series of earth's revolution consequences
Rained. Then recalling mother's stinging words
"Ifu ife na chonelo, ega bayen nemunno"
Listen to the racket of resounding lies
that reverberate within your polluted mind,
where another truth is battered and dies.
I have dragged out the casualties of ethical beliefs,
and with disgust for their loss, expressed my grief
while your actions and words of which lies are replete
became the truth’s death, tossed around like trash on the street.
When I speak, the words spoken are poison for you to hear,
and they ignite your temper and strip your comfort—
the burden of truth’s casualties is always onerous to bare.
So, you retaliate with fury and come after me
as if I am doing wrong by admitting the truth in what I see.
And the fact is that I can see the malice in your eyes—
how your actions and words are perniciously personified.
I can see behind your mask nobody else can see,
your veiled intentions and secrets—
the epitome of shameless duplicity.
When you smile, there is no warmth or glow,
it is the mask of deceit that you always show.
So, while others remain fooled and praise your name,
I’ll NEVER be swayed by your fabricated fame!
Let love be your conviction and all else may fair to the wind, for in truth the path or expression we follow serves only the purpose of love, to no other is purpose yeilded. do not be fooled into thinking that your mistakes are not opportunities to love, to be humble to be kind, for all things can with a willing heart be rent to the purpose of love, for those willing to love.
And know that we are all mistaken fallen things, and yet with the love of humanity that dwelleth within our souls we are perfected, each and every human being is a perfect creation of Iaweh, and she forgives and loves, man fell away from love, its time we all stopped trying to climb up to heaven and realise that we are all at the mercy of The Almighty. By love alone do hatreds cease, this is an ancient law.
I have known him for only 3 years and 5 months,
But from his lips has flowed a lifetime of wisdom;
The kind of wisdom born out of many experiences.
In our world of super excellerated knowledge, the flow
Of wisdom and common sense seem to be ceasing.
Please allow me to speak of just a little of that wisdom.
I heard him say again and again, "Don't fool yourself".
In a troubled world of believers being decieved by
Unbelievers as well as other 'so-caled' believers',
There is no space or time to be fooled by onesself.
I heard him say on many occasions, "We're leaving here".
Whereas everyone realizes that none of us gets out of
This world alive or remain here forever, being reminded
Of such generates as energy that encourages being
Ready to meet God at the time of our demise.
I heard him say, "God has blessed me". The emphasis
Was always on the word 'Me'. Wornout shoes no longer
Adorn his feet, and over used clothing has no fitting
On his body. Poverty no longer knocks on his door.
Pride and selfishness are not friends of his because
He knows where he came from and who brought him
To where he now so gratefully reside.
Finally, I heard him say, "I'm tired". With those three
Words, he was not saying I'm quitting. There simply
Is no quit in him. I think that he was saying that there
Is a finish line for all of us, but to finish well, we must
Learn to rest.
Great dark sky weilding stars
Clouds of light cast blankets
Heaven’s wild midnight brushstroke
Upon the Earth Man lays content
Eye’s wide pools staring
A gaze of ancient mortal questions
He let them free
Thought caged Butterflies
Dance amongst Comet pathways
Fledgling mind adrift
In firmament’s endless depth
Tutor of the blind apprentice gnostic
Eyes perceive yet are fooled
Hands outstretched in Cosmos touch
Vast ceiling of scattered Sun’s smiling
Wink across century space
Dying Fire light winking back
Connections of elemental brotherhood speak
Voice without language
Crossing the Desert without vector
Vespertine prostratus wakes
Back aches from damp grass beds
Earthly wind born sway
Bathed in Moon’s wan light
Dance until the morn’s dawn bringer
Cockerel stirring rousing singers
The Man stands up
Dazed in confusion of lunar radiance
World of colour washing silver shadowed sight
Water to toast the day
A humble thank you to the Night
©David Nickle Read
2014
There once was a bully who ruled
Thinking, man, he had everyone fooled.
He did as he pleased
With the power he seized
Sure that he’d never be ridiculed.
But the people who suffered his blows
Were delighted at what I suppose
Was a foolish mistake
For a bully to make
That reporters found ways to expose.
Now the papers all print up the news
Leaving readers to weigh things and choose
If this bully should leave
For most opt to believe
Such behavior he cannot excuse.
The moral, of course, hits a nerve
For most bully-types rarely observe
That they cannot defend
Hurting those they offend
And their punishment’s what they deserve.
When a colorless glass that once stood up to the heat begins to sweat,
persimmon-tinted droplets—and the wind that drinks them—
ripen red where the night should cool to blue,
as the moon lowers the creases of its brow into the glass.
Heat, struck by the long claws of the wind’s shudder,
stretches its dazed body and tumbles through the air,
fooled by the murmurs of residual warmth the sun left behind,
it presses its claim on the glass once more, intent on its own dominion.
Drawing up the tender rustle between the two,
within the tug-of-war of heat that rises and wind that braces,
I am caught by a longing that charges ahead without thought,
drinking the fading chill, I bend the blooming heat.
Letting midsummer pass is like
finding the loosened end of a tangled skein of heat and blue glass
and tying it back together—
a difficult journey to rekindle the breath you left behind,
yet, like a meeting on Chilseok, it is one I can always endure.
As a child I could not wait
Plotting and planning my classmate’s fate
Figuring out all the tricks I would play
All squelched by the teacher
Before the end of the day
We would whisper at recess
Giggling like combatant loons
Sharing all kind of crazy ideas,
The kind that howl at the moons.
April fool’s Day, oh, yes, we wanted to be fooled.
We plotted and planned it, and then we were schooled.
The teachers never bought in to our happy trickster glee.
Bringing us swiftly back to classroom reality.
April fool’s Day was still funny that night at the table.
When our dad tried to trick us with stories of Mable
We would laugh so hard we would fall out of our seat.
Making Mom’s food even more fun to eat.
April fool’s Day, oh, yes, let’s have more of them please.
I would like it again, in the fall, with the leaves.
I could do April fool’s day six times a year.
I do simply love it in case that is not clear.
Once, they claimed to hold the torch,
To light the world with truth and reason.
But the West’s media empire—
Was born not in truth,
But in treason.
From BBC’s royal scripts,
To CNN’s manicured myths,
From Fox’s fury-laced fables,
To NBC’s polished distortions—
They were trained, not to inform,
But to perform
For the empire's applause.
Every lens tilted,
Every headline coded,
Every silence calculated—
To shape the world
In a mirror that flatters the North
And shames the South.
Africa—your beauty drowned in dust,
Your children shown in flies and famine.
No word of your wisdom, your gold,
Your thinkers, your songs,
Your revolutions and sacred soil.
Only "chaos," "war," and "tribe"
Like shadows on a cave wall.
Asia—painted with dragon breath and fear,
Latin America—forever "corrupt,"
Middle East—where "terror" walks with every name,
And yet no mirror turned
To NATO's blood-soaked hands,
To sanctions that starve,
To drone strikes in dawn’s silence.
The Global South has turned the dial.
We do not listen,
Not because we cannot hear—
But because we now know.
We are not fooled
By the Oxford accent of a liar.
We are not convinced
By statistics that reek of empire.
We see your scripts,
Your cutting rooms,
Your photos cropped like colonial maps.
Truth is rising in Timbuktu,
In Caracas, in Kerala,
In Harare, and Hanoi.
And you, Western media,
Are being archived—
Filed away in the dustbin of history
Where all fallen empires rot.
The world is watching,
But not through your eyes anymore.