Long Frustrated Poems
Long Frustrated Poems. Below are the most popular long Frustrated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frustrated poems by poem length and keyword.
There lives a gentleman from Luff
Who walks everywhere in the buff
His weeny is teeny
He calls it his winky
A stump that can't fill a cream puff.
Ladies would be left in despair
But he didn't really care
He got what he wanted
Frustrated, they taunted
And decided give him a scare.
They tied him to an 'lectric chair
Placed electrodes on you know where
They pulled down on the switch
His stump started to twitch
It stood bright like a giant flare
You'd think he would very happy
Making a stump long and snazzy
The women were smiling
The man was now crying
Wink shrivelled, weirdly and badly
From that day he always wore clothes
With women he instantly froze
He's fearful of leccy
Winky is now Becky
And parades in yearly freak shows.
25.07.25
It feels fascinating
that horny voracious passions
dissipate in the presence of fear
of pain and suffering
and ego-defeating loss,
disability and performance anxieties,
wounds
short-term through permanent
satiated energy,
absence of active hope
for future holistic integrity.
In this time of climate degeneration
fear and cultural distancing,
frustrated leftbrain dominant
StraightWhiteMale monoculturing rabidity
looks polyculturally threatening like,
sounds prejudicially like,
feels and touches sacred EarthMother like,
smells and decadently tastes like
Manic
predative energy
inflamed by unnatural sleep deprivation
festering fear-and-anger rapaciousness
Rather than restorative green restorative justice
reviving passion
for multicolored
trans-generational
testosterone+estrogen
yang+yin
polyamorous win+win
inclusive sentient integrity
Of cooperative green/blue powers,
EarthPeace compassion
Not so red dominant
states of capitalistic
monotheistic
straight white patriarchal narcissism,
worshipping a punishing God
made in His own frightened anthropocentric image.
I am frustrated and annoyed by his ticking,
or perhaps it should be labeled the 'tocking'
By the never-ending tongue wagging clicking
in the language better known as 'clocking'
Must Grandfather Time command my life?
He so rudely continues without a thought
that his hammer yammering rhythm of strife
mocks the beating pulse of my human heart
What a wonderful fantasy my life would be
if for one day I'd not hear his unrelenting beat
I'd be stress free if time would stand still for me
for without his gonging life would be so sweet
In solace of night, I seek sleep and close my eyes
in need of escape and retreat from earthly chore
but I cannot find a moment of tranquil paradise
for his insistent knelling peals out once more
Each quarter hour his mallet chimes out to me
but his clappers sing off key in monotonous song
Not a lyrical lullaby, but a torturous rhapsody
whose tireless verses antagonize me far too long
I'm tenacious to put an end to his wagging tongue
and shackle the swinging motion of his pendulum
Each hour of the day and night would go by unsung
Being silenced is the price paid by the meddlesome
Dear Id,
Once again, I find my mind making the same journey into your deepest ocean of questions I can never fathom. So many times I've told myself it's such a complete waste of time to even cast my cares upon your unyielding waters. I have been utterly lost for days at a time trying to find my way back through the labyrinth of my mind. The air feels heavy and breathing has nothing to do with want or desire. For as long as I can remember, my reflection has been as an ever evolving meaningless Rorschach. No identifiable constants, just a tangled mess of emotion with a gaping hole of disappointment in the life experience. I ask myself, "Is this it?" The overwhelming outpouring of human pretentiousness and superficiality leaves me dying of starvation for anything real! Will it even matter? How can I miss something I've never known and be so instinctually convinced there is more? Enlighten me!
Truly,
Frustrated and Unfulfilled
Looked at the outside of steel window
Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air
What the news was brought in the feelings!
Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor.
Waiting for the light in the window
Dark vision comes down into my eyes by cycle-weariness
Down from one circle to another circle in time-blindness
Who stands here, the Islamic old man!
Frustrated vision!
History of terrorism was carved on his burnt body
He wants to say something!
A white-complexioned Christian young man stands into the neighbor circle,
Surprised eyes!
White-skinned history was printed on his blood-stained body
He wants to know something!
A dark-colored Hindu boy stands into the third circle,
Illusive vision!
History of third world is awakened on his envenomed body
He wants a little smile!
The old man, young man and boy are coming forward from the circles
Great distance... Near ...in front the room...
Who are you? No reply
They disappear into the tuberose equipped black and white photo of my father
Dad is smiling, I am senseless!
Tears are dropping from the eyes of our cat on the corridor.
THE SURGE
You came like as expected
Winds furiously shaking the ground
Rain unstoppable continuous to pound.
As hours passed, your fierce marks the town
water increases up to its heights but still
you never stop swiping every corner, left nothing to spill.
Scampering, they're trying to lope your ailing temper
Mother and child crying for help but your sound is a tearful killer
parent's cuddled the youngsters, but too strong your foulest curse.
It's not your intention to harm 'cause you're just a phenomenal mishap,
but for those you visited, you're the great destroyer
A mischievous, dangerous thief that left nothing even their foyer.
THE AFTERMATH
Scattered bricks, fallen debris, lifeless bodies on the sidewalk
Mournful view, so sickening to the eyes
You've taken out their lives, now all that is left are frozen as ice.
The beautiful city turns to abandoned graveyard
At night seems haunted, deadly ravage
at daylight you hear the silent echoing in the rampage.
Deaths are still unnumbered, missing still increasing
They who outlive cries for shelter, food for their needing.
Never deter, frustrated mind, weary hearts.
>> the typhoon Haiyan (local name:YOLANDA) hits Tacloban City, Philippines in the 8th of November 2013
Frustration a feeling that's like friction,
Such a feeling of constricting conviction,
There is no way of avoiding its restriction,
This results in you feeling such damnation,
Frustration, the emotion completely domineers,
Suddenly angry tears begin to appear,
Motivation seems to disappear,
Sometimes it's not clear why it is here,
Frustration, you become annoyed, at how its so annoyingly annoying,
The anger builds tears flowing, red face glowing,
You try your best avoiding spoiling being disappointing,
You battle yourself twoing and frowing bullying mentally torturing,
Frustration, your unable to progress unable to grasp at success,
Your emotions become suppressed because you are so depressed,
Your unable to express emotion, you feel utterly useless,
The definition of frustration is frustrating,
Talks of annoyance defeat sounds exasperating,
Prevention of fulfilling some what thwarting,
Frustration a negative feeling that needs avoiding,
But despite my best efforts it just keeps reoccurring.
For Silent One's - Mamma Poetry Contest
Where is the love, Mamma?
Through broken Louvre blinds, you're ever watching
Rosary beads clicking prayers on repeat mode, uttering
Your plethora of Faith keeps me steadily striving
Though, frustrated when peace will be arriving.
Under cover of the midnight moon, hookers seducing
Shady men with illicit wares aggressively peddling
Of changing our situation, I'm forever idealizing.
Enduring every day's trauma, just surviving.
Seeking direction from above, when is enough enough?
Tell me, Mamma ~ Where is the love?
Collective immorality still existing.
A ticking clock morality meekly resisting
Corruption, greed, and deceit still abounding
This life where goodness seems to be drowning.
A depraved degradation of insanity still insisting,
Death, broken hearts, crime persisting
In the chaos, qualms never ceasing.
lawlessness above the muck and mire rising
At the kerbside, a holy man piously preaching
Should I turn my cheek, still beseeching
Amidst their plundering and their leeching?
NO !!
Enough is Enough ~ Where is the Love?
Beyond-repair abhorrence, I'm escaping.
Fervently, I'm hoping and praying.
Please God, Mamma, be safe while I'm gone
I'll be back for you before long
In the eerie darkness, emotions imploding
Sirens blaring, with the sound of guns exploding
My shallow breath quickening, turning back with throat thickening
All the while, I'm screaming
Where is the love?
Back through this hellhole, I'm rapidly racing
All through the panic, still hoping and praying
Please God, Mamma ~ Be Safe, Be Safe, Be Safe
Neon blue-red lights flickering and flashing.
Through my open front door, I'm madly dashing.
Looming through the haze, I hear them saying.
'Sorry, Miss, yet another random shooting
Your Mamma just got caught in the cross-firing.'
The last thing I hear is my own voice crying.
MAMMA ~ THERE IS NO LOVE! THERE IS NO LOVE!
I've saved all your pictures, and kept all your cards.
Though dreams may have shattered, I've treasured the shards.
C'est la vie, they make a bittersweet show and tell.
Like a night at the museum when ghosts of the past come alive.
Gotta go, bye.
There's no point in asking where the heart of it lies.
With your enchanting smile and your bewitching eyes
Tempting me, it's plain to see I'm under your spell.
When you take me to the river, you come on like a true Lorelei.
Gotta go, bye.
Now with winter ending and spring in the air,
The daylight I'm saving is something to share
In a song and shine it on my mademoiselle,
But you leave for the summer, and I walk away a frustrated guy.
Gotta go, bye.
Asleep in the bottom drawer
A place I now call home
I hear a voice call my name
"Sockie, Sockie" where are you
I am here
I seem to yell
But my voice was muffled
By rolls of clothing hell
I listen to the frustrated grunts and growls
Doors slam
The smell of brewed coffee
I guess it's early in the morning
I try to stand
Alas,held by the cuffs of clothes
A wretched ordeal
That I could not foresee
Till I had an idea
So mad it's genius
I used my little lips
And I began to whistle
Till at last it got to you
And then you brought me out
I'm here to rescue you Sockie
Was the last word you said