Long Frustrations Poems
Long Frustrations Poems. Below are the most popular long Frustrations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frustrations poems by poem length and keyword.
He claimed the highest perch
in the breeding loft and was, by far,
the biggest pigeon in the flock.
I named him Hector.
A thick, puffed up ball
of red feathers and testosterone
made him stand out
and was a gift from a leading fancier
eager to improve the bloodlines
of my rather lowly lot,
some of whom were descendents
of birds rescued from the local
railway station stock.
Poor company
to the haughty
racing thoroughbreds
of the Queenstown pigeon club.
Hector had only one leg
and would stand balanced
on a single pin. I often wondered
whether he was gifted to me
as a joke. Unfortunately
he was no good at breeding
as he kept falling off the hen
before he had the chance to mate.
It seems pigeons need
both legs to balance long enough
to conclude the act
and poor Hector would
always topple off too soon.
He found no outlet
for his lust and added no royalty
to the genes
of my rather peasant flock.
Before I reached my teens,
interest in pigeons had waned
and the few short years
of racing them came to a close.
By then Hector had escaped
carrying his frustrations
and pedigree off into the blue.
Much to the chagrin
of the local racing elite,
a small, scruffy hen,
part progeny of the railway
station stock, had scored
a number of prestigious wins.
The club was glad
to see me go and my name
somehow quickly fell
from the honor wall
like Hector off a hen.
Criticism flows easily from some.
To me, it often mirrors deep unrest.
Their barren days crave meaning,
So they lash out at those who walk in peace.
Criticizing becomes habit—becomes breath.
A friend—or so I thought—
Blamed me for loving poetry too much.
Yet this passion held me in the storm,
When everything trembled, it alone kept me standing.
I live without harming, without asking,
Whole and free.
I owe nothing but to God,
The one who grants me strength, breath, and health.
Before you point at others,
Face your own life honestly.
Don't speak of what you know nothing about,
Don’t judge what you’ve never lived.
We have one life, only one,
And we must live it by our own pulse,
Not by bitter tongues.
Criticism will always come,
But often, it says nothing
Except the emptiness of those who throw it.
Let them laugh, yap, gossip into the void—
Their venom can't pierce my armor.
Behind my passions lie scars,
Behind my silences, wars won without witnesses.
They see only the surface—
A smile, a stance, a racket.
But never the tears dried on the court,
The nights when the ground felt closer than air.
They speak because they don’t act,
They judge because they flee their own reflection.
I leave them in their mental prisons,
Their petty verdicts, weightless sentences.
Me—I breathe,
I cling to what lifts me,
To what keeps me standing,
Not to their drivel or half-digested frustrations.
They can’t grasp
What it costs to stay upright when everything pushes you down,
When it’s either that or sink.
Let them go on judging what they’ll never live,
I live, I fight, and I move forward,
Asking no one for permission—
Least of all those who trample what they’ve never built.
Like the pompous pied piper leading the way,
chirping his tune of a dawning new day,
frustrations were championed, oh how we followed,
the ego stuffed shirt of a suit cold and hollow.
From the top of the hill, he showed us the view,
convincing our eyes it was harshly askew.
Nearing the cliffs as if caught in a spell,
he fed us like lambs from his poisonous well.
Touting sweet taste of his truth well embittered,
ignoring the signs of nonsensical twitter,
rot with the smell of the nations decay,
we drank from his cup of a water so gray.
Watching and waiting for gifts of his gruel,
the masses assured we were not made a fool,
his promise of greatness was all we could see,
with great expectations of how it would be.
There's no turning back once we swore the man in,
believing bright futures were soon to begin,
blinding frustration gave evil its day
for the pompous pied piper to lead us astray.
He led us to thinking, all driven by fear,
then gave his directives so cryptically clear,
stripping the values by which we would stand
before the American dream had been banned.
Addicted to all the attention and glory,
swiftly he moved to remain the top story,
insisting on walls made of concrete and steel
built by the anger and hate we should feel.
Then some were shaken, disrupting his spell
and found he was stealing our Liberty Bell.
The fog began lifting and soon we would see
the piper exposed as the fraud he would be.
Time has a way, proven over again,
of playing its imminent part.
The shedding of light upon every mans soul,
exposing his darkness of heart.
No longer seduced by the piping we hear,
choosing to see through the veil,
Democracy once again fights to survive,
let us all pray we prevail!
-Jeannie Cronin
Seriously wounded as a helpless, moaning soldier
dying on the bloody battlefield,
I tread a trial not foreseen by me...
seeing my expectations wane in blurry visions.
My road was smooth and wide
without perils that a travel often encounters;
your uncaring attitude and oblivion
are the treacherous rocks I stumble upon.
My generosity is not cherished with appreciation,
giving should be a selfless act expecting no returns;
my well overflowed with the purest water,
and I refreshed your thirsty soul in times of distraught.
Dearest of all, you kept coming back to receive more
and with open hands you waited for your gift,
I filled them with whatever I had bearing self-need;
sweetest of all, a stained conscience brings on defiled love.
I could beat these rocks with my fist and bleed,
lay down and painfully die to end my frustrations and avoid self-pity;
would it be worth doing it and earn perennial damnation?
Driving down this road some late morning, you will spot a corpse
unrecognizable as a mingled car that crashed at high speed and not stop.
Most adored of all, trudge the same road I trudged
and stumble upon the rocks that fell from the mountaintop,
then look at that sheep-shaped sky ready to thunder and explode.
Most loved of all, never fear...my umbrella will shelter you from raindrops.
Inspired by Chris Aechtner's poem, " Closer "
This is a time for gathering side by side,
Frustrations set aside by the riverside.
Step off the roller coaster of life,
Spend time with the people in your life.
Set up the fryer and inject the turkey.
Dinner prep starts bright and early.
Mac and cheese bakes in the oven,
Everyone’s waiting to start grubbin’.
The annual parade is around the corner,
Santa’s sleigh is getting closer and closer.
Excitement fills the atmosphere,
Like spring pollen entering the air.
The end of the year is officially here,
The air is filling with joy and cheer.
Harvest the blessings in your life,
They will benefit you in the fight.
My muse opens my eyes to starlight, when in darkness I would cower.
~by poet
My dear muse is a faithful advisor
An ancient spirit, a writing treasure.
She guides my words, for hers are much wiser
with perception far beyond all measure.
We paint images; a pen is our brush.
Crumbled pages lie about in the den
where we huddle in thought, hour after hour.
She insists life shouldn't be lived in a rush
and smelling roses will heighten my Zen.
My muse is inspiring, a moonflower.
No vagabond muse, she's never wandered.
Nor stargazer, scanning constellations.
I always praise her for time not squandered
and cannot blame her for my frustrations
when I become distracted in mid thought.
Asleep and drifting in the midnight sky,
she fills my head with rhapsodies in dreams.
Romantic notions whispered to my heart ~
Lines for a sonnet to make readers sigh
when love is decreed beneath pale moonbeams.
More journeys than I, has my muse traveled.
Her metaphors are gifts offered to me
when I'm lost for words, a bit unraveled.
How grateful I am for her loyalty.
Without her guidance I'd surely fall short
of any claim of poetic success.
Somewhat feisty, yet whimsically droll,
urging me to write a mirthful retort.
Skillfully she directs me with finesse,
this glorious muse living in my soul.
May 25, 2022
Form O - Ode Contest
Sponsor - Constance LaFrance
Theme - Person (although a muse, real to me)
Mother had tuberculosis, and my sister and I were
a children’s home run by the state, which had many houses
Depending on age and sex
My brother had already been sent to one who had found German
hand grenades and used them at a disused airport.
The grenades made a terrible noise, and my brother
had to spend some time in a hospital and was later sent to a home
on a small island working at the stone quarry.
My sister and I had been invited to a big wedding
, a real working-class one
A wedding with plenty of food, booze, and beer for the adults
and soft drinks for us. We had been told not to go, but we went anyway
It was a great, really classy wedding; the bride was in white.
At first, there was jealousy amongst the women,
tearing of hair,
The man couldn`t stand there watching; a legendary fight ensued.
Police sirens, the police charged with batons, were beaten back
by police reinforcement. Gradually, the party was peaceful
and the police
themselves, the working class left the scene.
It was morning when we came back to the home, where my sister went
back to the girls ' house, and I, the boys, awaited punishment
I was ten at the time and angry.
When the big boss arrived, I, feeling overwhelmed and angry, threw a vase at him, marking a moment of defiance rooted in my childhood frustrations.
A week later, I was on a farm milking cows.
Ever since childhood, I have felt it was my duty to speak up and defend the have-nots, reflecting my core values of justice and fairness to inspire similar feelings in the audience.
We have fallen into the unknown
We have, once again, been left alone
We are in the depths of darkness
In the den of our dire distresses…
You gave us miracles and curses
Gifted us with such vivacious verses
You brave the storms within and then,
Our infinite battles are left unwon again
The silent wars within
Has trapped us in our sin
And never again will we rise
Unless we fall into our demise
Till then,
Fearlessly motivate others with miracles and not one curse
Will fade away our gifted verses and our tragedies in reverse
Once again…
Men and women, it has been shown
We are stronger than we realize altogether
If we don’t reap what we have sown,
We are stronger united and as a feather
You gave us miracles and curses
Gifted us with such vivacious verses
You brave the storms within and then,
Our infinite battles are left unwon again
The silent wars within
Has trapped us in our sin
And never again will we rise
Unless we fall into our demise
Till then,
Farewell, black rose of death’s dark vale and not one curse
Will fade away our gifted verses and our tragedies in reverse
Once again…
We all go through our hardships and tribulations
These wallowing, spiraling feelings of hopelessness
Has sheltered us with disgrace and frustrations
Please understand where we stand in this marsh of a mess
You gave us miracles and curses
Gifted us with such vivacious verses
You brave the storms within and then,
Our infinite battles are left unwon again
The silent wars within
Has trapped us in our sin
And never again will we rise
Unless we fall into our demise
Till then,
Farewell to our worthless denial and lies and not one curse
Will fade away our gifted verses and our tragedies in reverse
Once again…
We are together in this…
Ascend beyond our torn and forlorn souls of incomplete masterpieces
We shall rise in happiness
Destroy the anthem of agony and defeat the past, resting in pieces
Despite our weariness and distress,
We follow the footsteps of our progress
Out of the depths of darkness
Out of the fiery pit of fretfulness
Arise the endless miracles and curses…
Once again…
Till then,
We will continue to rise
From our utmost demise
Senses defeated by the defile of insensible
Who stepped in with motives ostensible
To take pledge upon our platform honorable,
With list full of agenda for power extensible!
Frustrations of the mass just regrettable
Living consequences of action abominable.
Who to address in this moment insufferable?
Dictatorship in democracy, how deplorable!
Where to turn for their decisions reprovable?
How to make those imposed rules revocable?
Unfortunate for the majority lot expugnable,
Today innocents to pay what unacceptable!
Bear now one upon another, the dishonorable
Or stand up to end the conspiracy, if you’re capable.
Join today the minority of people with action noble!
After the election,
at least two things will continue without interruption: death and taxation.
After the election,
two kinds of people, the rich and the poor, will remain without interruption.
After the election,
I will continue to pray, to go to church, and keep writing new poems and stories.
After the election,
I'm not going to cry, worry, or fret over bad news or old stories.
After the election,
whether by mail, the internet, or bank drafts, bills will be due without hesitation.
After the election,
Airlines, hotels, and car rentals, will still expect us to make a reservation.
After the election,
College tuition will not be free, but young people will continue their education.
After the election,
Both winners and losers will continue their complaints and frustrations.
After the election, there will be less affection, but it’s unlikely there will be any defection.
After the election,
States will remain united, and none will decide to declare secession.
Although, after the election,
it’s possible there might be some new revelations.
However, after the election,
‘Trust me’, no Politian is likely to face any incarceration.
After the election,
The politicians will continue going in different directions.
After the election,
some will lick their wounds while others will have a celebration.
After the election,
Neither party will be any closer to perfection.
After the election,
No American soil will show lines of demarcation.
After the election,
There’ll be no need for ex-candidates to have better protection.
And finally, after the election, while Politicians will appear to be problem-solving, citizens will continue their own problem-solving without hesitation. 11032018 PS Contest, After The Election, Kim Rodriques