Long Harsh Poems
Long Harsh Poems. Below are the most popular long Harsh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harsh poems by poem length and keyword.
When my travels are over
And I finished my last mile
Don't remember my frown
Just remember my smile
Forget harsh words I uttered
Remember the good I've done
Forget any heartache I caused
Just remember all our fun
Forget all my short comings
When I fell by the wayside
Not every battle can be won
But remember I truly tried
Forget to grieve my passing
I don't want you to be sad
Instead remember all our fun
And the good times we had
When the sun finally sets
On that of our last day
I only want you to remember
These last words that I say
There is no amount of tears
That you could ever cry
That will ever ease the pain
Of saying our final goodbye
I found you yesterday
Little raccoon in a ditch
I wondered what I could do for you.
You were stiff, and covered with snow.
If I gently brushed you off, would you return to the land of the living?
My snow brush might be too harsh.
I went through my garage, hoping you would know
I was not planning to leave you there.
By yourself for long.
Upon my return, I felt gratitude from your heaven spot.
Weirdly, I was half expecting your eyes to open
And afraid of a big raccoon hug
But when I started gently brushing you
I knew...
Your body had not been used for months maybe.
I put you gently back into your resting place,
And gave you a little prayer,
And gave myself a little prayer
That in the summer most of the
rest of your fur self would be gone.
I did not want to smell
Another carcass
Remembering the spring
I discovered, Shark, the cat's kill room.
Found the hard way on the first warm day of spring.
You would be added to his collection if he found you
Little Raccon, so go back to heaven.
Worry not about this deteriorating body.
You are okay now.
Probably better than ever actually.
I miss Judith, for devil that she was,
she would give me a stare each time I pass,
built like a fort on two pillars of stone,
she would glare like I had sins to atone!
she recycled curtains to make her dress,
she tied her hair with old shoe lace, God bless,
her speech was a dragon breathing fire,
if disobeyed, consequences were dire.
I miss Judith for all the things she did,
under toughness, all the goodness she hid,
clean house, good food, love and care she would show,
harsh on surface, deep in, her heart would glow.
my pretty wife’s dear mother Judith was,
if in my house, you would know who was boss,
she would make you feel welcome, serve you tea,
give you roasted cashew, brimming with glee.
judge not your dear ones for how they behave,
we count their faults, forget all good they gave,
not everyone in life trains to show love,
in her falcon, was hid a peaceful dove.
why pretend to be tough, shall never know,
at hint of our suffering, her tears flow,
many like her who glare when mean a kiss,
for the angel she was, Judith, I miss!
The classroom is a quiet forge,
and I, a blade in silent fire—
shaped by care, tempered in calm,
honed to serve a brighter purpose.
But into this heatswept chamber she storms,
a tempest cloaked in titles—
her words the hammer’s fall,
striking without measure, without proof.
She holds a flame to my calm steel,
asking why I do not sparkle like she:
“Why do you not forge connections?
Why do you not ring in chatter’s tone?”
Yet I am not a songbird chained to noise—
I am forged for the steady burn,
not the fleeting flash of gossip’s flame.
Her thunder cracks across the anvil of class—
insinuations, judgments, coated in authority.
A storm that sees only its own fury,
hearing nothing of the forge’s slow strength.
Still, in that crucible I hold my shape—
unbowed beneath unearned heat—
for steel that holds its edge through fire
is steel that stands through storm.
Each harsh word becomes smoke on hot iron,
which fades but leaves the core intact.
The hammer may bruise, the flame may scar,
but the metal remembers its maker.
And so I remain, weathered but true—
a blade of purpose, not of defiance.
Let her heat come and break upon me;
I will endure, refine, and rise anew.
He was dealt a harsh life
But he tuned it into something beautiful
He’s electric, like the body of his lonely guitar
He holds a soft heart, yet remains inscrutable
He’s swayed by music, his swift fingers hitting each note
He frets, then he avoids, scanning for escape
He holds onto his pain, like the neck of his lonely guitar
Taking space when vulnerability takes shape
He won’t feel safe if you get too close
His magnetic shield attracts only sound
Strumming vibrations, like the pick-up of his lonely guitar
His gift to us is his music, so profound
He’ll dismiss you, then feel remorse when you’re gone
A self-fulfilling prophecy from personalized neglect
Pushing and pulling, like the whammy on his lonely guitar
His tension alters the pitch in his need to protect
He doesn’t want to lose you, but he won’t choose you
He gauges his emotional regulation through every tune
As he plucks at your heart, like the strings of his lonely guitar
In his authentic tone that causes my soul to swoon
He keeps himself busy to evade any reflection
He’s only secure on the stage hearing fan’s cheers
He’s divided his pitch, like the fret of his lonely guitar
He’ll scale you back while he’s hiding his fears
His riff is survival while suppressing his demons
Yet he maintains perfect control set by the saddle
Where he’s safely anchored, like the bridge of his lonely guitar
His wall of silence is more deafening in his battle
With your teachings, tired tunes I’m tired,
Hauling its harsh import, I’m tired.
Not with my frugal fate, it’s fine,
Your rating jewels as jade, I’m tired.
By your discourse, a bit iffy,
Karmic fate of if-then, I’m tired.
By your sermons that seem dated,
Scolding, berating me, I’m tired.
Do deeds, expect no fruits, you say,
Of such tired homilies, I’m tired.
___________________________________
Ghazal |01.12.2021| despair
Poet’s note: There are numerous channels on television bombarding religious discourses, even a god channel, all heavy stuff, somehow making some listeners burdened with undue guilt. Here’s the desperate cry of one such man.
Breathe & Pretend
Another day has been born
Wake up in bed
Eyes still tightly closed
Holding tightly
To the fragments
Of an already lost dream
Tossing and turning
Throwing off the blankets
Getting out of bed
Wiping sleep away
Ignoring
The fierce headache
Previous night a blur
The sunlight burns
Like a reprimand
Closing curtains
Stumble over glass shards
Trying to remember
Last night
Silent house
A packaged gift
Time to shower
Shave away yesterday
Shed the lies away
A harsh cup of reality
Awakens the nerves
A ring on the table
Like a guilty child
Sweep it to the floor
Un-shed tears stinging
Escape the house
Earth shaking
Sun glaring
Judged by the dirt
It's the end
Even though
Another day has been born
You are no Hercules, no Adonis.
No emperor, no conqueror.
You are the symbol of love
who understand but the words of love.
You are no angel, no God.
No simpleton, no pauper.
You are the most humble person
who does not boast his generosity.
You are not here, not there.
Not in my heart, not in my soul.
You are just everywhere I think of
as you appear in time of need.
You are not sweet, not harsh,
Not evasive, not serious.
You always say the right words
which gives a wish to live.
You are no bondage, no dictator.
You are but the one to whom
anyone will wish to be bonded to,
Forever and ever.
Your harsh words
Your morbid silence
Your dirty looks
Your dark violence
Will bend me
Will bend me
But I will not break!
Your stinging sarcasm
Your childish spite
Your evil meanness
Your brutish might
Will make me flicker
Will make me flicker
But I will not go out!
Your cold indifference
Your devious lies
Your stubborn pride
Your sad disguise
Will make me wither
Will make me wither
But I will not fall!
You may bruise me
You may abuse me
You may taunt me
You may haunt me
You may strike me
You may dislike me
You may wonder why
Though so hard you try...
I will never
I will NEVER
Lay down and die!
Jade
This is a repost of a poem I wrote long time ago here. It only got one comment. I felt the need to repost it. One of my favorite Bible verses is found in Isaiah 42:3. Like a candle about to burn out, or a reed about to break, I feel that I am bent low....But he will not let me break.
a bruised reed he will not break,
and a faintly burning wick he will not quench;
he will faithfully bring forth justice
While traveling ‘cross such harsh terrain
left parched and barren from the sun
and weeks without a cooling rain,
I saw a sight that left a stun
beside the road on this long run.
I stopped to have a closer look;
perhaps my vision had deceived
with image that my mind mistook
and merely something I perceived,
but I would never have believed.
Yet there a single flower bloomed
upon the dry and sun parched soil.
Impossible I had assumed
with harsh conditions to embroil;
to stay alive, how she must toil.
Her face shown fair in sun’s dry heat
magenta petals shining bright
appearing happy and upbeat
without a worry to incite,
and unaware of her dire plight.
I ponder how one could exist
in harsh conditions such that be
and thrive with little to assist,
yet ne’er for help to send a plea;
she seems to live her life carefree.
Perhaps we all should take a clue
from gentle flower’s look on life
ignoring hell we’re going through
with all its worry and its strife,
and all the bad with which it’s rife,
and focus on our gifts in life.
April 7, 2021
Poem of the Week - April 11, 2021