Long Ill conceived Poems
Long Ill conceived Poems. Below are the most popular long Ill conceived by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ill conceived poems by poem length and keyword.
There are in the world, at least two types of folks
there are some living comfy and those under the yokes.
If you’re of the former, eating three squares per day,
when you look at the latter, do you cast them away?
Do you feel in your heart, anything but repulsion?
From an ill-conceived fear do you cry their expulsion?
Ghostly wolves hide among them, so you turn a blind eye
and it makes you feel safer, letting innocents die.
You say you’re correct, and you say it is smart,
to ignore all the suffering and to harden the heart.
Truth is: you’re a coward hiding up in your loft
and when asked for compassion, you shrugged and you scoffed.
Then you offered yourself a nice pat on the back,
and despite all your riches -- of real substance: you lack.
8/21/16
For Contest: Couplet Time-
Hosted By: Rick Parise
Could you tell me
when
America became so selfish, introspective,
a host of clueless, unrealistic fools,
that see only ourselves above all others,
sole contemporaries of time and history?
When
did we forget the points and purpose of freedom
to follow one man's power hungry dream,
ill-conceived?
When
did the cost of freedom give way
to the conspiracies of delusionary sways
cutting back the realities of the day?
When
did we hold fast to a lie,
never seeking truth
pushing fact aside, truth denied?
When
did we stop caring about the future free
within folds of democracy
for our children and their hopes and dreams?
When
will we ever learn from history
its lessons
that freedom isn't free,
there is a price to pay
in everything we do,
in everything we say,
we must act not just pray
before it all slips away.
Contest : J With Four Options
Sponsor : Constance La France
Date : August 9, 2025
The unseen glow of omnipresent divine light
floods my possessed essence, but I don’t perceive,
for I invent free-will tenets shaping ego
in the realm of fantasized self-deception.
The stain of murky disdain blemishes my face,
I traverse the slimy ground of cardinal mud.
Life is stifled by corrupt clutch hidden within,
in penitence I feel the spiteful pangs of pain.
I travel unshackled out of despair abyss
on the journey within through consciousness layers,
perceive in the soul the flush of divine beacon,
lighting the corridor to the abode of bliss.
The ill-conceived venture of the errant mind
finds gloomy dead-end in the introspection path.
That’s when the door of the inner sanctum opens,
where the lotus blooms suffused with heavenly sheen.
The soul shines with astral radiance in deep space
with the flaring brilliance of a billion suns.
In my self-searching voyage to eternity
the inner galaxy makes me a living light.
No matter the subject, poetry,
somehow, is all about love --
Love, a poet's bread and butter.
Staple stapled to the writing
tip of his forever pen, and the backside
of his often used pencil. Falling in and out of.
Were it not for Love's addictive nature,
a poet's heart's habitual affliction...there would be no poetry.
No poet. Period.
Hallmark rhymes are far from my
heart's loses and finds, no paper beaters
in said repertoire -- torrid bliss, or totally disappointed,
pissed!~ has always been my hotly repeated refrain! --
Poetry oscillates, lively. A charged, bare wire!
Makes for hyper passionality (made that word up).
Rises, a Sky-rocket -- bottoms~ a clogged bowel!
Too much overeating of non-tenderized fowl
reflects and epitomizes, self induced, masochistic
relationships, that lead to, autogenous, butchered,
my own mental scalpel, seeming lobotomies. A medical wonder I can yet write.
The poet consumes drama~ discharges incessantly!
Both sustenance and waste, same confounded paste
he spreads on toast and his own body roast --
Adds and subtracts vociferously, voluminously, deeply,
depth-fully~ each work, in some way, an extension
of presupposed, paramount, though egoistic, core matters. His many
Pointillism, mixed with mere, random, ill conceived
uninspiring hackneyed splatters.
Feels so deeply,
that what he cannot create for himself, from emotional
others he will beg, steal and borrow -- absence of
love, for the poet~ there is no
yesterday! Nor today...nor future desire though potentially a richly composite
tomorrow.
The reflex of ego is to go toe to toe with evil.
The more mental bloodshed, the better...
But ego is a sloppy plodder with ill-conceived plans.
Its artwork is far from perfected.
Too often the victory is short-lived.
And ego - easily detected.
Evil will always come back around.
The circle is its favorite shape.
Endless nothingness- its favorite sound.
It's better to let the big cat do your dirty work.
It's been tracking down evil since time was an infant.
The big cat is steady-stealthy-methodical-star silent.
Until the final pounce.
A quick bite to its fat neck will bring evil to the ground.
Since the big cat is undetectable and evil is oblivious.
It won't ever know what bit it.
It will be forever hamstrung and never circle back.
For the big cat, karma is a circle slasher...
Commission her to paint your next revenge.
REMEMBER THIS
By Curtis Johnson
There are some things I have come to believe.
Believe me when I say, I am not deceived.
Sometimes the good die young, and never receive.
Unfairness exists, and persists, though ill conceived.
Sometimes everybody gets pushed around, or cheated.
Never sink in the sand, or give up when you’re mistreated .
There is never a reason to remain forever defeated.
Be strong and fight against evils, before they are repeated.
It’s okay to be highly noticed, but better to be needed.
If you decide to reach for the brightest and highest star;
Remember to love and support those not very far.
A good education might bring you the best credit card.
But the best education will always be it’s own reward.
Some are fortunate with opportunities they simply refuse.
Too many of us are unfortunately denied and abused.
You do not have to feel like a sadly stricken victim.
Just have faith, look up, and stand up like a victor!
121306cj
The Dee Denial
From start you doubted me
And thus rejected me
You thought perhaps I could not give
The things you sought of me.
You never let me try
To prove I would not lie
To make you, in the end, believe
Than that I’d rather die!
But still I worshipped you
And all things promised you
But nay, you feared I might deceive
From what friends told to you.
If only you’d believed
Your thoughts were ill-conceived
And now I’m left alone to grieve
A love not well-received.
I’ll love you from afar
Sing ‘que sera, sera’
I guess in time I’ll learn to live
Without that last ‘Hurrah!!!’
(The Fg 81.5.8.)
The self-obsessive free-will ever seemingly dormant,
envelopes the mind with an illusory veil transient,
obscures the decreed destination God ordains,
l need to reach, for I should submissively at His will.
The camouflaged glow of the omnipresent light
floods my possessed quintessence, but I don’t discern,
for I formulate the free-rule tenets enslaving the ego
in the revered realm of fantasized self-deception.
I travel unshackled out of the dark abyss of despair,
on inward journey through the layers of awareness,
perceive in the soul the shimmer of the divine beacon,
lighting up the lane leading to the abode of bliss.
When the ill-conceived endeavor of the migrant mind
finds the dead end dark in the introspective pensive path,
the prime portal of the innate consciousness opens,
where the essence blooms permeated by divine light.
My soul shines with astral radiance in the space within
with the flaring brilliance of thousand suns,
in my self-searching odyssey at the edge of eternity
I’m illumined by heavenly galaxy in the inner sanctum.
I'll remember twenty-fifteen
for the atrocities, I've seen.
When ISIS cut a man's head off,
newsmen squealed like pigs at a trough.
The Arab spring was ill-conceived,
democracy wasn't achieved.
And refugees thus forced to flee,
capsized boats, and got drowned at sea.
Religion reared its ugly head,
now we're tasked with counting the dead.
In the name of God, blood ran cold
young girls got kidnapped, raped, and sold.
White cops gunned down unarmed black kids
for minor crimes the law forbids.
Fueling hate that plagued the streets,
bigotry didn't need white sheets.
Global warming was proven real,
it doesn't matter how you feel.
Twenty-fifteen brought mostly pain,
let's pray; its like, won't come again.
(Rhyme)
12/30/2015
Stains of murky disdain blemish the face,
you traverse the slimy ground of cardinal sin.
Life is stifled by the dormant clutch hidden within,
in repentance you feel the pernicious pangs of pain,
ill-conceived enterprise of the migratory mind crumbles.
That’s when the sentry opens the door of the inner sanctum,
suffused with the visage of bliss, lit by the divine candle.
You sense nothing can dampen the kindled conscience,
for you discover the astral radiance of the sky inside,
glowing in the seamless soul, shielding the candle
in the eternal wind till the last ray fades away.
October 28, 2020
Contest : Eight Word Challenge 11
Sponsor : John Hamilton