Long Ill tempered Poems

Long Ill tempered Poems. Below are the most popular long Ill tempered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ill tempered poems by poem length and keyword.


Believe in Brave, True Dignity

Brazen blessings burn on like the arrival of the dawn
Elevated to the max
Lovely knowledge comes to mind 
Impressive words of wisdom come and go…but, it should be here to stay
Empathetic vibes..
Venting
Encouragement

Intriguing,
Nostalgic thoughts bleed through me…entirely soaked in lullabies..

Brainwashed in my past sins…repenting in the present through thick and thin 
Roam Home
And stay brave, true and full of dignity 
Vehemently vibrant with optimism and pessimism combined 
End the highs and lows — I want to be neutral and need His word to overflow in my mind into my heart and out of my tongue of life 

Tremendous, yet turbulent feelings…flood…fervently…and…profoundly so 
Remedy please? And thank you…
Unfortunately, I wasted too much time..but I’m fortunate to wait on His time frame…the clock is ticking by, tormenting me — can’t deny…
Eager to serve His people from on high

Dreamt of delightful dignity and compassion from on high
Intentions matter…irrational, icky, ill-tempered foolishness — wisdom is needed and whatever happens happens
Gracious glory matter too
Never-ending nymphs of notions flutter in my negotiable noggin
Isolate fear and include hope
Terribly terrific trials make me smile
You’re the one, running the extra mile…with me this time…
Form: Acrostic


Abbellimenti

It interuped the flow of things.
He attmepted to his lack
of concentration. Abstract, 
something that doesn't describe something real
or photogenetic..Anyway it appeared to have been printed incorrectly
or maybe the secetary gave the wrong design;
I didn't like it Now frustrated and dealing
with a time frame and very little cash to correct the matter
he became creative and got out the scissors and paste
and made the corrections himself.
A great job, as no one seemed to
have noticed it was a flaw that was corrected. 
We liked the idea he took a photo of the work 
and had it photo printed. It saved money a lot of 
money. Now dealing with the ego's
of these Music mindd phenoms so that a show
 with prestige and seeking a critics positive 
opinion means alot to this project! 
Needing a critic's positive opinion means a
 creative work, product, or person relies on
 professional approval to gain credibility,
 funding, or an audience. While the word
 "criticism" often implies finding faults,
 a professional critic's evaluation can be 
favorable, offering an expert seal of approval that validates
 quality. A composition that might be the composers best work
in my hands meant alot and how I presented it
would either cement my position as conductor
and producer or ruin me me as an sloppy ill tempered person..
He last called me "Minzzokk Atterberg" It mad 
me angry knowing he knew my name and called me out of it.
her compliments made me wish she was mine. I believe I feel in love with her
the moment she said "Hello"! Speaking of his counterpart introducing him
to the Critic.
Form: Ballad

Imagination- Ella's Lagoon

Over this limpid lagoon, without a church's dome,
no ill-tempered wind coming from the stormy East
can stir up huge waves, it can only scatter mist;
here birds thrive, they call this place their home.

The esurient wrens search for breadcrumbs,
Ella hasn't come yet and they hope she will;
the laughing gulls entrap them as they shrill,
the tiny ones flee and hide in blades of grass.

Where's Ella? She must be dancing with clouds,
there the only spectators are the curious swans;
she swirls against a smooth spectrum of indigo
lighter than her gorgeous eyes that delight Fabio.

Another Fall evening ends to bring back all stillness,
finally the painter with the grey cap rests his hands;
his jaunty painting matches the vividness of the sunset,
Ella runs and joyfully embraces her adored sweetheart.


Written on 1/ 29/ 2016
Form: Rhyme

Christmas Time

Welcome
 to the wonder and the magic of the reason
 that Christmas time brings to the season,
the decoration on the tree, the marvels, and miracles
 the lights, the glow of simplicity of carols lyrical,
 the ornaments, the garlands and the wreaths,
steals away the pushed aside discounted beliefs
 that God is and blesses us
 with the amazement of a child's trust;
at this time of year
 there is joy among the tears
 a reckoning of sorts
despite the bad news in ill reports;
 it is a time unmatched
when even ill-tempered rivalries are patched
 finding deep within our hearts we are all the same
 seeking peace and love, honesty and truth regained;
so put aside those foolish discrepancies
 together we can conquer everything and finally see
 rising to greet the very person we were always meant to be.
© DM Babbit  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Smeared Sign

Smeared Sign

Snakes’ slivering skins smothered in slimy oil of temptation

Immersed inundated intrigued of intricate ill tempered shine

Go forth and multiply your ferocious frolicking fortune

No - Neverland promiscuous parody peruses the pear’s peril

Or was it a precocious apple appeasing Adam’s adamant appetite

Furnaces’ flames flow from fields of plenty in the desert of doom

The ‘game’ is rigged resembling steel structures stealing resources

Hallowed be thy name Lord Trinity - material riches glory and power

Extract what you must muster maraude marshal the miraculous sword 

Time will tell unless the timid clock retreats and hands fall off in the sand

In Nothing we trust but tentacles of terror and in glorious gory greed

Marooned midst the Midas Touch the ‘salubrious’ sign shivers solemnly

Embraces us humans in silence while the oil rigs stutter and spill

Salutary messages spluttered and soiled and the snake wins once more

23rd April 2018
Form: Acrostic


I Cannot Weight To Hmm

I Cannot Weight To Hmm...
Be Pressed By A Dumbbell

Two fifteen pound
     steely danse sing
     wrought iron dumbbells
     ill-tempered, impatiently,
     and intensely a weight
their turn to hmm... press me,
     and forthwith dense trait
heavy handed prestidigitation

     to yours truly, this primate
currently attempting
     to craft sad excuse
     for a poem, sans far fetched
     notion, aye trite re: late
engendering, foisting, and goading
     bizarre lifelike qualities
     to inanimate solid helpmate

to build (and/or oven
     just tone) muscles bitterly, painfully,
     resignedly wince, where washboard
     abdomen long a goner
     impossible to recoup, 
     whar hide didst narrate
ting hours sculpting great
former Adonis build

     on these, now nada so lovely
     bones, and experience 
     spiritual strife to oscillate,
     perhaps witness sing 
     angst to esse skill late
heady feeling healthy vim within
     myself, how just
     with verily at least dedicate

half hour exercise can be great
for body, mind, and
     soul triage, otherwise...
     basic gravitational laws
     of physics gladly
     hand me unwanted fate,
how gradually physique
     will eventually demonstrate

flabby, droopy, and
     unwanted addy post tissue create
ting another reason to berate,
castigate, emasculate, where
     self repudiation will germinate
(albeit, thence in extremis), yours truly
     doth relinquish fitness regime
     resulting sparking, and taste

     testing casus belli dictate
tête-à-tête, viz hasty
     unconditional surrender to
     a void mortal kombat,
     which latter, would exterminate,
the forces of yin and yang,
     re: lee (I rub hurts) loch cur,
     thence finding me fraught,

     (yule hiss see - uselessly)
     grant ting soul 
     option to disintegrate,
in the event emotional civil war,
rents asunder every fiber
     of mine being, which
    wrath wracked wraith self destruction 
     twill woefully satiate.

Beautiful and Free

Heal the sorrow, uproot the sad willow 
Make it happy
There's another tomorrow to borrow
To set you free 

Burn away the icy ickiness inside me
Churn away the sea of distress that I see
Brew away the sensation of solitude
Chase away my ill-tempered interlude

Many smiles will weigh down the frowns
Many suns will guide you towards moonlit towns
Many hours spent with you is oh so wonderful
Many times, I tell you you're always beautiful 

You are...
Beautiful and free 
My star...
You'll be free as can be 
Your scar...
Will be cured as you flee

You are like an alien on this planet of plenty
You are a passerby, roaming in liberating captivity 
Ready or not, I'm coming to the rescue 
Believe me, you will be the happier you 

Make it happy -
The sorrow that leaves you feeling
Rather crappy
I know, these emotions aren't so appealing

Reality is a cruel, yet honest weapon
That fights our battles or stabs our back
You need some faith fuel once again
So, carry on, carrion heart upon your sack

Never forget how much you mean to me
Never seek revenge, but forgiveness alone shall live
Victory is in the hands of the man of glee
Never take avengeful actions lightly - there's love to give

Enliven the gladness, enlighten the owl's ancient elegance
Make it restore grace to this verse
Renew the remedy of relieving remembrance 
To ensnare the burden's curse 
And to unwrap unconditional utility...
Uprooting the sad willow's vain insanity 

It's the only way
To unchain you from your fatality 
Starting today,
I'm going to make you beam, truly

It's the only way
To make you beautiful and Free
With my cheerful sway,
I shall encourage eternal ecstasy

It's the only way,
My beautiful and free angel 
It's the only way
Above the ruins of your cell

They Really Are Dinosaurs

I see out there, besides the pond,
a quartet of Canada geese,
picking through the manicured lawn,
hunting for some insects to eat.
Two adults and two little ones,
necks outstretched and probing the ground,
something about the silhouettes
just seems to tear the eons down…
I know that birds are therapods,
but when that long neck ducks I see
the outline of a Brontosaur,
albeit one that stands two feet…
And when it’s walking straight at me,
the head and neck up towards the sky,
it looks just like a sauropod,
at least until it starts to fly.
A weird thought, given on most days
they paddle around in the drink,
but change the place and back in time
the whole animal seems to sink.
Perhaps that’s why they’re ill-tempered,
hissing at you like a sinner,
since once they used to rule this earth,
but now they’re just Christmas dinner…

Premium Member Farmer Fred Regrets What He Said

Poured a wee dram for my friend Farmer Fred.
He just kept on shaking his head.
What’s with the head I inquired of Fred?

Sit down laddie for ya might just swoon,
When I tell ya what happened to me this very afternoon.

Whilst selling my wares down at the fair,
A lovely young lass with a head of red hair,
Wandered up and gives the wares a stare.

I greeted her in my customary way.
Good afternoon lassie you look lovely today,
Might I help you in some particular way?

Now she looks up and gives me a scowl.
I judged her humor t’was a bit fowl.

I thought I might brighten her day
With a grand compliment paid.

Lassie your hair is both beautiful and grand.

Then her scowl scrammed, and she began to howl.

Called me all manner of beast and pariah.
Her face turned red as if it were on fire.
Minutes passed before her tirade did expire.

Made me regret the cordial things I had said.
I sincerely hope that lassie is never wed.
Ill tempered heifers should never be bred!
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Civil Discourse

Let us deport-- with skill--
Let us discourse--with care--
Powder exists in Charcoal--
Before it exists in Fire.        
                                   ~ Emily Dickinson

Good words anoint, ill words kill 
                                   ~ Florio


It's said that sticks and stones break bones
   but words can serve as weapons too,
so wield with caution what you write
   let civil discourse have its due. 

A finely crafted turn of phrase
   will prove more winsome than a harsh
phillipic or a raging rant
   that drags one's soul down like a marsh. 

Are not our writings most effective 
  when our readers wish to read
our inner thoughts, instead of feeling 
  whipped by some ill-tempered screed? 

When I hear thunder's crash, I flee 
   from lightning's sharp, injurious ray -
I hear your thunder, not your words
   As though you speak a mile away.

I'm not promoting caged emotions;
   ire and outrage have their place,
but when the missile shrieks, there's few
   still left the message to embrace.

Written 21 Dec 2021
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace