Long Infuriate Poems
Long Infuriate Poems. Below are the most popular long Infuriate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Infuriate poems by poem length and keyword.
Start living today by sending surly clouds away,
and regardless of your age, it won't infuriate rage;
why should life start at forty?
Why not change it to sixty
and free yourself from your sorrowful cage?
You'll breathe easier by flying away.
It's unthinkable to let depressing thoughts
stand between you and the desirable dreams
that weren't achieved because of doubts,
or little faith you had in times of uneasiness.
Start living today by forgetting any past loss,
be armed with hope, make the last effort;
regret can't give anything back but a pain of another sort...
try much harder and happiness can be completely yours.
It's absurd to think this is the end of the line,
look forward to more days of warm sunshine...
keep yourself occupied by not counting your fleeing time;
don't be like others who wish to lay down and soon expire.
Dear Mom’s Multiple Sclerosis,
Thank you. I know it’s odd to thank a disease.
Especially when it’s bound to take the one person that will always love you.
But thanks.
You have made my mother stronger in the face of pain.
You have made me stronger in the face of uncertainty.
But, thanking you does not mean you don’t infuriate me.
You have made her future look like wheelchairs,
medicines, and a useless right half of her body.
You have made my future look like hovering over my sick mama,
constant fear and never knowing what is next.
Her past looks like hospitals, physical therapy sessions,
and missing senior prom so she could relearn to brush her teeth.
Mine looks like remembering what she couldn’t,
filling in sentences when her words went missing,
and making dinner for kids whose mommy couldn’t move.
No matter how many books I read about you,
and trust me, I’ve read more than you think,
I still can’t find the words to properly explain to
my eight year old sister
why mommy sleeps so much
and is always in so much pain.
Judging poetry contests is as easy as comparing a hog to a car
Or a tub of lard to a gasoline engine and a movie star
Trying to be objective is not in the equation at all
comparing unlike things to each other is a likely fall
some are witty, others do not follow a single contest rule
I laugh at some, others are so well written they make me drool
Rght away I sort them into piles of two – one good, one not so much.
Cannot divulge my secret, but it would infuriate my Aunt Dutch
She likes everything to fit into a tidy little clean box up high
Judging poems against each other makes me roll an eye
How do you say this one is good, and that one is not
When none share a purpose, is that all you’ve got?
I used to moan and wail and torment myself with the result.
Now when I second guess my finalists, I yell “Halt!”
Just put the top three in a shake up order and try again.
The gold always rises to the top no matter what shape I’m in.
Seedier media’s spewed a lot of late
Crude is all about lewd Bazball’s fate
Ben eschewed then stewed had to wait
On Stokes & ECB feud did concentrate
A tomfoolery catapult at a summer fete
Deranged but change won’t contemplate
Glummer fans can berate but no debate
Won’t halt dumber all out assault template
Fawn this new dawn to thrill will facilitate
Once did reinvigorate now does agitate
Ban this bland brand just a T20 ingratiate
Test tragics thirst perverse curse won’t sate
Hiss Brook took the piss & will aggravate
Ben we no longer trust and must castigate
When he then lost his zen & did denigrate
His men & all the plaudits he did generate
As Test cricket’s saviour we didn’t hesitate
Defending best sort of our sport appreciate
Stopping unwise franchise rise we participate
Tests out of date follow a reprobate mandate
Cogitate let's all just trust Bazball & meditate
New chapter couldn't create must abbreviate
Lust did rust so deviate to your ego capitulate
Ben did abrogate before he then did abdicate
You bled said in red Tests would emancipate
New autobiography a publisher did ingratiate
Was a helluva scheme to your team castrate
Then on Test cricket you literally did defecate
From embers lets remember when did venerate
Rule of cool cats & sexy sultry strut of their gait
We did anticipate how they did titillate & titivate
In the thrall of the gall as Bazball did captivate
Is this the future of Test cricket we did ruminate
Rid of Covid new bid to stop the skid scintillate
Calling card is freeing the old guard to salivate
Enjoy the game again as wins did demonstrate
The swagger turned to stagger did defenestrate
Of course horse bolted.. before closed the gate
We’re entertainers the reason they did extenuate
Facts and their foolhardy acts will still repudiate
Our chagrin as on seriously thin ice they do skate
The plain disdain for the WTC did really infuriate
England is in such a state has enough on its plate
From the ruins nothing to excavate as we excoriate
But blunder here and down under won't exonerate
Uncouth truth can’t be hid from livid fans who hate
Bazball gesticulate just a cheap buzz like amyl nitrate
Absurd situations amuse me; they get written into poems.
Foolish generalizations about groups of people infuriate me;
they also get written into poems.
All Irish, all whites, all English, all red-heads, there is no all.
It makes not a whit of sense.
But the one thing that has gotten my goat faster than any other thing?
“All women over forty are dried up.” Yes, I know. It is crazy, but I heard it.
When I was forty-four, twenty-two years ago, and it still irritates me.
When I think of it, which is not often, I relish in the thought that the man who used it is incarcerated now, using all kinds of other silly sayings,
that probably get him whooped daily.
He loved to generalize groups of people. “All men in their twenties,
all Swedes, all people who wear overalls, all women who wear gloves…”
I soak myself in friendly waters, not worrying about this stuff usually.
Tonight I slathered my worn-out self in a luxurious lavender bath when I thought of it again.
It is weird how the most random stupid things will pop into your head, irritating you at odd times.
The red devil is leading the hag witch and her cat
Through a laughing jack-o-lantern field so flat.
The wind is howling, the owls are on the move.
Dracula is waiting, in the mood to truly groove.
The red devil is silent, which makes him scary.
Cat’s fur stands up, he is terrified of Sister Mary.
Mary keeps going with determination in her mind.
She needs to ask Dracula to stop being so darned kind.
Dracula gives her excuses which infuriate her so.
She flicks out her peacock wand which gives a mighty glow.
A cauldron appears, and she soon makes up a potion.
To give to Dracula. It is a change-your-mind-up lotion.
Dracula refuses to put the lotion on his skin.
Infuriating the hag, which is truly not a win.
Cat is terrified now not wanting to travel back.
She will take her rage out on somebody; he will probably get the rack.
The red devil tells the hag her time is up, she has to go.
Cat drags his feet in a sorry way, ridiculously slow.
Hag witch is in the lead, marching back across the cornfield bay.
Cat knows he is in for it; there is nothing he can say.
Dracula has followed them. He demands she give him Cat.
She is angry about it, but he takes her to the mat.
Cat becomes Dracula’s familiar, and is allowed to prowl at night.
This union makes him happy; they end up very tight.
The best I could hope for was a lame or weak animal,
limping along, not able to catch up with their tribe.
My cubs are hungry, and they like fresh blood meat.
A young antelope or gazelle would be perfect!
As I glance through the African grasses, I consider different scenarios.
The old ones often fall behind, but their tummies are not tasty.
There is more gristle, sinew, and splintery bone than meat.
The last time I brought home an old one, we could barely gnaw through.
A herd of kudu came leaping through, graceful, confident.
Hunting a young healthy one would certainly spook the pack
They might invariably change their feeding path after a fear like that.
I lick my lips, waiting for young ones, but maybe they are unborn.
The hyenas came past my grasses next with noises that infuriate me;
“Supper?” my bravest cub asks me, hopefully. Soon, I say with yellow eyes.
I am proud that my hunting prowess has kept them alive so far,
My cubs and I sit down to wait, not as patient as we were at day’s beginning.
We're two lost clouds drifting off,
not knowing their destination;
will someone give us
a sense of direction?
For quite some time,
in chimerical rhyme,
we ride these familiar skies,
sending rain and storms
down to earth's surface
with such a spiteful mood...
until we feel full!
We dislike the presence
of cheerfulness and brightness,
and infuriate the clover
and daffodils fields,
or even the ingenious parrots
that transform their notes
into cantabile and joyful lyrics;
we burlesquily watch the hungry butterflies
hardly descending on any flower
to pick, with labor, their delightful pollen!
We're two lost clouds drifting off,
carefree and unaware of what occurs
below us...as if we're not a part
of this wonderful creation in which all exalt;
only superficial and nonexistent,
nonemotional and so obstinate!
My forbidden fruit
How lovely you are
How so delicious I imagine you to taste on my lips..
How delightful you infuriate me with your gentle teasing.
You enjoy playing with the woman you desire.
Everything you say intensifies and sweet fully dominates my desires towards you
I secretly adore you.
I adore everything about you.
Even your moments of stubbornness glows, like pure, irresistible, masculinity in my eyes.
As pure, rich, golden honey, slowly drips from its honeycomb,
so does my eyes slowly takes its time when its upon you ,
soaking in every inch of gorgeous.
My thoughts behold you without my permission.
Yes !
Silently, my soft heart whispers to you
Yes !
I do want you as much as you want me .
Yet strongly and firmly my lips utters to you NO .
Again
You reminded me what passion feels like.
You reminded me that having a man around feels so precious safe and beautiful.
You reminded me that there is happiness with two.
You offer me everything my heart craves
Everything my heart wants and everything my heart needs
You freely offer me so much,
Yet the only thing I take from you, is one last glance ,
As I step away from you,
and turn to the one who makes me forget all these beautiful things, and replaces them with harsh heart ache, neglect and helpless sorrows
and hope that one day he becomes like you .
Forget all stupidities,
even these pitiful follies...
while raging thoughts
agitate and infuriate us!
Give up madness,
use logic to end quick solutions;
learning together does wonders!
Show willingness,
accept imperfections as faults
and take the road of delights!
Forget all stupidities
that made us shout angry words;
no time can be restored to minds
not fond of memories!
We tried and failed,
and now, we regret
our foolishness of children;
we should have guessed
what the future held,
not being stubborn
in our narrow mindset
and saved much sweat!
What can two lovers
do standing at crossroads:
split or stay together,
forget all stupidities,
reject all disparities
or try to get better?