Long Interested Poems
Long Interested Poems. Below are the most popular long Interested by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interested poems by poem length and keyword.
How does it make you feel when the one you voted for, lost?
Did the earth stop revolving; or did the sun refuse to shine?
Did your boat cease to float; or did your sails fall into the river?
I was just thinking about the times that my candidate lost, and
about the time that I voted FOR a candidate adamantly opposed
to the union that represented me and my financial well being.
Personally, I have not agreed, but the American voter for the longest time
has been trained to be totally self-interested, even if that interest does not
represent the common interest of the nation. There should be no question
about how we got to where we are.
I was also thinking about the first presidential election in which I voted up to the most recent one. With a little research, I discovered that there have been 12 presidential elections in which I have been a participant. In those elections, I voted for 7 candidates who won and 5 candidates who lost. At no time did I ever think that the winning candidate I opposed was not my
President or Commander-in Chief. I have always been sadden by that way of thinking because there is no constitutional grounds for such mentalities.*
A couple of days ago, I was taken aback when a person I greatly respect indicated that the new Commander-in-Chief was not her Commander-in-Chief as she waved goodbye to the former president. Also, several years ago when a new president took office, a dear friend of mine said, "He's not my president. I did not vote for him." I said in response, "Neither did I vote for him, but he is now OUR new president". I could be mistaken, but my understanding of the American way is that we are free to oppose and disagree, but when the majority wins, we do our best to unite as one.
012121PS
*Constitution; Article 11, Section 2, #1.
Analogous, how said month name
September under went
ramifications throughout millennium
steeped in blood thirsty antiquity,
awash with torment,
where most twenty
first century mortals
oblivious to such lawlessness
wretched ultra-violent revilement
existentially going about their
daily and weekly business
attuned to requisite
employment as punishment
particularly if role of stoop laborer
earnings them niggardly pay
for meager nourishment,
there would be negligible
leisure time leant
to mull, ponder or scrutinize
such esoteric rubric
as preponderance of
ancient civilizations set precedence
contributing to present
without passing judgement
if in fact possessing
aggressive curiosity hellbent
interest and/or acutely fervent
trenchant awareness linkedin
with what human engineered,
sans preceding millennial development
events came about
to bring the here
and now space/
time continuum habiliment,
where a sniveling, groveling, and
conniving foo fighting beastie boy,
would be loathe to believe,
nor not in the least
interested - gives a rats a$$
what farcical betterment prevails during
this current year
two thousand eighteen, versus where
drama evidenced by
nothing "FAKE," nor unclear
substantial archeological recorded
treasure trove evinced severe
of prior momentous human quaere
orgiastic epics Bacchanalian
(distilled from ancient Egypt,
classical Greece, enlightened Rome
peoples played primitive organs
(viz, sax and violins) out across
the then world wide web
wrought permanent pressed
customs within part
ridge didst app pear,
in a tree, reverberated
millenniums later, and also asper
among named twelve months,
particularly when Ides of March near
plus seven days of week.
LIL’ MISS GHOUL
On the night of Walpurgistnacht,
Lil’ Miss Ghoul walks into her bedroom,
She is deeply saddened after the break up with her latest man.
Lil’ Miss Ghoul puts on her black Victorian dress,
Softly weeping, she sits down at her Gothic, Victorian Vanity Mirror,
She gets out her pure black lipstick and paints her lips black,
Her nails already painted black from this morning,
Lil’ Miss Ghoul walks to her window and slowly looks at the moon,
Her sobs becoming stronger as she tilts her head at the full moon,
She sings to herself a song of love as she begins to weeps hysterically,
Lil’ Miss Ghoul returns to sit down at her Vanity Mirror desk,
She looks at all the pictures of the men surrounding her mirror,
The men who swore their love to her, used her and ditched her,
She slumps over her sobs uncontrollable.
She looks at the Gothic switch blade knife and picks it up,
She looks at the men she thought loved her,
One by one, they were only interested in her body,
Lil Miss Ghoul makes a hard, quick slash across her right wrist,
She looks at the moon, then, slashed her left wrist.
Lil’ Miss Ghoul stops crying, as she looks at the moon.
The blood from her wrists like a geyser, quickly spilling from her body,
She never takes her eyes off of the moon as her life slipped away,
Lil’ Miss Ghoul rises from her body, looks at the men she thought loved her,
She remained hovering in her room, till the next morning.
Momma came knocking, entered her room, and screamed,
Momma screaming, “Oh, my baby!!!! NOOOOO!!!!!!”
Daddy came running to Momma’s screams,
Daddy falls to his knees as he begins to cry, “NOOOO!!!!!”
As the days passed till Lil’ Miss Ghoul’s funeral,
Lil Miss Ghoul in spirit form attended her own funeral.
At her own funeral, Lil Miss Ghoul looks around,
Her entire family was there, all her friends,
She watched as they all painfully weeps hysterically.
Lil Miss Ghoul realized she has made a mistake,
As she says, “Oh my God, what have I done? These people are the one’s that love me, why did I let these men get to me?”
Many spent all their lives in cities and towns
so toxic with smoke and smog,
and surprisingly all they do indeed
is take walk a short distance with their dog;
then go hone and watch television for hours,
not a bit interested to travel across their land...
Go across America by car, or by train,
don't board on an airplane,
and discover the many wonders never seen;
behold the breath-taking landscapes
stretching out to the horizons
that erupt in dazzling colors...
See America aboard a steamboat,
gliding up or down the Mississipi River,
and the people on both blanks
will wave the America Flag as you pass;
the deep south is friendlier than you think,
as they would greet you with a flower...
Go across America with a patriotic will.
so did the early pioneers fighting off every storm,
to find their lot on a lonely, barren hill
and built that wooden shack and called it home:
and with a faith that only Moses could posses,
they, too, were led by that divine hand...
Stop before the Canyons with their astonishing silence
I sat there as yet another
refugee looked at me
and ran me down
with the statement
Your ancestors invaded
Australia your ancestors
invaded New Zealand
yet what a racist statement
what is the difference today
with the refugees coming into
Australia what is the difference
with the refugees coming into
New Zealand
are you not escaping
the problems of your own country
just like our ancestors escaped theirs
my Ancestors where Scottish
wealthy landowners drove thousands
of Scottish people, off the land
thousands of Scottish people
Who had worked the land for centuries
had their land stolen from beneath their feet
"Chieftains became absentee landlords
interested only in the extraction of rents"
Blackfaced sheep were found
to be hardy enough to live
in the harsh conditions Of Scotlands
highlands
Thousands of Scottish people
that had ploughed the fields
and tended the crops
were driven from their homes
and had to face the daunting
sea voyage in cramped and miserable
conditions to face an un-tamed country
where people had no laws
where one wrong step
could destroy a persons life
New Zealand, where the Maori
had the own warriors skills
their own type of martial arts
where the welcome of the Maori
the Harka would scare a football team today
having been driven from their land
We all need food to survive
New Zealand was known as
the cannibal Islands of the South pacific
Now perhaps you want to re-write history
Yes it was your country
you have a right to be proud
of your Ancestors
wars broke out because
both sides did not understand
each other, wars broke out
because of greed, anger, love
but we also have a right
to be proud of our Ancestors
Men and woman going out to face
impossible risks
because they had no choice.
I am going to be needing a new poet to replace me
I would like to live with the world for eternity
the next couple of decades I will be very interested in
hearing more from the future of poetry
can she get the best possible guidance
are you going to have a wobbly new writer
I have to leave a new version of me
or something like it, would be a great loss for our critics
the world of words, would be only a great memory
this is not the intended future of our cities
are you be willing to give out the skills, they are needing
and in the interests of the next few, that are under skilled
let us all plan for the future and encourage them with the highs
so that our great poetry industry will continue to survive
i guess it depends on the resonance the amplification
when i sang in the bedroom my father shrieked
put a sock in it and i remember reaching for
the pants drawer to find a pair, but i once did
turn away carol singers, but only after they'd
finished their warbling did i thank them and
slam it in their faces, i once called my
mother's friend, feigning to be the fire
brigade, and was aghast when she answered
i told her we were probing into fire alarms
the selling of them, if she was interested
at the school gates, she enumerated the
anecdote to my mother, who glared down
at me as i felt my face go ruby, but no matter
because i didn't succeed in selling a fire alarm
or selling anything, but my mother looked
perturbed when i waved and addressed the
postman, as he actually wasn't our postman
but his route took him to an aligned location
and it stopped just at our street, but no matter
because it would be the socialist workers party
at our door next, asking for subs and my dad
hit the roof, but amends was made when i
returned home without my mother's knowledge
surprised her as she began to weep behind the glass
our parents, all paths lead back to them
“When I wake up I am love.”
“But don’t you aspire to anything?”
“I am more interested in profound silence,
Though my “interest” is much like a bird in flight.”
“You seem destined for misinterpretation.”
“That’s okay. In fact, everything that happens is okay.”
“Doesn’t the world necessitate moral judgment?”
“Where is your perception? Let go of everything,
Though when you wake up make sure you are love.”
“No one understands you!”
“You are a precious jewel flashing colors directly at me.”
“I don’t follow you. I’ve never followed you.”
“You should. I’m the leader.”
Walking away, one of them ponders in front of the broad silver sea:
I don’t know what to do with my love
So it spreads out like a map
Hitting plateaus and dunes and flatlands and swamps
And God-knows-what-else and what do monks
Do when they live with their family
And drink beer…
When do they make time to pray?
When does writing becomes the disease?
When do angels stop whispering to you?
Form:
I don't know me or the world anymore,
I'm sure I'm unsure as I search for a cure.
I look for a reason to fight,
I've lost my bark,
I've lost my bite,
I can't see the dark,
I can't see the light.
I've got nothing to live for, nothing at all,
there is no wall, no floor, it's just me in freefall.
There's no pill that'll heal this feeling I feel
and nothing can conceal this feeling so rotten,
I swear falling like this is really rock bottom.
There's no stop to this drop,
unless I top myself and slot
into the floor and live in a coffin.
A year ago today I'd only wrote one poem,
now look at the flow and the skill that I'm showing,
my own unknown talent which I have now grown,
went from dormant to the forefront, I'm so in the zone.
On the day of the crux when I could of collapsed,
I opened a door never opened before,
and found some new tracks and to them I strapped,
there was no going back from a light I had found,
my bite came back and my bark made sound,
there were walls and floors, I stood tall and warred,
now I'm a poet and I show it to the world.
From never even being interested,
to rhymes that are easily digested,
I went to that place to get to this one
and out of nothing rhyme is the outcome.
POTD 14/09/2018
The Mistress
On a starry night, a lost light found a loose soul.
Just when darkness met the light's gentle blow,
He introduced himself, and she was probably interested in his pockets.
He focused too much on the prize, overusing his budget.
A beautiful face and sweet legs wrapped his mind,
Forgetting the band in his chest pocket, an everlasting sign.
As part of the game, you laid the blame.
She didn't believe you and thought, "Men are all the same."
With your pretty wife and children marked as a commitment,
You walked out the door to find temporary entertainment.
While watching afar from my stainless glass house,
I couldn't tell if it was love or lust.
Rather, I knew she was proud of you,
And an achievement she wished she'd seen through.
Every night, I worshiped the air she breathed.
The way her clothes stuck to her flawless skin
She should have gotten everything she wanted.
Unfortunately, the seed never got planted.
A beauty every man craved endlessly, with brains to wonder yearned for.
She needed no makeup to be enchanting.
Her simple look and effortless charm kept drawing men in.
Spare her a glance, and they forgot their lives they'd foresaw.
I was one of them, until my bank dried up like a lawn.
As delicate as lilies, she was high maintenance with no rebound.
He wasn't hers but another's.
In the blur of stupor, she wished for the impossible.
The wife found out and beat her black and blue.
While the husband promised fidelity until he could find someone new.