Long Interferes Poems
Long Interferes Poems. Below are the most popular long Interferes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interferes poems by poem length and keyword.
Adumbrated aeration regarding...
crafting reasonable poetic rhyme
nothing to sneeze... at chew
asthma lingua franca –
acts as supercalifragilisticexpialidocious glue
inspiring me to skip to my loo,
and ye to play altruist gist
imagining how and why I still rue
cashing mucho moolah legal tender
courtesy bitcoin cryptocurrency,
which absolute zero funds recouped,
nevertheless dumbfoundedness ironically
found steely mettle to get smart
courtesy posting gofundme page
(titled implacable ill fate
battered treasured wealth)
on my part already got told to you
dear readers visiting my literary endeavor
written within vernacular English
spoken amidst human zoo.
Okay, the gist of anemic
checking and savings accounts averred
asked from one
FaceBook English literary
Jim Hensen creation and
Sesame Street resident Big Bird,
I could plainly enumerate
Sachin (means 'pure' in Sanskrit
and another name for Hindu God, Shiva.
The most famous Sachin
ranks as recently retired
Indian cricketer, Sachin Tendulkar).
Impossible mission to expunge poison
regarding stupidity and never be cured
of spellbinding nightmares,
and not accused
of acting demurred
the esse cent chill
dime a dozen premise ensured
prime merrily to discover
visa wells Fargo
sieve err (ala Eratosthenes) forward
solution, whereby means
to save money
against being gored
no...no...no...not to be stingy,
nor selfishly hoard
meager unearned social security
monthly allotment, aye ignored
to mention as key piece
of information a dub bill
lit tete ting bout with anxiety,
obsessive compulsive, not cavil
air lee shaken off and schizoid
personality disorder like evil
mailer daemons, which
undermined ability to full fill
quality existence, and even
prescribed about,
a half dozen plus three
medications help ill
psyche, though nonetheless mill
yens of precious moments pill
furred with profuse sweating still
interferes supplementing,
stoking, and socking
away reserve till,
last creased furrow sought out
here in Schwenksville
Pennsylvania most likely, where
one last gulp of oxygen will
finally deliver cremated ashes
into eternal void
where psychological state
free from being destroyed
and forever exempt trying
to be write lee employed.
I only drank one year, a while
I vastly prefer self-denial
Didn't like myself more
Back when dates *tried* to score
Now I've let them go, with a smile :)
Never got totally wasted
(Well, didn't like how it tasted)
Just pressured socially
So tried it, just to see
I confess feeling... disgrace-d
Drinks didn't bring out the Real Me
By NOT drinking I feel more... free! :)
A party-er --I'm not
I'd rather maintain Thought
A sober, clear mind is the key
Had to be socially distant
Even lost friends in an instant
When I chose to give up
Alcohol in my cup
Making my firm "No" consistent
I am sweet enough as it is
Without a dose of champagne's fizz
Ix-nay gentleman-tease
Don't gotta people-please
In order to please Him/ Be His
I am still a work in progress
Improving, I think, more or less
Haven't drank -- 20 years!
--Cuz it just interferes--
With the Faith, Hope, Love I profess
Do I miss drinking? -- not a bit
(Never enjoyed it, I admit)
For purity, I strive
Don't wanna drink and drive
Now to "have fun" I'd rather knit
Don't care if folks think I'm old school
For following the Temperance rule
Drinks brought joy-- not a lick
Only made my soul sick
Peer pressure is UN-COOL! :O
Un-hard lemonade is my fave
With fruit smoothies, too, I behave
Water keeps a good girl
With no desire to hurl
But-- the need to be brave
I found a group where I fit in
(Abstinence Association).*
"Heroic Offering"
is a good daily thing
Gives purpose while I avoid sin
Part of my true character traits
Is belief that True Joy awaits
Since I trust in Jesus
I know Heaven sees us
I'm inspired by the saints -- the greats
Can't say I'm perfect -- not at all!
And if you say I am -- I'd "lol!"
Character defects? Yes.
But NOT drinking in stress
Keeps my life's problems small
May 5, 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Dedicated to the Pioneer Total Abstinence Association of the Sacred Heart
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Contest Name: Character traits
Sponsored by Angela Tune
Deadline: 5/19/2023 12:00:00 AM
Why should the mimic apologize?
Where are the cupboards?
Where are the wages?
Where is the tailor? I had
no use for algebra, I knew it-
in as much incognito on a prefabricated track,
in order that....
free thinking then supposing,
til warning for dreamless help provided,
a typewritten treat from this meditative cell on
a bi-directional night, just as incensing this layer, once
shouting, against kaleidoscoped winds...
Will the dubious cartoon walk on top of the comparison?
or will the prevailing keystroke provoke a smashing debt?
Their marriage possessed an alcoholic copyright.
just as the about face twists the rear....
A wizard paces..... surveying the blackboard
just when a scholar stands,
and rocks across a page, so that unless
Some author squeezes, a western dialect,
lest now his leisure violates,
a once welcomed, road of gold on the critical side, in as much until
and even faster still, a projecting spontaneous cricket,
now in a graveyard embarrassed by his wasteful song,
messy thoughts, broken prized belief,
sweeping away the cheat,
disregarding the window from the top,
so that a porter yawns,
outside the offending captor, who wears a wolf pendant,
underneath the inside havoc, if only
the technology collapses before
the funerals, thick attack, talk on top,
of frozen outlines, and a leather sofa cracked,
from opinions changing, as correspondence leaked,
so behind smoke, a fire of desire lurking near the conflicting repertoire,
next to the guilty bystander, raining like a thief, now interferes, who
stirs the sticks... across the crossroads,
Can the music spin the guilty onto a bandwagon until the other staggering strangers advancing,
to the next fizzy, dizzy, bog...
while guides await in order to assault corrupted fantasies,
beside crystal strips, where rusty knights in armor, sitting on a park bench
trying every half measure,
disturbing breezes,
in the haze of memories. Stir these random thoughts and let their impressions talk to you and one another.
Who knows how the mind really works?
THE PARADOX OF PROGRESS
Communication has been around since the dawn of man,
It’s evolved from smoke signals and the beating of drums,
Hieroglyphics gave rise to alphabets and the written word,
Along came the inventions of the telephone, fax and intercom.
We had Morse code, the pony express and radio,
Which eventually gave rise to TV,
Homing pigeons used to carry messages,
And truckers would converse on their CB’s.
The world has gotten smaller and more connected since,
The phone was invented by Alexander Graham Bell,
But he never dreamed that one day,
You’d be able to access the internet and send a text on your cell.
Recently, I observed 5 people at a table, having lunch,
So it was quite obvious that they were not alone,
Yet those same 5 people were oblivious to each other,
Because all of them were using their cell phones.
With the continuous advancement of communication,
The population feels the need to always be in touch,
But when it interferes with face to face conversation,
When does texting, facebook and email become way too much?
These days, people bring their tablets and I-phones,
And other mobile devices wherever they go,
With the touch of a screen or the push of a button,
We’ve become addicted to sharing all sorts of info.
Quite often when someone is in the company of other people,
And their device prompts them for something to be viewed,
Their attention is diverted, and they ignore the people they’re with,
And most people would agree this is quite rude.
With the advent of social media technology,
Mobile devices have caught on like wildfire,
But at the same time, it seems that,
People’s social skills are lacking, and something to be desired.
Technology is certainly a marvelous thing,
And it is definitely here to stay.
But while we are in the company of others around us,
Let’s all be courteous and put our devices away.
The Watcher
The Watcher
When the seventeen men neared the end of the bridge only one remained in
sight all the others were lost in the shadow from the moonlight. He was dressed
in tattered cloth; homespun gray, and eaten by the moth of strang decay
“No livery”, He cried “no making strides in death” “my life has ended on this
bridge?”
There is a plaque in place to mark this day it says on
The Plaque
Friday June 13, 1864 PFC Dreardon Age 14 was marking time in a prisoner
exchange at BENTON creek when he was shot by Federal Forces. The miniball
penetrated his left sleeve and took off his arm. He bled to death.
His body was torn and bleeding so forlorn the tatters of his homespun sleeve
stayed hung upon his stump of arm there.
War is something no one cares for Mr. Sherman.
MOFW 1964, June 13 Commerative
The watcher was on the water making footprints on the surface when the Federal
Forces under Sherwood marched into the History. He seldom interferes with
history but makes the markers seem to be the truth. He saw the miniball tear off
the soldiers sleeve the man had been a prisoner just released this crime is not
unpunished the man that pulled the trigger is lying in the river at the Watchers
feet. The Watcher broke his prime directive and almost gleefully erected the
YANKEE soldier in the mud.
A Watcher is no more A Watcher for when he acted he lost his power over water
and he stands upon the battlements no longer but He is tearless in his vigil of
the bridge.
Every Friday on the 13th of the Month of JUNE of every year that has its ending in
a FOUR, he gives a shudder of relief certain that his judgment has not been
ignored.
The rebel soldier gives a rebel yell and leaves the bridge.
The Yankee minion that has shot him just turns over once and lies back in the
mud. For this is judgment.
The Watcher roars.
In England’s pleasant pastures amid the free wild flowers
Lie pagan ways the wise ones do not mock
And one adept at harnessing these ancient rural powers
Was Oggwool Fleece, the black sheep of the flock
Oggwool was old, much older than the old oak it was said
Beneath whose boughs the dark sheep’s plans are sealed
‘Twas said the sheep had come back from the other side of dead
With the darkness in that corner of the field.
The farm hands better knew to venture in the oak’s strange shade
Or to the long grass that the darkness gripped
Where Oggwool lurked amid the spells and potions he had made
A sheep unshorn and magically undipped.
Not limited by four hooves in working his deft skill
Unhindered in ambitious sheepish plans
Harnessing the dark elves to do his dark sheep will
Dexterously with little dark elf hands.
From that darkened corner of that English country field
His influence extends itself outside
His arcane woolly web through which his mystic powers wield
Reaching parts and persons spread worldwide
He has extensive vineyards in Italy and Spain,
He has mining operations in Peru
He owns a flock of ostriches down in the Ukraine
(Although he never quite intended to)
He’s engineering world events on scales beyond the ken
He has his hooves in business of all kinds
He interferes remorselessly in world affairs of men
With night-time thoughts drip-fed to human minds
Little green men fly through space in saucers flat and round
On interstellar missions without cease
But on their furthest journey yet, their enterprise is bound
To the ever growing plans of Oggwool Fleece
The politicians spin their words and armies shoulder arms
And yet do not beyond their small acts see
But Oggwool Fleece with thistle skills and other sheepwise charms
Is planning how to rule a galaxy!
Blue flowers plucked
Nyona bak chang** moments;
Satisfying rice cakes
By this old fence
Echoes of giggles;
Laughter mocks schoolyard
Road diversion
Roundabout detour;
Long cul de sac
Wedding festivities
Details and stuff;
Final agenda looms
Joy wears a face
Celebration evokes;
Certain gratification
Flame of the Forest tree
Nice shady bough;
Rain drops seeping
This old site
Venue of past demeanours;
Regret and guilt linger
Windy day
Hair reconfigured;
Unkempt spikes
In sure fashion
Nothing stays the same;
Change interferes
Wind howling
A haunting refrain;
Ghostly echoes cry
New instance
Go the distance;
Ply resistance
Do not be
Afraid of fear;
It's just an old gripe
Old apartments
Need a facelift;
Time weathers pains
Leon Enriquez
03 August 2014
Singapore
(Notes: Nyona bak chang** --
The word "Nyona" means a Straits born Chinese lady
with the social graces of a genteel sort, who are
known as a Nyona from a distinct group called the
Peranakans, who have a mixed heritage of Chinese and
Malay customs and traditions. This is today a dying breed.
The word "bak chang" means a cooked food product
made from glutinous rice with a centre filled with
sweet pork meat, spices and sauce, and chestnuts, packed in
long leaves in the shape of a pyramid tied with strings.
Such delicacies are steamed until the aroma fills the
air and makes you desirous to eat these tasty morsels.
The natural tinge of blue colour on the glutinous rice comes
from the "blue flowers" freshly picked for use in these rice cakes.
My maternal grandmother was a Nyona lady who had
a big heart, a warm smile and who loved me very dearly.
I miss her smile though she died when I was only four.)
Two more hours as I anticipate,
a meeting with my doctor that's going to take place,
I'm not happy with what's going to be a certainty,
been trying to find ways out of it, I don't want to lose me.
So worried about the labels, how people will perceive me,
people I know, but mostly family,
they all look to my for guidance, I am there light that shine bright,
to help them in the dark times, to pull them into the light.
So long I've been trying to suppress whats inside,
but it's having more and more control of me as days go by,
and when it has me, I don't like that person I become,
no more happy times or smiles, Zero fun.
The battle I fought, made me so proud,
a symbol to myself, that nothing could keep me down,
so arrogant in my plight I just didn't see,
maybe it was the devil that was setting me free.
I hate the fact, I'm going to be on medication again,
trying to talk myself out of it before it begins,
but again and again logic interferes,
this is taking a while to sink in.
Only last week did I actually realize,
how long I have had anxiety in my life,
hardly ever in control, always lashing out,
years I've struggled to see, what's my anger really about.
A slave to rage and continually losing control,
I owe this to my children to change from old,
I love my babies with all my heart,
I want to give them a good life, free from my past.
In the end it has always boiled down to them,
the need to change, my only motivation,
so biting this bullet is really hard to swallow,
but hopefully it's a start to a better tomorrow.
So with dread, I don't really want to open my eyes,
today me and the devil will reunite...........
M.Mahauariki © 2012
I have been lied to, cheated on, and verbally abused,
I have been heartbroken and used.
I have been second best when I thought I was first,
Goes to show you how little you're worth.
I have been attacked for no reason by another woman,
Because she was having sex with my man.
I felt like a fool for giving my whole heart,
To someone who only ripped it apart.
Mentally I'm damaged beyond repair,
Emotionally scarred from thinking they cared.
I had many tell me what they thought I wanted to hear to keep me around,
When I was at my lowest point they were the ones kicking me deeper into the ground.
I was depressed and felt all alone,
Still don't understand how people are cruel the reasons are still unknown.
The memories are still tainted til this day,
Wish all of the anger would go away.
I have a lot of issues I'm trying to work through,
People analyze me and criticize me when they don't even have a clue.
Doesn't matter how much you care about someone it's never enough,
Because they just used you as a stepping stone because they're life was tough.
Whatever they can get by with, they will do,
Assuring you that they loved you.
At times I second guess what is real,
Because that's the only way I know how to feel.
It left me feeling hopeless, like what's the point,
My whole body was hurting even my joints.
I was always the only one giving,
While they were steadily taking.
Just never understood how I could be treated this way,
That's why the past interferes with my present til this day.
May 10, 2014
~The One and Only~
Near the last few days of moving, my parents came to me. I knew that at this time
with their pleading looks, they were asking for the decision that would change
everything. It took all of my strength to tel them, yes we should move. After they
left, tears rolled stained my pillowcase. The only thing I could think about was
James. Why did it have to be now, that I feel so strongly about a boy. At the time it
seemed so unfair. As a young woman I tended to dramatize everything, and
definetly could not see the full picture.The full picture that fate really interferes
with life. I think its very wierd, how for all those years of my youth that I had never
really developed any form of relationship with any other boys. It almost makes it
seem like he is the one. Because I had finally found him, and then it was time to
pack up and leave. Despite everything he and I have made it through. Its funny
how things work out.
The hardest part, was telling James. We walked to the beach, and I stared at him
and he knew I came baring bad news. I will forever remeber that moment in
time. "James, my family is moving to Toronto. I am so, so sorry." I felt as if I had
just ripped out my own heart and handed it over to him. He looked away into the
lake, and I could see the sorrow in his eyes. I looked the other way as tears
rolled down my cheek, and I remeber hearing him say that everything was going
to be alright. At the time, nothing seemed as it would be ok.
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