Long Intolerance Poems
Long Intolerance Poems. Below are the most popular long Intolerance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intolerance poems by poem length and keyword.
SEE SAW THROUGH THE WALL
He understands they’re innocent children…they learn only what we teach them
and when separated by a wall of hate…he wondered how to reach them.
He knows they know nothing of hatred…of intolerance and bigotry…
but he also knows they are impressionable…they will learn from what they see.
He knows they are looking to the adults at this susceptible time of their youth
to teach them of love and compassion…of integrity and truth…
He wants to show these children and the world that ones so honest, pure and small
are equal and can play together…even separated by a wall.
So he built a multitude of seesaws to show how we’re all sisters and brothers.
To show what happens on one side of the wall…affects what happens on the other.
To show it’s as easy to raise someone up as it is to put them down
As easy to make them smile…as it is to make them frown.
His name is Ronald Rael…it was his idea…his creation
he and other artist friends are behind the installation.
And so the children laugh and play…and as they learn each other’s names
they see, although, separated by a wall of hate…they both love to play the same.
And I wonder what would happen if we followed the lead of ones so small
and had those who fear and hate…ride a seesaw through the wall.
As they were bouncing up and down…would the learn each other’s names?
Would they finally come to understand how we are all the same?
Would they smile at one another?
Would they realize that fear and hate are wrong?
For isn’t that what many of us…have wanted all along?
Whispers of Youth
Dusty boxes, like forgotten books, Hold chapters of quantum leaps— My first steps, tiny and determined, Leading to a world of wonders.
Goat’s milk, flavored with Grenada nutmeg, A remedy for cow’s blandness, And lactose intolerance—the secret code Of those simpler days.
Cod liver oil, Sunday mornings’ ritual, Bitter drops to ward off unseen foes, Mumps, measles, whooping cough— Childhood’s battles etched in time.
Curiosity fueled my quest: Pebbles, night crickets, butterflies— Each a treasure, carefully collected, One line at a time.
And that snarky bird, Caged, then set free— Freedom’s squeak of happiness, A lesson etched in feathers.
The kitchen window, a gateway, Its slight squeak echoing freedom. The bird, banana thief turned guardian, A debt repaid in whispers.
Childhood memories preserved, Not just atop that distant hill, But in the flutter of wings, And the quiet moments we cherish.
Feel free to add more verses or share more memories—I’m here to listen and weave them into poetry! ??
Form:
I
do
have a
Message for
one Harry Manback
it does regard his long Lost Keys
don't Blame Hoffman for his Disposition, you Jerk Off!
You Lied when you said you didn't hold The Grudge as a Reflection of Intolerance
Makes me so Disgustipated, you should Crawl Away
you're a Hooker with a *****
who likes Prision Sex
when Sober
Hush H.
it's
true
Cold
and
Ugly
repugnant
like Ticks and Leeches
say what I want, not serious
But Jimmy in his Mantra thinks otherwise of you
to him you are the Bottom of The Pot, or like Rosetta Stoned on an Opiate
a Schism separating us Right in Two, Stinkfist!
ne'er you'll have Forty Six and Two
like Fibonacci
Pushit and
Jambi
seems
nice
Here's
a
Swamp Song
Eulogy
(Useful Idiot)
Four Degrees of No Quarter gave
to The Patient caught in the Aenima Undertow
skewed into a Parabola
Intension candid
Part of Me
needs to
Sweat
tears
Now
my
Third Eye
becoming
Vicarious through
the pure Lateralus Triad
I can’t breathe
still in my shackles
no chance to escape my isolation
cries of anguish emancipated
from an awareness that is unfree
the stain is but human made
a long history of human trade
Humanity dehumanised
and put to shame..
I can’t breathe
air is not for free
I have to pay the fee
the earth does not to me belong
It is not my right of birth
as if my breed had done something wrong!
for water, I have to dig wells and pits
as I am denied rivers, lakes and seas..
what shall I do to stay alive?
peel my skin!
for you to admire my drive?!
How would I,
hate, contempt, intolerance.. survive?!
I can’t breathe
deep are my roots
my heart, a mine of diamond
why don’t you see my immense wealth?!
why do you still confiscate my breath?!
and deprive my six and five
of a mundane dream and desire
of being decent and upright
why I have to pay a disastrous price?
my own flesh and blood a sacrifice!
I can’t breathe
Humanity still can’t breathe
a “house divided”
souls of shades moaning under sins weight
a sacred “eternal Truth” deafened
unfree souls kept pending
a body bleeding
a severe infection persisting
In need of breath, Love and Trust
I need to seal my chest bruises, heal my tortured soul
and regain my Oneness
my cause is just.
I can’t breathe
Long ago, a man named human had a dream
the emancipation spirit into his mind remained seared
“Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”
in the promised Earth with a mine of Justice
“Justice, a reality for all of God’s children”..
Now, it is high time I won back my right
and freedom I could breathe
I have a mission beyond what you see of my skin
let me breathe and unveil the beauty within
I Can’t Breathe
A song of a poet
as peace deserted my mind
and ache resided in my heart
My words that couldn’t remain silent
flowed to reach your Hearts.
* My humble work is a voice I couldn't suppress and I wanted to share with my dear fellow poets and friends on Poetrysoup in the contest sponsored by Richard Lamoureux but couldn't compose it in time.
Be gentle to all;
be not a tempest bellowing.
Be instead a mild summer shower,
raining peace and love on everyone.
You cannot always know those who suffer
from injustices or from abuse
from which they can’t escape.
By doing good at all times,
you may inadvertently bring some peace
to those who thirst for joy.
Be not a tree too stubborn to grow.
Be instead a tree that is productive,
providing sustenance for those in need.
Or be a willow tree and bend,
letting go of intolerance and hate.
And be like the sun
on a warm spring afternoon.
Shine radiantly down,
lighting a path of peace
to all earth’s weary travelers that pass your way.
April 3, 2022
for Anoucheka Gangabissoon's
Your Peace Message To The World Poetry Contest
While any movement
May remain unseen,
There's great potential
That can intervene.
From a mild breeze
To caress and heal.
To the mightiest hurricane,
That won't appeal.
Its inertial energy shows
Strength by the root,
Yet often overcome
By another's pursuit.
This cause is seldom visible
Through the noise all about.
Though its effect may shatter,
What's leftover to doubt.
When we see some resistance,
Friction stands by,
As the spark to that fire,
Has answered the why.
Where the minute can escape,
Our mind and our sight,
Every second has an impact,
That gives in to the light.
Just as intolerance and ignorance
Brews solely to agitate,
Serving up that cold dish,
For those hungry to hate.
Hence, this effort highlights
The smallest of acts.
That gets the ball rolling,
To those much bigger facts.
(“Utopia and Terror Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Ideal and real exist in opposition
Like two children on a playground teeter-totter
Two children who will grow
To be completely different adults.
Idealism is the default of all infants
And is what all mature humans grow out of
Sooner or later, all too often much later,
Perhaps for some
Not until the moment of death.
It feels good after all to want what you want
And even expect to get it!
But realism sees beyond such wants
To what is.
Realism is the philosophy of accepting
Simply what is.
While idealism wishes for what can be
It may even seem noble
Yet is in-fact the ultimate intolerant view,
And taken to the extreme
Has led to the worst atrocities
In human history.
Does realism sometimes lead to atrocities?
Perhaps, but to the realist
They would just be necessity.
So idealism is the philosophy of infants and tyrants,
While realism makes do
And gets along as best as can be.
But this doesn’t have to be a morose fatalism
As there is always a bright side.
There is always a new day dawning
Somewhere at this very moment.
That isn’t idealism
That’s very real.
(1/30/25)
Do we have an open mind to let
things get in? Or does it then let out our
convictions out when we do? Do we require more
information to find the truth?
These questions require tolerance yet there some say
that tolerant people do not understand the problem that confront
us.
But I believe intolerance is ignorance on the defensive.
My thoughts are my own but there are times I wonder
who I really am?
Am I who I thing I am? At times I wonder if that is who I really am.
So you see, my age keeps telling me to be myself. I
become confused when people tell me how things ought to be.
I think I will just stop listening to the news media telling me who I ought
to be and telling me who to like and who to hate.
Oh what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw truth tellers doxed, and their addresses listed
I saw images on my cellphone put on by the twisted
I saw a prophet wailing as he was dragged to the madhouse
I saw madmen gaining all the levers of power
I saw wolves out of jail while their victims cower
I saw fools arm in arm with those who would kill them
I saw indoctrination vultures above me turning
Know-it-alls told me what to think, but I wasn't learning
I saw a meteor of old glory barely burning
And it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard desperate fathers called domestic terrorists
I heard speech is violence and violence is speech
I heard the fury of a woman scorned
I heard a prediction of vengeance, a new weapon borned
I strained my ears in the eye of the hurricane
And it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall
And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'll hike through the garden with high rising fountains
I'll go off into the forest, and up the mountains
I'll swim cross the ocean, and glide on the river
I'll raft the white water, before the oncoming slaughter
And it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall...
(In the 17th c, many women were falsely accused of being witches. Many were banished, and more were burnt at the stake. Of course, none of them were witches, but due to ignorance and intolerance by so-called educated clergy, the women were falsely accused and condemned to die).
Like black rain over the meadow grass
Crows hover amid cackle and harsh laugh
To feed on seed of tomorrow's harvest
Leaving us all with meager leavings.
There they stood with gowns flapping
Like black wing of flocking crows
Cackling in judgment sober and stern
To deprive us of life and liberty.
Caged in a dungeon cold and dark
Beneath the kirks lofty roof
Without water and our daily bread
Were starved and scared into confession.
With false witness we were condemned
Sentenced before a trial took place
Tied to a stake and burned alive
Our souls travelled into paradise.
On Orkneys verdant green grass,
Graze our kye and our yowes
Since time began has it been thus
Shadows float black in sky above.