Long Irony Poems
Long Irony Poems. Below are the most popular long Irony by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Irony poems by poem length and keyword.
We’re friends, I guess.
That means you can count on me,
but only when I need you to.
Only when it’s convenient,
when it doesn’t cost me too much,
because honestly, I’m not that into it.
I might’ve said you can come to me anytime,
that I’d lift you up when you’re down,
cheer you on when you’re sad,
cover for you when you need an alibi.
I might’ve sworn I’d do anything for you,
because you’ve got a heart of gold, right?
And you’d do the same for me, right?
But lately you’re not exactly your brightest self.
You’re not much fun to be around.
Maybe it’s been a bad month,
a bad week,
or just a bad morning.
But I’ve got my own things going on.
I don’t really care how you’re feeling.
There are other people to see,
and life’s pretty great over here.
I know you didn’t ask,
but I’m doing fine, can’t complain.
So you’ll have to complain to somebody else.
That’s just how it works.
You’ve probably got a headache from crying all night,
maybe all day,
maybe even on your way to work.
You didn’t talk to anyone,
and they thought,
oh, she’s having it again.
They thought you were cold,
so they passed right by.
Nobody really cares
until you’re okay again,
okay enough to join the fun,
to help when we need you,
to smile and pretend it’s all fine.
We like you best when you’re doing well,
even though we’d never help you get there.
I say all this to mean:
I’m here for you.
Just kidding.
You’re on your own.
We loved videogames, Paul, Sam and me
Came up with an idea, started a company
Sales were good, but success was a curse
It started when the law said we must be diverse.
So we hired Mary, Chantelle, and Helene
But social media was their preferred scene.
Mary spent work time applying lotions
Helene said she was passed over for promotions.
Helene walked away with lots of dough
We settled her lawsuit, but it was a blow
Then we had to pay the business tax
Sam gave half our staff the axe.
Then the hydro plant fell to a progressive plan.
so salmon could swim upstream without a dam.
They built lots of turbines where trees used to grow
So our servers were down when the wind wouldn't blow.
Then Paul said that marriage should be between Adam and Eve.
An online mob descended like you wouldn't believe.
I told him to grovel, but we felt the sting
So I sold our patents to a guy in Beijing.
If you wonder why you can't get a job
Or the one that you got makes you feel like a blob.
Ask the idealists who care about all except you.
They're sitting at the levers, that self-righteous crew.
deposed dictators’ club
they sit there in their comfort
each in his moneyed retreat
maybe each reflecting
on unexpected defeat
unprosecuted criminals
guarded wherever they go
protected maybe in silence
for not telling what they know
the remaining world leaders
mouth off about their end
no position quite as transient
as that of political friend
and they push and the jostle
for a share of the spoils
particularly when
it’s a country rich in oil
back in the liberated places
where the worm finally turned
the mess is sorted out
maybe lessons learned
and for a little while
new alliances are cemented
the diplomats return and
credentials are presented
good will rules for the present
until that time comes when
power breeds corruption
and it all starts off again
they sit there in their comfort
waiting for revolution to end
and the deposed dictators’ club
welcomes the newly deposed friend
when this poem title
is used with "she
received her..."
it is a
negative
but i'm not
writing about
comeuppance but
about her sweetness
so should she be
a pie or cake or
something
other to call her
yet a pastry all
the same
now i must admit
that i've given up
coffee and so
the tradition
of ending
a menu
with
a
cup and
a dessert
doesn't work
for me any more
but the more i know
her i know the more i
need her and the irony
is she's from Colombia
so
like a train
i cough
coffee
coffee
coffee
building e
nough to steam
milk foam for a
cappuccino
but for me
those
days
are
over but
when you
think that
your youth
is spent
or gone
and went
remembering
i had a baby
tooth until i
was thirty
two or one
but i had
one but
maybe
it was
thirty
three
but no
that don't
seem to agree
with me thinking
that perhaps that
was my sweet tooth
so they
tried to take
her away from
me before she was
to
be
my
me
lt
in
g
dis heart
Form:
ABANDONED SNEAKERS IN THE STREETS
As we walked watchfully along the way,
a pair of sneakers lay silently in the streets;
abandoned by flight or neglect. Their soles
have lost their occupant: gone to who knows where.
We cannot know the life they once shared;
for there are no footprints in the asphalt to trace
the path of their beginning nor the lonely journey's end;
neither is there a catalogue of exciting events experienced.
We will never know the lord and master
from whom they have been emancipated
to be left here only with the odor of memory:
an acquired anti-aromatic epitaph.
Swiftly strolling silently onward, we pondered
the sneakers’ seduced soul---rather than their sole.
One day this too, will be the fate of our shoes:
abandoned and left only with an acquired
anti-aromatic odor of memory.
Cool stone received my palm; the incense lay
in threads that curled like breath along the nave.
A bell gave one thin sound, then slipped away;
Wax climbed the brass where earlier drops had clave.
I bent—my breath caught short against my teeth—
And asked, in lowered words, if such a sleep
with women bore a mark. He did not sheath
his pause, but let it rest, as men who keep
Their counsel do. He mused; his beard struck gold,
And measured me from heel to lifted sight:
“No sin, my son, to sleep with women,” he told,
“Yet men like you stay wakeful, lie upright.”
The tide within, long thinned by watch and fast,
Grew warm, grew near, and found its former way;
My spine held still; the count of breaths ran fast—
My knees drew close; the bench knew where I’d stay.
A splinter kissed my heel. I fixed my eyes
on stone between my shoes. The bell stood mute.
The door stood wide. I rose at measured size,
and walked out lighter-footed, quick, and mute.
Through Author’s Lens:
I chose this moment because it hath abided with me not as counsel nor as turning of the soul, but as a brief alteration of the flesh, which asked no gloss when it occurred. It was bounded in place and hour, and so seemed fit to bear its own weight upon the page.
The line grievous to fashion was the priest’s utterance. I was oft tempted to temper it with preface or to dress it in comment, yet each such labour dulled its edge. To let it stand unguarded required restraint.
From the first draft I struck away much declaring: the cause of my going thither, the temper of my mind. I also removed plain naming of the body’s stir. Whenever I named it, the verse grew coarse. What remains is nearer the manner in which the moment first stood before me.
When it comes to love
Do we all know what is love in the first place?
We would say anything to prove our worth
Just so of love we thought so to chase…
And when it comes to sex
Do we know what is sex to uncover its mystery?
How often do we misuse love for that way to relax
Just so of sex to grow up from reality…
Men in their days craving for
Women in their ways to await so
Whether sex or love, after or before
Our minds belong the traitor we willingly enfold
There just isn’t a one good form in doing
Even the most blissful of marriage has its flaw
Is there honestly a perfect bond to be revising?
Or must we always admit to be humans afterall
I guess we never will know what to do
And there never will be a future to learn from
Humans to humanity is everyone to someone a fool
And the irony perhaps, is of this world we share to belong
The Little Bird..
The little bird flew so high in the sky,
The world looked from below,
All were amazed and with just one thounght "Oh my oh my"..
The sun so bright and shed blessing on the bird..
But even with all the happiness, the bird was still incomplete..
With his family flying even higher,
He still felt small..!!
He wanted to fly even higher like no one ever did before..!!
But down below he saw his friends in pain..
He flew down everytime to feed them with grains..!!And he flew up and down till his wings started to bleed..
And as the Sun went to sleep his friends grew stronger..!
They flew up in the sky towards safety of the light..Away from the darkness that came with night..
The little bird saw them fly with his eyes opened wide..!!
Never has he been so happy as he was tonight..!!
Now the little bird was relieved and tried to fly..!!
But now his small wounded wings were too weak . !
No matter how hard he tried he could not fly..
His family shouted and his friends cried . !
But no one came down to help as the wolves arrived..!!
As darkness covered the sky,
The wolves took their first bite..!!
And the struggle ended with a single cry,
For the little bird, who once flew so high in the sky..
laying in a five days ride
time concealing more than wishes
"clean like the stains on burgundy dishes"
remember the moment you forgot it all
keeping it september like you remembered it all
we saw the world and lost everything
time is brutal, consider the trust
"irony itself was a weapon of coarse"
but do you remember the moment you forgot it all
keeping it september like you remembered it all
were going no where babe
and tomorrows pretty much the same
sleeping in a bag damaged lullaby's
laying on mercury sheets
trying to make the memory a melody
at a time to be wanted was a felony in hand
and peace resembled a fairytale untold
i'm going to finish this life and head into the next
like a moment rumored for dying head lights
we were just dimming to be precise
i'll see you when you get there
gray and old
young and beautiful
the past is right where it belongs
sincerely,
the last man to put "i love you" in a song
"time exposed us all but we just kept moving on"
The nation sprawls, prostrate:
broken limbs, crumbling bodies;
valley of vultures,
cloud of flies,
frisking scavengers.
Victory throws a party for ghosts;
a once boisterous land—
now a silhouette of what was:
a land of the dancing dead.
The victor towers over rubbles,
wearing rueful impish glee.
He stands, stern, gaunt as death,
tightlipped; grim irony on a face
pondering the weight of victory
as soot settles after an inferno,
soothing the pain of death
paling the pants for life.
Civilization without humanity;
blood turns muddy,
red puddle, and bricks—
homes for ghosts
in a land once of the living.
© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi