Long Irrelevance Poems

Long Irrelevance Poems. Below are the most popular long Irrelevance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Irrelevance poems by poem length and keyword.


Song of the Dying

You don’t feel upon lying
So you sing the song of the dying
Sunday afternoons 
Pastors choose reign in a spiritual doom 
The sun plasters we coons 
Stand out and fade faster with the moon
I bid you the same old static and blues
The one always in favor of tempered news
The trail of adventures and rules 
We don’t heal upon crying 
So we sing the song of the dying
The highways haunts you
Night sky’s taunt the blue 
All life wants from you
Is the truth
The secrets they’re telling you
One just knows not what to do 
Feel like you want to cry
Coincidentally you realize 
It would be better to die 
We don’t feel upon lying 
So we sing the song of the dying 
I’ve given away myself in every song
Driven the bars last liquor home
No sympathy for an aging man
For I cannot feel your tears 
Upon my rough hands 
My scared palms 
My irrelevance 
bared in chapters of Psalms 
Until my ending is calmed
Form: Ballad


Rejected Stanzas From Third Person

He's so phoney in poems, moaning only,
same tone, same story,
a war he can't endure anymore that beats him sore and sorry,
exploring his core for strength absent before in writes of sheer folly.

Wanting to write powerfully like Churchill or Eminem,
but unable to create an impact as do many men.
It's easy to ridicule the metaphorical irrelevance,
as he revamps old writes lacking in intelligence.

Always using the same twist from behind a different mist,
ending with insistence he can return from great distance,
but he's not fooling anyone,
his fall's evident to everyone.

If he'd focused when he wrote this and applied a thought process, 
he might have aspired beyond mono syllable rhyming and formed continuous structure,
but too useless to see it rewrote and tidied of mess, 
he tirelessly goes on n on with simple investment of 
contagious rupture.

He used to try and rhyme three words in each line,
double-rhyming words that evoke the mind,
concludes over time ease occurred with decline,
now forcing sounds heard or spoke in the rows behind.

By this point in the poem he is aware of his failure,
after reading back the words he's just tailored,
happy to cliche but not be a sunken sailor,
he tells of new fire, desire and determination to respond braver.

Follows the procedure of "seeking the peak",
covering up the fact he's pathetically weak,
forgets he lives worn down, always too tired,
and suddenly he's electrically alive and wired,
the traits of the self conning compulsive liar.

Self critical now in his inhospitable soul,
existing solely pitiful on the whole,
typically critique doesn't motivate towards the goal,
believing he's snowballing too fast to stop the roll.

All he takes from being mentally broken,
is his bravery to tell and let it be spoken,
doesn't care how they judge his way of coping,
because all he has left is being completely open.
© Nick Trim  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Suffering and Death

We all destined to suffer pain and death 
and great sadness on earth. 

Pain and suffering are always inevitable.
Men suffer because of sinfulness and carelessness.

Human brain has the highest intelligence 
but their choices and will power cause negligence. 

We all live to suffer, to prevail is finding meaning through suffering and dying.

People need to learn how to settle their arguments without resorting to violence.

Threat of resorting to killing is irresponsible 
and irrelevance.

Men must seek God to amend for their wrongdoing, 
accusing blasphemy is lack of reverence and insulting.

©?aroque

Fate and Irrelevance

In the grand theater of existence, we play our part,
A journey through time, a tale from the heart.
Life, not short but fleeting, slips through our grasp,
Moments like sand, slipping from our clasp.

We chase after dreams, in a race against time,
But as we age, relevance becomes a climb.
Struggling to keep pace, to remain in the game,
Fearing irrelevance, the sting of that name.

Yet as we strive, against the ticking clock's chime,
We realize the truth in the passage of time.
For dignity wanes, as abilities fade,
And the specter of mortality casts its shade.

We cling to the remnants of youth's vibrant glow,
Hoping to mask the marks that time bestow.
But acceptance dawns, in the twilight's embrace,
As we confront the end with courage and grace.

For life's not just about the speed of its flight,
But the depth of its moments, the lessons in sight.
So let us embrace each day as it comes,
And find solace in knowing, we're not just the sums.

Though irrelevant we may feel, in the march of the years,
Our legacy lives on, in laughter and tears.
For in the end, what truly matters is love,
As we surrender to fate, with peace from above.
© Di No  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Hagiographies In Our Current Political Environment

We mint our saints in neon now,
Their cheekbones cut from screens and static,
Golden calves with fiber-optic veins,
Hoofed in convenience and applause.
They learn to glow before they live,
Learn to bleed without a wound.

Once, holiness arrived on fire—
A thorned voice cracking the ceiling of the skull.
Now it trickles through notifications,
Thin as milk diluted with promotion.
Even martyrs have brand managers.
Even wounds wear makeup.

I kneel before the altar of updates,
My thumbs in constant prayer,
Scrolling for a sign that still has teeth.
Every miracle is sponsored.
Every resurrection comes with terms,
Small print stitched into the shroud.

The dead are louder than the living.
We canonize in real time—
A tragedy, a candle, a trending hymn,
Then on to the next immaculate disaster.
Grief has learned to multitask.
Ash is archived.

Our saints no longer starve in deserts—
They starve in crowded rooms,
Feed on echoes, likes, the clean white crack
Of being witnessed without being known.
Their halos flicker in algorithmic weather,
Shorted by irrelevance.

I want the old ferocity back—
The kind that sears a name into bone,
That does not vanish after thirty days
Like an unrenewed subscription to sorrow.
I want a holiness that indicts me,
Not the soft-focus mercy of forgetting.

We write our sacred lives in disappearing ink,
Hagiographies that refresh and vanish—
Lives reduced to captions under flame.
We are all relics in plastic cases,
Handled without touch,
Venerated without trembling.

And God—if you are still here—
You must be exhausted by our mirrors,
By this choir of self-lit saints
Singing through glass.
Even you, I think, would crave
One unrecorded miracle.


Premium Member Preserved For Posterity

PRESERVED FOR POSTERITY
awesome sensations
 compliant
 rapid
prodigious
astonishing

a visceral
  drifting into irrelevance
a cluster
  of strange nostalgia
 into memorys lane
a fragility
  of existence
fusing emotion

a meditation
  on mortal
 summoning subtlety
with a distracting
aura

such allusions
  of grandiosity
manipilated
  recalled
    by
      experience

THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Form: Other

Retrospective Inclinations

Retrospective Inclinations 

Inclinations toward the philosophical nature of mankind 
Imitations of awe and wonder and the subtly refined
Insinuations of an action that is considered ill-defined 
Illuminations of the atmosphere that circulates in her mind 

Catastrophic consequences for those who refuse to consider cost
Misanthropic measures as they contemplate what they have lost 
Philharmonic overtures that adorn the cultured and the loft
Telescopic telomeres that combine technology as she seems soft 

Incorporations of conversations that imply a sense of dread 
Consolidations of invitations that leave the bride unwed 
Palpitations of consecrations that conjure inside her head 
Affirmations of visitations that come and go from her bed 

Luminous possibility among the distorted convolution
Furious credibility that promotes a transfigured delusion 
Spurious eligibility as she writhed about in confusion 
Injurious sensibilities that draw unnecessary conclusions

Awakening contemplations that preside in elevated thought 
Mistaking conversations for something that can be bought 
Berating intonations for a concept that needs to be fought 
Negating imitations of a notion that is over wrought 

Visionary eloquence forming from the twighlight sky
I am weary of the inference as the tears well in my eyes 
Timothy Leary fades into irrelevance as the earth begins to die 
Commissary for the petulance I feel from the nature of mankind 

Radiance and insight fight for grace and kindness to emerge undefeated 
The gradients of light that fractal outwards when repeated 
Innocence and delight combine to have the malevolent deleted 
Convalesce inside the retrospective thought that you have completed 

The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2025
Form: Rhyme

Midnight Hour

Pensive dreamlike awake and restless wonder,
where the faded Moon invites to ponder.
Boisterous thoughts from delicate irrelevance,
redeeming midnight charm and eloquence.
Changes that wakens the inner Dragon about,
glaring annoyance and swords to temper amount.
Struggling emphasis of conscience truth to hide,
kindled by some muse to open that wound so wide.
Some frail memories in still erected shame,
perhaps this neglected spot needs some refrain.
Rich with spoils in time not seeing the whole,
scattered some genuine flow of the soul.
I touched a heart that engaged in loving fire,
awaken ecstasies to promised ever after desire.
Lonely contemplation let me to this artless tale,
vulnerable heart and embarrassing forlorn fail.
A shrouded dusky veil disappeared as dust,
while moon light rays fill the dark adjust.
The strange of heart without a rest,
knows that love is a ever refining quest.
Form: Ballade

Pouch Poetry 10 - 13

10.
the  apparent golden pot that i thought 
to be the underneath of a kadam-tree 

in the dim light i can notice that 
the stars in the sky are disappearing  

this session of poetry 
is coming to an end 

now where would i
go 

to that little home 

the home 
a tiny word of 4 letters 

within that home 
the children are giggling 
playing … and making funs 

when i entered 
with a tri-cycle in hand 
for them 

i have been perplexed 
many old persons are waiting there 
to shake hands with me

11.
almost most of my desires  
are very much hurt

to show it publicly 
i wrap bandages 
around all over my body 

i keep on the stage-drama  

in our programme of reading poetry 
tea is served twice 
current has gone off for three times 
for four times the mobiles ring
 
to pick up love  
some people think about returning back 
from today’s dais to the ancient stage 
of performing folk-drama 

then they are also sympathetic 
to my sufferings

12.
everyday 
on my way to return home from the school 
when my mom took hold of my hands

i could see in my body
the dancing of an unforgettable 
aura 

even now that mystical halo is walking 
on the leaves of the trees 
to fulfil my mornings 

that wayfaring along the road 
is ringing far and far-off 

thus taking bath in every day’s  
dust smoke hue and cry 

many such love 
gradually gets aged 

is it true 
in the long run 
i too
would be the ingredient 
of a fairy-tale

just because i love 
that paddy field 

some time later 
she will also become 
human 

13.
then she will make all of us  
join her walking 

those inmost feeling 
those memories meditations

the loneliness  and solitude…

sans the touch of the imagination of
a crater… 
a creator…

this blunder… 
this socially outcast white …
 
this type of uneven… 
and irrelevance…
 
sume words 
when peep in the mind
i surprise to see that 
it’s ten to 2 at night
 
then in the balcony 
my father is crying
 
he always notices some grave-yard men 
in front of him 

and sheds tears

I Understand

I mean I understand 
This hatred comes in difference,
But does it have to
Come along with ignorance?

We were born in the same,
Process we call love,
But doesn't that prove 
Itself on how it comes?

I say this to lives
In front of me
Up to the furthest,
Destination to being,

Can we please just, 
End all these acts,
Of violence in life,
& remain pact?

I'm tired of losing,
My friends & relatives,
Even strangers & children,
To wars from irrelevance,

Culture defining humanity,
Truth it is all yes,
But defining humans
Is not what it meant,

In any type of faith
It has all given hope,
In any type of blessing
Thankfully kept ahold,

So doesn't that clarify,
Our capacities in regrets,
So our understanding
Can be also met,

I'm thinking too much
About this matter
That we're dealing with,
I want it to shatter,

I want our generation to survive...
© Omer Shafi  Create an image from this poem.
Form:

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