Long Lambasted Poems
Long Lambasted Poems. Below are the most popular long Lambasted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lambasted poems by poem length and keyword.
One brave senior girl with empathy walked out of class
With my sophomore daughter,
She had actually brought her
Home, in the middle of the
Day. My daughter was
Sobbing. The unknown senior girl was
Indignant, and angry, and ready to tell
Me how horrible the teacher was to my baby.
Apparently a teacher
Had lambasted my baby
In class, put her down, called
Her names. A teacher paid by
My tax dollars. I was infuriated.
As I heard my daughter sob-heaving,
I was even more furious. I had to send my
Husband to school eventually, as I was soon
To use some mighty angry highly mean words
On this “teacher”.
Being psychic, I knew the woman was
Lying the second she started speaking.
I detested her already, and for her to
Call to tell me “my side of the story”
Was to poke a sharp stick at a
Mama bear.
I jumped up and down on my bed like
A raging lunatic as the woman tried
To tell me her side of the story.
My daughter had quit sobbing, probably to listen.
I caught a glimpse of myself every other hop
As I reflected onto the mirror opposite my bed.
I looked like an angry elf, on speed.
And I felt like one too.
I ended up maturely hanging up on the
Teacher. My husband had to go to school
With our daughter. He reported upon his
Return that the teacher saw him and walked
Back out of the room.
“She probably thought you would tear
Her apart,” I told my husband. “You know how
You intimidate people,” telling myself that he
Would have been even more mean than I had been,
Knowing it was not possible.
This was over thirty years ago, and my daughter
Still bursts out laughing when she remembers
Her mother jumping up and down on the bed
Yelling mean angry things to her teacher.
Lesson learned? Not really.
The enchanted willow tree had watched in silence for many moons,
but for some reason, on this day, she could not watch any more.
When the out-of-control-with-anger- father came out
to try and grab a switch off her tree,
she smacked him in the face hard, twice.
He was shocked, for not only had he been lambasted good and hard,
He had fallen on his kiddy-rumpus, and his son who had been wailing
knowing what was about to happen to him ceased crying.
Dad went for another try. Willow gave him two hard whops on
the head, and a real good smack on his seat.
For good measure, she whopped him with a long whipping type whoop
on both of his legs, pulling them out from under him.
"She's not the boss of you, Daddy!" The little boy cried. "Show her who's boss!"
After four more tries with similar results, the daddy took
his son's hand, and led him back into the cottage,
forgetting his anger, and the hasty way he had almost hurt his child.
Knowing that the willow tree had some type of magical power, but not
understanding quite what it was. And he certainly did not want another walloping.
The rest of the elms, the oaks, and the willow trees cheered after the
lights in the house went out. It was a celebration that night in the forest;
another child saved from the switch, and a Dad who may have learned
his lesson. Do not beat your children when you are angry. Better yet,
do not beat your children.
Taken with a pinch of salt
Invisible to the naked eye
Should you wish to be unique
Bare your soul be exposed stripped
of flesh down to the naked bone
Stand alone and out from the
robotic crowd marching in
synchronicity
Depth and truth is what you seek
Then be prepared as more often
than not
It's stark and bleak and afterwards
can not nor never again be taken back
thereafter
So too likewise are the consequences
of being woken up in a state of panic
Wondering where the world you once
new has gone or ever was
What in fact now the future holds in store
As friend's are few now that you have
crossed over the great river of divide
And sadly the grass is not as green as it appeared at very 1st glance
Unique in simple terms is having the
ability or being able to look at
something from your own perspective
From the outside in and seeing it
for what it actually is
And not what other's want
you or need you to believe it is
So best at least you be forwarded
of the danger and the pitfalls
Uniquely ostracized , criticized ,
persecuted , lambasted labeled
deemed abject
And when all is said and done all
that you have and are sadly left with
afterwards is you yourself what you
know
Being sneered at by a waiting seating
you then condescendingly saying
Your usual table Sir party for 1 dinning
alone again I see
You know the type of passing
comment that a human droid would
say thinking it to be found a witty retort
As apposed to a sarcastic person who
is able to think outside the box and
instantaneously reply
Yes i am ever sorry but I took your
wife out yesterday and your mum
was busy today
A perfect example of what distinguishes
the truly unique from most other's
One of my biggest pet peeves in the world
When I was in sixth grade was that Mrs. Tuttle
allowed Danny Kridelcome to shout out answers
But if I did it she chopped off my head with a machete.
If I become a teacher I vowed, I will never do that.
Danny would give me a look of pure “haha” before he shouted
Knowing I would also shout, and I would be duly lambasted.
This was 1966, when a student did not challenge a teacher.
Day after day Danny and I would blurt out the answer.
And day after day I would get sliced and diced,
while he received praise. A world where girls do not shout out.
I was a rebel; I could not stop, so did not.
One day when I was teaching a fourth grade class I realized
For the first time that I was letting the boys shout out,
So glad they were participating, but when the girls did it
I was FURIOUS and I was chiding, and shaming them
Because the girls ALWAYS answered.
I tried to go back into my mind to try and remember
how long I had been doing it.
Thankfully my memory failed me,
reducing my shame at my own prejudice.
Snip-snaw lambasted me today.
Misunderstood initially,
Practically undiscovered
Until I remembered the stories of
Some others.
Zeke and Sam’s horrible, vivid scary
Stories of unkind deeds the snip-snaw had
Caused them to do, against their
Best judgement, immobilized me
To my bed for an extra hour,
Weighted blanket over my head.
Terrified burgundy hair stood up notoriously tall.
Goosebumps on my scalp,
I felt uncomfortably threatened, as I
Shook louder than a twenty-eight year old
Unbalanced washer on spin.
Yes, snip-snaw happened to me today,
I will speak of it no more,
But it was even more terrible and
Horrifyingly scary as I had ever
Had the audacity to believe.
My husband often says to me “I wish I’d married a woman”.
I am usually sitting spread legged in a chair, scratching at the time.
Or I am pointedly not picking up a huge mess for two weeks.
I always roll my eyes, knowing what he really means.
He means “I wish we had married a cook, cleaner and maid.”
I am none of those things. Sure, I used to pretend to be.
Since this incarnation God poured my soul into a female body.
Not my idea, believe me! I resented this from childhood.
When Danny H always got by with yelling out the answers.
Without raising his hand, but if I did it, I got lambasted by the teacher.
I knew better than to point this out after the sixth or seventh time.
She was a mean woman, and partial to boy bodies, not girl bodies.
Then menstruation happened, which was more horrifying.
Boys never have to deal with all this blood and inconvenience.
Being a girl was not my goal in this lifetime believe me.
I feel we are neither male nor female, rather spirits who rent.
Some lifetimes we rent female, other times we rent male.
How I got this wrong this time, I do not know but….
I hate cooking, cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, and doing the dishes.
Luckily, my husband knows this. He is doing the laundry now.
He is also buying the groceries and running the dishwasher.
I think it is fair. I am thirty years ahead of him.
I used to do all the housework and the yardwork.
He would work his measly forty hours and rest.
I am resting now. It is my turn since we did not “marry a woman”.
THE SHIPWRICKERS:
The passengers don't feel okay with the rider,
As the journey don't seem so right.
Some are feeling very worried,
As it's been bad from the genesis of this lap,
Straight down with so many emphasis,
Due to what's going on there in the ship.
Wise men are rejected jointly with their ideas,
Good men are lambasted anytime they appear.
Their compasses and maps are not reasonably revered,
By the shipwreckers who don't see their value,
And the common passengers are enduring the agony,
The solutions are laid askew.
The chief rider and his team are on the balcony,
Refreshing themselves with larceny.
The ship is wrecking gradually,
And the lives of the passengers don't matters them,
Since they can join a different ship with their households;
At anytime, anyday with just the ink of a pen.
Their accounts are corruptibly bankrolled,
So they care not if the passengers are marooned.
Affirmatively, this chronicle is not assumed,
But a reality that is rightfully presumed.
This poet decided against
becoming a measly minced meaty morsel
undetected inauspicious augury
assigning adept
aqueous ace AOL amphibian,
who surreptitiously crept
to the secret crypt (guarded by
foo fighters and amazing dragons)
said gendarmes did except
special fluid scrip as egress into
heavily fortified
(with USDA recommended allowance),
thus when the configurative motley crue
including thyself (a bono fied doo
bee brother - long given up for lost,
which "FAKE" oracle
misinterpreted by a goo goo
doll, and cross dresser named Hugh
played being took a vow el,
and hence consonantly knew
all along, i dwelt peacefully
in a soundcloud loo
immensely spacious with ooh
dills of survival trappings
purchased from Peru
laborers treated by free pact
guaranteeing a socially
conscious shopper to rue
painstaking indigenous stoop labor,
now stamped imprimatur could allow,
enable and provide means to shoe
each formerly eczema dappled,
cracked bare foot
ah, a glimmer of hopefulness
(upon this crowded house of a planet) view
which youtube snapchat ting
reddit as joyous outlook
sans linkedin shutterfly,
twitter ring tender flickr ring shoots
communicated an instagram message
of hopefulness kickstarting optimism
versus the initial thread of this poem,
which to set this got off track
(hinting at goal to be
a paperback book writer wannabe)
rather than ending up as a byte size snack
for a limbering beast, into whose tumblr
of one jagged razor sharp teeth
like daggers lined up along a rack
of reinforced steel maw,
which bang for the bite did pack
leaves no room for bing a survivor
as fierce jaws clamp down
worse than getting steam rolled by a mack
truck, but subjected to thee yield,
whence thousands of pounds
per square inch of pressure
on par lambasted from Donald Trump flack.
Chalk up the above
tummy whimsical caprice
forever one generic
(ewe among us) scapegoat
bullied, lambasted, ostracized...
simian still silently suffering
life threatening wounds
since no protective Jason,
nor the golden fleece
shielded me against torments even after
becoming gratefully dead,
they will still increase
only difference when nonexistence prevails,
versus while given lease
as run(t) of the mill mortal
doth finally welcoming peace
of body, mind and spirit.
Aforestated gallimaufry mishmash
hoopfully doth explain
tangentially, loosely and amazingly
one after another graceful linkedin refrain
now heeds intuitive trumpeted
clarion call moon faced
cybersurfer to wax and wane.
Roll up welcome Harris tweed Scottish mat after
lame attempt bing witty and wise
fame and fortune elude,
nevertheless logophile continuously tries
this February 28th, 2020 no surprise
quotidian series of Lemony Snicket induced
unfortunate circumstances did rise
every hour these myopic eyes
blinked cognitive depth youthfulness belies,
when dawning consciousness did arise.
i.
like a genii released from a bottle
I pranced around in my all together
feeling a mirth I never feel during a waking moment
Dali surreal, and eager to begin my fantasy
ii.
spirit guide was being lambasted by my committee
why can you not control that one? They asked
forgetting I am the boss of me
and lithium does not settle me down
iii
dog dreams of happier days
before her arthritis
when she could chase the cat chasing a mouse
she smells the grass in her sleep
iv.
monsterously dark entity tries to interrupt
hoping to lead me down the demonic path
feeling a certainty I am close now
v.
from my perch on the ceiling
I see a body lying on the bed
wondering who is next to my dog
she is almost ready my spirit guide whispers
devil and she begin wrestling over my silver cord