Long Luxury Poems
Long Luxury Poems. Below are the most popular long Luxury by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Luxury poems by poem length and keyword.
Merciless! they died~ blood, bodies on ground,
fired our machine guns with rat a tat sound!
some whimpered and cried calling out loved ones,
it mattered not to us, our hearts were stones!
our soldiers died too in similar vein,
torn asunder by guns, screaming in pain,
we wrapped them in our flags and sent them home,
families shed tears on what they had become,
the killings went on, men died on both sides,
widows and orphans, the ruin was world wide!
Newspapers sold stories, justice was claimed,
loud speeches were made, and each other blamed,
ruling rich sat at home, justified war,
or sat at beaches, in luxury cars,
the wheel kept turning churning them more funds,
their power grew amongst relatives and friends,
history was written, medals were given,
heroes and villains were all lies driven,
in this horror of human games, truth died,
tears ran in silence, some sobbed and some sighed!
civilisation records these events,
Rapes, loots, slavery and such torments
religions and Gods or find some reason,
to kill a human without compassion,
animals do live in better harmony,
than men can do in each other’s company!
We should work for the day when hatred ends,
that day amongst enemies- find true friends!
Written 13/10/2021
10 syllables, a few lines with 11 syllables
Even though I know you, I still love you
Stop measuring my capacity to love you, it can't be measured.
Stop watching the clock for my demise, it will not be.
I realized how much God loved me,
when he sent me you and now I love him so much more. You want be alone anymore.
Even though I know you. I still love you
Stop saving your money, and please empty all financial reserves
to pay my price, your love have been your greatest sacrifice.
Relax take comfort, there is no bill
I am here because I love you, I need you, and here at my will
Even though I know you, I still love you
cars, diamonds, houses are not necessary
your love, time, and presence are my greatest luxury.
You are my treasure and
You are my REWARD!!!
Even though I know you, I still love you
I will not ignore, leave, or abandon you.
I don't care what you have done, or where you have been
Because what you are good or bad,
You are Mine!!!! mine now, and mine forever.
Your love introduced me to the magic world
and awakened my spirit like sunflower to sun
led me to the garden of feeling and affection
where my days passed like dream and nights like wedding….
You taught me to enjoy the beauty
and unleashed the secrets of life's duty
With you I first sang the poetry of real life
With you my imaginations took its first flight.
First time I realized the true meaning and essence
and enjoyed the words like possessiveness, jealousy and passion.
You transformed my solitary life into happy moments
and filled the silence of every nights with music.
I lived in coma till the time I was in your heart’s ICU
And suddenly thrown out from the paradise of love to issues
Where the earthly life of luxury and money entice
I'm struggling for the rest of my life, hoarding materialistic things.
The wealthy Sterling family
was completely devastated
when their beloved butler,
Arthur, suddenly vanished.
Arthur had served them with
flawless devotion, warmth,
and unmatched grace for
over three decades.
Lord Reginald and Lady
Eleanor immediately
gathered the entire
household staff in the grand
library.
Detective Richard Vance was
called to the mansion to
investigate the mysterious,
sudden disappearance.
Vance began by searching
Arthur's meticulous quarters,
looking for any hidden clues
or notes.
inside a leather- bound
ledger, Vance found a
frantic, handwritten note
detailing a dark secret.
Arthur discovered that Clara
the maid and Thomas the
gardener were secretly
stealing luxury silverware.
The brilliant butler noticed
the sterling silver forks and
golden platters vanishing
week by week.
When Arthur confronted the
thieving duo in the
greenhouse, they panicked
and took him hostage.
Clara and Thomas bound and
gagged the loyal butler,
locking him deep inside the
dark root cellar.
Vance noticed Clara's hands
trembling violently as she
served tea during the tense
interrogation.
The detective also spotted
fresh, deep mud tracking
from the greenhouse directly
into the main house.
Thomas claimed he was busy
trimming the hedges all
morning, but his boots were
completely dry.
Vance swiftly led the worried
Sterling family down into the
damp, shadowy depths of
the cellar.
With a heavy iron key found
in Clara's apron pocket,
Vance unlocked the rusted
cellar door.
There lay Arthur, bound to a
wooden chair but thankfully
completely unharmed and
safe.
Beside him sat three massive
canvas sacks overflowing
with the family's missing
luxury silverware.
Clara and Thomas fell to their
knees, weeping and
confessing to the entire
greedy scheme.
Lord Reginald immediately
called the authorities, while
Lady Eleanor wept tears of
pure relief.
The beloved butler was safely saved, and the family
threw a grand feast in his honor.
That was then when we
studied using pen -paper,
practiced handwriting.
consulted dictionary,
committed to memory.
This is now when kids
are used to handle computer,
having no idea
of mental calculation
Google gives each solution,
That was then happened
Eager to hear voice of
of most beloved,
depending on your land phone,
or to wait for love letter.
This is now , we see :
Mobile is always at hand.
No need for waiting.
Communication easy.
Also Break up is ready.
That was then when we
blindly obeyed our parents,
cared for seniors .
Learned to give priority
to both family and friends.
This is now just clear
New generations holding
' Don't care' attitude .
' My life is mine' being the
motto of life all along.
That was then when to
respect the moral values
as universal.
Plain living and high thinking
accepted as ideal.
This is now when we
wish to float in luxury,
and always selfish.
Malice but no sacrifice.
High living and plain thinking.
I see the life I used to live,
Through his eyes my childhood is,
Broken mirrors, I can't look back,
A perfection so perfect, my heart retracks,
Like walking back through time, the atmosphere feels,
So inadequate, so unreal,
The picture painted perfect but far from true,
Have I lowered my standards for living proof,
Have I lived this life to prove less is more,
And not have the best of the best, to pretend to be poor,
So you would never view me better than you,
And I could never intimidate you from being real,
I forfeited luxury, the painting of perfection,
Because I saw the dirt outway the cleanliness in the mirrors reflection,
And spotless was a cover-up my childhood showed,
An assumption to others she looks happy, ya know,
To good to be true, rich paints the pretty picture,
Yet underneath it all, this little girl felt tortured,
Contemplating suicide everyday,
Behind that beautiful house was a soul in pain,
No money could satisfy, not one heart could see,
Behind closed doors, the abuse that reaked,
The image was beautiful, everyone assumed,
But I never could enjoy it, I locked myself in my room,
I could not stand the perfection, the atmosphere was a lie,
I would rather run away than look perfect in societies eyes,
I would choose to look poor, and hear the truth,
It was better than the image with the torture you put me through,
Dear God, why are you bringing me back to this horrible place?,
Showing me the depth of my confusion, my old childhood pain?,
I walk out this mans door with tears in my eyes,
This image scares me, do I deserve better in life?,
Will it bring back the nightmares of the white washed tomb?,
Please Lord, help me to understand, what should I do?
He was too old
to speak of active hope
for ancient creamy dreams
not yet boldly told
Inviting curious homeless nomads
to imagine what we could become
if we were not yet brazenly born
into this time of tragic burning,
flooding,
predicting hunger,
thirst
and coastal drowning nakedness.
Into this epic brown despair
AzaRiah was innocently born
within fading red shadows
of a crumbling
patriarchal
all white cathedral.
She never knew an old Golden Era
of endless capital expansion
and monopolistic worship
defying GoldenRules
applied to those like her,
the least and blackest last
of Earth's Golden SpaceTime Ratio.
AzaRiah's stormy education
had no LeftBrain Ego v NotEco luxury
to ponder why 2D full moons
are also 4D revolving half-lit norms,
Why spatial nomials
predict temporal bilateral binomials,
Why positive polypaths
predict not not negative
polyphonic ultra-nonviolence,
Why binary Zero
fulfilling One bipolar Zone
predicts double-binary 0/1
wave-linear dipolar
win/win DNA resplendent co-arising Tone,
Why fractal-structured regenerativity
nativity predicts octave spiraling scales
of resonant
resilient non-degenerative issue tissues.
She was much too busy
singing with hurricane winds,
listening for flaming conflagrations
of reactionary hate,
inviting still small ecofeminist circles
to dance again with GrandMother Moon
in compassion's silent storms,
self and other recreating
perpetual healthcare perception
reception
Belonging in grateful silence
where her grandfathers
spoke with terrified tears
of Earth's great loud longing.
Corona virus
Corona virus; we cannot trust
Hundreds already have become dust
Millions fought back the death's spell
Conquering corona, now living well
Humans greed for sentient foods
And their craving for luxury goods
Led us to destroy the environment
Purely, for selfish enjoyment
Plastics, vinyls float on the waves
For many trendy items we've become slaves
Austerity is only a political slogan
The way we live today is not paragon
Spanish flu endemic took many lives
Plaque and swine flu, marked our times
Diseases pass by some have to die
History will repeat and we shouldn't cry
Show compassion for our fellow creatures
Treat well our planet's great many features
Accept the good and bad with equanimity
Be all blessed with Corona immunity
Winnie.
Although Winnie did not look elderly
Because she dressed prim and properly
She was constantly there on the platform
Not often though, in the railway uniform
She treats and greets the big and small
Those who pass through the ticket hall
The children call her Grandma sweetie
But she told me that her home is empty
Her husband died at the Falklands War
Never had the children much wished for
Being the only child for a single parent
She became a dutiful railway servant
She should receive a community award
For the long term service as a reward
The commuters agreed, the form was signed
But, the following morning she wasn't seeing
I knocked hard on the ticket office window
A different woman opened the front door
She looked pale and without a smile
Told me , softly to wait for a while
People dressed in black and white
Came through the door and led their way out
They gave me a leaflet, it was an eulogy
Winnie, I am late, accept my apology!
Thump! thump!
Thump! Thump!
Why must you jump;
Jump jump stop;
Hump hump;
Git off that trunk;
when you see me;
You clutch purses hold your pockets;
You come a running;
It's not about you but yet you go running scared to touch to embrace your brother;
Humming saying screaming wandering what you going to do;
Don't don't come on In Reckless dividing running from me Heidi hi Heidi ho;
Wha'cha runnin away from me fo;
You come beside me;
Wanted me to relish your perfect body;
Wow what's inside of me;
The lust of luxury;
It's not about you or any other is all about the money--
I rebuke thee;
Yet you still pursue me I'm running still;
Trying to keep up with you at will come where!;
Hump!
Hump!
The meaning of wild animal procreated;
Wild men being pursued and persuaded;
Yet you have breath and you live your life what is left;
You're right on Horizon you're in class fail the test;
Thump! Thump!
Thump! Thump!
Don't thump thump thump heartbeat has died
Must be alive I can feel my chest my nostrils flare I must have breath
I am alive
9/6/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©2019
The dress was going to be yellow—
sunflower yellow, the kind that hurts to look at
in full light, which we hadn’t had in months anyway,
just the gray sift of dust through shattered windows
and the orange pulse when the sky opened its mouth.
She would have been eight.
Eight candles we couldn’t buy, couldn’t light
even if we had them. The power died in March
and took with it the oven, the mixer, the bright hum
of anything working the way it should.
I had saved the flour. Hidden it
like contraband, like hope—
three cups in a plastic bag
behind the loose tile in the kitchen
that no longer had a kitchen attached.
The cake would have been chocolate.
She asked for chocolate every year,
and every year I made vanilla because it was cheaper,
promising next time, habibi, next time—
and she believed me because she was seven, then six, then five,
and children believe their mothers
until the moment they learn not to.
The game was going to be musical chairs.
Ridiculous. As if we had music. As if we had chairs.
As if eight children could gather in one place
without someone calculating the efficiency
of the target, the value of the payload,
the acceptable margin of small bones.
I found one candle yesterday.
White. Thin. Half-melted from the heat.
I don’t know why I picked it up,
why I put it in my pocket like a relic,
like something that still meant birthday
and not just another way to mark
what didn’t happen.
She would have blown it out.
Made a wish. The wish would have been
something possible in her world—
a new doll, a book, a day at the beach
before she learned that the beach was closed,
that the sea doesn’t want us anymore,
that wanting itself is a luxury
distributed unevenly.
I lit the candle last night.
Just to see. Just to remember what it meant
to have a small flame and a reason for it.
It burned for twenty minutes before the wind
took it, and I sat in the dark
singing happy birthday to the space
where eight years old should have been,
where the yellow dress should have twirled,
where chocolate should have smudged her smile,
where she should have cheated at musical chairs
and laughed when I pretended not to notice—
but the dark doesn’t answer,
and the candle is out,
and eight is just a number now,
a countable thing,
a cake that was never baked,
a girl who will never be nine.