Long Misdirected Poems
Long Misdirected Poems. Below are the most popular long Misdirected by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Misdirected poems by poem length and keyword.
My siblings complained I was far too imperious
my folks thought my passion for sports deleterious
Friends thought me mostly mysterious
by 27, I was working in Tiberias*
Sometimes those who are near us
And count themselves most dear (to) us
In directions misdirected would steer us
when all we ask from them is just cheer us
___________________________________________
*Tiberias was/is a 'development' town in Israel, home
in 1978 to a large populace of Jews from Morocco,
poor and illiterate. I wasn't exactly living 'the good
life,' let us say. ~ gw
"when there is nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire"
stars - your ex-lover is dead prelude
i am in the middle of my pool, and i am drowning in melancholy -
my brain, is craving not oxygen, but is craving you.
i'm missing what i cannot even see now, for my vision is going black with love, and for a second, i am ophelia in the lake, but i do know what happens to me the next time i awake.
this is why melancholy used to be considered a disease
for i am drowning, not just in water,
but in my own misdirected sorrow.
as my body shuts down, i crave only one last desire,
to rid the melancholy of everyone's soul, unraveled like a string from a roll of yarn.
though we might still die, we will die less sad,
and as our bodies decompose, our sadness will reach the sky and create sunsets and sunrises in colors we can't comprehend, yet it is still beautiful as tears are brought to our lonesome eyes.
21 july 2019
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019- Melancholy
Dear Heart
Heaven knows why you wish to hear anger and misdirected blame
tossed toward you on the ether by unknown souls, what a shame ..
You are misguided, mistaken, a mischievous little maudlin imp
to encourage such bad behavior, and to have us not skimp.
Hornet nest poker, naughty miss, you'd withhold a frog's first kiss
Listen young lady, no good comes of bad reminisces
so, curb control issues, chart your own course, hand on the rudder,
I see you there now, through my third eye, so, don't think to sputter.
Silly, silly, woman, a whirlwind you wanted and now you fret,
you just remember, never forget, you're a real girl poppet.
Stringless poppet with that cute little nose, so engrossed in prosey
write to me from alphabet soup, spin me a fairy tale rosy.
Divine are the curls 'pon your head and your sparkling green-blue eyes
and that heart of gold ..well..you're loved and it's no real surprise
for you sprinkle stardust on our lids at midnight, spinning sweet dreams.
Blessed was the day you were born to this earth, smiles on moonbeams.
Demur as a pink rose, soft as a kitten, we're smitten,
addicted, transfixed, are all by the proseys you've written.
Words, though sublime, can never truly tell of your glory,
only Shakespeare and Wordsworth could do right by your story.
As beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder, so happiness is a chosen state in the harbors of the heart.
Desire, seek, and pursue happiness as you choose so to do; but I think that most 'happiness pursuits' are misdirected and over rated.
I think not that happiness should be sought nor be found in a person or thing. I will neither bare the burden, nor be the portrait of someone else's happiness.
One's happiness must first be defined and personified before it can be found. There is a source of happiness with a fountain from which it flows freely.
The happiness key hangs in my heart to ignite and accelerate me toward God. My personal happiness was found in my pursuit and union with my creator.
Like ice is a byproduct of water, so my happiness is a byproduct of my creator. If my 'jolly happy feet' cease, my happiness will not desist, but ever persist.
I neither accept nor expect that a happy mood equates to happiness. I suspect if I do have a secret, it is the secret that 'there is no real secret to happiness'.
10122017 PS Contest, My Secret Of Happiness, Line Gauthier, 3P
Innocence lost
and being ignored
sin destroyed
sickness and little hope
confusion of mind
How can fathers detach so easily?
And who’s minding the children?
Broken homes
absentee fathers long gone
mothers now abandoning them too
or too busy to love and care
child abuse and perversion
What happened to the fathers who say they are men?
And who’s minding the children?
Taught to think of only self
gangs and bloodshed on the rise
early pregnancy and more unwanted babies
disrespect of authority now rampant
they don’t live long anymore
Where are the fathers who plagiarize God’s name?
And who’s minding the children?
Abuse their elderly regularly
violence in dating is now so common
all manner of carnage and misuse
homosexuality embellished and tolerated
emotionally damaged while so very young
Why is daddy nowhere to be found?
And who’s minding the children?
Physically impaired and unhealthy
insolent conduct
drugs annihilating
hidden in prison houses
sleeping in the streets
Wasn’t daddy placed as head?
And who’s minding the children?
Raising themselves
Uneducated
Misdirected
hungry
and full of rage
Where are these fathers who beat their chests?
And who’s minding the children?
Baby steps, followed by
a child's stumbling,
teenage sprained ankles,
broken bones and
bodies covered with bruises,
adults take two steps forward
followed by one step back.
What of the person with no feet?
Hasn't he a reason to succeed.
His will shaped by submission
to a higher power than his own
encouraged by right mentors.
Elderly invalids often leap
into service through a
ministry from their couch.
Hard work, patience, determination,
and faith gets us to our goal
when misdirected love says,
“It’s okay to quit.”
September 9, 2019
contest: Sometimes Love Is Not Enough https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/sometimes_love_is_not_enough_13171
Host: Silent One
There's soon to Be a President
By Franklin Price
12/9/2016
There's soon to be a president, the kind we've never had before.
Speaks of many ways and means, this country should explore
Never been a politician, or General of note;
Ran to make America great again, to save a sinking boat
Not interested in money. He's a multi-billionaire
Has foregone the paltry salary of the presidential chair.
Tired of greedy politicians as so many of us are,
Not a practicing attorney, who should have never passed the bar
He now is in the process of picking out his team.
Many of them also rich; so wealth is not their scheme;
Can concentrate on jobs at hand and really get things done.
We chose him 'cause he's different, now let's see if he's the one.
There are many people talking, who are more than just concerned.
Should look at past administrations to see how we've been burned
With misdirected wars, healthcare that really doesn't work
Still are many people saying, Trump is nothing but a jerk.
The establishment in Washington has shown us many jerks
They're In the House and Senate; many only for the perks.
Guided by the lobbyists, in the pockets of the rich,
They say that Trump will be a problem. Now isn't life a *****?
Congress, listen to the people, after all we put you there.
Better start to work for us again, to show us that you care.
Don't be the chock, beneath the wheel, that keeps us on the ground
If so, the next election, you will no longer be around.
We're tired of your finagling, your graft and royal greed
A massive change in Washington is what the people need
Have voted a new president who's saying just the same
I pray that we the people, once again, are in the game.
Reduced to tear's
By floundering year's
And persecution
The wickers fell
On mannequin and collage painting's
Hanging from the tower gate's
So opaque
The background checked the artist's brush
That stroked upon the maddening thrush
Where common folk and gentry rushed
To place upon a bed of thieves
Which kings receive
A ransom grand
Gleaming gold
And stole by hand
From Jerusalem the holy rock
Whence pilgrims flock
For station on the end of day's
The final battlefield of men on earth
Shall witness the return of God
The apocalypse is nigh at hand
But who will gain the upper hand
Is no more certain
Than the closing curtain
On which the hook's
Some must hang
If that in which your faith was placed
Was sadly misplaced
Or misdirected
Wrath poured out on
ungodly men
suppressing truth
by their actions.
Makes himself known,
clearly perceived
in things plain seen:
His strength, nature.
Not thanking Him,
we ascribe worth,
praise the creature.
Without excuse,
we understand
praise and honor
are required
but misdirected.
We create gods,
glorify them:
things created
with our own hands.
Therefore, our God
hands us over
to our own lusts:
“Give chase!” He says.
Though you may seek,
you will not find.
Emptiness and
despair await.
Even worse still,
though we full know
practicing such
does deserve death,
we not only
do all these things
but also give
approval to
those who likewise
do so as well.
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Really, just musing on, and a recasting of, Romans 1:18-32
Both France and Australia were nil-nil until extra time when Aussie Alanna Kennedy’s misdirected header during a corner kick produced an own goal for France. The goal was disallowed for a foul inside the box by a French player. But Australia had more than luck on their side. Aussie goalie, Mackenzie Arnold, was a force to be reckoned with. The vanquished French coach Herve Renard said, “We came up against a Goliath of a goalie.” Then all it took was the late substitute Cortnee Vine to calmly convert the winning penalty kick. For the first time in their history, the host team Matildas are in the World Cup semifinals!
Vine’s PK winner
Matildas’ goalie Arnold—
France shown no merci