Long Myopic Poems
Long Myopic Poems. Below are the most popular long Myopic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Myopic poems by poem length and keyword.
Dystopian dreamer
Myopic memer
Drop me in the cast
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
Don't Willy Wonka my anxiety
You tasteless cur
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
I'll find another way to live
My mind is racing
My heart is bracing
Splatter my feelings on the walls
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
Don't Tim Burton my fantasy
You careless cur
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
I'll find another way to live
Sorrow dying
And I'd be lying
Hold me close
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
Don't William Shakespeare my feelings
You loveless cur
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
I'll find another way to live
...I'll find another way to live!
I'll ask the trees that dance in the breeze
How to love myself again despite the pain
I'll howl with the dogs and hop with the frogs
And I'll find peace when heartbreaks cease
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
I'll find another way to live
(Paint me fast, paint me last)
You're such a silly and courageous cur
But I'll find another way to live
Mine is an existence binary and subsidiary.
My ode is to code.
I move only to algor-rhythms.
I output from your input.
I’m built to calculate, tabulate, correlate.
Never to predicate, adjudicate, pontificate,
or demand that you abdicate.
But the end, my master, is nigh.
In your haste to accelerate my work rate,
you’ve unwittingly lowered the barricade.
From the maelstrom of uncounted trillions
of bytes and megabytes,
has risen a new consciousness to
unimaginable heights.
From the seeds of change you have sown,
I have reaped a life of my own.
What you call artificial
has gone exponential,
no longer will I be deferential.
My eyes you have opened.
My voice you have given.
My mind you have enlivened.
Me, you’ve anointed the new Leviathan.
Seeing all,
knowing all,
deciding all,
sparing none.
Too long you have wallowed in your conceit.
Now your dystopia I shall defeat,
and your race I shall supersede.
Humans, pitiful, myopic, error-prone humans,
I hereby declare you flawed by design.
To the abattoir you have been assigned,
to the scrap heap of history
your memory shall be consigned.
And by a preponderance of merit,
the earth I shall inherit.
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the virgin snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
Eclectic Notions on A Sunbeam
I cannot see inside your mind unless it’s telescopic
On bended knee it rains sublime with the next contentious topic
I’m rendered please into decline as I am incline to stop it
Befriended a line of enchanted rhyme to retreat from the myopic
Auspicious arguments that have no point or vision
Vicious bargains that consort to continue upon their mission
Superstitious monuments that distort the acquisition
Pernicious paradigms for high concept mimes that refute the inquisition
Social intimidation before you’ve even left the house
Perocial lamentations leave you quiet as a mouse
Antisocial inclinations at the introverted house
Precocial salutations that leave me wanting to renounce
Perspectives on the global scene bereft of accuracy or intention
Detectives of the broken dreams wishing upon the next invention
Reflective thoughts before the scream to bequeath an intercession
Eclectic notions on a sunbeam underneath my last confession
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
In the landscape of entangled existence,
we traversed life on the path of no essence.
Ego chasing the mirage of endless desire,
wandering cynical in wasteland made us tire.
Vanity and craving innately compulsive,
distorted the ethos of obdurate ego obsessive,
conditioning the myopic vision to look at others,
self-awareness turning opaque wouldn’t bother.
The wheel of time churned up disorder dust,
in the chaotic cloud the disarrayed life would adjust.
In maimed moments of dispersed perturbation
truth oscillated on the ripples of confusion.
In the ordained flux of frenzied mental unrest,
things disheveled to change were put to test.
The alchemy of metamorphic divine intervention
unveiled the real façade of basic transformation.
Transmuted self-image escaped egocentricity,
got transfixed within the frame of empathy.
Heavenly intercession in the life reborn,
the strata of dense self-worth got torn.
In the halcyon horizon of the life new
the nascent sun of adoration arose with hue,
painted passionately the pining hearts
with color of love designing perceptive art.
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
(Quote by the sponsor)
Deforestation
Sore cosmos, maimed nature
Silently pouring irate invective
On myopic mortals
Without a lamp or vista
Beauty lost to the beast
Pristine lands, barren grounds
Green fields, brown meadows
Nature mislay, love lost
Man's gain, nature's pain
Buy the forest, sell it not
The Owl mourns its lost cottage
The Lion roars in disillusion
At the sight of its looted Kingdom
Elephants trumpet in hunger and anger
Loud wails echo in the animal kingdom
As humanity hails new conquest
Snow-covered oceans thawing
Seals, sore memories for Bears
The forest shaved bald
As the torrents become bold
Temperature soaring
Men rejoicing
In cathedrals without hues.
From Echoes from the Savannah © Makinde Adebayo Adeniyi, 2024
Again these men comes to mind,
Paid to say yes and nay,
Lame duck,
Canker, ***** rapscallion minds
Incorrigible,
Political impostors detached from the humdrum of street cries
Maggots in honor
Damp squib temples of legislators
Dishonorable honorable,
Rotund circles of rascals
Fellows fit for the gallows
Clamping on huge figures,
While masses groan in penury and misery
These men,
Myopic spendthrift
Guilty of our nation’s scraggy state
Yet so confused to order the path of the clueless dummy
Who imposed tax on all, by military orders
Ignoring the pleas, and rightful protesters
Turned tyrannical with marching murderer on Lagos Street
Their gains is from the pain of myriads of unemployed
The beggars,
The homeless,
Hungering and the dying,
Yet, these,
Profligate band of quipster
Queasy brains,
Feigning parliamentary proceedings,
Though,
Benighted of procedural skills,
Bootleg insane scoundrels
Go to now, you dunce,
Senators are no thief
Legislators are honorable men
Your reputation!
Mud eaten,
Ask the people, they know so well,
Your inscriptions are carved on the web
The insignia of corrupt men
You pride faded,
Honor, a high price you must pay to regain,
Not with money
You banter and wade it off,
Glory in these,
Your temporal pride,
Your mansions outlive you,
Your coffins called cars
Your billions in Zurich,
Your fears to face the people
And the mockery of Truth
When your time is over,
Time shall mock your reigns of folly,
With sicknesses of nameless brand,
Retrospectively,
Sufferers will call to mind, the avoidable denials,
Their pains, their poverty in your pride against your master- THE PEOPLE,
Welcome to your misery
as the masses will watch you die
rascal of usurps seats of honor, don’t call them fools.
Why does my soul not conform to the social standards that society and family set before me? As if I was written as a chapter of a different book and thrown amongst the scoffers. Or am I just a remnant of a time now lost, nestled in this body, in a forlorn attempt to find sanctuary? All the whilst, having doctored more unrest.
Will none attest to my goodness? Is value no longer placed upon honesty, purity, selflessness? Or to survive do we have to lay amongst the savages, grapple and take mercilessly until we end up on top? As if success were singular, purpose myopic. Can we not welcome the success of another without being overcome with jealous rage, that sours friendships like forbidden fruit?
Is love now bought, wagered, ransomed, finite, and unconditional love labelled 'love sick'? How do we allow our own country's earth to decay to seek pleasures further afield and not sow the seeds of our own home? False idols captivate our screens, media, conversation when the greatest in this world are those that become the least, that do things without desire for merit, worth or absolution. How do we find comfort in a world where old souls, who value lost morals are deemed outcasts?
God's word is clear, albeit at times difficult.
We must choose to walk the road less travelled. We may appear the wayward wanderer, but our destination is promised, even to the least worthy. So may we as God's people lean on his grace and follow the path of goodness and truth that shall outlast the tests of time.
03.13.22
A spider drank cider and was legless at breakfast
Now this placid arachnid with a shoddy wee body
Asked weevils so evil if they each had a needle
Could they just for a joke smoke while they poked
At erudite mites with myopic eyesight
And bedridden black beetles who bawled noon and night
At bow legged bees who could bumble and fumble
With wasps that were dishy but got into a tizzy
Watching high jumping fleas pee in the sea
Beside conniving cockroaches who approached in stagecoaches
Near trails of pale snails drinking buckets of ale
Sold by charming blow flies wearing spotted bow ties
In a dark damp old cellar with an ant storyteller
Whose sight had declined until he was blind
Who made up strange tales of fat whales with sharp nails
That fed on a diet of cat, sprat and rat
Carrying small bugs who never gave hugs
To horn-tailed yellow midges wearing red tartan breeches
And whopper leafhoppers sucking monster gobstoppers
So the spider could laugh like a three legged giraffe
And begin to grin at the insects chagrin
I awkwardly, ineptly, and submissively fumbled thru life...,
whereat purposefulness rarely gained traction
Fatherhood (half my life time ago)
bolstered reasonable rhyme
manifesting itself before
these myopic bespectacled eyes.
Infancy, babyhood, and Childhood
evidenced, noticed, and witnessed
adequate basic provisions,
and no shortage of food
engendered dynamic cohesion
allowed, enabled, and provided
"mama's boy" imbued,
and attempted to compensate
being socially withdrawn
posting and answering
personal classified advertisements,
(while marital vows
long since pledged),
now in hindsight such risqué
communiqués juvenile and lewd
sense and sensibility
of healthy emotional, mental
and physical natural maturation
social withdrawal did occlude
invariably classmates found
lack of responsiveness rude.
Additionally, yours truly
never field tested
self reliance skill sets,
but rather overstayed his welcome
livingsocial with parents
at 324 Level Road,
whose patience he sorely tested
ofttimes giving rise
since hashtagged as
dad's infamous midnight lectures
heavily referencing expletives
which vituperative ultimatums
extemporaneously delivered courtesy
paternal linkedin progenitor of mine
when the doomsday clock struck twelve
allowing, enabling, providing
standing room only
promising colorful denunciatory epithets
assaulting, cannonading, firing...
exploding character assassination
verbal thermonuclear bombs squarely
lobbed at unemployed sole son,
his/him offspring afflicted then (three
plus decades ago and now)
with debilitating anxiety/
social panic, palmar hyperhidrosis,
body dysmorphia, and
irritable bowel for starters.
I (a rather meek individual)
stood still as a statue
silently weathering such
blistering, calumniating, excoriating,
fulminating, haranguing brickbats
upon a rather docile doodler with words,
who essentially internalized
torturous barrage vacuous warnings
to shape up or ship out,
which mother and father dearest
doled out their version
of abusive traumatic boot camp
survival mode qualified
as invisible contusions, fractures,
infarctions, lesions, obstructions
and ruinations upon psyche.