Long No argument Poems
Long No argument Poems. Below are the most popular long No argument by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long No argument poems by poem length and keyword.
(Colino)
so you say you have no memory
of the last day you were friends with me
no link to help remembering
your brain can't give you anything
conclusion, you are clueless
your memory is useless
and you can't give your own story
nor pick out bits most surely
so you can offer nothing
your brain don't bring a thing
unaware or emptied
or with a truth which you're hiding
yet when I talk of incidents
the memories I'm recalling
you claim they never happened
and from my delusion they are spawning
you have no argument or alternative
just denial and diversion
questioning my sanity
YET YOU HAVEN'T YOUR OWN VERSION
But this is my one story,
never one before it,
a mystery for 14 years
when I was never talking
and in that time you stayed confused
as do all with me removed
you paint the scene I WAS SENSELESS
no logic to include
it passed the cause away from you
handing out bits others chew
you need them to think as you do
to be believed as now I'm refused
I tell them you manipulate
but I just get ignored
and even though they read this mate
it won't impact their thoughts
(Colino, Dom, Kev)
you 3 have no story
just denial and diversion
and people just ignore me
judgement through perversion
logically you're logicless
but all think that that is me
ignorance is really bliss
as is stupidity
people near or close to you
are stood to close to see
whilst everyone around the world
see differently with ease
you have no memory or logic
and claim delusion is with me
to those not involved it's obvious
you're just gaslighting me
*for Colino, Dom, Kev, and all the people believing them blindly judging me,
a person to whom you never speak yet judge assuredly.
they gaslight and manipulate, getting you as they got me
don't tell me my logic's gone, where is theirs, it's them you all believe
and Susan isn't validation, she knows as much as you,
like you she seeks from them, and like you don't come to me.
How rude to call me a lying delude
it's my life, and you weren't there
reality for me but just a tale to you
no response needed
you judge me without me involved
I've no influence on what resolves
from now on I AM NOT INVOLVED
with contamination they evolve
My purpose in life... to live it
and breathe each breath as my last
to hold no argument for the sake of holding
give understanding to those who need it
to be open to all thoughts...no matter how different
to keep as much beauty in the world as I can
to explore all realms of possibilities
and see the souls of others as they are
to not be blinded by the colored coat of deception
to be a truth-teller in a world of liars
who have no sense of honor or character of the spirit
and dwell in the garbage flowing down rivers of fear
spending years collecting from life...not experiencing life
to know the difference between the two
Yes...I have one purpose...
to live life without hesitation or fear
to procreate and pass purpose along
so nothing is missed in each singular journey
where the blood of my blood understands
life is to be lived...not bartered
to find purpose is a cause, unto itself
and cannot be asleep...
to think dreams and wishes are enough
to know that purpose is a strange thing
that evolves or dies as the world changes
would that I find a purpose
from the bravery of the oppressed...who never cry
would that I find a purpose
beyond my ability to correct injustice
would that I live...for I have only one life
to live without chosen conflicts of men
cluttering my thoughts for no purpose
other than self-gratification
then claim my intentions were noble
what is my purpose...you ask
to be...
nothing more or less than the perception of my days
as my eyes see them
to rest with the weary in deep realms of shade
and shine a light on the darkness of the lost
sharing with them the knowledge obtained
from a life lived
my purpose is to say with my last breath
I lived life... embraced its struggles
and have done so without lament
6/4/18 contest My purpose in life
Matthew O' Harris Ease A "FAKE" Irishman
Saint Patrick's Day, or
Feast of Saint Patrick
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
invoke even non Irish to proclaim
Éirinn go Brách
translated as "Ireland Forever."
Though semitic thru and thru
yours truly (me) dons guise of being Irish
trumpeting hoople linked with
the folklore and culture of Emerald Isle
juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee 2024 Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull
o' Eire rush deuce cent)
aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -
good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent
scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet
ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed
stitch of truth.
To ask a flower to kill a bee
is to ask a man to become the beast.
That is the will of war
The skylark rages it’s voice above the battlefield
For destiny lies below.
No argument with this world ,
but a foreign invader has entered his field.
The song of life is threatened.
The immigrant guns have freedom of movement,
they scream a betrayal of life.
The seeds of the poppy are in turmoil,
the sound of the shells
replaces the tractors of life.
And in this chaos the poppy symbol is born,
in a reluctant will of sacrifice.
Innocence of poppy will dull man’s pain,
but nothing is real.
War belongs to foreign shores
for English tea must not be disturbed.
And history will prostitute these red petals
in the hope that we will remember them.
Remember a moment in time,
a dream that flows in atoms unseen.
This speck of man within the cosmos.
A vote of no confidence in God,
for eternity is a lonely place.
Mortals and ghosts remember them.
Remember the soldier who sang down this road of despair,
who marched on a foreign soil.
Made proud under the willow by glorious woman
and prayed for by siblings to come.
Made ripe by a glorious English summer.
Victory is a tinsel thing.
War salivates for the fools and the brave.
The devil is on the move
groaning in his ****** of pain,
that spills this cup to quench the end.
And the streets of home will be swept clean
By the invalid that saw them die
Yesterday’s confetti, this mush that blows in the wind
gathered by a broken man,
smoking his last park drive.
And when the misty morn greets the milkman.
Fear of nations will give a copper pension,
a loaf of bread for a young man’s life
and a bugle to let the devil know,
“these souls are out of bounds“.
Matthew O' Harris Ease A "FAKE" Irishman
Saint Patrick's Day, or
Feast of Saint Patrick
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
invoke even non Irish to proclaim
Éirinn go Brách
translated as "Ireland Forever."
Juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee 2021 Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull o' Eire rush deuce cent)
aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -
good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent
scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet
ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed stitch of truth!
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!
Title if love was a person
What If love was a person
would it change the position and shape of the heart
Maybe then,
it would beat for one person and sing the
Same song some which beauty dances ?? to
Or
Maybe then,
it would feel a single when soul when broken apart
it would be aware of the number of scars printed on ones skin in the name of love!
Dem !!!!
Just maybe...oho !!! yes
just maybe!
If only love were person
It would immediately !!! deactivate it's vision
Iand pretends to be blind yet sees everything on site, it would not have to be curvaceous it would t be seen as beautiful
Perhaps , i would not have to paint the color my skin blue to be considered classy
Perhaps , my illiteracy wouldn't be used against me when I write my poem to justify one self
Perhaps, i won't have to be on heels for my feelings to be considered high !
Just maybe...yes, just maybe!
If love was a person it
would redesign the shape of true love ,it won't listen to all those negative vibes opinions would matter
Perhaps my insecurities would be assured with a sense of reasoning
Perhaps,it would filter all the toxic assets of lost relationship
With the hope finding one self
Perhaps, love would favour pretty deaf young woman that site
Behind the side lines
Just maybe...oho yes, just maybe!
If love was a person
It would cut of it's legs
So that it would be able to walk away from me soul
Maybe then, there would be no argument everytime we disagree on simple matters of the soul together, we would come under the sun !!! come rain come sunshine love would reign!
Oho Just maybe
Essential
Do you remember when we used to meet at our own special place?
I would wait there impatiently, just wanting to see your face.
All day I would think about you, the only face in the crowd
And then you would appear through the unknown faces,
Like a gift from the clouds.
Down you would float and I would kneel and offer you my love,
Because I could not stand to see you with another;
There are times when we would be alone together sharing a hug
And I could picture the two of us growing older together.
And when I am old, to me you would still be as beautiful,
Because I would still see you as the woman I met so long ago.
I imagined telling you that at last I can be hopeful,
Because you gave me hope that day for always,
Because you are my hope.
I waited for you like the summer in winter;
I longed for you like a man dying of thirst in a desert.
You are the nectar to the bee and the wedding ring for the finger.
You are all I could aspire to attain, my poetic verse.
You inspire me to love like Casanova on his wedding day;
I need to change my very essence to bend to your will.
Let all who hear of me know of your name,
Because you are the only cure I have when our love life becomes ill.
No argument must end all the love we share with each other.
No man can come between what the two of us have.
No woman can lure me away from you, my perfect lover,
Because your love makes me happy and I wish to never again be sad.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Matthew O' Harris Ease A "FAKE" Irishman
Juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull o' Eire rush deuce cent)
aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -
good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent
scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet
ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed stitch of truth!
SATURN - GOD’S FAVORITE
This floating sovereign rules her black see *
Like an Inquisition bishop - perfect : accepts no plea
No argument no competition,
Watching me watching her in adoration,
Her cold unblinking eye
Reigning the black and silent sky.
Saturn, Goddess of bountiful harvests, of you alone
Unreachable, O favorite of the Lord, in brilliant isolation,
Of beauty pristine and colder than ice,
Is it said * that God doesn’t play dice,
But His spinning gyroscope globe He enjoys :
God’s spinning top - the best of toys.
O bisque queen, gem with halo rings,
Like a dove with wide-spread wings,
Hover like the Holy Spirit, float on the inky blackness,
Send me a message to fill my darkness.
Long in the ether your far-light lingers on high
Before it is allowed to reach my eye;
O Majesty remote cold and beautiful,
Send me the vision of heavenly beauty bountiful.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . ..
Notes
Beauty turns me on.
Anyone who has seen the planet Saturn even in a small
telescope cannot fail to be awed by the beauty of the planet.
* A "see" is the territory ruled by a bishop
* The saying “God does not play dice” is accredited to Albert Einstein,
when explaining the workings of the universe.
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