Long Noisome Poems
Long Noisome Poems. Below are the most popular long Noisome by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Noisome poems by poem length and keyword.
The need to escape is truly vast
Usually from memories of the past
Or a hungry need to get away
From harsh happenings of today
It's not so hard to make that choice
When heart pain smothers your silent voice
Others around you sweetly dreaming
While your soul is endlessly screaming
Do you know what it's like to be me?
When your life's been so trouble free
Who are you to be my judge?
Don't give me that self-righteous nudge
I don't need your futile sympathy
Unless you mean to set me free
But you can't understand my mind
And so to me you are totally blind
You judge me as an absolute nutter
When you see me slumped in the gutter
You don't know that it's where I choose
Drugs the only way out of life sick blues
Find me an answer and I will follow
Give a ladder out of slimy hollow
But I know you don't have a way out
And my sanity you'll always doubt
I would rather sink in this noisome hole
Than face a world with spirit not whole
You think the devil has become my friend
But I chose this as a means to an end
An end to the pain you can never understand
And so I could never be a part of your band
You don't want to hear my trumpet blowing
Or the truth that I'm openly showing
You just hide in your shell
And pretend all is well
From troubled people like me
You quickly turn and flee
I give your world an ugly display
So you loathe me being here in your way
Because you can't help but see me here
That instils in you such rageful fear
If only you could understand
Instead of rejection just take my hand
And show me what I'm truly worth
Give me a reason to stay on this earth.
Written: May 4th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
*********************
Some nights, the sky feels janiform—
half vernal promise, half neolithic memory—
a cimmerian of choices I almost made.
I look up, letting the nimbus-laced cloudscape
vellicate the mind with its noisome, necessary truths,
each thought an infinitesimal antiphon
echoing through the tensile hush.
The stars seem luculent, almost officious,
as if they’ve taken it upon themselves
to festoon the dark with quiet directives—
a sobriquet for every fear,
a rhapsody for every wound.
Their light is never soporific;
It carries the spiritus mundi of wandering souls,
the symbiosis of what we were
and what we dare to become.
And sometimes—
in a moment so evanescent it feels imagined—
a single star breaks rank,
offering an epiphany
with the gentleness of woodbine
and the courage of an intrepid sherpa
guiding me up the steep declivity of doubt.
It whispers, without words,
that destiny is neither fixed nor fickle—
That's what’s “written in the stars.”
is simply the amaranthine reminder
that even in our most somber,
threadbare,
dysania-ridden hours,
We are still luminous enough
to write back.
A Pantoum verse that might be such deep noisome,
repeating lines throughout the epic poem.
Not worthy getting honorable mention,
another utter true misapprehension.
In the poem, I tell a story, maybe
not a podium, but a doom huge day be!
A story of Our Rock, Strength, and Source of Joy"
or else receive with pleasure seems to annoy.
Had the wisdom to simplify the profound
truth stories that are clear to flutter round.
Yet, for my best-efforts misapprehension
another erudite honorable mention.
5/4/2019
Jesus Christ Our Rock, Strength, and Source of Joy
Mary so young, loved her son in her heart
Word spread through footprints in the sands with joy
His love and compassion will not depart
Fear not, I'm here, your heart I will not toy
Word spread through footprints in the sands with joy
Words of repent and forgiveness of sin
Fear not, I’m here, your heart I will not toy
Jesus Christ, hungers for your soul within
Words of repent and forgiveness of sin
On bended knee and pray blessing oneself
Jesus Christ, hungers for your soul within
Made peace by the sacrifice of himself
On bended knee and pray blessing oneself
Woven threads of wisdom from a young boy
Made peace by the sacrifice of himself
Jesus Christ, our rock, strength, and source of joy
Poetry Contest: Honourable Mentions worth mentioning.
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
I sailed an olive boat
into the center of the sea
alone
to find a cure for my loose heart
not the spring-back type, noble with elasticity
but leap-forward lecher-wild
binding to any skirted frame and drooping hemline
like friendly burrs in shrubbery lanes
sat in an olive boat
drifting mid-seas
unaccompanied but for Hope to land a cure upon my knees
to heal my lousy, narcissistic zeal
an insatiable human thinks like a possessed apiary
an overwrought dam
I tonsured my beatific locks
as bare as Samson
hoodwinked
by his pet Flytrap
tossed reflective surfaces, anything that would give my face
a way to self-seduction
safe in a roasted green-pea float
lost like dead at sea
to recover a voice that scarcely has been mine
its echo returns not
through bursting towns
busy at trade
hawkers cawing,
hucksters' crow delirious,
chattering cashboxes
traffic snakes wending
Nowhere do they end in time
always metal and rust
ferric towering towers, condominium pride,
noisome domiciles, toxic steel cages
barring the success of this voice~
the sound of your mind drowned inside the urban brawl
not a jot of space to reckon nor conciliate
blushing-rushing-golden consciences
an echo may not return to its sender then ~
a man with no name.
Walking home with my best friend,
Umbrella resting o’er both our heads,
Wondering, will the rain never end?
Dressed in darkest blues, never reds.
Umbrella resting o’er both our heads,
Plodding along, thunder softly rumbling
Dressed in darkest blues, never reds.
This day, the gentle rain, is so very humbling
Plodding along, thunder softly rumbling
Secreted beneath the cover of the umbrella
This day, the gentle rain, is so very humbling
My best friend is so kind, such a good fella
Secreted beneath the cover of the umbrella
Rain pelts the pavement as we trod on home
My best friend is so kind, such a good fella
Even though it’s quite gentle, it’s still noisome
Rain pelts the pavement as we trod on home
Wondering, will the rain never end?
Even though it’s quite gentle, it’s still noisome
Walking home with my best friend,…
Written: November 02, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Charles Messina
**********
The man in the elevator wore a nimbus atop his head,
He claimed he was a janiform—half genius, half dead.
A cheerful opsimath mastered the art of juggling spoons,
While humming mellifluous tunes to passing raccoons.
His nickname was “Treacle Tom,” but no one knew why,
He adorned his socks with jelly beans and icy pumpkin pie.
With rhythmic bursts, he danced as a lively sprite.
And gave a lecture on narcolepsy at every traffic light.
Once sipping lifeless tea, he felt a sudden revelation,
That the spirit resembled a rodent caught in vibration.
Though noisome in aroma, his charm was at its zenith—
Could the man in the elevator be a legend or merely a myth?
Spring's not all about feeling chirpy good,
Boom of blooms causes pollen allergies,
Scour and scrub the house of dirt, that I should!
Spring cleaning done - too tired...Achoo!..to sneeze!
Forecast, a li'l chilly, I wear a coat,
Out for a walk - whole crowd's had the same thought!
The sun's bright and shining, sweat glands afloat,
Don't bump into me, I'm already hot!
Sudden thunderstorm, get completely wet!
April showers came too soon, feel crappy!
Winter was far better - you bet! I fret!
Muddy and moody walk home, unhappy!
Squeaky squirrels en masse*, noisome licence!
No peace to write a poem in silence.
*en masse - counted as 2 syllables (HMS syllable dictionary counts it as 2)
5th February 2023
For Michelle Faulkner's "Spring is not all" contest
San Gabriel Refrain
Take honesty because that's what matters;
evasion is the truth - suppressed.
Lies thrive on corrupt laws, noisome splatters
that cannot get past the smell test.
What happens when guilt, gut feelings ensue?
If it serves the cause, who cares if it's true?
Take honesty because
lies thrive on corrupt laws.
Corruption takes advantage of the man
who can't be bothered to check out the plan.
Changing the question, bah, just more glitter -
no one knows who, nor what they knew.
Talk the truth, man of straw, lead-off hitter
of political games seen through.
Read The Patrioteer,(Der Untertan)
written by German author, Heinrich Mann.
Changing the question? bah!
Talk the truth, man of straw.
Mann writes of a fictional "brave coward,"
suppressed by the one he has empowered.
Though I can't follow through on the chatter
by and large, candid stands my test.
With guile or candor, I'll take the latter,
gauging winds offered by the rest.
My eyes see through the hollow of their veil
when politicians lie beyond the pale.
Though I cannot follow
my eyes see through hollow.
I know. And I know Another who knows;
when all is done, it is truth He'll expose.
MY CLOUD by JOHN G. LAWLESS
I don’t remember asking…..
yet I am still hearing a babbling brook
of mindless chatter rolling pebbles
through my ears and across my mind.
Noisome, acridly scented, sounds,
a Charlie Brown like… wah–wah-wah
droning in the background of my life.
“You can’t say that!” “It might offend
somebody – somewhere – someday.”
“How can you even think that way??!!!”
“Don’t you care how other people feel?”
“Do you have any feelings at all for them?”
“You can’t do THAT!” “WHAT WILL
PEOPLE THINK!” “ Didn’t you see that sign?”
“Why can’t you just follow instructions, do
what you’re told, believe that we are right,
that WE know what is best for you?”
“If you ate less there would be more food
to feed the hungry.”(Yeah but then I’d be hungry.)
“If you drove less there would be more fuel
for others to burn and fewer emissions.”
(How the hell does that work???)
“If you would only follow all the shoulds
and musts then you’d know the reasons
why you should entrust the future of the
planet, the diet of your kids, to those of
us entitled to pry off freedom’s lids.”
“Every voice is equal when every voice
is heard.” (That could be said of cows
and sheep and noise within the herd.)
“What is it that you want?”, they ask
in obvious disdain and shudder when
I mention my First Amendment claim.
I wish that those who speak their minds
would allow me to do the same without
their constant reprimand “that I should
be ashamed”. When I speak, and write, and
act in a manner that I choose, I shouldn’t
be belittled by the puppets of the fools.
I do not need the politics of food, sex,
and lies, nor special interest groups that
see only through “their” eyes. I cannot
be an island, so I choose to be a cloud -
sit above the melee of “their” ever
spreading shroud. Therefore, the
conversations may be ended by
a verse, a substantial update
from the “islands” brutal curse
as I, in karaoke style, sing a
sixties refrain aloud:
HEY! HEY! YOU! YOU!
GET OFFA MY CLOUD!!**
**The Rolling Stones – Get off of My Cloud(1965)
John G. Lawless
5/30/2015
Get thee hence! Get thee hence!
Away the riffraff from my fence
Ye've rattled window and rattled doors
Till there's no peace upon the moors
The hallowed folk have left their graves
To rid themselves these noisome knaves
The tyrants peal rings through my head
Till any room for thought is dead
I'd rid myself this fearsome bane
If I had not a limp and cane
Yet wield do I that wood in vain
For the blighters to abstain
Their laughter loud begins to boil
Not troubled they at all my toil
Surrender I with naught a choice
For it seems I've lost my voice
I must placate them one and all
Returning to them their playball