Long Nominal Poems
Long Nominal Poems. Below are the most popular long Nominal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nominal poems by poem length and keyword.
it would not be so painful
if you didn't claim to be
a follower of the "WAY"
claiming to love
as He loved
It would not be so painful
if you didn't know any better
but you do
you do
and still you do what you do
and say what you say
It would not be so painful
if you were courageous
and owned up to your wrong
showed you're morally strong
ethically brave
eager to save a relationship gone wrong
It would not be so painful
if you practiced what you preach
No, it would not be so painful
but it is...
it is...
expectations are thorns in the flesh
that rip and tear
when they are not met
by those who are supposed to "care"
I guess nominal is Ok
Nominal Christians
who cling to the name
forgetting the shame
of letting him down
by not loving the...."unlovely"
by forgetting what he said:
"And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?" (Matthew 5: 46)
It's Ok...
One day....it will all be Ok....just not today.
Eileen Manassian
Target via advertising
Stupid firms and stupid brands
Because such generalizing
Does require intercept
For the influence of moron
For the psyches thus offense
Does perform defense the function
Very real thus defense
Maxwell color wheel invention
Wasn't meant for purpose this
Any act will have redemption
Suck it activism for peace
Hex my wheel is much more nicer
Isn't purposed for the firms
Neither chips or AI models
Eligible for the use, THUS DROP
No one alive is entitled
For ownership of this
For creating definitions
For your stupid quantum keys
Up your ******* shove your polynomial
Find your system in ruins
If the GAWD was up for nominal
Grouping units would be this
Saint neuron and thus saint atom
Saint Ski Wiper and Saint Flame
Real Cyber Force ain't phantom
Kate alone not all this say
I don't like your clone, the stupid
I don't like you stupid farms
Phantasy is arch of cupid
Says the very real ARMS
Every pair needs reapair
Every nail hammer demands
Crates of screws, crates of potatoes
Armed the forces is Supply
See how clever play I memory
Like the mouse with cat plays
Very special super system
Building Kate produced thus lays
Lays the basis
FOUNDATION
Logic, ethics, levels, ranks
Ought to combat degradation
Cyber special pie the bakes
Department of Army deficiency
Departments of Government stall
So much for the moron efficiency
So much for the
Because they use AI for fraud
Path does away from GAWD they trod
But Military must produce the lie
This wisdom knows each very clever spy
Feel like resounded Sankh
Dr Ranjit Dutta
Putting my sorrows in a bag
Loitering around in a market
To find customers perhaps
To sell my pains of the bag.
Price is nominal.
If someone wants more
I may give it free in this chance
To empty my bag.
In the market of illusion
Great-agitation of people indeed!
No-one shows interest to buy.
Eye drops fall instantly,
The weight of bag increases gradually ,
Suddenly, a fire-fly comes by
With her twinkling light.
The rattling anklets and
Resounded Sankh of distant
Embellished my condoling heart secretly
As if a stone carpet of
A Summer's brook hide nearby.
There's a darkness in me I've faced, chased, and sought erased. I've watched it grow and I've watched it shrink and it gave me time to think. This darkness exists purely of my own volition and I've given it voice and a mission. When I sift through the memories and drift through all the rifts and pains that stain my heart so badly I wish to rip it apart I find solace in one fact. One ironclad fact and that fact is that I still exist in a mist of pale blue hues and if I were to ever ignite the fuse it would set aflame my earnest muse. I was once told my eyes speak only lies. Then I was told my eyes held everything to despise and I cut ties with the world around me hoping to set free the darkness in me. Instead in that moment I made it grow larger until it threatened to consume. And I presume it was in that moment the pain would in fact resume. The darkness became a blight great enough to become my greatest plight on this nominal night.
But...there was another who said my eyes were wise and this dark guise was just a way to disguise a life of loneliness and phoniness. And maybe I can be forgiven when I've wanted to give in. A few seconds and one last breath, I was aware I could bring my very own death. But, send the Grim Reaper for I could not bring my own end. Reality around me could shatter but to at least one person I just want to feel like I matter. A person to hold me, and mold me into a being embraced not by the shadows but by the light. I'm running out of strength to fight this all on my own. A battle with demons is no battle to fight alone. Not when I've been shown I still have time to atone and reveal how much I've grown.
The truth is the darkness in me does not define me. Nor does it design me. It aligns with me. But ours is a marriage of circumstance and this dance is to be brief if I'm to ever find relief. So one last time I use rhyme to sap the strength of the shadows and wipe away all of the grime left behind. Tonight is the night I set free the darkness in me.
The vein of bold,
The sacrifice of blood.
Your selfless service mingle into the air melodious,
We have absorbed cheerfully!
Your extra ordinary noteworthy joyous,
We have seen delightly!
Your sharp shields flashed,
And the enemies shievered to see!
You have threaten by many difficulties,
But your tunes jubilliant,
Our heart filled with rejoice.
Against the british rules,
Your integrated will,
We have applauds!
Your silver sweats rolled,
The presence of lotus acquired your pure dews.
Your castless integrity,
Peacock feathers merged your colors.
The script india written by,
Your holy, holy blood.
Your brave tigerish attack,
Enemies flew this country.
You are sacred NO.1!!
You are an EXIST MONUMENT!!
Your tale is also narrated.
You are my country's PRICELESS WEALTH!
Your wounds resound into the heaven!!!
Whenever the flag flying,
I remember your sacrifice,
through my tears lustre!
Nominal! your posthumous award,
My heart kneel down your soil,
This is my best reward!!!
He who seeks pain for pleasure is a real aboriginal,
Runs slowly yet leads subservient to international.
He who has a mental condition stable aberrational
And is clearly confused for his rule over junior biennial.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader fictional?
Believes has virtual reality and qualities supernal;
Worries by relaxing, is a truly called stupid sentinel
Off laissez faire causing democracy death prenatal.
He is the original copy; autocracy does he disannul.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader nominal?
Babbles less on many topics but talks lot notional;
Real oxymoron, a worthless gold is a role fictional.
Such a stupid, such dark snow acts like nocturnal
And wishes us follow him like a true myth tensional.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader attritional?
As little pain hurts none, such nonentity optional
Is singly double natured like oxymoron is binational.
Such a tiny elephant of no use is a leader sectional,
Unlike Modi or Mahatma who is pretty fierce finagle.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader supernal?
A rightly deceitful leader propagates worries parental
Agony, by loving humanity loathing persons is menial.
Is such afunctional leader be only choice? Oh! Marginal!
An open secret for such leaders, this Monorhyme is a signal.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader eternal?
He lives there, where people love
Land as mother, worship agriculture
People of his nation, after independence
brought green, white, yellow, blue revolutions
to meet with the crisis of food
to wipe out hunger
to up root poverty.
He tills his mother earth
carries plough on his shoulder
sheds his sweats
turns himself into soil.
After a year of severe flood,
several children of his homeland
are at risk of death
due to lack of proper nutrition.
He returns from his polluted land
carrying a basket on his shoulder
full of golden harvest.
Flood stricken cornfields
Harvests destroyed, paddy fields washed
yet he carries food grains on his shoulder
The cattle Kraals are empty
The goats gaunt
No protein food for children
but he is carrying a basket
full of golden harvest.
In his motherland
where people worship food as god
Through away it and feel proud for it
where some people also search dustbins
madly hoping a handful of stale rice
to do away with their hunger.
The experts do research on cropping
Those with power keep their power.
Only he, the nominal farmer
trusts himself with earth’s treasure
is carrying a basket full of golden harvest
on his shoulder.
The sun does not dissuade him,
nor the water logging
that blows against him
as he ploughs barren land,
grows golden harvests
on the other hand,
drowns into the deep sea of loans
beaten by poverty.
He feeds the nation,
cannot feed his family.
He trusts his hand for his countrymen
what they used now,
but cannot do his family and himself.
Between life and death,
he is carrying a basket on his one shoulder
full of golden harvest
carries fear of suicide on his other shoulder.
The panels faded o'er time earlier creativity constrains
Yet the material value of past visions maintains
Canvas now tinted with darker hues; youthful vigor restrains
But each, underlying tone, burnished with yesterday's dreams, remains
Once gilded strokes now meaningless, paternalistic strains
Yet the meandering pattern an innocent quality still contains
Each, delicate, insecure swab the grainy picture retains
But on the brash backstrokes the forgiving eye trains
Every callous blot each year more opprobrium drains
But every thoughtful deviation the quilted fabric ingrains
Glossy pictures of green pastures corroded by earthy stains
But ephemeral beauty from burgeoning fount surrealistic vista still feigns
The counterfeit copy the brokered ideal even more disdains
But the bartered images serve to rationalize nominal gains
Birth is a common denominator,
Where the journey begins anew,
In the cradle of dreams and laughter,
Life's canvas awaits you.
Age humbles the most valiant,
With each wrinkle, wisdom grows,
The fierce warrior of youth,
Now dances in softer prose.
Work is demanding of our essence,
A grind that shapes the days,
In the hustle of ambition,
We find our varied ways.
Marriage, a tapestry woven tight,
Threads of joy, sorrow, and care,
Two souls entwined in the dance of life,
In moments both rich and rare.
Death, the silent whisper,
The end of a story told,
Yet in the heart’s quiet chambers,
Lives the legacy bold.
In this nominal universe,
We rise, we stumble, we learn,
Each chapter a fleeting moment,
In the cycle of life’s eternal turn
this epistle per mine choice of heir apparent presidential throne
composed from one liberal minded non-conformist rolling stone
prompted awareness that one voice can affect which contestant will win
and occupy the white house after the votes get tallied from political spin
aware thy missive from an anonymous fellow and a self anointed scribe
will be carefully screened no matter opinion already cast with nada bribe
personal opinion of this sole american male of two score and nine years
that barack obama possesses that je ne sais quois diplomatic state craft
despite disparaging broadside starring paris hilton plus britney spears
the land of lincoln candidate exemplifies (to myself) a charismatic charm
in tandem with a relaxed persona and gait akin per a commoner on a farm
that nonchalant easy going affinity speaks nonverbal volumes to this chap
cringes when espying or hearing from opposing challenger whose lips flap
meaning john mccain whose hidden motives and agenda include his trap
to plant seeds of doubt per un-decided electorate causing lead to get a zap
unknown how trials and tribulations rival democratic senator from Illinois
will weather local nor global challenges and said solution he might employ
i opt for said captain to steer ship of state and exclaim to drop anchor ahoy
if via cosmic divine intercession the galloping newcomer in this horse race
ushering biracial as nominal winner televisions would show a beaming face
the political ramifications analogous to betting square outcome on this ace
i gently beg, decry, fulminate counter attack advertisements fast and quick
against those subliminal sly messages that at first blush appear airily slick
and please reach deep in that magic bag resorting to retaliatory artful trick
lest burning from the madding crowd extinguished like jack’s candle wick!