Long Not convinced Poems
Long Not convinced Poems. Below are the most popular long Not convinced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Not convinced poems by poem length and keyword.
"mathew" 6: 12-13
“and forgive us our debts”
(not only does a sheep get 3 squares a day,
but it is also believed that if one begs the
sky enough, one’s problems will just
wash away---this is to be the subsequent
consequence of ALL humans following
suit & getting down on four legs, growing
their thick coats & chewing grass)
“as we forgive our debtors”
(as the sheep thinking that their problems
are solved by an imaginary listener in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky,
so do the sheep continue grazing with a
sort of “live and let live” mentality,
until they are picked off by hunters)
“and do not lead us into temptation”
(so, the same imaginary listener who resides
in that imaginary trailer park, who seemed
to be the one that all the sheep were
comfortably baaaaa-ing to, now is
something to be feared as well? perhaps
that which one feels the need to submit
the whole of their will to is the same
corrupted core inside that would come up
with such a ridiculous hoax to begin with,
as found in the schizophrenic comment
here in the command to oneself (a baaaaa
into the mirror, if you will)
“but deliver us from the evil one”
(the EVIL ONE? is not the concept of
evil just that which goes against the
simultaneous baaaaa of the herd in the
grassy field? was not the GOOD ONE
just told in the last line to “not lead us
into temptation,” thereby being the only
“one” which can do so? make sure when
getting the ladle of kool-aid dumped into
your dixie cup, that you ask if said
dumper is EVIL or GOOD…certainly at
that point it will make all the difference in
the world)
“for yours is the kingdom and the power
and the glory forever”
(there is no other imaginary listener, whose
two-faced multiple personalities, residing in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky, handing
out its ladles of kool-aid, whose overwhelming
passion could be heard any louder than that
which dwells within the very heads of the
already brainwashed sheep baaaaa-ing out
the rest of their days, dissatisfied with the
actual physical world around them &
waiting for the end of what they deem as
a great big thorn in their side---that is,
the rest of us who are not convinced, and
who are not baaaaa-ing with the rest of
em’)
“amen”
(right there, in a nutshell, the whole lie
itself was conjured up by “a man,” or
a few men---all who had way too much
time on their hands & a rather limited
imagination).
Tresa faerie was excited.
Today was the day assignments were coming out.
She had been in training for six weeks.
She wondered where she would be placed.
Alaska? Paris? Tokyo? Hawaii? New Zealand?
Kenya? Texas? Rome? California?
She was quivering with pure excitement.
Would she be an April Faerie?
An April faerie gets to paint the flowers.
She had put it down as her first choice.
Second choice was not bad either. She might be assigned to a prophetess,
Whispering premonitions in her ear, being rewarded with love and affection.
Prophetesses were known to take especially good of their faeries.
Third choice was tree faerie; she loved trees, especially the Cottonwoods,
And the oaks, the elms, the weeping willows, the Rose of Sharons.
Which reminded her of flowers. Yes, being an April faerie was her first choice.
She sat up especially straight, wearing her favorite colors of pixie dust.
Her faerie wings had never been more shiny.
Her friend Garland winked at her.
He waved his envelope at her and laughed.
He was sitting up front; had his assignment first.
The instructions were to wait until everyone had their envelope,
but Garland never heard instructions; or followed them if he heard them.
The way he was grinning, she knew
he probably got his first choice – fire faerie.
His job would be to inspire people to have campfires,
sing, and listen to each other.
Her envelope was placed in her hands.
They were shaking now. She ripped it open.
Desk faerie! One of the worst jobs of all, a muse to a writer! What?
Disappointment flooded her; she was shaking now,
and harder, for she was crying.
The instructor came over, took both her hands
and said, ”It is the most important job,”
For writing the truth reminds people what mistakes have been made,
and shows them how to correct them, live with each other,
love each other, and it changes the world.”
She was not convinced.
A muse!
She was a muse?
She had never wanted to be one.
Muses had bad reputations, like brownies and elves.
She would HATE being a muse.
She hated it already. Until she was assigned,
and then she immediately loved it.
It is all a matter of being assigned to the right person,
you see, and she was…assigned to you.
It was a mistake to take home economics out of the curriculum at so many high schools, says Wally, a retired teacher who has an ongoing interest in education. He taught high school for many years and still misses his students.
At a Walmart recently there was an incident Wally can’t forget. It pained him deeply because it made him think about the quality of high school education today. He’s not convinced it is what it should be at many schools.
He was standing near the dairy case when a young man, not long out of high school, held up a package of margarine and asked Wally if it was butter. Wally at first thought he was kidding but then said it wasn’t butter, that it was margarine.
The young man wanted to know the difference between butter and margarine. Wally told him butter comes from cows and margarine has a vegetable base. The young man turned to his two friends and said, “I’m glad we asked.” They smiled, thanked Wally and headed for the register, margarine in hand.
A week later Wally was at a local charity making a donation and was told the charity had quit giving baskets of food at Christmas after learning several clients had tried to pan fry a turkey. Now they give gift certificates instead.
At the charity Wally also learned that many young people today don’t know how to cook vegetables or fry bacon and eggs. And more than a few have no idea about budgeting or nutrition.
Wally thinks this reflects poorly on secondary education today. When he taught high school, home economics was taught and students who didn’t learn the basics from their parents at home could learn them at school in home economics, even though it was not a required course. Now he thinks it should be, at least for the many who seem to need it.
He says young people today know a lot about cell phones and computers but sadly some of them don’t know the difference between butter and margarine or how to cook a turkey.
A semester of home economics, he says, might help change that. He wonders if a lot of Advanced Placement courses are that important if young people can't fix themselves something to eat. Sandwiches and fast food, he agrees, do not a good diet make.
Donal Mahoney
I am far from adored innocence
I am a flawed perfection
Believe me, I want significance
Felt useless by rejection
I am willing to feel peace all day
I need to be heard during nostalgic nightfall
Crickets call for me as I stray away
Into the narrow path that lead to His hopeful hall
Losing my mind into the sinking sad of your saturated woe
Buried my feet below the surface of your waves to and fro
Anything happens sadly when happiness fails us yesterday
But, tomorrow is a day away, so I pray we make it all the way
Still, you are the ever-swaying clouds, glistening in the desert sky
What about you pour down your healing rain and dew?
Sorry, but not sorry I am sick with the crazy love flu too
Colliding with rain of disdain that loses grip of jubilation on high
I feel a jolt of energy as I pass you by like a quick bolt
I broke down your walls and, yes, you allowed me to
Honey, you think I am silly, innocent and inexperienced,
But I have learned life’s lessons that are so difficult…
I am not unskilled and naïve…don’t you have a clue?
I try to prove my worth…however, you’re not convinced…
Remember December and its elegant ember that burns within us
Soon, June shall grant us a July of justifiable change, so don’t fuss
Clinging on to the dark ceiling of set-me-free
Oh, how I long for authentic, sky-high liberty
I am a victim to vulnerability these days unfortunately
My voice is vital to His ears as I cry for help honestly
Tigers of tragic tension and turmoil try to attack me at every angle
I am hungry for Your gracious guidance, for I am an unsolved riddle
Please forgive me, I am a sinner and I am not innocent
I have done you so much wrong in the past and present
I have a million downfalls, but I am strong and full of courage
In a dangerous dilemma, trapped in failure jail that’s as cold as a fridge
I am frozen and left freezing
Again, I am deceived entirely by your shady intentions
I am sick of people-pleasing
So, I won’t pretend I am not sinking due to sorrow sessions
Oh, dear friend, from the start,
I thought you had a kind heart
You hurt me…
You took my innocence
Send Help! I’m trapped in an Insane Asylum!
Well most of the time, and although there is only the two of us here
The other inmate, for therapy, has put me on a programme of day release
Where I am permitted to go to work, pay the running costs and deal with the day to day ills
Of running this centre to house me and him, allegedly people with conditions of the mind
However he swears it’s only me who is insane and it is he is the one who is just fine
(Although I’ve heard that’s a symptom of those who are deranged)
But when I am back on site the other inmate despite me doing everything that’s required to complete my day release work therapy
Which keeps the centre for the inexcusably insane live, behaves like a real jerk
In fact his behaviour is strange all round like someone who’s buried his head in the sand
And doesn’t seem to want to come out....(I’m not convinced he’s not the one who’s out of his mind)
This other inmate looks familiar those blue eyes and light brown hair
Although he insists he is not insane and should not be there....
Yet he never leaves the centre for the mad and deranged (apparently that’s my diagnosis anyway)
And there’s something about me being removed from reality?
That I ‘just don’t get it!’ (Although he never explains it – preferring to communicate by just huffing puffing and looking grumpy - a language without words I cannot understand)
Yet isn’t it me who leaves the centre for the mentally insane to go on my day release work therapy every day? I don’t get it I think that’s because (so the other inmate says) it’s me who is insane
So while I am on my day release scheme he stays within the asylum walls alone
Waiting for who knows what? Although his therapy seems to involve something....
I think he calls it ‘Facebook’? Apparently it’s a great place where online he is 18 again and not 36, which fixes everything!
(Please proceed to part 2 - thank you)
I could sense something was wrong
So I went to see moving carefully among the trees,
I saw a building of harsh stone
Unforgiving standing alone,
I crept up with stealth to see through a small window
Hoping it would reveal what was inside,
Curious me, with my curious nature.
Looking in like I spy
I saw things that were vile,
This building was a slaughter house
A place of death, a place of pain.
Peering in I saw animals queuing up to be put to death
Cows on the right and pigs hung from hooks on the left,
No hope or salvation
Just simply death
And I saw the terror in their eyes
To me this was no shock or surprise.
I crept around too the door
And was not prepared for what I saw,
Blood running like a river as they slit pigs throats
As they fired into the head of the cow a bolt,
I could smell the blood and smell the death
And in that moment I felt bereft,
I could hear the deafening terrified screams
From the pigs as they were dying,
Then sent into searing hot water and steam
So as to strip the skin with comparative ease,
The cows were hauled up on hooks
To suffer the same fate, if I am not mistook.
In this place I could almost taste
The sickening meat on display,
I moved inside where a cow was hanging
I stroked the hair upon its face,
Said a prayer for its soul
And felt the disgrace carried out by the human race,
I could feel the last of the warmth evacuate.
I touched, smelt, saw, heard and tasted the death of animal innocence
And vowed never to eat meat again,
A man came over and tried justifying this
Saying that they were bred for it.
I was not convinced,
I just felt sick,
I said nothing but left
Double quick,
This obscenity would now live with me
Long on in my thoughts, dreams and memories.
[This was written for Matt Caliri’s Dialogue contest but
withheld because frankly I’m not convinced I can call it
a poem…
But whatever it is… I kinda like it, so here it is.]
______________
“Psst!”
“Who’s there?”
“I’m behind this bush.”
“Who are you?”
“Shush!”
“Don’t ‘Shush’ me.”
“Someone might hear.”
“There’s nobody here.”
“No turkey farmer?”
“They have farmers in Turkey?”
“Not a farmer in Turkey.”
“Well, what then?”
“A farmer of turkeys.”
“Why would you give a damn?”
“I’m a turkey.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
“You must think Thanksgiving is the pits.”
“Hence the bush.”
“You need to go somewhere.”
“Somewhere?”
“Somewhere with no Thanksgiving.”
“Somewhere I could carry on living?”
“Yeah; like Britain.”
“There’s no Thanksgiving in Britain?”
“Nope.”
“I’m smitten.”
“You’ll have to come out.”
“No chance.”
“There’s no-one about.”
“No turkey farmers?”
“Not even a Turkish one?”
Aren’t you the funny one… question.”
“Ask away.”
“You know how to get to Britain?”
“You need to get a plane.”
“I can fly - a bit.”
“It’s five thousand miles.”
“When’s the next plane?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?!!!”
“That’s right.”
“So, this ‘Britain’ has no Thanksgiving?”
“Deffo.”
“Bliss.”
“But it does have Christmas.”
“You didn’t see how that might be a consideration?”
“I just realised.”
“Thanks for nowt.”
“There’s no-one about.”
“Your point being?”
“You’d best come out.”
“I’ve got to keep hiding.”
“He’ll find you there.”
“Like you care.”
“You can hide at my place.”
“That’s jolly decent of you.”
“One does one’s best.”
“Where is your place?”
“Behind the big wooden box.”
“You’re a real pal, you got a name?”
“I sure do, it’s Freddy the fox.”
“Eek!”
A childhood memory, i vividly remember...
I was detected with blood cancer, doctor told I will not live for more than 6 months.
That day we all cried like I had actually died
It was the toughest period of my life
I would have nightmares of death coming to pick me up
I remember telling my parents to adopt a child
Not to cry
I died thousand death's every day
I asked again and again why me?
I wanted to live
I was good in studies
I want to make my parents proud
After eight months of ordeal I was finally cured
It was the happiest day of my life.
Doctors said it was a miracle
Back home from hospital, I was confused
It was my board exams only one month was left
(Board exams are very crucial in India for career)
We met principal she had everything ready,
she said "you are intelligent. I am confident you will shine
Remember when you study with absolute concentration without thinking of anything especially results miracles happen"
I was not convinced.
Mother gently told me result is not in your hands don't think of it.
But this one month is in your hands work with concentration,
Follow what principal said, have no thoughts except the lesson in front.
'You mean thoughtless absolute concentration?" I reconfirmed
"Yes" she nodded.
I did as she told, worked hard,
Wrote my exams without any thoughts, tension, expectation
I got 82%! School Topper.
I was beyond myself with joy, frankly pleasantly surprised.
I met my principal, she smiled and said " If you work with absolute concentration miracles happen. Now you believe?"
I nodded. " You were right Man."
A valuable lesson was learnt that day.
Date: 7/31/2020
4th position
Once, they claimed to hold the torch,
To light the world with truth and reason.
But the West’s media empire—
Was born not in truth,
But in treason.
From BBC’s royal scripts,
To CNN’s manicured myths,
From Fox’s fury-laced fables,
To NBC’s polished distortions—
They were trained, not to inform,
But to perform
For the empire's applause.
Every lens tilted,
Every headline coded,
Every silence calculated—
To shape the world
In a mirror that flatters the North
And shames the South.
Africa—your beauty drowned in dust,
Your children shown in flies and famine.
No word of your wisdom, your gold,
Your thinkers, your songs,
Your revolutions and sacred soil.
Only "chaos," "war," and "tribe"
Like shadows on a cave wall.
Asia—painted with dragon breath and fear,
Latin America—forever "corrupt,"
Middle East—where "terror" walks with every name,
And yet no mirror turned
To NATO's blood-soaked hands,
To sanctions that starve,
To drone strikes in dawn’s silence.
The Global South has turned the dial.
We do not listen,
Not because we cannot hear—
But because we now know.
We are not fooled
By the Oxford accent of a liar.
We are not convinced
By statistics that reek of empire.
We see your scripts,
Your cutting rooms,
Your photos cropped like colonial maps.
Truth is rising in Timbuktu,
In Caracas, in Kerala,
In Harare, and Hanoi.
And you, Western media,
Are being archived—
Filed away in the dustbin of history
Where all fallen empires rot.
The world is watching,
But not through your eyes anymore.
The effort and time
Just to lose my mind
So blind that I cannot see
That all I am is loves’ lost tragedy
Time has not been on my side
Makes me want to turn, run and hide
From all the tragedy my life has seen
Makes my heart bleed
From the hurt that feeds
Lead me to a new direction
Erase the old, make corrections
Living in tragedy
What has this life made of me?
Hard and cold, cold as stone
Here I sit again alone
Taking the pain and putting it away
To shout it out some other day
Love’s lost tragedy
Made me see
My heart bleeds
So good together in each others company
What led you to cheat on me?
We were first-rate from the first date
I thought you were my true mate
Now it’s ended
My heart needs mended
Blended, with sorrow and confusing lines
Oh God show me a way to go, just a sign
Living in tragedy
What has this life made of me?
Hard and cold, cold as stone
Here I sit again alone
Taking the pain and putting it away
To shout it out some other day
Love lost tragedy
Made me see
My heart bleeds
The hurt might go away
On my knees all I can do is look up and pray
And Say, that this won’t happen again today
Scorned, heart too torn, to be reborn
Love again, not convinced
I haven’t found love since
Living in tragedy
What has this life made of me?
Hard and cold, cold as stone
Here I sit again alone
Taking the pain and putting it away
To shout it out some other day
Love's lost tragedy
Made me see
My heart bleeds