Long Opposes Poems
Long Opposes Poems. Below are the most popular long Opposes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Opposes poems by poem length and keyword.
self-interview
Was communism good for Europe
did it give workers dignity and spawn socialism?
Yes, but in the end, it became a terror regime
is socialism good for Europe? Yes, it changed the way we think it could have been a darker place,
but is always against the freedom of expression
Capitalism offers unlimited freedom but also lower
pay, long working hours, a lower standard
of living and drugs in hopeless streets, mass unemployment import of workers from foreign countries riots and starvation leads to a new revolution
Is globalization good for the people
no, it produces leaders like Macron and will only benefit the rich
what can be done?
whatever type of "ism" we choose, we must protect
our borders and make war a criminal offense
Religion is another tyranny that opposes free thoughts
which is the only prerogative that separates
humans from the beast
It would be so wonderful
to break into the impenetrable heart of Irene
who opposes my advance and feels serene;
what is the reason for her resistance?
Am I not what she expects in essence,
or even a liar so deceitful?
No woman's hand I have touched
and smeared it with any impurity,
I have always loved passionately;
given all and proud of what I did!
To break into the impenetrable heart of Irene
is harder than convincing a drunken fool to believe in dreams;
I didn't ask for loneliness and stare at a clock that gleams...
I should have listened to the advice of Josephine!
Why is there a reminder of Ruth,
of that affair that ended in August;
is it anger or distrust...
if I have clearly led out
my intentions and plans
on the platter of simple truth?
ah, my many attempts
have not been worth it!
To break into the impenetrable heart of Irene,
one must be rich and willing to buy her precious diamonds;
sadly, she has traded money for faithfulness;
I often wonder if she misses my touch in a sensual scene!
VILLANELLES IV
She Always Grew Roses
by Michael R. Burch
a belated eulogy for my grandmother, Lillian Lee
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she always grew roses.”
What the heart would embrace, the ego opposes,
fritters away, and sometimes bulldozes.
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she loved nonetheless, as her legacy discloses—
she always grew roses.”
How does one repent when regret discomposes?
When the shadow of guilt, at last, interposes?
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she continued to love, as her handiwork shows us,
and she always grew roses.”
Too little, too late, the grieved heart imposes
its too-patient will as the opened book recloses.
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“She always grew roses.”
The opened-then-closed book is a picture album. The season is late fall because it was in my autumn years that I realized I had written poems for everyone in my family except Grandma Lee. Hopefully it is never too late to repent and correct an old wrong.
Little Sparrow
by Michael R. Burch
for my petite grandmother, Christine Ena Hurt, who couldn’t carry a note, but sang her heart out with great joy, accompanied, I have no doubt, by angels
“In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
What did she have? Hardly a thing.
A roof, plain food, and a tiny gold ring.
Yet, “In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
“Hosanna!” angel choirs ring.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
Whence comes this praise, as angels sing
to her tuneless voice? What of Death’s sting?
Yet, “In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
Let others have their stoles and bling.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
“In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering
as the harps of beaming angels ring.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!”
Keywords/Tags: villanelle, villanelles, refrain, roses, angel, angels, sparrow, sacrament, sacramental, family, grandmother, heart, ego, season, seasons, legacy, elegy, eulogy, remember, remembrance
An astute and interesting citizen
Observed his legislators in their
Seats of congress.
He took a mental photograph of their
Actions and later developed the picture.
That picture unveiled for him a great
Practical picture of life.
As legislation presented in congress,
Our lives can be debated.
We can be berated.
We can be frustrated.
We can be hated.
If through much endurance,
We manage to make progress,
We are still subject to be vetoed.
But keep to the path of endurance.
Give it all you've got to give,
Because that which opposes you,
May well be overridden.
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychological collage of splintered dissonance,
visible in the fractured facade of grief.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between the skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced down,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict a geometric frame of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised persistence
that something within her opposes deformed repression.
The facial deformation isn’t just style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
the distortion doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso
Liquid hope, trickling down roses
Lights glisten and glimmer
With delight, the heart composes
Dabbing tears the soul opposes
Fears tumbling, left in the shimmer
Doubts gone, ever dimmer
Silent grace, blushing hues of praise
Whispering kind prayers
Alive with love, vibrant always
Wonders and talents to amaze
Peace so soothing nothing compares
Glad for a soul who cares
Blessed faith, raining down across lives
Singing feelings so wise
Painting smiles in light that survives
Breathing kindness where joy arrives
Watching close as the dewdrop cries
So, true love never dies
Dewdrops Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Angel L Villanueva
Used How Many Syllables and Rhymezone
June 17, 2022
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychic collage of splintered dissonance,
framed in fractured facade of anguish.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced downward,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict the geometry of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt
the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised diligence
that something within her
opposes the distorted repression.
The facial deformation isn’t a style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
defacing doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso
We should blame our bad habits
for our illness and take the heaviness
off our chest doing some profound reflection:
does our rage come from rebellion,
or our stubbornness to admit failures,
not following intuition, only wits?
Could Heavenly Mercy be denied to us eternally?
Is it hard to turn around and repair damage?
Too little concern and endless anguish
conflict with each other until we'll perish;
We have missed the blessing constantly,
thinking that no harsh punishment
would be given to us through sinful conduct;
we tarnished this image to avenge purity,
and be less concerned about our pilgrimage
to the House that's never without light?
Who opposes to bow down will be condemned,
I bow down, ask for divine mercy and plead!
A slow return to awareness is compelled
by spiruality and that sense of great bond;
I'm returning to the old life of worrilessness
where all roses despite their colors
had a scent and this boy didn't hesitate a bit
to bring some to his mom awaiting;
wasn't joy a possession never appreciated:
when the simplest things had an impact
on each emotion intensely exploding?
Wasn't happiness the source of all we loved,
and a declaration of devotion to mother and God?
Could anyone explain what defiance amounts to,
and which consequences we cannot undo?
Does our rage that comes from rebellion?
Can He take us back and end all frustration?
Inflict pain on anyone and God can be far from kind;
enrage Him and everything becomes chaos for the mind!
There's nothing so very disappointing
as falsehood when least expect it
it's so opposite to what's true
as scripture shows it's a no fit
God opposes all that's false
for His standard is always truth
He can't stand lies nor deceit
even when it looks so smooth
As God's light opposes darkness
so does truth from what's false
He expects His believers to follow suit
obeying whenever divinity calls
Our conscience tells us to hate
everything false rejecting out of hand
for it never can be for you right
as truth only will eternally stand
AUTHOR NOTES: based on "hate everything false"...Psalm 119:104
Rhymes of limes and coppers dew,
Chimes the lines on paper that blew.
Fleeing a sprite of the thriving night,
Eats upon the core, dimming the light.
She glides slowly to the plummeting falls,
Leaving behind her regrets she never calls.
At the edge of life and the nightly cast,
A beauty leaned to the far end of her last.
Wind bracing every fault of the hero she saw,
Looking above to her gait of lustful sights in awe.
She reaches out but fails to grasp her destiny,
Slowly towering her fate, she’d show this vanity.
This beautiful fae you’ve only known for one phase,
Asks you to join in this astoundingly graceful gaze.
“Wanna fly?”
Her last hair that stands on the edge starts to slip.
She is instantly dropped down in a loss of grip.
This lovely being of eternal sights, horns a vanish,
As the night is no longer dim of this starved ravish.
An awakening day has found her sprite of beauty,
Living up to a destiny that solstice opposes gloomy.
Blowing lines on paper doth chime,
A dew of copper limes that rhyme.