Long Outsider Poems
Long Outsider Poems. Below are the most popular long Outsider by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outsider poems by poem length and keyword.
The early morning fog bathes the green slime and trees in a gray hue as birds flutter to and fro and squirrels scurry from their beds, playing a tag game of “You're it.” and an early morning feast among shaking limbs and prying eyes. The Bayou comes awake to meet a new day. Sights and sounds of the early hours impels the spirit of the swamp in a ghostly stillness and merriment. Nature comes alive in small measures of time each in its own place, each well aware but unwavering in its brutality for this is life of pure survival hidden among the Spanish Moss and rotting logs
It’s a rehearsal as old as nature itself for the actors are always on stage and the curtain never falls. Its beauty with a haunting presents and writes its own stories penned day and night in the sights and sounds under the sun or moon. A limb breaks under the stress of the tiny weight that finally snaps the rot in its last attempt to win but is lost to the dark water, leaving only tiny bubbles to trace it decent to the bottom. An echo of a far off acorn as it drops in another attempt to win the fight but also loses to the bayou. Drip, drip, drip, the water insist on winning but never the master for nature always comes with more,
The Gator with nose and eyes peeking above the black water to find the next unsuspecting meal as does the cotton-mouth and gar. All is at peace until all is lost. An epitaph written in sudden violence then back to silence, waiting for the Hawk and Owl to make an appearance on nature’s stage and battling for the leading role.
It accepts the wind and rain as a backdrop to enhance the scene, lending a chance for leaves to ride the breeze and a new story is written. The theater only tolerates man as an outsider to look upon its quiet beauty, accepting but without welcome, giving only a minor role and without applause.
LETTER TO MY FUTURE SELF
Hello there, sweet Lady Jane,
So, it is three weeks before you turn seventy,
do you think you can honestly tell you found
your peace of mind, contentment, happiness?
Or are you still searching for answers to the
things you never understand and wondering
the what ifs, when you damn know there would
be no answers, no explanations, no clarifications.
Your children are giving you a party and all your
grandchildren will be there to celebrate you.
Do they make you proud for what they become?
Or do you still think you did not spend enough time
with them when you cannot turn back time or do
you still worry and wish something better for them?
All your siblings with their spouses, children and
grandchildren will join your family in celebrating
you reaching a major milestone, are you excited?
Or do you still feel like an outsider for your
mother, their mother treated you differently.
I know your life did not turn to be what you wanted,
as your life journey put you through many adversities
including sorrow and pain that you turned out to be
what you are meant to be, a strong willed woman.
You learned to let go the shadows that haunted you
and you accepted and embraced what life threw at you
becoming appreciative and thankful with your blessings.
In the past, you were asked many times what your plans
were for the next five years? ten years? for the future?
You had so many for you couldn’t get no satisfaction.
Now, you just whisper let it be, the words of wisdom.
Your dreams never materialized; but they never left you.
So at this time in your life you think you are never too old
to dream or create new ones by reinventing yourself.
You dare to live your life at its fullest and take a chance
to create your own happiness for it is a decision, a choice.
So, my sweet Lady Jane, it is nice to see you not worrying
about the future; but dancing and rocking to rock and roll
music, living like Ruby Tuesday, you come and go and
change every new day and you just imagine, living for today.
Ahhhh……..
11/22/21 Your Favorite Poem of 2021 Poetry
Chantelle Anne Cooke
9/18/21 Written and Submitted
Letter To Your Future Self Poetry
Silent One
NOTE: My pen name is Sweet Lady Jane
from the Rolling Stone's Lady Jane
Never underestimate this opponent,
While he's busy rolling up his sleeves.
Though he looks like he isn't focused,
Soon you'll be falling to your knees.
I've watched him from a vague distance,
He visualizes every single, lethal blow.
In his mind's eye he quietly meditates,
Carefully strategizing how this fight'll go.
Like a pot about to boil over,
The rage deep inside him slowly grows.
He witnessed so much through horrific scenes,
A well kept secret no outsider knows.
He constantly replays this life's traumatic moments,
Holding back the painfully silent tears.
He'll never open up, to publically display,
Haunting memories inflicted over the years.
Although his mind and views are tainted,
Because of the situations beyond his control.
The Boxer's indestructible spirit is mighty,
Protecting his heart and shielding his soul.
All night he climbs his spinal cord,
up and down he goes
a worker ant
gathering globules of memory.
The bony spine itself
offers handholds for his ghosts.
At each spinal notch
he enters the swim
of sub-osseous neural bundles.
Images are scooped up,
mixed into an alphabet soup
of alternative realities.
He climbs upward only to pause stymied
at the brains tightly packed folds
listens as an outsider
to the down-time humming
of a million closed circuitry heartbeats.
There is too much convoluted counting there,
too much to harvest in one night,
and so he travels back down the cord
to a low-clouded complexity
where shrouded stems burst open
their dark flowers
to engulf the embryonic mythologies
of sleeping giants.
In the morning
he hears himself thinking:
the thoughts are loud
they beat upon the top of his skull
like starving children
trying to escape.
A friend had asked me to attend her father's funeral.
He was a man that I'd never met.
Everyone who ever cared about him
was briefly under one roof.
Crammed into one small room.
The interned was crammed into a box.
A box within a box within a box.
As I knelt and looked into his box.
I thought of things that his eighty-year-old heart
must have been dragged through.
The many sparkles and all the blues.
I thought about the few million miles he walked
from here to there and back again.
To provide for his kin.
I thought about what kind of man he was.
The room was filled with much grief.
So, I assumed he must have been kind and decent.
But you never can tell with this type of thing.
Since I didn't know him
I felt somewhat indifferent...
Though I tried to match
the ripples of grief in the room.
I was an outsider and just couldn't.
Until I saw the small bowling trophy.
Tucked in tight beside him....
That's when I felt a little ripple settle in.
After his long earthly journey, he'd be leaving with two things.
A tiny ring and a small bowling trophy.
I suddenly felt like I was his best friend.
Joe the husband and family man.
Joe the provider
Joe the bowler.
Joe the loved.
Joe the dearly missed
My friend Joe.
R.I.P.
Angelic, Axial, Animalistic, Anonymous
Balanced, Bullish, Brave, Boorish
Caring, Cynical, Charismatic, Contradicting
Daring, Doodling, Detached, Deep
Eccentric, Excavator, Engaged, Exorcising
Fatherly, Frantic, Fiendish, Faithful
Gamer, Gothic, Gibberish, Gentle
Heretic, Hippy, Horizontal, Hermit
Inspirational, Inquisitive, Impulsive, Interpreter
Jolly, Just, Jumper, Jack in the Beanstalk
Kindling, Kudosocial, Kinky, Karate zen
Loving, Lexical, Lavish, Lunar
Mysterious, Motherly, Musical, Mnemonic
Nurturing, Nibbling, Natural, Neanderthal
Outgoing, Outsider, Onlooker, Orthopaedic
Pious, Pepperish, Plastered, Porcelain
Quiet, Quixotic, Quester, Quicky
Repairman, Rider, Realistic, Remnant
Sweet, Sour, Single, Stamped
Truthful, Thinker, Tinker, Tumbler
Undecided, Untitled, Universal, Unknown
Vertical, Virgin, Vandal, Varsitarian
Whimsical, Waiter, Worldly, Wordy
Xenophobic, X-men, Xylophonic, X-rated
Yuppy, Yummy, Y era, Yoyo
Zany, Zealous, Zippy, Zapped
I'm an unappreciative outsider unwilling to
bestow undeserved largesse or kudos for
sloppy "service". I express my displeasure
towards lazy incompetence; this gets me
critical complaints from dinner companions
for being "mean" to hourly workers who are
largely dependent upon gratuities from hungry
customers. I feel no obligation to reward surly
creatures I have never before encountered
nor abused. I simply want them to realize that
I will only pay for services freely rendered --
pleasant interactions with people who truly
and ably do their chosen job (they are not
indentured servants nor purchased slaves.)
They should, at least, be civil and, if not
exactly smiling, project intent to please,
to create an intentional atmosphere of
shared good humor. Let's all enjoy our
outings and be generous with the tips
we leave (when they are deserved!)
Enough said!
Fact Or Fool Who be You
I have seen
fools ranting
what's up Pink Floyd
No thinkers, no education
only poets with muse and frustration
The deniers of science
are committing massive crimes
jail should be their only pudding
sadly Covid takes many of them away
I have no sympathy for their ignorant play
the only ones bouncing in their beds
are the scientists
angry that such ignorance spreads
it's always the morons who resist
why do people carry such hate?
to tell lie upon lie upon loathing lie
letting thousands more in pain die
the penitentiary should be their fate
American prejudice has failed us
funding is ever lacking
Teachers who know not what's cracking
No wonder fools get away with the fuss
Science does not cover up
it only learns, adapts and that's a must
over six billion vaccines
thousands of doctors have over seen
The outbreaks now you see
are the unvaxxed injected with stupidity
they blame all the immigrants
hatred always blames the outsider
All in all, stupidity is never very tall
The fans are wild and crazy -
It’s the name of the game…
The game that’s most watched on the planet!
No, not American football -
Why it’s the soccer match of course – what else!
You’re simply an outsider if you’re not a fan –
Everyone covets that annual Ballon d’Or
And if you don’t, you’re so very odd!
Every country is represented -
Soccer is the Olympics of sports.
One eye on the dreaded penalty box…
While watching for the bend, that feat of magic,
For the screamer to see why it’s called a screamer,
Loving that howler as long as it’s not by your team,
And when your team has fallen behind,
Is there a better goal than the equaliser ?!
Praying for a brace or better yet a hat trick
Aiming for the GOAT
Hello…! the ‘greatest of all time’!!
Where have you been ?!!
And when that final whistle blows…
The whole world will take notice
And rise for the winner of FIFA !
AP: 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on June 18, 2018 for contest 2018 WORLD CUP sponsored by MARK TONEY - RANKED 1ST
I sit
and watch
while
the others
struggle
with feelings
I can't
relate to
while having
gratitude
for my
inner zen
and
hoping
they can
find a
true
friend.
Note: Inspired by a prompt from Threads user reevesandroses. The prompt given was: "Write a poem or piece inspired by hardship." So I decided to write about what I see when observing communities I'm not part of, and how the in-group excludes someone with similarities to me on purpose. It's often the case that the person being excluded is neurodivergent. "Inner zen" in this context refers to the lack of anxiety felt on my end, due to me not allowing myself to blindly follow along with group think.