Long Overwrought Poems
Long Overwrought Poems. Below are the most popular long Overwrought by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overwrought poems by poem length and keyword.
Despairing seafaring..can be
Lore of days of yore
Glories or gory
Bold stories told
Foreshore folklore
Hemingway’s…Old
Man and the Sea
Smiles..feeling chipper
Like a wee nipper
Reeling in a ripper
Serious delirious skipper
No not a wee kipper
More like stealing Flipper (ah remember Flipper)
Sort of caught
Trials snort beguiles
Rather overwrought
Wiles & guile..fraught
Palaver..how they fought
All went iffy in a jiffy
This grouper.. a storm trooper
All came a cropper
Squiffy party pooper
Proper show stopper
The line snipped…then ripped
Pip gripped but it slipped
Flipper well flipped
Hadn't read the script
Skipped...Pip pipped
Tripped then quipped
Simply ill equipped
Despite his devotion
No delish fish
Dish wish delight
In the commotion..swish..
Dipped back into
The ocean it sipped
Ought to remember what
We’ve been taught
Unless it’s been bought
Down at the port
This is a sort of sport
Where nought could be caught
That’s why fishing
Isn’t just dispatching
Santa’s sea grotto
Matching motto hatching
“It ain’t called bloody Catching!”
What’s the use of trying any longer?
Nothing comes out the way I want it to flow
Words perpetrate my every being
And I strain to get my temperament to slow
But my cognizance is reeling in a panic of waves
The voltage of emotion is overwhelming me
What is this journey impending to?
What is my purpose?
To obliterate or build?
I keep assurances only to splinter and shatter them
I melt into their regrets and apologies without looking back
Then I am slapped right back in the face
With my own waves of shame and qualm
I wish I was like you
I wish I could put a guise on and never show my face
I wish I could take a dagger and extinguish the sorrow
Destroy tomorrow
But it keeps coming back with twinges and pains!
I want to scream my way into your existence
I want to end all the overwrought thoughtlessness
I want to be lifted in your ease
To be beautiful and clever like you
The demon is me and I am foaming with misery
My horns are melting by your pertinacious confrontations
I can’t reply to the desolation of nothingness
I can’t make it all go away
I’m trapped! RELIEVE ME!
Cursed adrenaline rushes about me
My body is prickling and waterlogged in blackness
I swallow the poisons of my backwash
And back-fire every stab in the back
When the darkness finally consumes the remnants of my mind
Oh the broken pieces
They struck the floor this morning at dusk
Cutting my toes
Leaving butter and blood to intermingle
Like cutting away at human flesh
To match this unreachable goal
Of societies defined beautiful people protocol
Cast it
It is because of this
the last tear rolls down this deadened cheek
overwrought with no outlet for my own expression
numbed to nothingness
I do not feel the tear which
runs down the length of my silent body onto the floor
My heart, My lungs. Covered in your
superficial dust
Seeping through the crooks and cranny
Launder my wrinkled brow
Polish the dirtied regions of my soul
To become unsoiled
Cleanse me from my sins
Make me right
To the godforsaken cruel reddened world
Oh virtuous grace, I can never be
Exactly right now can I
To be like sparkling jewels
Like the crystals hanging from my window
Iridescently dappled
Flecking the floor with pure light
Until they too
Fall
Continuing this desire to meet it in the end
WE ALL FALL
Almost like a faerie princess
I glimmer
Oh my eyes
How lifelessly they shimmer
Tear apart my ribs
‘for
For a smaller waist
Bitterly
My heart harbors a deep sorrow
I wear the blackest pearls
Locked away in my room
Bandaged, Hidden, Monster-like
Hard to breathe
Just
Few more weeks
And
The splendor of plastic
Will pretty much
Pretty the ugliest molecule in me.
Or what is left
In this empty vessel
I have drowned
In my own tendencies to be shallow
Form:
Sister Benedictine, her blinded eyes stretched upward,
seeing neither blue nor green
nor his mercy.
born into a religious family, expected
at fourteen, to kindle providence…
she’d flounder at best.
her neophyte gown, dark and drab,
long nights without prospect.
her grin grew as she noticed Father Francis,
the poetic bombast of his tongue.
the bored hunch of his shoulders.
together they’d let go of their latent inhibition,
invisible to the church,
except for one peeping eye.
Faith saw it — the lecherous act. the smolder of
her right spectacle ignited the steeple.
the overwrought mother of
the excommunicated sister
coldly calls her
by her middle name, Dolorous —
for she was promised to God
during the painful pangs of birth.
locked into a wretched wheelchair,
the mother stares into her child’s eyes —
mean green and steel blue, unglued.
6/9/2019
Eight word free verse challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
*Merciful Heaven - an exclamation
It's impossible to hum with your nose blocked
Don't try it you'll give yourself a hernia
About two hundred babies are born every minute
Guess there's not much doing in suburbia
Dust under your bed is your own dead skin
Unbelievable but that's what they say
There are more nerve cells in the human brain
Than there's stars in the Milky Way
The water you drink has already been drunk
By others, what a charming thought
Donkeys kill more people than plane crashes
That's not something I think of a lot
A million dollars in one hundred dollar bills
Weighs only about twenty-two pounds
A disposable diaper holds seven pounds of pee
That's too much information I've found
97% of money contains a trace of cocaine
Have you sniffed your dollar bills of late
The glue on Israeli stamps is certified kosher
This leaves me in an overwrought state
10 million bricks are in the Empire State Building
Masons surely had a heavy load
That's it for now but there'll be more to follow
Keep an eye out for them down the road
Ozzy placed an ad that said: Ozzy
Zig requires a gig. It was that ad that
Zoomed him into stardom. As a
Young boy, like many others around the world, I was
Overwrought by the sound he and his bandmates pioneered. Ozzy`s
Songs and music is heavy and loud but his voice was so soulful. Misunderstood
By many of his critics. Ozzy was loved and admired to the point of
Obsession by others, they saw him as their
Unsung hero. For me I had immense
Respect for the man. He and his bandmates were the ones who
Nurtured and grew the genre of music i have loved for the past 50 years. The
Evolution of metal started with him...R.I.P Ozzy
Tiny Tears dolls and tea sets remind me of my childhood.
My twin always wanted to play with them, for her own good.
Not a girly girl, I was resentful and wanted to be Peter Pan.
Not the Mary Martin Peter, but the boy peter, I was a big fan.
I see those Tiny Tears dolls in antique stores and I want to barf.
My twin wanted to dress up in dresses, sunglasses and a scarf.
I wanted to stand on porch railings as my swashbuckler self.
My stupid Tiny Tears doll sat alone, on a high up unused shelf.
Tiny Tea sets also set me off, putting me in a rather angry mood.
They held not even a whole drop of liquid, and barely any food.
Tiny Tears dolls and tea sets. They are probably still up on the shelf.
I was busy out in the woods, playing Robin Hood, or Bandit Elf.
My childhood was amazing, in that I had an identical twin.
We barely did anything together, for she was girly, and I was not.
We can hardly decide on a matching shirt these days.
I do not care, and she cares so much, she gets overwrought.
So what did I snatch up upon my mother's death?
That silly Tiny Tears doll and the blue flowered tea set.
For even when I protest, and I do not even know why.
They hold memories that I simply cannot give up or forget.
Once more, I am thinking about writing -
coils are uncoiling,
snakes study the intricate anatomy
of legs and next steps.
My audience of one
must be propped up as if yet still alive,
geriatric words must be given their shots.
I can tell it's going to be a performance,
the poem is even now going off script.
It babbles; the entire cast of 'Hamilton'
has just walked out in protest.
Only Prokofiev and his 3rd piano concerto
can save me now, his notes are jungle drums
for the hard of hearing,
however, the write is not a musical
or a concert. It's, it's err...
Anyway, it is almost teatime.
Already the critiques
are sharpening their pencils.
I pull apart my white fancy actors' shirt,
buttons pop exposing the telltale signs
of recent romantic heart surgery.
Now an overwrought muse is yelling in my ear.
Dammit,
I simply cannot write another thing
under these circumstances.
I box up the coiling snakes,
exit left.
Image of Puzzle Match Missing provided by Pixabay.
Poetless II
Poetic Form: Couplet
Blank pages strewed, across the desk of pains,
in a tongue-tied state, censured writer wanes.
The silent voice echoes hollow inked wells,
of dying words crept from a mind that quells.
Overwrought grips, scrawl at piles of long since,
mayhaps some gleam ... sort of sign to convince.
The broken clock held, tells that time does not,
while a mute welcomes, what songbirds still got,
Rambled insights ... a house filled in guises,
shadowed bound words, the heart vaporizes.
In rhythmless moments, just proved the resolve,
pen floors speechless, writer's blankness evolve.
2021 May 18
It’s the nature of most mornings:
Get up, slowly become aware of the
lack of memories rendered during sleep.
Dreamless, and lacking a quality nightmare,
living a longed-for life:
simple, with a partner who loves,
a child who adores, and job that pays –
how lucky can you get and plain as can be.
So happy
trying to pick up
speed to get through
the kitchen wondering why
its not overwrought
by the condition.
(Should I know better?)
See who cares.
Dishes can break; toast can burn.
Still, I enjoy these mornings
when nothing is wrong,
passion is lacking,
and my poem won’t work.