Long Painfully Poems
Long Painfully Poems. Below are the most popular long Painfully by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Painfully poems by poem length and keyword.
Calling ??? L. B.
You take the time to call, my dear, yet say nothing at all.
You hear me, of this I am sure, on deaf ears my words fall.
With all that you understand about psychology,
this, you do not use, do not care, no apology.
You speak as though nothing took place,
– last night’s verbal attack – this slap in the face.
You just went on your merry way home
passed me by - in your pain, left me alone.
Maybe that is where I should be ?, on my own.
Not a word face to face, not even by phone.
I wonder where ?, have all your words gone to
– that lead me to believe – that came from you.
My thoughts have come to – it is a game !
That, for me, my dear, is a dam shame !
Because of that, nothing will ever be the same,
even though, I know, your history is to blame.
This has become plane and painfully clear,
there is little for me, with you, my Dear.
B. J. “ A ” 2
April 9th 2004
Our Face Tells A Story
Ones face tells a story for the entire world to see.
Some keep it straight - a little bit like me.
But when things do change and you face has to tell.
We make our muscles jump and twitch, to show that all is well.
The wrinkles we can hide, sometimes successfully.
Other times we need cement, to fill the cracks we see.
We move our face to look upset and give out sympathy.
We grit our teeth and clench our jaws when things hit painfully.
We hide disgust if possible, to try and not cause pain.
Sometimes it’s impossible, but we must try hard again.
The face we wear the most, no matter what’s to come
Should be a smile to brighten everyone, just like the kiss of the sun.
Our face is like a mask we can manoeuvre skilfully
So try and keep a smile there for all the world to see.
No one patiently waits for me outside , Until I arrive very late or early, Are you made of leather efficiently? Now you are formed by cork or jute firmly. You can nicely take me to good places , Lovely,protect me from the harsh habitat , You help people who are needy and lively, Allow my fine feet to breathe and pretty. You give me comfort and tranquility, If you are new ,you will bite painfully, I can't cut my feet for facility, And I can mend or change you favourably, Adverse things are tackled by your battles,
Who am I ? Be honest, the cozy chappals.
You were the runt of the litter
Both sweet and bitter
With pretty blonde hair
Without a care
Yet painfully aware
That being born in the middle
Was to play second fiddle
Neither the older or the young
You have overcome
The 24 year's of crocodile tear's
And countless scar's
With angelic grace and stoic face
When all the star's and time align
And all the smile's and laugh's you've left
Are counted up
Every love you never felt
Will forever be yours to keep
When your asleep in cotton blankets
Finally I love you thankfully
It's not your fault that growing up
You failed to matter
You brought the noise kid
Unfortunately we were love deaf
To be happy
or to convince that in reality, it’s unhappy your searching for
grabbing those innocent hearts, the innocence
that lingers throughout the days and then,
gone. gone.
and there’s nothing left but the emptiness, the longing for what was lost
and now that it’s lost,
there’s anger and so much more anger
such agitation is driving deep into the brain, drilling a hole,
where only lies pour in,
the lies of the unspoken,
who once did not speak, but now,
all are words.
Those lies unfold past emotions, emotions
that took place silently,
emotions that tried to destroy the happiness
and only destroying the one whos being destroyed,
painfully
slowly.
No more happiness,
no more of that all around love security,
it’s almost as though the heart
is molded,
frozen in the sun,
unaware to move out of the fire
because of all the stupid, stupid lies
which do in all seriousness come from truth,
the lies which seem misunderstood have a meaning,
have a home,
but their home doesn’t know any other heart,
it only knows their own.
Two skinny legs dangle from hand-me-down frocks.
Elastic bands holding up her socks.
Scuffed shoes on her feet so small they barley fit.
Water leaks through the crack where the sole had split.
Wheat coloured hair pulled away from her face.
Tied back in a pony tail with a crimson lace.
Blush Full lips hide a row of crooked teeth.
Always on show when she opens her mouth to speak.
Deep blue eyes and pale white skin.
Her frame is petite and she is painfully thin.
Her existence is humble but she is rich beyond compare.
For she lives in a home with love in it, a bond that they all share.
Many years have passed, a woman is she, respectful, beautiful and kind.
Now re living fond memories of the happy child hood she left behind.
On learning to become a guru...
The following artfully crafted back in the day
(actually poetic endeavor presented below
written a few scant years ago) in response to
unexpected positive feedback received on
the most popular social media platform.
Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any
influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare
pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers
targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor
susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric
abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly
followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.
Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.
There is a storm brewing and it is in my head,
Words are swirling in a mighty roaring wind;
Like colourful leaves tumbling and twirling,
And then it is raining adjectives and nouns;
The dark clouds are sailing across the sky.
I try to grasp the words and put them together,
Now syllables are cascading from above my head;
The metaphors, similes, alliterations at my feet,
A whirlwind takes them away as I pick them up;
Periods and commas and semi-colons drift by.
In my head I am putting a poem together,
Stanzas like beautiful wet trees are sparkling;
And the wind is blowing, the thunder is booming,
My dreams of verse gliding away in the tempest;
A violet explosion and a thunderbolt, an idea.
Leaf strewn leaves utter a wail like a violin,
Oh the sky is painfully dark and angry;
I gather all my words to my weeping heart;
Holding them like precious gems I love,
Then I wake- the birds are singing outside.
______________________________
April 18, 2016
PoetryVerse/There Is A Storm Brewing
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 779-037-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Summer Premier
Brian Strand
Fifth Place
_____________________________
A Storm Is Brewing
Kelly Deschler
Third Place
2024.05.18
One year ago, on a Saturday @ 20:10:00, I wrote
"Now, I just remember something to ask you.
If I lost my memory and/or
Was not able to read English any more,
Would you be kind enough to read my life story back to me?
Nay, maybe not, by then
You would have a lovely family
To enjoy and look after.
May I wish you all the best in your life, a happy, healthy and worry free kind of life surrounded by your loved ones."
On the next meeting, you promised by saying: "Of course. I will".
Well, BB, you did not put it in writing,
I honestly believe you were sincere.
I did not know why you said you agreed with it,
When you did not have to.
That was your very first promise
You made to break and hurt me.
That was exactly what had happened.
Everything had gone with the wind,
Every promise you made disappeared in a blink,
Why, BB why? What did I do wrong?
What had happened between us?
Why you could not tell me
What led to our friendship falling apart.
I never expect any thing from you
Except being a good friend.
You hated the governments,
I understood and respected that.
Any way, I sincerely wish you ,
A good health, a happy family
A comfortable life without relying on government funding.
Yeah, go to the under developed country,
Pick a simple but beautiful appearance woman,
With low maintenance, can bear your children,
No Covid-19 vaccination, share your life long passion.
For sure, one day not very far away,
I will forget how to speak and write English,
But you will not be around to help me,
Let along to know about it.
This was not due to geographically distance,
But rather personal preference.
Our friendship was regretedly finished.
Nothing last for ever,
Including my feelings for you.
Painfully puzzling to the tots -
Why gloves are made with silly slots?!
Pointless production of a man -
Nuisance to chilling winter fun.
They aren't designed for nimble skills:
Picking your nose or counting bills.
And totally not meant to scroll
On any gadget screens at all.
Gloves' extra pattern of ten-holed
Does not protect against the cold.
That begs the question of the tots -
Why bother fumbling for the slots?!
Put your mitts on, and off you go,
Frolicking freely in the snow.
Hope we don't fancy, apropos,
Boots with a slot for every toe!
December 16, 2022
Sponsor: John Lawless
Contest: Mitts Muse