Long Parroting Poems
Long Parroting Poems. Below are the most popular long Parroting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parroting poems by poem length and keyword.
Ashamed like a tree
by the wind bent
angry like the wind
that did the bending
neither I or my friend
could remember
the words in the poem
we had read.
On the cruelty of
the assignment
mulling in bed
wouldn't composing
be better than
the parroting?
But at nine decided
would best go sleep
and the adults obey.
Astonished
on awaking next day
every word
had surfaced to my head
like interest given free
by the bank
or seeds sown in
and next day
myriads of flowers
rainbow green
on a carpet blown in by wind.
Lumens angels of the night
power dreams
shine bright
when the heart is asleep
fears unearthing
past errors reveal
so history itself
wouldn't repeat
with warnings veiled
in terror
to unscramble
a car crashing icy roads
may predict
running away from
a monster may mean
to returns and embrace
to heal.
Unrestrained by heart's
fear or greed
sleep walks
where he wants unseen
finding pieces of puzzles
truth reveals
only when the reason is asleep.
Stars and moon shine only
in the dark
when the sun is asleep.
Warriors Never Sleep
by Odin Roark
How subtle his pen
Barely moving from
Left to right
Opinion to fact
What if to perhaps
Words these were
How relaxed my hypnotic state
Fingers inner-laced atop my irregular breathing state
Sounds emitting from reluctant lips
Fearful to ride the expunged air
To reach his ears
Might they be heard as betrayal?
Jesus how I’d learned the Id’s instinctual power
The super-ego’s warrior-quest of protection
And the Ego
That mediating *******’s reality check
Were I but parroting conscious experience
Or was the roll out of sounds
A regurgitation of my subterranean privacy
My lair’s howl
The warrior-protected part of my mind
The only part left
It seemed
At least that was the shrink’s opinion
Oh how he tried
Oh how the pen did perform its dervish moves
It’s tapping cadence
It’s lip massage while waiting
All the while
That look of understanding
I hated that
Father
Grandfather
Mythical sage
All in one
The bastard
But hey
Choices were few
I’d murdered three people
So I’d said
The state wanted to find out
Was it true?
Ask Mr. Id
I’d told them
And asking they were doing
The 10-9-8-7
Finger snap
The endless drill of endless sessions
Eyes open
His pen raised
Clock showing straight up
Session over
For now
Taking the hand of my warrior
He winked
We shuffled out
Languishing in a limbo of roles
perpetually gleaning
reading ripe tombs and myths
a child, a child dreaming
parroting fancies in pretty pink
braiding wisps on a razor straps edge
the perfect daughter to become
when all that was wanted was a son…
life passed by for the adult child
caring for mother, sister, brother
never really finding a meaning of she
mothering mother
friend and companion to father
oh where was she?
excel… a touch tones sympathetic plight
graft the colors, the paint the light, the mold
the seemingly endless mission…life
languishing in a limbo of roles
captured waif, soldered wife
pie baker, clothes maker, gardener
twist the seam of an unknown dream
thirty years on hold
half a lifetime, square peg in a round hole
then she came, who was she you ask
why me, myself and I
bloom on a rose I saved me
stepped off the cross
and became.....me
Contest The Right Time
Poet: D. Guzzi
The control they had on me has cease to be,
yet still hold influence over the community,
whom believe with ease a belief of me,
I feel what they feel is felt for unity.
An ideal theory understood with ease,
of a stranger unknown nobody sees,
what's heard is heard and is all they receive,
the parroting parrot parroting thoughtlessly agrees.
Too disagree would isolate the leaf from the tree,
both trunk and branches would therefore look down on thee,
arguing a difference where only indifference breeds,
never flipping it 180 to a view with clarity.
People think they know me yet question my story,
can't explain the happenings acknowledge mystery,
but they certainly do judge me true despite uncertainty,
ignore my every word, they cause more damage than they see.
Isn't it ironic
How the ones that yell the loudest
Are usually the ones that have the least to say?
And isn't it moronic how the ones that we should listen to
Are buried by the avalanche of useless noice we surround ourselves with each day?
And I wonder if anyone really still has anything of value left to say.
Or have we passed the point of no return,
And our pride won't let us admit that it's too late?
"I think humanity is such a beautiful thing
With the exception of the humans"
I trusted someone once.....
And the faces changed
The voices came and went,
But the song remains the same
Adorned within the rhetoric of what we want to hear.
Goose stepping perfect tempo
With the tickling of the ears.
Parroting the hypnotist
That controls us by our fears?
"I think religion is such a beautiful thing.
With the exception of the religious"
1933? Or 2016?
Find someone to blame.
Build up a head of steam.
Either Fox or CNN.
Suit up and pick your team.
But no thinking for yourself.
While they renovate your brain.
"I think voting is such a beautiful thing
With the exception of the ones we vote for"
Can our house divided
Ever stand again?
Or are our souls numbed by party platforms?
Will the puppet masters win?
Is my desire to be found right,
Stronger than my love for fellow man?
Our children heard a president
Say fire the sons of b--ch
Black hates white/white hates black
Our nation falling in the ditch
The world that we are leaving them
No longer making sense
"I thought the American dream was such a beautiful thing
With the exception of the nightmare it's turned into"
Social media is such a powerful tool.
Or is it I that am the tool?
Perhaps a prideful fool.
Anybody here, seen our old friend John?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
I suppose the more things change,
The more things stay the same.
Systemic Strain Part II
Proof that survival is an art outline,
And you paint it daily with any scraps
They embark you.
They monitor your struggles without seen
In the prototype of the broken appliances
Behind it.
The group blame the person
Instead of the patterns.
They call it "Personal "
Responsibility ".
When it's genuinely Systemic Sabatoge.
But you-
You trudge with a spine that recalls everytime
You bent and still didn't quit.
You speak with a voice that carries the
Parroting of every barrier lifted.
And you say it plain, loud enough for the
Block to hear:
This tautness ain't mine
This fault ain't mine
This fight was allotted to me by a system
That never cultivated how to hold its own
Bulk.
I'm not the Crack.
I'm the pressure point.
I'm the vocal cords that named the real culprit
And to carry it's shame declines.
You see them always blathering
on the internet and TV,
a bunch of adult pretenders,
parroting that tired P.C.,
telling the general public
what they should believe and should be,
as if we should listen to them
simply because they are pretty.
In fact, given their profession
mandates that they lie, and do it well,
we should look with real suspicion
on anything they have to tell,
since we can’t know if they’re sincere,
or if they’re just trying to sell
you on the latest leftist trend
that only will bring your life hell.
How can you ever trust someone
who can fake trust, not break a sweat?
To learn from a dissembler
who can play such tricks in their head,
making it worse, many of them
are not really all that well read,
most of them never went to college,
and I think that needs to be said.
Since when it comes to complex things,
foreign policy, economics,
mugging around for a camera
doesn’t make your mind smart or quick.
The platitudes they always spout
are just juvenile and thick,
and you can’t really delve that deep
when you think in two-hour flicks.
Worst still is the high school way that
these actors act in the business,
like they're imitating the cool kids,
they put so much effort in this.
These days it’s all the woke nonsense,
and if the fans call their bullsh-t,
they double down on what they say,
attack their customers and persist!
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Pet Poem, GiGi
With quite a large grasp of human’s language,
Gigi is “little girl,” our princess. She likes that.
The smartest pup we ever had; brought home
As a rescue, found — they told us — wandering over
Open eastern Kentucky hills. Lost from somewhere.
— Perhaps intuitively seeking her destiny —
Until out of her cage, that unforgettable day,
She rolled before us onto her back, wagging her tail,
And Jim swept her up into his cradling arms, which
She’ll never forget: her eyes see him with adoration.
This long-haired, silky-black dashund mix,
With brown streaks on her bearded muzzle; then,
Barely 12 -pounds; with long ears;and
A sweeping, fan-tail arcing up over her back.
Now she is nearly eight years old (we guess).
She becomes a friend to anyone who comes in,
Insisting on their attention, supposing the feeling
Is always mutual, and she will try to say so,
Because she has observed that people talk, which
She seems to understand will get results. Lately, Tr
She tries to speak with variations of sounds so
Nearly parroting song. She seems to hope she may
Receive the “Oh my!” exclamation that causes
Actions, meeting her trying and desires
In response to her every vocalized “Yrr-owl!”
Plus, Gigi has learned to hop with precision into our
Unexpecting, cradle-embraces on our chests or
On our laps. ...Like a toddler, she
Will then set herself, intent to show her affection,
Laying her head on our shoulders by our necks,
To give and to receive hugs. They are amazing,
Such sweet hugs for a couple with no children near!
She exudes a telepathy, locking her soft eyes’
Sight to my own, so fixed, while I relay the extending
Of my heart’s love to hers, dear girl,
Almost angelic, always coming (with what feels
Like true compassion) close to my sad moments,
Patient and never considering fear.
Oh, little girl, Gigi, you brought love
In the door with you
And your hugs will live longer than time.
********. **********. **********. *********
(C) sally Young eslinger 12/2020
Pessimism, I loathe your gloomy effect
Parroting vanity’s vexation in my mind that I’m unprofitable…
God I thank; by His strength* is great achievement as I do my utmost.
Negativism, I vanquish your vehement accusations
Taunting me of my failures, falls, and frustrations…
I praise the Lord for His compassion, pressing me on with optimism!
Skepticism, I conquer your attacking doubts
Robbing me of my sanity’s tranquility; torturing me mentally…
The omniscient Sovereign I trust as I settle myself serenely in His truth!
Criticism, I subdue your undermining, deceitful, hypocritical comments
Treating me as a loser in my service-commitment…
Propped by the Almighty’s power, I can be the best for His glory!
Evil thoughts, I pluck all your poisonous roots from my soul’s ground…
Thru the Scriptures’ exhortations, I can bloom and prosper
Triumphantly living for my Master, reaching others by His love!
*Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
January 21, 2019
1st place, "ULTIMATE JANUARY 2019..." Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/30/2019.
The wings blemish on the laminate panel.
The zany suit shudders at dainty muscle.
Sparkling splashes on abhorring emerge.
Brainless spirits shine over despot spurge.
Ill-mannered standards have been strengthened.
Wood chips were deployed to line neurally connected.
Despite laying the fault, she sparkles brilliantly.
Spitefulness, which to boot inclines daintily.
Extreme squalls will expect to be accused.
Humankind real pith has been frustrated.
Scorn and zeal linger at the core of tyranny.
Their pride makes the thin children hungry.
Tyrants grin as they savor their liquor.
Parroting raw decrees to the unhearing slicker.
Written: November 16, 2021