Long Prejudice Poems
Long Prejudice Poems. Below are the most popular long Prejudice by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prejudice poems by poem length and keyword.
Soundlessly ricochet to and fro
hither and yon
roundly bobbing within squarely donned
talking heads of psycho killers,
one pyromaniac burning
down the crowded house
sparking magnificent conflagration
towering inferno emulating
caterwauling, kickstarting, ululating
(think) stray cats on a hot tin roof
nsync with 10,000 maniacs
intense heat and duraflame
long since eroding
weather beaten soul asylum
strip mining away
vestial trace, hence impossible mission
rectifying purposeless existence
imputed to passive self sacrifice
upon cusp of prepubescence
mystified, mummified, modified,
stilled, lulled, andhushed
obsessively grammatically fanatical
oftimes feeble efforts yielded countless
corrective editing measures
subsequently rendering lame
resultant deplorable effort
despite NON GMO gluten
and monosodiumglutimate free
diet of (hooked) worms
limply tethered symbolic constructs
analogous to dangling participles
scraping, plowing, etching...
imperfect triangulated Hollywood squares
across parched stream of consciousness
former luscious cerebral riverbeds
long since bone dry
millennium since onset climate change
courtesy global warming
blowing in the hot torpid wind
sands of time elapsed
accepted biological demise
forever linkedin with his forebears
birth/death repurposed cycle
activated, demonstrated, gifted...
integration, narration, reincarnation...
biochemical, geological, paleontological...
legacy randomly begetting me
epochal, integral, orbital saga
since time immemorial
fifty plus shades of once ashen gray
well muscled athletic human specimen
oblivious corpse good n plenti
petrified, metamorphosed, coalesced
bleached skull and crossbones
grown brittle when blazing sun's
rays generated aforementioned disparate ideas
jangled, rankled, and zapped
in tandem with bared tiger (no lion)
slapdash pell mell, helter
skelter, higglety pigglety...
germane blitzkrieg rained down above
leaving writer, tortured, mortified, and benumbed
without either sense or sensibility
nor pride and prejudice
perusing discombobulated chaotic
kamikaze lobbed muddlesome nonsense.
If there is a god and he does exist
No matter what he has to say it wouldn't mean a thing
An apology is long overdue
But now it's far too late
You abandoned black people
And for that I feel for you nothing but hate
It begs the question of your intentions
With the world with your actions - or lack thereof
What was the point of us being your creation
When your only plan for us was punishment
When we have done nothing wrong
So please enlighten on why you chose the oppressors
It was a choice between peace and war
There is only one correct answer
Yet you chose the wrong one
But don't worry your cult is still the biggest one
With all your brainless members
In the eyes of the world you can do no wrong -
You are their 'all loving, all perfect god'
But let's not kid ourselves you're not
In reality you are a vindictive monster
And that would be valid if not for my atheism
I would rather spend eternity in hell with lucifer
Then in heaven with you - a fraudster
Because at least Satan doesn't pretend to be something he's not
He would probably treat my people much fairer
If no one else will hold you accountable
I will volunteer
I will never worship something so evil
Damnation would be better
Than respecting you, a self proclaimed saviour
When in fact you are more like a deadbeat father
Who coincidentally choosing your lighter ones
I know your game, you won't be let off
Because whether your real or not
My belief you will never have
You may be invisible, but your silence is not
It is loud not quiet
Ironic as this is something your not
The world was going to end in nineteen fifty-nine,
according to my grandma. I know; she told me so.
Not because of Russia and its threats of nuclear war,
but because Italians had moved into the house next door.
"The street, the neighbourhood, will rapidly decline,"
That's not what my friends and I thought, though.
My mum was just as bad, "they've painted their door bright red.
Brown is the only colour for a rightly English door.
Just look at it," she moaned each time we walked the street.
"Some people just don't understand, the nerve, conceit!"
"And have you seen the clothes she wears?" "You wouldn't catch me dead."
But my friends and I; well, we all said; blimey, cor.
My dad took me aside one day; sat me down, and said,
"Take care, the folk next door are not like us at all.
They're Jews or Catholics; one or the other;" he confines.
"I saw them all out yesterday dressed right up to the nines,
walking with a bag of fruit and strange-shaped bread."
My friends and I didn't care; they had an ice cream stall.
We became good friends; me, and the boys next door.
We pricked our thumbs and pressed; became blood brothers.
I learned cool words; Bellissimo, Chao; and in Italian how to cuss.
And in return, I taught them English words like grotty, snot, and puss.
Grown-ups were wrong about Italians moving in next door.
When you make friends, there is no them or us, or others.
Jaundiced Eye Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Date wrote: 20-June-2021
I could shout it on the streets,
I could glisten and I could gleam
add a shade of every colour and make myself believe
that each day I don’t see it, that look on their faces
or that I don’t hear them half listen to every word I say.
I can pretend that I’ve been saved from it all,
been freed from a silence and that I am living my truth
but sometimes the truth is far more ugly:
it’s the reason you never quite become friends, it’s the reason everything always has an end or how every joke lands at your expense because your sensitivity is clearly the strongest in the room.
I’ve always known that my interests just can’t be of interest
that my humour is not what’s being laughed at, in those rare moments I feel I can let loose.
I’ve been conditioned to not take up space
told not to go and shove it in their face
yet when this month falls I’m to go and parade?
Forgive me if I’m now playing the victim
forgetting the sacrifice of so many braver than me,
forgetting the privilege of roaming free
but when your difference brings you so much pain, when it paints the most prominent double yellow you’ve ever seen, you can’t quite seem to feel proud not even for a month.
You think of the secret messages that you’d send to Chris or to Nick or to Jay or to Ben knowing in truth, that you’ll never meet, that you would ignore them if you passed them on the street because it wasn’t you they wanted or they didn’t want what matters; with your clothes still on, the interest just flattens.
You think of life events and how you’re still quite far behind
you’re surrounded by love but it never quite reaches over, you just float in its orbit and congratulate the others celebrating two or more years soon to be three while you sit alone at home, hoping someone can see that you’re desperate to be held, you’ll take just a few moments at this point, you feel the lovelessness flow through you, and how it stiffens all your joints.
A month full of pride? Or is it a month to hide
the crippling ripples of shame that stem from a name
The brief look from you became that dreamy cloud,
free of prejudice in silence, not as my usual mental loud.
I knew that I will find refuge in your loving harmony,
feelings when sentiment in words are lost with certainty.
The image of colorful fragrance, taste and familiarity,
trusting portal of expanding imagination and its clarity.
Enchanting third dimensions and subtle inner region,
preciousness changes the heart and sincerities legion.
The longing that discovers new wings of beauty,
when mental eye speaks that touch of selfless duty.
Dissolving virtue in that light of pure reflection,
rising waves of desire and change of sphere detection.
Dewdrops on a flower for a hungry soul and mind,
I have known you from a previous life, sort of kind.
The answer of that vision proofs itself by filling the dots,
loving promise awaken when one emancipate those karmic knots.
I learned to swim in waters of amoeba
You shout "Regarde!" as I float to the surface
But it's far from Paris in this viscous river
Your hands of guidance turned to scoffs
Trading my pain for stacks of coins~
I no longer hear the crowds beg for mercy
Forced to nurse groupings of septic cells
My chest covered in ripples and blisters
The wet nurse of a generation of youth
Doctor, how come I must be a vessel?
Because my skirt fell above my knees
My womb is no factory of steel
All of this for more soldiers to train
For the crippling economy and labor
Why must your wealth stay tightly packed?
I will never earn my dress of white
Men of our nation will deem me impure
Forever a mandatory mother, never a wife
My body shall remain my own
Free of your legislature~
What if I can see it, smell it, almost touch it,
That gilded throne where I will proudly sit,
Would people think me mad,
Is my ambition so preposterous and bad.
And why not me, have I not earned this crown,
Someone not worthy of that queenly gown,
Bejeweled and composed for all to see,
My vassals all around, bowing deep to me.
Naysayers bleat I'm just an empty ship,
With lights and streamers pretending to be hip,
Without a cargo or destination clear,
Sailing in circles relying on the wind to steer.
But if we're given to analogies, what if I were a Trojan horse,
With clear intent and undisputed course,
Where guile and purpose rule the day,
The aim to soundly win not merely one to play.
Demean and underrate me at your peril,
I can pivot between angel and pure devil,
While my laugh is designed to be disarming,
It masks a side of me considerably less charming.
Everything I've wanted I've achieved,
A trajectory few would have believed,
Do you think I'll stop at this last jump,
And in so doing fully flatten Trump?
For all the despair endured,
nothing can make me forget
the trust I placed in others;
every good intention showed
a gullibility which entrapped
me, but being used was worse.
Do good to those deserving,
look out for the treacherous
ones who take all you have,
leaving mere crumbs for pity;
when my wallet was stacked
with money I gave generously,
in these dire times nobody helps:
they look at me as if they looked
at a beggar while I cringe inside.
I shared my wealth with people who
had less than I, there was no prejudice;
I considered them friends and trusted
them until they showed their true selves.
Would I regret my mistake? No, I wouldn't;
if I can do it over when Fortune smiles on
me again, nothing will stop me from giving!
Written on 6/28/2016
My boss thought he was so clever
not giving me a raise for extra responsibility
‘Twas in the wonderful days when jobs
were in abundance but that worked both ways
Promptly gave my notice and he was ecstatic
to announce he was giving my job to a university grad
A week overlap to train her should be more than plenty
Didn't he roll his eyes when he overheard me
having the nerve to suggest she might want to take notes
So I gladly took this as my cue to take an early leave
I was excess baggage obviously but imagine this
she had to be retrained three times it’s true
The first time, idle tongues
must have wagged that the fault was mine
but the second and the third, humm…
I think justice had been served
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on December 17, 2018 for contest JUSTICE - WORD OF THE YEAR sponsored by CAROLYN DEVONSHIRE - RANKED 4TH
People who crave as much leaping as birds
Those who are angry and seem to be furious
And those with a vulture's appetite for wealth
Drawn ones react similarly to owls when lured
Prideful people gird themselves akin to eagles
Those invidious postures as a pack of hounds
Avoiding war is crucial to developing wealth!
"War" in three letters! Have men bled, even birds?
War hinders all the delights, making us furious!
Blast, blood, heavy weapons, and army hounds
Yet judicious people who lack peace draw lured!
Innocent troops fight innocent lives alike eagles.
After wandering through biased realms, lured
Faces after faces elsewhere, such as eagles
Heroes perish, and fools utmost worry is wealth
Heroes are in tears, while cowards are furious
Cowards lie, yet they weep alike devoted hounds
We slip deeper into the abyss of lunacy as birds.
The laughter and fun flowed fast and furious
for the sake of saving the reward and vast wealth
The initial dread triggers prejudice once lured
I sobbed when the moon whispered to the birds
And visualize us soaring on the backs of eagles
Swung their deadly jaws at us such as hounds.
Greedy cries reverberate from the circling hounds
Often carried out to ponder, indignant, and lured
False funds, in fact, sprout wings akin to eagles
Arbitrary knowledge was fed by graft and wealth
The truth is that people are as soulless as birds
Recognition heralds the start of the shift, not furious.
Let's soar to hone our craft with doves and eagles
And reasoning from true reflection among hounds
Share the honey of flowers and the songs of birds
Set life goals to be reliable and truthful, not furious
With God's blessings, all is feasible, including wealth
If inner sight leans, retain spotless life, even if lured.
Infinite bliss sows the seeds of peace and wealth
A fervent need for union with God's bliss, not furious
Incentives from the heavens rain down like birds.
Written: April 25, 2023