Long Rant Poems
Long Rant Poems. Below are the most popular long Rant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rant poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep within the world so modern,
Lies a hidden road not trodden,
That states the obvious truth be told,
Printed in ink black and bold,
That lost in worlds of ecstasy,
Trapped in snares of misery,
That wars the rumors be told they sneered,
Now not alive a bray a’bird,
Gone are thoughts that thinketh straight,
And now to turn back it's O’so late,
Truth is gone, and truths be’come,
Lies run wild thru’ Urb and slum,
Prove me wrong this not happen,
But wrong they are yet shamelessly clappin’,
All so jolly good way they are,
From the Truth they stay afar,
Given in to the delusions be,
These strange worlds move so surreally,
That eats place a first a crown,
And Wannabe’s laze and fuss arroun’,
Talks about this and that and all that’s good,
Ney earn their money and cry for food,
When not given they stage a protest,
What they think is unjust!
But truth be told they sloth all day,
Sit around and laze away,
Their youths burnt dry, so willfully done,
When the brave reproaches them, they rant and away they run,
Sad to see, this is our reality,
Where all but’s none have time for thee,
Where life’s no respect and death appraise,
No wonder! They fit in with Artemis’ ways,
Tis’ are days of Noah’s time,
Filled with false hate and unwanted slime,
The hot is cold and the cold is hot,
They should be left to these ways to rot,
For no amount of reproach or preaching change they,
They want to remain that way,
So, let it be and move on in life,
Find a place to settle, build a home with your wife,
But when they come, O’Brave men of life,
To scandal your family and toss the knife,
Don’t debate them in anyway by words,
Take up your weapon and massacre they featherless birds,
Let them cry foul, whine and weep,
For they are into misery so deep, even the good that they do is evil so steep,
Let it be, let it be and protect your families,
From these so called ‘Justice Warriors of all the Sissies.’
What is well, when men of old just a teen,
Went to war for freedom’s freeing,
No scandal was found heard, no loose talk in the winds,
They wives waited for them, rather than sinned!
But if now one were off, to fight for justice cause,
In their absence does much spend, party’s all that splend.
Not all I say that way be done but are true, true indeed to none,
Tis’ a tragedy with my pen and ink I write and run.
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.
You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.
"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.
Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.
You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.
You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.
You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)
When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.
I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”
You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.
We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.
I see so many wrapped up in rage,
it consumes them all despite their age,
anger not caused by crimes they’ve suffered,
but by ideas that some have proffered,
brought about by those malicious lies
that a person must ‘identify,’
then rant and cry as if there victims,
and some how absolved of any sin.
Brought about by scorning tradition,
and making choices supremely dumb,
not finding solace in family,
but believing they’ll ‘change history.’
The crux of it, of their angry fate,
is the need of humans to feel great,
we all feel it, but how it’s fulfilled
leads them to talking a bitter pill.
Rather then having kids of their own,
to take pride in when they are grown,
rather than build their abilities
and achieve greatness that all can see,
they instead proclaim that they’re ‘heroes,’
off fighting the power, don’t you know,
and when all the world seems ‘villainy’
it’s required that you be angry.
When something can make you feel that way
you’ll do anything to make it stay,
like a junkie seeking the first high…
the things you will do to feel alive…
Say man is woman, and women men,
take a whole sex and disparage them,
say one skin is fine, all others jerks,
pillory those folks who dare to work,
cling to ideas that killed millions,
wish your own culture to be undone,
ignore all the truths you plainly see,
to feel righteous from being angry.
This is what makes them feel good in life,
loosing that cuts worse than any knife,
they’ll proclaim you should lose all your speech,
then they’ll tell you what to think and preach,
what you should eat, and do for a job,
and dictate to you your thoughts on God,
convinced they’re elite, they’ve got it right,
that utopia is within sight,
making politics substitute faith,
so all not onboard ‘deserve’ their hate…
and their lies the great hypocrisy,
their anger is warmed up tyranny.
Their false righteousness won’t turn the page,
you can’t go backwards to a ‘better’ age,
leaving them stuck in an endless loop,
making them angry and lifelong dupes,
with little chance of finding some peace,
their addiction offers no release,
they’ll scream ‘anti-fascist,’ roam the street,
looking for random people to beat,
they’ll double down and will never find
that they are trapped in childish minds,
it must suck hard to be so PC,
forced to forever be so angry.
I listened to a conversation I didn't mean to enter
but an evil sneer sent in my friend's direction
led me to speak before I realized it was a mistake.
In defense of my spiritual sister,
and the Truth of God's Word,
I very calmly asked a stranger
why he believed the Bible was wrong.
His response was a finger, shaken in my face
and unsavory words I'd not repeat.
I shook the dust from my feet and turned away.*
But before I was able to take two steps,
the stranger continued to rant,
"You know the Bible is out of date.
It doesn't matter what it says!"
I sighed, took a breath and said a silent prayer.
"Sir, if you will kindly allow me to say a word or two,
I'll continue our discussion in a peaceful manner."
He looked uncertain, so I began to speak of my beliefs,
but he stopped me in mid-sentence and said,
"That's nonsense! I don't want to hear any more."
I learned long ago that a soft answer turns away wrath,
but a harsh word stirs up anger,** so I said, "Have a good day."
He smirked as though he'd won a victory in a game of Chess,
looking at me as if I were a loser, a pawn, and he a king,
so besotted with himself, thinking he had won.
There was a grin on his face, laced with honied contempt.
I nodded to my friend, and she concurred with me,
leaving at this moment was what we had to do,
knowing in our hearts, it's what God expected of us.
I allowed the stranger to wear a hollow crown
in which there is no honor, no triumph or glory.
I didn't say, "Sir, your reasoning is flawed."
With one more Divine inspired thought I'd have said,
"Checkmate," but it would've been a waste of time
to throw my pearls before the feet of swine..."***
I recalled, "Whoever exalts himself will be humbled,
and whoever humbles himself will be exalted."****
With enlightenment right in front of him,
he refused to see that his reality is merely a fantasy,
so in darkness he remains... His shallowness betrayed
what his heart may have spiritually enfolded.
How unfortunate and tragic it is to me, that blind ones
are concerned about nothing more than winning a battle
but fail to comprehend the reason for the war.
October 12, 2021
The High Road Contest
Sponsor: Gina McIntosh
* Matthew 10:14 ** Proverbs 15:1
*** Matthew 7:6 ****Matthew 23:12
Yet another soul taken away.
Another family's loss is great.
Another time tears rolled down this face.
Why won't they realize its purpose and quit making these mistakes
Barely an adult still having child like thoughts
Barely coping with life and all that it's brought
Numbing the emotions is what is sought
But death is all that's caught.
They feel these struggles these days it's so hard to make ends meet
Opportunities are few they can't seem to get on their feet.
They prefer to forget their failures prefer to just sleep
And while attempting to be okay they forget to breathe
They look peaceful like the pain has left
But little do we know they are dangling so close to death
In a minute it's slows to one maybe two or just three breaths
And then....
They are gone right before your eyes
We scream to the heavens begging to know why
Our hearts our souls are devasted as our eyes cry.
Breaking us inside
It takes away our ability to cope
Some choosing the drug some not even knowing it's in their dope.
Killing the same whether or not you know
So little of this drug can end all hope
Listen to me hear what I am saying
If you know they are doing drugs then don't even play
Don't kick them out or push them away
Don't feed their habits but understand their ways
They don't mean to hurt you. No it's not an excuse.
They want to be okay, to be clean but wonder what's the use.
These days are hard even more so for our youth.
The pandemic, desocialization, struggling in work, at home, and in school.
Give them knowledge, give them a reason to hope.
Show them different ways to be okay and to cope.
Don't belittle the addict, don't tie the knot in the rope.
Restore their faith, don't let them turn even more to dope.
Don't whisper accusation
Don't deliver ultimatums
Don't end relations
Don't add to their equations
Be honest, speak up, make your thoughts and feelings quite apparent.
Allow them to show emotions as they scream and rant.
Listen when they say they wish they could stop but feel that they can't.
Don't roll your eyes thinking that they can.
Its dangerous and painful withdrawals, emotionally and physically.
Don't push them away. They will need their family.
And not just financially.
Be patient for they'll recover eventually.
Stop the useless fatalities.
...He flipped through the paper he’d bee given,
And saw the name ‘Ms. Karen Mallory,’
his mind reeled again, incredulous,
that was the girl he had saved by the sea!
Soon enough he was dragged into a court
and Ms. Mallory did loudly attest
that without consent he had kissed her,
and pawed like a pervert at her breasts!
His lawyer counter,”Consent can’t be given
when a person is hurt and unconscious,”
that nothing he did be called sexual,
and that a good soul could do nothing less.
Mallory’s activist lawyer shot back,
“Maybe she would have preferred a death
to knowing that she was violated,
forced to breath in a molestor’s breath.”
She prattled about body sanctity,
how even frantic times did no excuse men
from shamelessly groping defenseless girls
who were not able to give their consent.
Dylan rolled his eyes so many times
that he though they’d fall out of his head,
he’d known Feminazis could be extreme
but this pair was functionally brain-dead!
He expected most folks would see the truth
and recognize that he’d done a good deed,
nut one day a friend sent him a link
and told Dylan it was something to read.
He gaped as he read a professor’s rant,
filled with reasoning utterly absurd,
claiming that death did not justify ‘groping,’
never had he seen such nonsense words.
Then the many ‘minds’ on the internet
all chimed in with their digital voice,
half said that he was a would-be rapist
that unconscious girls could not avoid!
Then the media latched onto it,
made it their outrage-scandal of the week,
with people declaring ‘unconscious consent’
as a dark too of ‘The Patriarchy.’
And of course his boss feared the attention
so Dylan was quickly drummed out of his job,
for trying to step up and do the right thing
of a living he’d wrongly been robbed.
Inside the court they pointed to wild nights
to try to smear him with misogyny
regardless of the fact that his night life
had nothing to do with events on the beach!
In the end, at least, the jury chose right
and saw his actions for just what they were,
still the media called it travesty,
an ‘act of oppression’ against her.
As he walked out a reporter pressed close,
said,”Can you tell me what you learned inside?”
“Yes, next time you see a feminazi drown,
you’d be better off just letting her die.”
Oodles Of Google Doodles...
visually delicious as germane strudels
the following cooked years ago
courtesy me noggin awash with noodles.
Yours truly crafted remaining poem
around 27th July 2018
idea arose within me cerebral dome.
...As poetic theme came to mind
in a Serge without a waiver
thus, I took a virtual Page
from Google LLC to slaver
with little effort
in an acceptable
rhyming rant and raver
about said American
multinational technology company
that rode dot com bubble,
where other startups did quaver
specializing in Internet-
related services and products
rolled out amidst
much fanfare palaver
though odd, how such an obvious
idea hit me like figurative brick
over thine noggin
upon instantaneously espying
Lyudmila Vladimirovna Rudenko
Soviet chess player, and second
women's world chess champion,
from 1950 until 1953
when bitta bing bitta
chitty chitty bang bang
that eureka momenta did click
mental wheels and cogs
as if...an oil derrick
hit a mother lode, thence subsequently
inducing automatic flick
as latest feted persona grata
gets done up in bold face and/or Italic,
nonetheless a commendable
spontaneous fantastic burst
of inspirational magic
commensurate with mine
modest prolific quixotic
of course, I WON'T applaud
idea de jure as terrific
and puzzle over, how such "a ha"
brilliant idea did not occur to this -
Ok la home ma sooner
ushering world wide
webbed trumped "FAKE"brouhaha
sooner to the mind
of this humble caca
Louie, who admittedly
feels tidy bowl flush with
goo goo Lady gaga
(tony the TIGER FEELING great,
a mild euphoria if gifted
as lottery winner)
over the top smugness -
unaware of jeering ha ha ha
within dark internet arena,
where the much maligned,
loathed, and feared Jaw
bar wall key (jabberwocky)
dwells ready to pounce
outsize egos hated
like an incorrigible outlaw
hmm...perhaps cognizant
ex post facto, I set
a deadly faux paw
forever remembered as
ornery oaf forced to eat raw
bits (hexadecimal at that!)
sucked in via last turkey in straw
that broke the camel's back.
The clock
Tick, tock , tick, tock,
The clock bellowed resounding through my mind, like so many wood peckers drilling into a tree.
This infuriating clock my mother had given me
It began tick, tick, ticking away
The very day it entered my home
The very wrong dings and the dongs well,
It would surely drive my wife mad
She would rant and rave and I would say
It's a gift from my mother
Then it would once again be saved
Oh but that maddening ticking that, tick ,tock, tick, tock
This infuriating gift from my mother, this clock.
Tock , tock, tocking as it began stealing a face. Well I am not mad, I swear it to be, a copy was made but i swear it undeniably was my mother,
with mocking eyes as it continued the ticking and the tocking I had grown to despise
My mother's infuriating gift, this clock.
It gave me no peace that infernal machine even when outside her tick, tick, ticking was inside of me.
I decided then and there to stop the tock, my mother, with unbalanced levels of dopamine her pills could be switched the death quick and clean.
Still the ticking and tocking as she was taken away the clock displaying a fresh new face.
My mother the infuriating clock
It was my wife staring at me, amused over my torment, my mother was gone and yet she jested as she tick, tock, tick, tocked
I tore the clock from the wall and dumped it in the waste bin but the ticking remained tick, tock, tick, tock
It was in my study the following morn
Her face was neither tattered nor worn
My wife grinned at me her smile wide with trickery
She continued tick, tick, ticking, tick, tick, ticking
My wife the infuriating clock
We were upstairs one eve
A debate would ensue she began to tick, tick, tick
The stairs were so sharp, the floor so slick
I heard the gears shatter but there was no longer a clock, I wept as it resounded
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock
I raced to the study but the face was replaced,
By a familiar tortured creature
Lost in time and space
The infuriating clock that I owned.
The ticking and tocking ebbed
Then a resounding click, then a tock, then a tick
The powder ignited as I lifted my gaze
My wife the infuriating clock, that my mother gave me, that held my true face
Tick tock tick tock tick tock
The blood runs down the clock
The clock strikes twelve
The ticking ends
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
I wonder why some people get offended because you believe differently than they do? I am very happy to give others the latitude to cherish their beliefs and worship (or not) in the manner they see fit, in fact I support it, no matter WHAT it entails, (as long as it doesn't hurt others) ...
But please give ME the same space and consideration, and do not assume to tell me I'm wrong because I feel differently than you do, and try to not look down on or condemn me and others just because you believe that your beliefs are the "correct" or righteous ones ...
It's not our differences that cause all the problems in this world, it's the lack of mutual respect, empathy, and understanding that we give to those around us. Our inability to let others believe the way THEY choose to, is what cultivates hatred, animosity and bias in this world ...
I personally know people who are quite adamant about the fact that they have found the "truth" and the right path, who claim to put forth love and kindness and understanding, yet if your views don't fall in line with theirs, then surely there must be something wrong with you ...
Faith is a very important part of religion, and I completely understand its crucial import and weight, and how it directly relates to worship and spirituality, but NO ONE knows for sure what this whole voyage "life" is about, and no one ever will, until we each pass FROM it ...
So, you may not agree with my beliefs, they may not remotely resemble what yours are, but please make NO mistake, they are just as PRECIOUS to me as yours are to YOU, whether or not half the world feels the same way, or NOBODY does - whether or not they conform to anyone else ...
I tend to believe that until we allow others the latitude and mutual RESPECT to believe whatever they choose to, and even defend that right, differences will only serve to separate us, and cultivate resentment, anger, and hatred, instead of being embraced the way they SHOULD be ...
Love is LOVE, there are NO qualifications ... compassion, empathy and understanding are important parts of what that word encompasses, yet I think we often see love as one dimensional, and reserved for those we feel amorously about, but it also relates to our fellow man ....
OK, my rant is over, and my soap box shall go back into the closet now.
It was beginning to get dusk,
the crimson red moon was out.
Eerie sounds, you could hear
while we were out and about.
Deep in the mist,
Eyes glowed of red.
We heard a dark voice,
This is what it said,
"You're both mine tonight."
I screamed, you grabbed me tight
both were full of fright.
He chased us with a butcher knife.
His face pale and white.
Screaming out of his lungs,
We ran far out of sight.
We couldn't hide from him
He soon found us again
deep, into the woods,
shaking, so deep within
He was angry he missed,
Then came after me instead.
He had just missed my head
with the blade, was pissed.
I felt his anger, as his hand slashed his blade
My skin was missed, as he slashed and swayed.
He swung to the left, once to the right
Moved us towards, an old gravesight.
There we heard the chanting of a witch.
Ravens and crows swarming above,
then that rotten witch, screamed, with a high pitch,
and the monster, gave a big shove.
Suddenly, we stood upon a hill,
where the witch was suddenly still.
There stood a pot, burning upon a fire,
upon it hung a human wire.
Bodies swung upside down,
flesh began to hit the ground.
She slowly raised them into the pot.
She had no extra room for us to hang.
All of a sudden, there was a loud bang,
Someone was standing in that spot.
A wizard stood, raising us in the air,
soon we both disappeared.
She couldn't find us at all.
At the goblins, she did hiss,
all they did, was throw a kiss
She got angry and got her crystal ball.
In the crystal ball, she could not see,
so she threw it hysterically.
Wizard appeared just in time,
saving us both, from this line.
Crystal ball dropped into our hands
the wizard laughed out loud.
Around the witch, was a huge crowd.
The wizard began to chant,
which he then started to rant.
"Rain on her," he yelled, rain had fell.
"Tell me where are they,"she screamed,
"I've looked far, wide, and in between."
"so me, you better tell."
The rain was too hot,
melted her away,
no way, would the goblins stay,
The wizard then picked up the whiskey,
and took a shot.
by Melanie Palmer
Mike Damavoletes
10/22/14
Author Notes
I enjoyed co-writing this poem with Melanie Palmer would like to thank her for taking her time to put this together.