Long Rather Poems
Long Rather Poems. Below are the most popular long Rather by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rather poems by poem length and keyword.
I sometimes try but obviously am
bound to more often than not fail
To hide behind my cocoon spun
silken webb of lie's
For fear of otherwise being exposed
that I doth not possess any or little
or no intrigue or mystery at all
Besides what you see cowering
dastardly in front of you here before
you now
So mistakenly I take a bow forgetting
rather I should have been curtseying
instead
But regretfully for me my head over
rules my heart
When like baby I feel trapped and
am unable to react and am forced
into a corner
As fear has stolen from me my
confidence and silenced my voice
so I dare not wish speak out
As I am so frozen statuesque dumbstruck
to the point I can not even in or through
the graceful ambient language of sign
Have the ability nor emotional depth
to display the sense of inner turmoil
pulsating through my veins down to
my core
And the reason why what not only
I but the world sees now in I is
Someone suffering from a terminal case
of Imposter Syndrome
hey pete
by Michael R. Burch
hey pete,
it's baseball season
and the sun ascends the sky,
encouraging a schoolboy's dreams
of winter whizzing by;
go out, go out and catch it,
put it in a jar,
set it on a shelf
and then you'll be a Superstar.
When I was a boy, Pete Rose was my favorite baseball player; this poem is not a slam at him, but rather an ironic jab at the term "superstar." Keywords/Tags: Baseball, Season, Boy, Schoolboy, Schoolchild, Student, Scholar, Winter, Spring, Sun, Catch, Star, Superstar, Jar, Pete Rose, Reds, Cincinnati, Big Red Machine, America, Fantasy, Humor, Hyperbole, Irony, Sports
Unlikely Mike
by Michael R. Burch
I married someone else’s fantasy;
she admired me despite my mutilations.
I loved her for her heart’s sake, and for mine.
I hid my face and changed its connotations.
And in the dark I danced—slight, Chaplinesque—
a metaphor myself. How could they know,
the undiscerning ones, that in the glow
of spotlights, sometimes love becomes burlesque?
Disfigured to my soul, I could not lose
or choose or name myself; I came to be
another of life’s odd dichotomies,
like Dickey’s Sheep Boy, Pan, or David Cruse:
as pale, as enigmatic. White, or black?
My color was a song, a changing track.
The observers quietly express disapproval, stating, “There is no appreciation! What a disappointment! What a squander!” They observe a lamentable representation of a man, specifically an island man. The pastor solemnly affirmed, “Amen.” Furthermore, my daughter sorrowfully remarked, “Oh no, there goes my father; dear Lord, not again.”
I perceived the presence of despair in the haunted expression of the individual. The fractures in the aging brick wall emit a mournful melody. He stands near the altar; another individual lost to folly. This is the same man who, merely six months prior, declared, “I do.”
This occasion resembles either a wedding or a funeral—a bleak evening. The middle-aged groom, a rather foolish figure, shows a decline in love as affection is obscured by deception.
How deep the stings that make men mistrust Love,
And women fly from comforts that Love brings,
And deeper is the poison in poisoned rings
That longing hearts refuse the thinking of.
There is no other station that can wound
As deeply, or as surely, as Love stabs
No other hook grabs deeply as Love grabs
And no lute, more than Love, as finely tuned
Can make my music sob, vibrate the strings
Of all the lutes that ever were, will be
With consonances. O! That I could Thee
Awaken, to the joys that Sweet Love brings.
But you would rather have than me, I think,
Brown eyes, brown hair, a Handsome with a wink!
4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse
The last book of the Bible-Revelation, has intrigued and terrified many a reader in the last 2,000 years or so since it was penned. If you don't like religious writings I suggest you check out of this one. I wrote this not to scare anyone but rather to inform those who care to know, the true meaning of this enigmatic write.
(For reference purposes please see Revelation chapter 6; Matthew chapter 24; and Luke chapter 21.)
In Revelation 1:1-3, we see that Jesus Christ is the one who gave this vision to the Apostle John, so that all would know how future events would unfold, and would give his faithful (Christians) hope for the future. (see verse 3 which shows that those who read this book of prophecy could be happy even during these turbulent times)
In Revelation chapter 6 we see described the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse.
First the rider on the white horse (evidently Jesus Christ)
Second is described a rider of a fiery (red) colored horse.(World war)
Third is described a rider on a black horse. (World wide famine)
Fourth is described a rider on a pale colored horse.
(War, Famine and Pestilence)
Each of these horsemen are symbols of what is foretold to occur in the period the Bible calls the "last days" or "end times".
When a comparison is made between these parallel accounts (Revelation 6; Matthew 24; Luke 21) we can discern they are one and the same in meaning.
They were all prophecies spoken by Jesus to his faithful followers as to what they could expect to happen before his second coming.
They describe a period of time where Worldwide war, Famine Deadly plague and Great earthquakes would occur at an unprecedented (never before seen) scale.
Those who choose to know, and understand, find hope (not fear) in these words of the book of Revelation.
May these difficult times find you searching for understanding in God's Word the Bible.
If you do read it, you will no doubt find comfort in knowing that these difficult times are what precedes, a wonderful new world, paradise restored here on earth under one government, God's Kingdom! See Rev21:3,4
April 21,2020
John Derek Hamilton
"I'm not a Grinch, but would rather see an inch of
new growth on a tree then to fell it down to please me."
~ by poet
Quite earnestly, I would decree
it unjust to cut down a tree
then simply toss it as debris
It saddens me It saddens me
Trim it with ornaments and light
Praise its beauty every night
But it's dying, not from a blight
I feel contrite I feel contrite
They're glorified, as tradition
But trees don't give us permission
So, we are... in supposition
A mortician A mortician
Flocked with snow, their needles die
Drooping branches will certify
Christmas trees, humans crucify
When death is nigh When death is nigh
Trees place oxygen in our air
Replenishing what we can't spare
Everyone should be made aware
Does it seem fair Does it seem fair
We destroy them for our pleasure
Enjoying moments at leisure
They do more good than we measure
Nature's treasure Nature's treasure
They set up organizations
Geared to helping the poor
How on earth does the CEO
End up having more
Buying agreement with votes
To secure a name in time
Money, always shifting
To bring comfort to the bind
Funny how giving what you got
Is very different among the lowly
Every connection that arises
Ebbs and flows, with patience, very slowly
Relief comes as compassion
Rather than a leftover gift of disdain
Resources are sacred and shared
Without a thought of personal gain
It is the heartbeat of eternity
That sets the flow of giving
Those who engage in benevolent B.M.'s
Well, those chaps, they aren't among the living
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-03-2026
Eating my oatmeal, sipping my tea,
“Where”, I wondered, “should I stroll today?
I won’t be rash and decide in a flash.
There are choices to carefully weigh”.
“Left/Right, Up/Down, and Forward/Back -
There are but three choices to be made.
I will be smart and think like Descartes.
Then, I can begin my promenade.”
3D was an art, before Descartes
And anti-left, an ancient bias,
Around how to choose which hand to use,
Dating to days of Zacharias.
“Left” is a direction long bad-mouthed.
People said it was wrong, and not “RIGHT”.
Is it deft to choose not to go left,
Or is going left just as upRIGHT?
Why does “up”, not “down”, enhance “UPright”?
To be on TOP of the list we try.
Why not make our goal DOWN in the hole,
Instead of way up HIGH in the sky?
We would rather our heart RISE than sink.
Heaven is ABOVE, and hell, BELOW.
A hawk on patrol beats a blind mole.
So goes the story of “high” and “low”.
Better to go UP, but harder too -
The way old Newton would have it, see,
“If you don’t like, take a hike, ‘cuz
We are all pulled down by gravity”.
While UP in Flanders, a mapmaker,
Aptly named Gerardus Mercator,
Put Flanders on TOP, refusing to swap
With Australia, BELOW the equator.
Another bias, it seems to me,
Is we want to go forward - not back.
In a world sublime, it relates to time -
Einstein said, “it’s relative, Jack”.
Both my oatmeal and tea are now gone,
And the sun has sunk low in the West.
Tomorrow, I’ll drink tea, and I’ll think
Where to walk. Now, I’ll have a nice rest.
Screaming red, green with blotchy blue,
What it says I have not a clue,
Imagination! call it art,
If you have some then get a start!
Is it woman with child in arm?
Or some cattle in country farm?
warring soldier with loaded gun?
The guessing game has just begun!
More gathered at the city wall,
All in wonder! No clue at all!!
Boys and girls on the way from school,
They all thought it looked rather cool!
Wise, old headmaster came along,
smiling at crowd that looked agog,
Said “ colour has seeped through the wall!
This is not real painting at all!
You have been taken for a ride,
Masterpiece is on the other side!!”
“Cityscape” Poetry contest, sponsored by Julia ward
Herlos was a snail-riding peddler elf.
He was always moving, never sat on a shelf.
Made fun of the lazy Christmas Elves for sure.
He was a natural elf, all honest and pure.
Herlos could make a deal like no other.
He quickly sold items to every American mother.
They never thought they got a bad trade at all.
He was a snail-riding elf, and much better than a mall.
The Christmas elves were jealous, but what could they do?
They were also rather spoiled, sloth-like and kind of lazy too.
They were always pristine, never fell off a snail or into a lake.
They let Herlos be himself; they stayed inside with the cake.