Long Rebellious Poems
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Un-revelling Rivalry
Who am I to speak of historical rivalry I cannot contest
all the clever myriad truths conjectures and refutations
about the two masters the two foes with huge presence
when history acclaim appreciation is subjective personal
up front and back stage up all artistic ins downs and outs
My parachute helicopter mind wants to give first prize to
to Leonardo for free flying inventive rebellious mind and
he helped me with anatomy dissecting corpses and all I can
still smell fragrant formalin preserving miraculous tissues
when I had to learn those medical terms and cut into flesh
But then Michelangelo shares my middle name though I am
no angel but who can proclaim that I may never be biased in
associate vein in quite shallow post-post-modernist anticipation
when the great man also painted in narrative personification
Deluge Drunken Noah Creation of Adam Madonna and Child
Okay family man that I am I resort to holidays with my children
and am so sad to admit that we never so far made it to Rome
sacrilegious or not but how could I pass The Last Judgement
when seeing Sistine Chapel’s altar would alter the verdict
of Ignoramus with leisure time spent on Normandy’s beaches
Well now I recall that trip to Euro Disney when we walked
from Tour Eiffel to the Louvre where I temporarily lost my
little boy Moritz and almost my temper when the devious villain
hid from the artwork was sulking because the Mona Lisa was
so small and he was so tiny could not see amongst masses of
tourists the smile and metaphorical writing on canvas and wall
So in all earnest while giving a toss I could-would have to resort
to tossing a coin in regards to whom why how and whenever the
rivals could measure up to history my history my story and life
Even and because of my whacky literal critical stance and my
stanzas bordering on mockery heresy subtle subjectification
you must remember that I have one tongue and two cheeks
And while seemingly ridiculing an important theme of historical
prominence I still bow in awe admiration yet lodge my own angle
perspective whereas the two grand master’s problem was not
what I would behold in my eyes and my soul in full radiance but
that they chose not to consider each others contrasting beauty
as compliment complement Leonardo Angelo Michel Da Vinci
01st September 2016
"Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
In this performance we call life,
my spirit searches for an interlude of peace.
My poetic mind riots consumed by rhymes,
savaging our memories of grieving beliefs.
I'm a soul rasping winter's woeful wings,
afraid I'll become a poet who ink will forget.
I'm trapped in the desert of dejected demons,
wandering in aching avenues of dreams,
forgotten in ferocious frozen vine's of time,
surrounded by meadows of blood poppies,
Season of death is a cursed caricature of memories,
full of salty tears, bitter goodbyes with spiteful sentiments.
Let me sleep in the synchronicity of angels,
as ebony horizons drift into darkness.
When crimson clouds bleed to paint the sky,
I scream at silent scarlet skies,
as black rain from a dark storm plunders.
Like acid burning my metaphorical paper wings,
I float like a butterfly cursed by moths of deceit,
as hope dances dangerously with my malevolent muse -
grace and hellfire waltz with my heart's chambers.
I can't help but remember last November,
when death clung to the air around me,
as answers we found turned into a designated dead end.
In delirious desires of deathless shadows,
I still see your daggers and cigarettes in a charcoal silhouette,
with your every breath laced with guilt.
Yet, the ghost of your voice lulls me to sleep,
as the silence crawls along the walls at night.
Who are we to judge who is a sinner or a saint.
I wonder if you will walk down the stairs of heaven,
hold me in all my fragility, remind me of childlike charms,
or will rebellious regrets open the gates of hell.
I scream at the Grim Reaper to take my soul,
ravage me, before I go,
but put a white veil on my corpse,
so each night when I visit my grave,
provocative eyes with loose desires,
can feel the wind beneath my sails.
But, gift me one more midnight,
to create my final masterpiece to paint my dreams,
carved with marble white ink,
engulfed in sentimental verses -
for this is poetry, formless suppressed speech.
One day our quill will eternally slumber,
as our conscience passes from poetry to dust.
In the plight of adversity, only I, truly know,
that stars speak stories how simple words were not enough,
as truth only prevails through poetic justice.
FOCUS ON OUR FAMILIES
The devil is quite busy in most families today,
Though most of us don’t realize the roles that he will play.
He keeps the parents busy with jobs and on the run,
He keeps the children active with all sorts of worldly fun.
He keeps the bankbook busy with things to buy or bills,
He keeps the schedule full of so many worldly thrills.
The social life he offers with the parties or the drinks
Appeals to many people; it’s so much fun, they think.
He keeps the spirit busy with no time for the Lord,
The more that he stays active, the more is his reward.
He fills us with excuses, which we often think are good
Why we can’t be committed and serve God as we should.
He builds in us a spirit that’s critical to be,
And so we look at others and our own faults we don’t see.
He keeps our lives so active with all his sights and sounds
So that when God might need us, we just can’t be around.
He tries his best to keep us so centered on our self
That far too many hours our Bible’s on the shelf.
He lets us spend our money on things we think we need--
A tithe? We can’t afford it! An offering? No, indeed!
And he’s redefined the marriage in many different ways,
It’s now for “live together” and even for the gays.
The parents and the children just don’t communicate,
Instead it is the TV, the CD, or the tape.
And then there are computers or Nintendo games to play,
Or magazines or books to read to fill the time today.
The young folks are rebellious, defying Godly laws,
But don’t you dare to spank them, regardless of the cause!
Keep God out of the schools, the church separate from state,
And don’t speak out on morals which someone violates.
We could go on much longer with all the devil’s schemes,
And as the days keep going, there are new ones, so it seems.
The vision of the family is so obscured and blurred
That we need it corrected through the message from God’s word.
So let’s focus on our families and how to make them strong,
To reinforce commitments, to overcome our wrongs.
For God first made the family, and He has a perfect plan,
So let’s listen to the messages that come now through His man.
They come straight from the Bible, God’s word, tested and true,
Let’s let them clear our vision, and our families renew!
Written for “Focus On Your Family Month,” Heritage Baptist Church, January, 2000.
In the twilight of my melancholy existence, love savors its bravery, like a vulture allergic to the suspicious aspects of ephemeral glamour, in a final macabre choreography.
On the edge of the precipice of my dramatic choices, my sacrifices reveal the artifices of their curses, but also the selfishness of their spiritual benefits in the face of the imposture of the supposed crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
The eloquence of my silence allowed my innocence to resist the violence of arrogance.
The tyranny of hegemony and the xenophobia of foreigners breed racial savagery and imperialist barbarism, while Western supremacy is transformed into a burlesque comedy trivializing negrophobia.
Suffering generates sentences, but sometimes repentance opens the way to independence, so that insolence can never turn into condescension.
Between the medals and the funerals, between the reunions and the reprisals, battles grip the rudder of my destiny, with a range of tortures.
My emotions oscillate between devotion to justice and the promotion of disbelief, urgently seeking remission of my transgressions, before the purification of the flames of hell plunges my divine spark into the furnaces of illumination.
The liberation of my ambitions contributed to the strengthening of my convictions, so that my determination unleashed the full extent of my potential.
My distance from dementia is minimal, even if the angel of death exempts me for the moment from the penances of the eternal abyss, my blasphemies sow the seeds of a new hope.
The history of my people is the memory of its victories and the grimoire of its disappointments,
Despite the decline of the pharaohs, the savagery of slavery and the barbarity of colonization, she taught me saving lessons so that my Africanness could flourish throughout the Earth.
In the permanent search for truth and sincerity, I aspire to freedom, equality and fraternity,
To a serenity, far from the vanities that humanity loves to adulate to forget its fragilities.
Between my feelings and their punishments, stands the sanctuary of the last judgment, their compliments obscure the lights of my cosmic atom.
In the quarrels of my past, the aftereffects persist, recalling the rebellious periods of my tormented soul.
I will never trust human beings, even if immortal love challenges my conscience.
This one
for
a
girl
abandoned
circumscribe
contemptuous
of
fellows
don’t
blame
her
for
misfortunes
rebellious
for
sad
fate
not
related
to
own
choice
grew up
lost
& astray
with
mishaps
believed
in
good
of
humanity
by
some
sad
repercussion
violated
blamed
too young
too dumb
too naive
don’t condemn
her
for
exploitation
as she
was
a
victim
a
silent
victim
hopeless
& muted
condone
her
as
not
her
choice
being
abandoned
broken
assaulted
dumped
&
abused
violence
unacceptable
&
should
never
be
tolerated
silent
victims
must
speak up
to
eradicate
culture
of
abuse
&
violence
to
overcome
trauma
of
domestic
violence
and
system’s
injustice
Written: April 09, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1207 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
A hundred years have come and gone
to what wonder and tragedies
have you belonged?
My father:
Born in the aftermath of a world at war
danced to the flappings of the twenties roar,
a time when poverty and wealth wore torn in two
when the future feared depression's loom;
just a young man filled with wide-eyed dreams in bloom
where would steps move
in the prophetic ravings?
the Dust Bowl blackened clouds with farmers braving
drowning anthems of a Star-Spangled banner still waving
and the solo flight of history
forever remains a mystery;
political isms rise in freedoms slow demise
while Hollywood reviews the movies
in truth and lies;
the end of an era welcomed in the shanty towns
as Europe recovers with a parade of suicidal clowns;
off to war drafting historic days of infamy
when bloody battles raged
as alliances filled the stage
and at last, a momentary peace was cast;
with love and hope returned again,
life was never quite the same;
distrust, cold war gloom
threatened the next generations bloom
a hated war embraced love freely,
killed in a plaza at Dealy
perhaps too easily, we gave it all away
as nuclear power paved the new day;
the power mongers rose,
wealthy and the greedy exposed
life continued for the bold,
growing rebellious children in the fold
with yet a newer fear to mold,
wars and change in the aftermath
for everyone who has lost their path;
equality returned to the open stage,
the promise of an enlightened age
but time is never stationary
and no one man is a visionary
with walls torn down and freedom's cries
history burns with false truths and lies;
drugs and saturated imaged shadows quickly return
to clouded hazy minds burned
in foggy dreams to be unlearned
and fallen heroes disappear and die
close the century with disappointment
and no magic panacea provided ointment
now at the turn of time
in the final last hurrah
a battle rages yet no one with power speaks
of the lesson taught,
history must once again,
repeat.
Seen it all
my dear father
the foolishness, the truth, and lie,
in which mankind lives and dies
the messages by which the common man exists
is only the futures that we all resist.
A musing recollection on my father's 100 birthday. 8/19/19
*Long long ago there was a very rich father who had a very large family. He built a large house anticipating his family. His children were normal and grew up with the standards that their father set. Occasionally, one or the other would step out of line, but they all respected their very understanding father.
But there was one who often stepped out of line and became more rebellious by not only disregarding his father's standards but by starting to make his own rules. The self-willed son finally grew up and went out on his own, making his own decisions and managing his own life and livelihood with the wealth he had obtained through his father's good graces. Quite often he had to humble himself and request the aid and wisdom of his father. This went well as long as the father would grant him his desires without questions.
When the father made inquiries so as to better assist his son in becoming self-sufficient and independent, the son became angry to the bewilderment and sadness of his father. The father was patient with his son but began to be at a loss pertaining to how he could really help his son. The father was not overbearing nor one desiring to control his adult son. He simply loved him dearly and wanted to see him become successful and happy as he pursued his own life's purpose.
However, matters at times grew from bad to worse, especially when the son would shout out what seemed to be his favorite demand of his father, "I want you to stay out of my business!". Why, the father could not understand such a demand, because he never was a volunteer, but rather was always recruited or drafted by his son into his vast array of adversities and conflicts whether they were financial, marital, or parental. It's sad when a son wants his father to be "in or out" of his life on the son's terms alone.
03252018FBPS *America, my great country, reminds me of The Prodigal Son story in the Bible. This is a fictitious description of America's rebellion against God.
Ta'likra
was a most stubborn slave
He loved to rattle the chain
It was a sound of pure defiance
that echoed across the lush plantation terrain
Son of Antuk
had a pygmy burning bush spirit
He seethed silently
as the lashes dug deep into his back
The masters hoped the other slaves
would see this bloody spectacle and fear it,
thwarting any thoughts of a rebellious attack
He was beloved by the other slaves,
he had a will of burnished steel
He had a big heart, noble and brave,
his presence strengthened the weak and the ill
The European rulers had a troublesome dilemma:
If they killed Ta'likra, they would make him a martyr;
causing him to live still past his death,
stirring up angry African chants of unrest
And if they let him live,
he would continue to challenge their authority
Thus making it harder to rule over
the other slaves with complete fear and impunity
They struck a balance as to what they would do,
they would whip him daily, give him meager rations
Eventually break his spirit down to ashes
But that didn't work against this
four-foot-two mountain of a man
He was Pygmy,
he was a dark bush man
He was pure African,
borne upon the hot desert sand
He didn't fear death,
he didn't fear pain
Thrice bitten by the deadly viper,
he loved to rattle the chain
The masters, unable to break his spirit,
were perplexed and at wits end
When a wizened one with gnarled raised hand,
offered up a most enlightened plan
This old, white medicine man
appealed to Ta'likra in a peach grove
He said, where would the souls of the ancestors go,
if the tree of life isn't allowed to flourish and grow
The tender buds of the future will wither away,
and the great roots of your ancestors will die here today
Let us gather up the ancient leaves, my warrior friend,
and build a fire of peace
Let us pay homage to the holy ancient ones
with gifts of love and largesse
For as the stars will not always remain in the sky to stay,
the chains of slavery will be removed from your people one day
Ta'likra, the Pygmy prince,
peered into the blue eyes of the old man,
and thought deep on his sage sayings
Then he arose in dignified grace
and silently walked away
He never once rattled his chain again,
he kept his untamed rage locked in the cage within
MY FATHER,
I thank you, if it wasn't for you i wouldn't be here today
i thank you for loving me unconditionally as i am,
i thank you for being always there with an ear to hear me,
i thank you for showing me the paths i ought to walk,
i thank you for providing me with good food and health,
i thank you for being a pillar,everytime i felt insecure,unloved,
i thank you for forgiven me everytime i got stubborn
and did it my way as if i knew better than you know myself,
i thank you for your big heart,your kindness a radiance upon my soul
i thank you for being my strength in my weaknesses,every time i fall giving
me your hand so i rise up again,not scolding me but showering me with love
my dear father,
i thank you for all that you've created for me,this heaven on earth,
the beautiful rivers,mountains,forests,water cascades and nature's glory.
i thank you for the yellow sun which warms me every morning,
the sun which brightens my days.i thankyou for the moon and the stars
which twinkles soft sweet light,lullabying me to sleep....................
i thank you for the rain which feeds and nourishes the crops,so i may
eat ,live and survive,i thankyou for the thunderstorms which reminds me
of your power,that with you near me i'm safe,you're my knight protecting me.
my dear father,
i can never stop thanking you,the list is never ending,my last thanks would go
for the rainbow which every now and then peeps through my window sill,
the beautiful coloured rainbow which reminds me of the path...........
the path,the gift of love to me---to your rebellious naughty little child.........
a grown up woman now,still a child in your eyes-------------------------------
i love you my father and i can't wait to see you face to face in the land of no
sorrows,the land of love,serenity and peace......................................
thank you dear God for being My perfect DAD
This big hug is for you ---In my own imperfect love i love you.............
H A P P Y F A T H E R'S DAY-------------YOUR DAUGHTER
Form:
(not that ye wondered,
but simply tubby like totally tubularly clear
The Epic of Gilgamesh will not be extolled here).
Though thoroughly well mapped, parsed,
scrutinized vibrant wonders zoom
plethora, sans newly discovered life forms
cradled with fecund Gaia's womb
abound within unlikely places
such as mossy bearded faces
nestling, pronouncing,
and regaling pharaohs sarcophagus tomb
oceanographers also find organic entities
adorning, kickstarting,
and thriving within extremely
remote temperature zones,
where just enough telly tubby wiggle room
prevails for microscopic
Verizon patronizing Grand Poobah
barking orders unicellular viziers heed,
while latter bedecked
with itty bitty plume
invisible to the naked eye, yet within
subatomic world wide web
bit players air heir loom
appearing larger
then cereal grain re: life,
an arrogant, bumptious, and conceited Don
doth trump his young
unbridled, reprobate, and ornery baron as groom
material to check mate
distracted checkered populace,
where raucous, rebellious, riotous
majority lumpenproletariat fuss and fume
cuz gaudy Mar-a-Lago hiss poe tate
tow headed (faux towering
Taj Mahal doppelganger),
via slow vac didst suck socialist rowdy
bot tinny Rajah,
whose apprenticeship to exhume
(pro bone know) spy bots
miserably condemned from the get go
as president erupted rabidly trying to doom
rousing, scenting, and trawling
non-convincing "witch hunt,"
yet incontrovertible evidence carelessly
swept hurriedly under the rug
(by Russ Shins) via broom,
thus a sudden spike
visa vis master card er...
comeuppance will bring ringleader down
with strep away poison
nano trumps all abloom.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Now in summer re:
this Dom minion doth attest
intention to write
a boot equinox got out best
head, although pleasurable
to loose imagination off chest
so thank you for
letting me be a cerebral guest
and now...no dilly dallying,
cuz another writing assign
requires responding
to Matthew Scott Harris's behest!