Long Recrimination Poems
Long Recrimination Poems. Below are the most popular long Recrimination by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recrimination poems by poem length and keyword.
A truly wise man's intuition shall forbode him upon concocting a conclusion's to the wonder of
his tale's
Painstaking to avoid such indulgence choosing rather to absolve himself and the parabell at
Prosperities feet to be forged
The unwritten ending can surely never haunt its creator's , For what has yet to be concluded
can never be disputed
Cast unto an un timed Mantle piece clock mesmerizing your thoughts punctuated only by its
language Tick , Tock
Set in black and white pulsing to the beat of ones nature confined only by the subtilties of
thought , Your's alone to read and be privately screened
Played out to an audience weighed down by instilled beliefs , those inquisitive mind child like
in nature tittilated to discover
versus simple mind's blinded by mythology born out of man and perpetuated through ages
devolved of recrimination and reproach
Be your story one of love or of realities soft scented glove waved in ciptulation an order of
surrender to the world that we live in
contrived and contemptuous to our kin our fellows , Taught to disregard out of hand if
society's rules deem them not to be of equal status or standing
May your stories breath light upon darkened times and expose the brittle stage lights which
blur ones sight to the final conclusion the artists staged illusion
To the poor dispurce wealth the sickly unabated health and a commandment of love written
in blood to love that which is nearest your heart holds most dearest
Picture the future with clourfull strokes , care and abandon of a life worth living devoid of
wealth and immune to government stealth
Has history's lesson' not taught us that Hell is beneath us , the Heaven's above us and left
Man in the middle to ponder Gods riddle !
I guess you're seeing a flag?
Trouble comes and go,
The range of my eyes captures all black
Walk with me if life is without you alone,
Steal an emblem to save a city,
When we don't know where to go,breastfeed me to experience your nurture,
From west comes deity,
Drilling your motives pings a picture,
Who testifies about how we do it?
The infancy about handling our kisses form texture,
Don't break our dream when firefly jolts in pit,
Like stellar,we end not a plan,
There you see one,specifically you point repeatedly,
I'm ferocious to explain what need to be in steadly,
Stay dumbed,...hinged with haunt,
No more understanding,wrestling over count,
Style leaned against what excels ,
In melted rubber,I'm bonded,
Out from a water,cleaned from irritation,
Freedom chased,lumpy all around station,...
Imaginative compression,
Yellow within colour,
Bright and delineated stiffening what ants throw to us below earth so lower,
The flag is dirty,
The means it ponds me,...leave feeders bin,
Orchestra at top,the recrimination is demeaned,
White snakes climbing the poles at this place,
Miracle deconstruct brace,
Utterly,I'm surveying what goes else where,
I'm far perceiving good with bad,
On the mountain...on the mountain,
We have to go,
Just believing the sharp distinctiveness,
I'm a little eagle on neatness,
Feel right,I speak your mode,
Maybe I wish I'd known,
The night bought you freckles,
Thirty-six minutes passed Three o'clock at dawn,
The moon frowned against pond,
Its brightness killed the strength of everyman,
All the time,pictures come from a volition,
Pretend she does fight under sun,
Friday won't be dismayed,...it's a vision,
Other way needs several elsewhere,
Get yourself into deep air,
Further we might go,we could washed the flag neatly,
It seems wholly what came after a touch of help,
Already,motives are alternated,
Can I adulterate the nip?
It's not problematical as who glib,
But teach me the means of consolidation.
It's an extortion...
Blame hardly ever helps unless it is used to express anger
it does not achieve any more than venting raging frustration
levels the playing field to a point apportioning recrimination
without actually achieving anything but turning on the tap
of seemingly futile emotions seeking for a functional cause
My lover and I were set to move on from Spain back to home
a new abode on the British Isles to work and retire for good
Sitting in a house in Valencia with boxes packed with books
memorabilia trinkets and carpets rolled up for easy transport
we simply waited for one final certificate from the authorities
Nothing fancy just a signature on paper and promised long ago
but nothing had prepared us for the legendary mañana mañana
with months of inaction inaptitude and not a thought for reason
We are working on it they said but no one seemed to care about
how much depended on the form and a long chain of consequences
Now the buyers pulled out and who can blame them as they
patiently waited such a long time and eventually merely gave up
on their dream and by proxy on our venture and own aspirations
Unpacking the moving goods will keep us busy for a short while
to make our house presentable once more and waiting to ensue
Injustice grinds its teeth at feelings and reason that do not conform
fail to find the wise mind to align their disarray and stark confusion
and so we are lost in transition that keeps on lingering for an eternity
while our souls bleed remonstrate on what ifs and other conjunctives
Lashing out at floorboards and ceilings does not deal with the grief
My grandma used to say it is what it is and advised with great caution
that one never knows what it may be good for and advised acceptance
and her problems were bigger than ours with a war raging in Europe
bombs on her head ruins devastation existential fear and an unknown
and we have each other a roof over our heads and food on our table
And yet it is difficult to be grateful when a vision for imminent future
has been shattered so crudely in its unfairness of unnecessary delay
On the bright side candles and scent sticks are unpacked as we pray
17th March 2021
Now is the Aquarian Age and its predictable backlash
while America scares the hell into us.
Where culture wars of identity and recrimination
have become silos of information isolation.
Where critical thought and intellectualism
is targeted for finger pointing and 'woke' blaming.
They besmirch compassion under the rubric 'socialism'.
As though democratic socialism is, or has ever been, a bad thing?
Ask your Grandmother if she appreciates her pension?
Do you drive on roads and highways? Obey stop signs?
The inarticulate MAGA twenty first century pledge of allegiance
is fealty to a neo-fascism of religious and race intolerance.
That empowered imperial colonialism and historic xenophobia.
Superiority manifest by God determined righteousness.
Ancient Abrahamic systems that privileged the elite.
Requiring fealty of the conditioned masses
by willing submission, called faith.
Separation of religion and state is a constitutional bulwark.
That is by credence and convention historically obscured.
The prayer breakfast obligatory for success.
'In God we Trust' is stamped on every bag of donor funds
that lobby the integrity of statespersons and politicians.
This is the history of our humanity; this is what we face,
this is what we are up against, these are the powers manifest.
And now we are in a time of critical potential.
Where idealism confronts ignorance
administered by hate, and unexamined faith.
Where jingoism can be 'replaced' by compassionate humanism.
Liberating us from media forged manacles of corporate, state,
or religious indoctrination that still enforce their control.
We rise defiant throughout the world to the Age of Aquarius.
Articulate, and provocative.
Inspired by ideals of Global Unity,
and the 2.0 of humanity.
AN EPITAPH
Will liberty ring out again,
beneath the cries of human rights
can freedom's name survive,
dissembling and lies;
Will duty from its prison flee
throw off its shackled memory,
is respect just a word,
spoken,but never heard:
How long, how long 'til I becomes thee ?
when ,when, will ego bend the knee,
the victim is not me
my friend, my friend,it's we.
Who rings this bell of liberty
truly sounds,our culture's death knell.
YESTERDAY
Where are our
yesterdays
here today
gone tomorrow-
a page in history
oftime forgotten,
the past buried-
fragments
of memory
unearthed by a voice
a song
a photograph-
lived again
through a sepia lens
ACROSS A ROOM
Beauty is something we see
with individual eyes,
deep within our soul,resides
attraction,waiting ,asleep
yet longing to be aroused;
Our need to be recognised,
a desire to recognise,
reciprocate and hold close
subtle scents,inherent and
so universally held;
A certain something unique,
intercourses between eyes,
a novel read by a glance
in seconds,might last a lifetime
indelibly imprints,love;
Only time,can reveal
imperfections of conceit,
when ego retreats and
aborts the frail foetus in
pools of recrimination.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name ichthyschiro
Addison reflected.
Yes indeed, Addison’s propensity for dashing.
Not driven by any stretch but a dash.
An inspirational dash.
An urge, a quirk, a whim, even whimsy.
“I must now dash.”
Addison would wryly whisper to herself.
Not that these traits of hers was a source of irrational blushes or awkward self-recrimination.
They actually amplified her allure and mystery.
A town land in her mind which she seemed both drawn to but would somethimes flee.
It’s encoded enigma seemed to travel with her.
Her town of birth now taking possession of her more and more.
Its carousel of excitement, night and day empowered this clairvoyant.
Running, jogging, sprinting ..,. a symbolic expression.
“Muddy pool, …. I’ve done it again.
It’s real deep. I’m out but enough water for my moonlight reflections.”
Addison appearing in a splattered mirror images of herself.”
All simultaneously frenzy of another kind occurred in tandem.
During these midnight runs two parallel worlds occupied her mind.
She could recall her daylight conundrum with crystalline clarity.
“Figure …. In front … behind.”
Odd to say the least
My imagination and everything.”
Actually a blackbird or songbird that seemed to call as if in alignment or connection.
There could be other reasons.
Daylight hour surge of a poles apart different kind.
The after hours,, daylight hours.
“I have to be extremely careful.
Here I am, competent person, loving this routine when available to me.
I adore the town I live in yet I’m constantly running from it.”
Eerie and quite unusual.
She mutters knowing probably she is only being heard by herself
But is this true?
Addison seeks and seems to be reckless.
But actually that isn't true.
She has included in her repertoire camping at night, surviving in the open and less than hospitable environments both town and country.
When folks are young, they may feel blessed
But I coped with bullies, life felt stressed,
I started eating a lot, food always there
In theory a good thing, in my case a snare,
I ate whole boxes of doughnuts, chocolate cake too
Into my mouth, tasty pastries flew
Ate myself sick, could not disgorge
Then tried to run it off, body in a forge
Got strange symptoms, my extremities cold
Felt fatigue in the morning, I was young, but felt old
When I had a craving, to voraciously eat
In the battle of will, it was always a defeat.
The Hypothalamus is a pea shaped organ in the brain
Supposed to regulate craving, but my mark of Cain
Suppose to regulate reproductive urges too
When that kicked in, shame added to the stew
Not good or bad, food is meant to subsist
but If I went by a bakery, I could not resist
I'd pay for the delicacies, eat them standing there
People looked at me, I pretended not to care
Tried to eat bulk, solve the craving crime
In dark alleys, ate whole watermelons at a time,
If I had to buy something, I'd mail home the change
A life of privilege, led to something so strange.
Food was my master, it controlled me.
But I fasted part time, that's how I broke free.
I quieted down the enemy, now a friend
Got a second wind, a damaged man on the mend.
Got Shock Treatments, and Thorazine,
Helped with the symptoms, stopped snacks, wiped clean.
It wasn't all normal, I needed tricks for control
Trying to conquer what swallowed my soul.
The past can't be changed, but can one break the spell?
Avoid the positive feedback into hell?
You have to be selective, not clear out life's shelf
Discipline is needed for sanity and health
Not much is known about the traps in the mind
I've been in some, hope I left them behind
Should I blame myself, or blame my brain
Can any recrimination wipe out the stain?
When you're down in this life, baddies swoop with glee
Like vultures circling a wounded prey, they came for me.
They latched on, like an octopus in a marsh
I tried to tell my story, but it sounded mad, too harsh.
But it did make me think, as the iron rules kicked in
A harsh lesson learned in a world where mercy runs thin.
I should turn my back on the past, though I should not forget
My new problems are worse, but I freed my mind from the net
Each of us = our own worst enemy
Hyperbole escorted ushered down aisle,
no critic within google x bajillion mile
(give or take a million) approximates
limitless potential regarding self said
epithet vile expletive spewing wicked
vituperation, vilification, vexation,
vandalization, undervaluation, uglification,
transmogrification, terrorization, suffocation,
stultification, strangulation, recrimination...
custom made swiftly tailored harried style
unbounded poetic license curtly vile
distilling, kickstarting, whipping...
hewed, patented, trademarked... versatile
methodologies, modalities to compile
masochistic punishment exhibiting agile
proactive innovations linkedin to avast
amalgamation, where synonyms connote
inflicting physical/ verbal self harm while
alone within emotional wilderness I'll
venture to add non active means to torture
including versus being passively servile,
and case in point with yours truly exile
isolate, entombed, locked, sequestered...
in bedroom of boyhood cherished domicile,
no matter whether violent or tame recourse
good n plenti abominations populate fertile
two clenched fist sized gray matter awash
where rage against our thwarted ambitions
dreams, goals, joys, motives, most pregnant trial
birthing most brutish, horrific, nasty... nemesis.
Please excuse this wurst wordy wayward bard
cuz here cometh the tricked out guard
(oh my...dog he attired just like me)
as everyone else within this isolationist ward.
Life As A Highway Robber
Escape from captivity pulled off
when I came of age
boyhood begrudged,
and bested by brigandage,
but willpower sans declaration
of independence begot bravery
against British brutes
bridging caper (involving collusion)
to bust loose from cage,
and trappings forcibly to plunder artworks
and sculpted treasures
by classical masters
without causing damage
taught by professional thieves
requiring minimal equipage
whereat over time footage
sordid memory constantly replayed
plunder and pillage unwittingly
fostering getaway
from hell raising gambits
planting seed to gauge
optimal instance
to feign criminal shenanigans
running rampant with militant spunky gangs
"FAKING" das spies zing
trumpeting hostage killing
and taking, nonetheless
swallowing bitter pill
reeking havoc as honorable image
in order to survive
within world wide
web of criminals (especially
an unwelcome foreigner),
where skills as buccaneer
really put to test, and tried
maximum lawlessness partaken
in (dolled up) guise suppressing shied
pitifull looking indigent vagabond
self away by donning
"FAKE" whippersnapper
benefiting getting to sally and ride
always exuding patriotic pride
pleasing ghosts of founding fathers
against their autonomy from
crown weathering woe be chide
recrimination impossible
to enforce as bride
of Lady Liberty opened arms for those,
who made dangerous journey
across avast ocean
only to confront (whodunit) thuggery
this lifestyle raping, looting,
and burning WITHOUT choice,
but guilt aye didst abide.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Retrospective many generations since
marking birth of a nation
(The United States of America),
now mecca, sans land of milk and honey
current president imposed antithetical ration!
Elemental formulations of healing for the soul
Consequential co-ordinations as we resist growing old
Monumental calculations from a mind in the scientific cold
Fundamental indignation from a heritage that has been cheaply sold
Inspiration from an underground rebellion against corruption
Congregations gathering peacefully while they plan the next outrageous eruption
Elevations of encouragement reserved for the next humble induction
Consternations of conscience as they deliberate the latest disruption
Elated Birthrights of grace that alleviate the suffering of man
Conflated sights of misplaced rights that insight the oppressed to take a stand
Berated knights of armies that fight for the underprivileged lands
Outdated insights from the furtherest from right that cannot reach out to take their neighbours hand
Sorrow amidst the grieving leaves of the oldest oak lined tree
Tomorrow rids the meaning of the boldest manoeuvre to be free
Borrow a reference from those streaming the coldest point of view even though they cannot see
Chateaux of Buddhist Mist resists those seeming as though they understand what it means to just “be”
Retrospective Franz Kafka, Kubrick and Van Gogh are turning in their respective artistic graves
Genuflective baroque bursts out in the streets and illuminates the belligerent and brave
My perspective resists the twists in the narrative that perpetuate the misrepresentation of knowledge in this dying age
Defective subjectives invoke word detectives as contradictions alleviate words from a sage
Retreating from gender and bigotry , racism, discrimination and persecution
Completing a consulate meeting while avoiding contamination of your verbal elocution
Deleting the render of fascism, recrimination and avoiding electrocution
Competing the bender of catachlysm while intimidation forces an absolution
Give peace a chance while you look at him askance and allow a new world to now form
Live through this strange dance while the privilege prance and the poor remain utterly forlorn
Forgive the wanton violent stance of those who are existing war torn
Outlive the demise of the good in disguise as a baby cries after being born
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz