Long Refutes Poems
Long Refutes Poems. Below are the most popular long Refutes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Refutes poems by poem length and keyword.
Betrayal devastates your heart:
while he swears it is not his fault.
And when the truth refutes his lies,
wishes and dreams grind to a halt.
Anger and sadness sever love:
cutting the bonds; trust created.
And confronting indifference:
Hope dies, leaving you frustrated.
His lies are peppered with half-truths,
compounding the depth of your hurt.
For he swears he's done nothing wrong,
nothing but an innocent flirt.
Treating you like a simpleton,
he switches on his boyish charm.
And refuses to admit fault,
swearing he'd never cause you harm.
And he denies what friends tell you:
countering with an alibi.
And you cry inside, for you feel
that it's time, that you say goodbye.
As you abandon wishful dreams,
fantasies no longer take flight.
And tending to your broken heart,
you count on time to set things right.
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago
hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint stoned "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief
he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)
invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,
deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions
commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,
butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal
impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"
recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb
firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding
immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.
A Myth Reconciled
The earth is flat on the surface and hollow inside as the sky holds the
bubble intact unless we tempt the Gods and the firmament crashes from
our heaven above loyal to mythological narrative yet so close to the truth
Earth wind water and fire at the core of beliefs with underworld looming
and still adventurous minds were testing the limits overstepping the mark
Pseudoscience today follows the pattern refutes philosophical insight
elevates paradigmatic errors and dogma unsound premises and greed
With nuclear fission and fusion of power with arrogant megalomania
the earth has become a flat pack of lies distortions inventions and demise
Humankind is hollow inside minds of our masters and the jubilant crowds
rejoice from snow globes of miscreant media adorn delusions of progress
Contaminated earth waters polluted fires brewing in smithies of weapons
we must have forgotten that he or she who sows wind may harvest all storms
Myths allude to the euphemistic description of fake news which are really
propaganda engaged in a contest whose falsehoods are the ones to succeed
When the dust of collusion has settled and radiation proceeds we may come
to rue our ignorance and reconcile for the chance that the myth was no myth
30th May 2017
Strange tales now I see
Dying death sets free
What is meant to be
Just look deeper then
Dying death knows when
Final curtain span
Watch the glimpse that tells
Dying death speaks well
Cast that final spell
Write the last page here
Dying death frames cheer
A deeper plunge spears
To come is to go
Dying death now shows
Dance in ebb and flow
Be bold my dear heart
Dying death greets start
Ending splash binds art
This is our commute
Dying death refutes
Stillness is not mute
Speak then silence bold
Dying death grips cold
Transcend what now holds
Seek that stillness deep
Dying death brings sleep
My darlings don't weep
My soul goes home now
Dying death endows
Beyond why and how
At the final gate
Dying death drowns hate
Soul embraces fate
Do not grieve or fear
Dying death makes clear
Soul knows endless cheer
Sing and dance and play
Dying death now pays
Love's forever day
Leon Enriquez
12 October 2017
Singapore
Claim the Skies Back
Eastern Alleppo, weighed down like a ghetto
Destroyed like Navaho
By the unfathomably destructive deeds
of a single generation
Distorted venerations based on misinterpretations
Perpetuate these continuingly heinous altercations
Contriving unjustifiable infiltrations
Forcing unnecessary segregations of nation upon nation
While so many of us sit stationed for the crossing
Watching only through the Looking Glass
Preferring to allow farce to form the basis
Of this invonceivable truth
Providing it suits the brutes with enough power
To silence anyone who refutes them
Intrusive sights hover,
Among infusions of inimitable horror,
As though love itself had lost it’s lover
Trialled by the error
Of these broken Universal Laws
Like festering sores that take the form
Of an infection that can only be born by war
And yet we continue to ignore them
The grand in their grandiose dellusions,
Growing madder, climbing their ladders of greed and corruption
Laughing at Luncheons
While the artillery breaks the bones of the innocent in the background
A perilous sound is emerging from the earth
A merciless grumbling from the depths,
Like a curse
That we have placed upon ourselves
The Iron-clad shelves of humanity are beginning to crumble
Rare and perfect life-forms are dying in the jungles
While the forests and the mountains weep pristine tears
Collective existence now quivers in monumental fear
The sound of this harrowing show
Is a continuous unsyncopated stroke
Of the lowest of all possible notes
Upon the bow of a weeping cello
Gallilleo would bellow,
Crying for the folley and the futile misfortunes of man
As we stand now as a race
With pitchforks in our hands
Beyond the earth's landscape,
There’s a yonder place,
There the soul makes its escape,
A different world we face.
Our souls go on a voyage,
An uninterrupted passage,
A pathway to a tranquil city
whose emblem is purity.
In its carriage, the soul is bound,
In conflicting voices, it is drowned,
It desires a serene ambience,
It refutes nature’s transience
It bears the mirror into the future,
The soul sees the picture,
In alliance with the mind, it transcends,
The body exhales as it descends.
The view is clearer,
Hope stands nearer.
March 3, 2023.
Break The Mirror Poetry Contest,
Unseeking Seeker.
Plato says that Heaven is perfect things,
that nothing pure or good exists on earth.
We leave the Ideal World when, at our birth,
like ants who've briefly flown, we shed our wings.
All infants cry, in Shakespeare's view, when first
they leave the womb, to find this Vale of Tears
is what they must inhabit four score years,
dreading the hardship into which they've burst.
Our human life, so Seneca would say,
is prone to failure, suffering and pain.
The only shreds of solace that remain
are stoic calm, acceptance of decay.
They're wrong, of course, to tend towards this view:
but then, my Perfect Girl, they didn't know you.
Alan Shepard, astronaut, took golf balls to the moon
He whacked them only when he knew that he’d be leaving soon
‘One flew two hundred yards,’ he said, ‘and as I recollect
one came down in a crater, although I never checked.’
In seventy-one that bit of fun by NASA was allowed
Such jollity in twenty-one would now be disavowed
Like all the stuff they’ve left behind those golf balls lay there stranded
At least they do if it is true that both those golf balls landed
And then it all got boring with rockets on the wain
Those Saturn V Apollos superseded by a plane
Referred to as the shuttle like a boat, a bus or train
I doubt that space flights ever will excite me once again
Be careful what you wish for: is that not what they say
Something mad is happening, in outer space today
It should be so exciting as beyond the Milky Way
A hurtling flying saucer makes our population pray
It’s passing stars and galaxies at speeds beyond compare
We know it’s heading here because it didn’t stop off there
And now the bloggers tell us what the BBC refutes
It doesn’t come in peace because it’s loaded up with nukes
And finally it slowed down as upon our moon it came
And then it simply hovered there like it was taking aim
Then each TV and radio and stuff with speakers in
Crackled into life with a God almighty din
You humans shall obey these words and leave to us your earth
Or you shall be destroyed because you are of little worth
And then that space-ship blew apart as something smashed its shields
In orbit its astounding how much power a golf ball wields
***
[Postscript: in 1971, Alan Shepard took two golfballs and a modified club to the moon. Apparently, aware that any ‘whoops’ moments might be blamed on ‘larking about’, this was sanctioned on the proviso that all scheduled tasks had already been completed: thus Shepard teed off shortly before leaving the moon. To this day, Shepard retains the record for the longest golf shot on the moon... Duh!]
Though I remember school days,
One thing I can’t recall
Is getting to and from each day;
My brain has hit a wall.
My mother didn’t drive and so
She must have walked me there,
My dad already gone for work,
His daytime presence rare.
I try to picture rainy days -
Umbrellas, raincoats, boots -
Yet somehow what I’m seeing
Is a scene my mind refutes.
When I was slightly older
And my brothers came along,
Did we all walk together
With my mom? That’s feeling wrong.
I guess our memories consist
Of more important things,
The details not worth keeping
In our past rememberings.
So likely in the future,
My two grandkids will not know
That they walked to school with Nana
And she loved those Fridays so.
Inside familiar folds of my hanging apron
I encounter a blinkless miniature figurine
Glossy, posable, plastic as a Lego creation
Loyal component of kitchen enforces routine
Breakfast allures with buttery muffins toasted
Lunch- a- lot predicts sandwich towers teetering
Dinner calls for lavish legs of livestock roasted
Day which follows knows a sequence repeating
Pack away cycle of soap, soak, replace, bench polishes
Scouring for recipes, Lego lady's eyes neatly smile
Cinnamon wafting whirlwind with servitude accomplishes
Devourers' belches earn her Master Caterer title
Beneath bed, which ejects me at six am alarm
Failed slipper search produces palm sized plaster sculpture
Icing faced, eyes without memory, eternally calm
Solid base she stands on stops commotion from toppling her
Nine am sees my arrival, politely inquiring co-operation
Afternoon forgets to yawn, incessant key tapping keeps on
Harsh carpark steps echo, repell dusk's contemplation
Traffic jams tomorrow's chasms, where dreams hold reunion
Crisp gives way to crinkles, plaster sculpture refutes
Her congeniality and aptitude due to exhaustion
Chalky cheeks split with encouragements' overuse
Legs held as one are motionless to express discourse
Steam escaped open door shows mirrored me showered
Bounce of towel buffed flesh rises in delightful nonchalance
Droplets of conciousness roll a path cleansed in empowerment
Serpent tongue hair saturates time, attacks life with vehemence