Long Reputation Poems
Long Reputation Poems. Below are the most popular long Reputation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reputation poems by poem length and keyword.
Liberal Christians are in denial,
About how much they validate,
The fundamentalist church old,
Because the same story is told.
I know that the Queen, royalty,
Is a liberal, but that’s irrelevant,
Because history will offer people,
A legacy of the Christian steeple.
When fundamentalist’s err and sin,
They go to their Christian friends bin,
For a validation that’s assumed,
From society’s morals consumed.
Christians back in the seventies,
Were innocent even if felt guilty,
And they would even site the Queen,
To describe their reputation lean.
You can’t do that anymore, thankfully,
Because kids have iPhones, Samsungs,
So communication can made directly,
By the child who may just feel feckly.
I think the state should intervene,
And turn the tables on ancient history,
By dictating to the Anglican world,
Their faith healing rights burled.
It’s not difficult to see and realise,
That fundamentalism goes to far,
So if we set laws for Anglicans,
Then we’ll all be better citizens.
Dragon polished his nails and admired himself in the mirror once again; a daily ritual getting so old. The one lousy hair on his chin, protruding from a small wart which he called a, “birthmark”; warranted a razor, shaving foam and aftershave or so he insisted.
He blew himself a kiss and turned with a smile; “Do you think my fangs need more whitening?” He asked. “Dr. Raine said the last time that he “Couldn’t get them any whiter, remember?” I responded.
“Humph!” he snorted; “I can’t go around looking like some shoddy, back alley lizard now, can I? Now that I’m a professional flutist, I have a reputation to protect.” With that he patted my cheek and said, “Ciao baby, don’t wait up for me.”
I watched him grab his instrument and walk out the door. “Don’t get that big head get stuck”, I muttered softly. Why couldn’t I have adopted a normal dragon? No, I had to have the cutest one; how could I not have foreseen that ego?
When he said he wanted a flute, I bought him one; he hated it. “That’s a beginner flute,” he remarked. I want a, Master Class instrument!”
I gave in all too easily and a hundred payments later, he was playing Vivaldi, like a pro. Ok, so maybe that was a good investment.
Every contest he’d entered garnered him another golden trophy; but, did he really need a tuxedo to wear when he received those baubles? My credit cards gained weight at lightning speed, as he grew. I passed his room; stuck my tongue out at that, trophy wall and noticed his vanity. Did he really need one hundred and twelve different bottles of cologne?
At two am, he awoke me with an anxious cry. I heard, “Mumsey dear, wake up…the concert was superb and the governor was so impressed, (of course, he would be…) with my playing; he’s invited me, me to play for his inaugural dinner! Can I have your credit card? I need to get a French manicure and have my scales waxed. Oh, and I’m going to need a new Tux.”
“You have twenty three tuxedos in your closet; why can’t you wear one of those?” I asked him.
“Mumsey”, he replied, “I have a reputation to maintain.” He tweaked my cheek; smiled at himself in the mirror and under my breath I muttered back, “I can hardly wait until his, ever-growing ego, gets him stuck in the doorway.”
one drowsy day’s afternoon
by a pond where green leafy reeds swaying in a breeze
the sun enjoys a nap enveloped in a halo, the own glory
on the gentle weaves
a water strider gliding on the water with his long legs;
on a reed leaf a dragonfly sat atop of it and puts the pieces of broken sky
into his eyes larger than the sky to draw a picture of complete sky
the shirr chirrup of a cicada carried by the wind comes by the pond
searching a shade of a tree, but when he couldn’t find a one other than
the slender reeds stand by the everything-standstill pond, flies away grumbling
“no matter how desperate i am, i cannot sing a song hanging on a petty reed!
it’s an insult, it’s a disgrace to my reputation”
then the time, i wonder what’s made him so happy,
attired with all colorful patches of silk pieces garment
comes whistling and wanders in the fields and mountains
that is covered only a color of deep green; and dyes it with
spray of all imaginable colors you can think of:
before being sprayed colors were dry
a hotheaded wind makes an abrupt appearance,
letting colorful leaves ahead of him to raise a fuss
once again in the woods calm and peaceful
surprised by the commotion the birds fly away,
the crickets fill up a vacancy and collect leaves named decay
in the wood; tossing ashes after burning them in the lowly hanging
evening glow and long night’s chilling air
and as chilling air becomes dew the crickets wail forth dirges
followed by the lonely reeds cry, then the season stained with
so many mixed emotions drift away with the cloud;
and as the night deepens the stars fall,
the moonlight reflecting on the water glimmers,
a piece of wind torn by the wind behind goes
stepping on the mountainside path lifting a fluttering funeral streamer
The family was in a state of distress
The mom stood pleading with the dad in her pink dress
The motif on the fireplace was quite elaborate
On the table nearby stood a vase, with flowers to decorate
The pattern on the rug was of exquisite design
And the room was well furnished, very refined
Father stood sternly his pants tucked in his boots
They were in shock as they found out the truth
Attired in a white dress, their daughter sat in a chair
looking forlorn and filled with despair
As her" beau" stood by the fireplace across the room
The whole house had an air of gloom
The young lass was pregnant and she had no groom!
Her dad was outraged by this devastating news
And was ready to beat up her "beau"
Her mom pled with her dad
Saying "Please don't harm the lad"
The young man did not come to ask for her hand in marriage
Causing the family's reputation to be disparaged
To add insult to injury the lad said he was already married ! (mother was in tears)
This was too much for the father to bear
On that fateful day one shot was fired
And there by the fireplace the young man expired
No storybook ending, no happily ever after
But love did triumph....a father's love for his daughter
Believe
all accusers,
because no one sets out
to intentionally damage
someone's reputation;
assume they're
truthful.
Believe
all accusers.
We must rally around
victims brave enough to speak out
against sexual assault;
any kind of...
abuse.
Believe
all accusers,
no matter the gender.
Really? Guys, too? Oh yes, guys, too.
Any breathing human;
in all shapes and
sizes.
Believe
all accusers
so they don't continue
to suffer in silence; afraid...
to give voice to their plight;
so they don't fall...
silent.
Believe
all accusers;
support fuels their courage,
doubt ensures their resignation;
powerless to evolve
from victims to...
victors.
(Heptastich)
Date written: 06/24/2021
As a citizen poet without pretension,
I offer a true tale of my invention.
A solid everyman in my community,
with a reputation of immunity,
I was happy and content.
I shared my thoughtful insights,
and wrote about the northern lights.
My words made grown men cry.
I think about it and breathe a sigh -
I was something else!
But, one morning, I woke up
and drank acidic coffee from my cup,
which my wife served black as pitch.
Inside I felt a strange, hot itch.
Could it be indigestion?
No ordinary heart inside my chest,
was it the Devil who had me possessed?
Burning inside, I fretfully undressed,
as, to despair, I acquiesced,
and went back to bed.
But, the feeling persistently welled,
until, at last, I was oddly compelled,
and in terror, I was gripped,
so my own skin, I violently ripped,
exposing my insides.
There, I saw sprockets and springs,
gears, knobs and other things,
and screamed an existential cry,
knowing I could neither live, nor die,
for all I was, was just AI.
How can I have fear of shame
lies and theories haunt my name
mouths which think I have no brain
clouding minds a nasty stain
drained of good a subtle way
a reputation they portray
in their quest for selfish gain
a jealousy they can't contain
They allow the negative
as they let mystery live
explanations they then give
theories, lies through which they shift
none of which are positive
fronting their dishonest gift
believed as they are good at it
they spread the word I'd lost my mind
and this they claimed a long long time
as I stayed silent out of sight
and now people believe this lie
Truth be told I kicked them out
left one day and without doubt
didn't want those peeps about
felt no need to speak or shout
but now I do with all deceived
so long passed I'm not believed
their story with unmovable seed
vindication of why I leave
but everyone now thinks I'm mad
when I tell of treatment bad
it's treatment I just couldn't of had
manipulation wins... how sad
alive
it's worth more than it's (w)hole
and less than (a) (a)part
darkness borne of death
(a) (a)li(v)e that's been told
as if one more day were so old
flightless with fight
left to the night
to break or to not
to fear or to not
a mere bend with the wind
to late to abscond nor rescind
undressed in interpretation
undue distress of trepidation
filled or fulfilled
with failed reputation
of naught
so it begins
on
and on
breath
being
about to be(e)
the sting of life
feeling
free
I am but what I am
set out to be or not
blustery or besmirched
begotten but not forgotten
I will the will to live
(w)holey
alive
I am an outlaw for Christ,
I know he paid the price,
I don’t have to think twice,
He was the ultimate sacrifice.
The devils always trying to keep me quiet,
Accusing me of starting a riot,
But, it’s the truth that sets men free
So there is no one that can stop me.
I have graduated from old ways,
I’m at the alter with both my hands raised
To the author and finisher of my salvation
I now only care about his reputation.
I find it funny how no one spoke
When I lived a life that was a sick joke
And now that I have amazing grace
I hear whispers in every place
But, that does not change how I feel
For it’s his presence that is so surreal
I am thankful to be called his friend
I will sing his song until the very end.
By: Sabina Nicole
Why do you keep up this ambiance? I asked Sadie.
Her house was a Bohemian’s catchall place.
A cobweb full of delightful piles and paints.
Half finished canvases, beautiful embroidered scarves.
See? She is not a witch, I told my persnickety girlfriend.
Ooh! She said. “Is that a cobweb?” It was; inside the house.
Sadie brought in the tea kettle and mentioned Earl Gray.
My girlfriend ran off screaming, due to the kettle’s teeth.
I love things that are whimsical and fun; so, I stayed.
Sharing a delightful afternoon with a recluse who is hilarious.
I went back many more times; but did not convey it to others.
Sadie liked her reputation as the neighborhood witch.
It goes along with my rune readings and my soothsaying.
She taught me this, palmistry and how to read auras.
You have the gift of second sight, she told me.
You knew your friend would run out screaming.
I could not deny it. I knew that she knew that I knew.
I was now smiling as widely as her crazy teapot.
Sadie was my best teacher; I was proud to know her.
We still commune, even though she is beyond the veil.