Long Resignation Poems
Long Resignation Poems. Below are the most popular long Resignation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Resignation poems by poem length and keyword.
the bottle bounced,
said shatterproof.
kids have to do it
more than once.
mom’s countenance
shatterproof -
probably laughed
behind the scenes.
more likely created
creases, mad lines.
when our kids
don’t show up
on time -
when the watch
ticks slowly
fear growing…
anger ticking,
if relieved
by the doorknob
jiggling…
shatterproof,
no explosion,
just quiet,
sheer silence,
no glance,
no hello
when ya know
you’ve completely
screwed up
shatterproof
at remembrance,
when your kids
likewise
turn the key
recklessly
if they’ve made it
home, you sigh
with relief,
with epitome,
with resignation,
knowing they’re stepping
into the whole wide world
…have you made them
shatterproof?
tears at times
…when ticketed
…heartbroken
…pregnant
We survive
We are alive
S H A T T E R P R O OF
6/24/2023
What does it mean to witness suffering and feel it burn inside you,
not as gentle empathy, but as a deep-rooted and screaming indictment?
There is a boy who carries cement as I carry metaphors — without question, without choice,
without allowing himself the luxury of another option, only with a resignation sculpted in silence.
He is not a symbol, not a story woven from words, but a breathing being,
a master of the mathematics of hunger, who has learned the philosophy of small joys,
in a world that never stops for his pain, that doesn't listen to his silence,
an entire universe that continues to spin, ignoring the burden he carries.
I see him, and my soul splits in two — one part mourning, the other marveling,
for what is humanity if not a living contradiction, a dance of paradoxes?
How can joy exist in the exact place where injustice flourishes and grows,
how can a smile be so sincere where pain has made its home?
He speaks of dinner with the grace of a saint, smiles as if he has made peace
with things I still wage war against in my mind, a prisoner of my own battles,
and I want to believe he is a glitch in a cruel system, but perhaps he is the truth,
and I am the illusion, a shadow of privilege that cannot see clearly through the veil of perception.
Perhaps we are not divided by privilege as much as by perceptions and illusions,
perhaps the question is not why he is content, but why I cannot be,
why my heart cannot find peace where he has made peace with destiny,
and in this reflection, I wonder if the truth is deeper than my beliefs.
She says I’m so fun,
then claims that we’re done,
she says she hates me,
then wants my babies.
first she wants her man,
then says, “Go use your hand.”
She stares at my eves,
then says I’m full of lies.
The aggravation…
the resignation…
I think I’ve had enough
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
She dreams of houses,
then only grouses,
wants to show me off,
then snaps, “Just get lost.”
One day she’s a dream,
and the next only screams,
How do I deal with that?
In love with only half...
The real confusion…
the sad delusions…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
I want to love her,
and not be disturbed,
hope she gets well,
but half the time it’s hell.
It this allright?
Am I justified?
This is not her fault…
but drives me up the wall.
Mishmash of feelings…
it leaves me reeling…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
I walk in the shadow
I shore up my doubt, behind a loosely bound hope
Which in turn is propped up without foundation
Cynical of a life, at the mercy of luck
Collateral damage feeds my reservation
I shore up tomorrow with what I see today
Without conspiracy or investigation
I place trust in all that’s completely unfettered
For fear, I’m left to this present resignation
I shore up my life with whatever came before
Not hindsight or academic education
The oblivion traversed until I was born
Strings along primal echoes of information
I shore up my conscious with bliss and ignorance
Interspersed with indifference on occasion
It’s not I don’t care about suffering and death
Rather, I’m desensitised by their pervasion
I shore up my denial with an open mind
Which is nothing except raw interpretation
This planet spins correctly, even though tilted
Not by wishful thinking, but strange gravitation
I shore up my boredom, trying to fall asleep
When really tired, will attempt hibernation
Anything to forget this human condition
After remembering, I’m long past salvation
I shore up my heaven, by creating a hell
Balance looks more appealing, in an equation
Gaze upon purgatory, and share what I see
Not because I’m kind, it’s more my destination
I shore up my poem by claiming it’s my own
But in truth, it’s an open collaboration
I conspire with the musings of all that’s unclear
They dwell inside me, in flawless aberration
- - - - - - -
Horrid little raindrops
Hopping upon the ground
Hosing down my windows
Hoarding inside the clouds
Hanging around my head
Holding my spirit down
Haul your ass off elsewhere
Deep inhalation and exhalation
breaths initially activate
relaxation, attributed to stress,
tension, unconscious vectors
woefully agglomerate
ache'n to gangrenous jackknifing noggin
dichotomy to alleviate
cognitive clog analogous
to emotional obstruction
that doth constipate
in an effort to allocate
opportune psychological uplifting
state of emergent euphoria amalgamate
ting in tandem with prescription
medication to leverage mental
quiescence holistically ameliorate
counterproductive suicidal waves
riding roughshod, which repeatedly
pulsate, oscillate, and nurse qua mantra
generate breakers animate
ting my state of consciousness
incessantly inundated with said
stormy sea re: brawl mailer
daemons intent to annihilate
stealthily, jarringly,
and devastatingly annunciate
without warning a tsunami
drowning spirited lifesource,
an undesirable nihilistic thought,
I unwittingly, hatefully,
and accurately anticipate
emotional tug of war
as better angels arbitrate
struggling successfully to arrogate,
and establish erstwhile equilibrium
lest body electric will self asphyxiate
such deep seated
respiration aims to attenuate
ninety nine point nine nine nine...percent
effortlessly injecting willpower,
and survival overpowering
strength modus operandi to dominate
self destructive negative feedback loop
constantly (i.e. daily)
vying to authenticate
practiced discipline, sans shut eye
transcendent mindset to calibrate
and stymie passivity to capitulate,
where resignation writ large checkmate
ting ability to experience and consummate
spiritual ecstasy, wherefore I contemplate
the simple practice the
benefits to coordinate
setting aside absolute
value able quiet time to cultivate
blockbuster, regarding crushing
beast within that doth debilitate!
"Dead leaves lay still until the wind takes them
here and there: even the last flower is withered:
yet there is a beauty in decay. "
Quote by _Constance La France
No annoyance of fall! No rile! No rage! No wrath ever!
Resignation, rather, O leaf, has been your endeavor!
Dead? I will never dare to say! You are like life, zestful,
Just your physique and psyche have made you a bit restful;
Isn't death, like the now-old frail flesh and blood of yours, a truth?
Doesn't the sweet thought of the resuscitation, your mind sooth...?
Winds shake your stay, like the angels carry the upright souls,
Don't dread or fled or fright though turbulence shatters your goals;
A prisoner and the police? A slave and the master?
Nay, you are like a child who is saved in a disaster;
Will creatures that do not alter their selves ever revive?
Midst your extrinsic decay, dear leaf, you're fully alive...!
The sky wears cozy costumes; the colors of clouds alter;
The sun and shower evade the earth; galaxies falter;
Earthquakes arise; volcanoes erupt; little flowers fade,
Within you, O leaf, are many an optimistic shade;
Move on with all miraculous powers and forces fair!
Till you dwell in dignity of divine decorum rare...!!!
05 June 2023
Writing Challenge - D Quotes Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhymes Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
While rummaging thru papers to shred...
Earlier this November fourth
two thousand and nineteen
your truly long in the tooth
(er...in dentured) wordsmith
rifled thru miscellaneous papers to shred
unwittingly chancing upon
report cards enlightening me,
academic, emotional, social...
characteristics, née significant
figurative "red flags,"
(no not signifying me being blacklisted
re: guarding Communism taking root)
rather teacher's comments
signaled moderate behavioral crisis,
where bass and treble clef acronyms
“Good Boys Do Fine Always”
"every good boy does fine"
respectively analogously noteworthy
(namesake Matthew Scott Harris)
because a lad (in) attendance at:
following primary grade schools:
Audubon Elementary, Eagleville,
and Henry Kline Boyer)
exhibited crushing arduousness
nsync with chronically
profound inability to
acclimate, integrate, participate...
spelling academic difficulty,
alienation, isolation, resignation...
said pronounced mental, physical,
and social perturbations
compounded manifold when promoted
regardless abysmal failing marks
most likely congenital,
vital intervention absent
absolute zero doubt
developmental delay debuted,
since youngest daughter
twenty one February 4th, 2020
diagnosed soon after birth
within autistic spectrum
intervention luckily bridged
yawning, looming, gaping... cleft
less apparent to non family,
she functions admirably
employed at World Market
while enrolled at Bend, Oregon
Community College
relieved healthy maturation
courtesy ability appropriate
custom tailored, (not necessarily swiftly,
nor styled harriedly)
confidence building academic assignments
need based (cost free) tutoring
wrap around at our home,
based speech pathology,
Montgomery County Hospital,
acquiring driver's license,
progressing positively (think)
chronological milestones achieved
mostly on target
boosting self esteem, worthiness
validating benefits, viz palliative care
side stepping severe suicidal
tendency unlike her papa
who permanently stunted his growth.
some souls can’t be reached from here.
It isn’t planned that way,
it just becomes.
doors are opened, doors are closed
we seldom see a fish swim backwards
more than several feet.
perhaps they just tread water
until their stream rolls by.
bells never stop mid-swing,
mid-ring, mid-everything.
rain falls upward
in weeping dreams
souls fall down
awkwardly awakened by
what many call their life.
I want to paint a broken cup,
to make it whole
but flowers don’t un-grow
they simply die
or maybe not so simply after all.
We’re all caught up in the wiggle and grin
of lives held together
by what’s called a “safety” pin.
when there’s nothing really safe
about you after all.
Resignation leaves.
Then inside his room he grieves
sitting on a little chair wearing just his underwear.
Resistance says, “No way!
Never will I go away.”
He is like a bloody hound so stubbornly he stays around!
Resignation throws his hands
in the air, makes no demands.
See him give a little shrug. Someone give that guy a hug!
Resistance has great staying power -
from sun-up till the midnight hour.
He’s water at a constant boil, the “squeaking wheel” that gets the oil!
Resignation’s sure to quit.
Inside his chair he sits and sits.
Resistance, the annoying critter! He at least is no quitter!
Written October 5, 2016
For the Resignation Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Now revised for Skat's the 'Premiere Contest NUMBER 15' Poetry Contest
Young lovers living in death's shadow
Autonomous hearts bound by love's oath
Freely skirting the binding traditions that cluttered their way
Secretly espousing an innocuous, private romance that openly challenged convention
Amorous compatriots plotting a treasonous tryst
Initiating a temporal rapprochement that yielded a spiritual legacy
Twining branches of two long-severed limbs
Brokers extending a healing love that widened a poisonous rift
Sweet incense of sacrificed lambs rising from the rancid pyre of conformity
Dispossessed of title and home, but vested with a nobler destiny
Accepting their perilous fate with a blithe resignation
Bearing a reproach not of their own making
Short-lived nightmare exchanged for an everlasting vigil
Distilling their fleeting time together into love's eternal quotient
Attaining immortality in the mutable literary discourse