Long Roughed Poems
Long Roughed Poems. Below are the most popular long Roughed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roughed poems by poem length and keyword.
Trip tripping over the words
Wheres the same in the strange
I've lost my way
Since the pain
Comes the rain
Walk down my hall of shame
No explanations for these reasons
The places my mind travels
Down this dirty road
Clouded by all the dust
Feelings fall uncleaned
Roughed to the core
My world broken apart
Losely i speak with this untwisted tongue
I wish i could find the words for my misunderstanding
As we grow we seem to split into two very different places
I want to take it all away
Go back to the way we were
But how were we really
Questions are barriers for the answers
Why cant i be the way we were sure to be then than now
My heart is lonely and my mind will never make sense of what has become
But i will try to be more then we were meant to be through us even if that has gone.
I wake up in the morning
With the alarm clock going off
The Major League would hire me
If they got a look at that toss
Landing perfectly in the trash
On the other side of the room
Didn't wake up then
Till mid-afternoon
Pretty sure for certain
My boss is wondering why me he hired
On the job less than a week
And already on the verge of being fired
Forgot to pay my phone bill
So I couldn't give him a call
Seems the only thing I do right
Is doing wrong
Too cheap to buy flowers
So I pick them out in left field
Right next to the honey patch
With bees munching their meals
Brought them home to my girlfriend
Who proceeded to sneeze and cough
With a case of hay fever
This didn't go over as well as I thought
Her sneezing also interrupted
The bees in the bunch
Sticking their heads out from
The middle of lunch
That's when Miss Noisy
Was repeatedly stung
Seems the only thing I do right
Is doing wrong
Needing to withdraw my measly savings
I head down to the bank
Step inside and holler HOLD UP
As I was running late
All the tellers they screamed
And pointed accusingly at me
As I stood there in the middle
Of all the melee
The cops roughed me and cuffed me
And took me to jail
With no boss and no girlfriend
To pay on my bail
Now here I sit in the slammer
With no idea of how long
Seems the only thing I do right
Is doing wrong
12/23/20
Been one heck of a year and some month
Recently got a buzz cut
I'm buzzed yup
I was down and I was up
No longer such a young buck
Always f***ed up
What a f*** up
Shut up
And hush up
Pettiness continually being dug up
I'll take you out barehanded, or with num-chuks
Try to confront me and puff up
But quickly got roughed up
And scuffed up
Shut the f*** up
I don't ever need any thumbs up
You either did or didn't have enough guts
Fell down stayed there or was able to jump up
Before the towel was hung up
It was splattered about like bug guts
Spread amongst us
Always trying to instruct us
Yet so quick to confront us
Never been or plan on going for a duck hunt
Can't say the same for so and so, or such and such
Call it dumb luck
Often I lucked up
And was able to one up
The other half of the time, it was tough luck
Too many people being a suck up
Stuck up and a dumb f***
As they continue to bluff much
My eyes stuck shut
Occasionally over did it, but rarely ever would up chuck
Why must
They remind us
That eventually our time's up
If you deserve it, my trust you earned it
I'll tell you what's up
And what's what
From here to beyond Lubbock
Always working towards getting the funds up
Not quitting when the moons out or when the suns up
Saw it or did not see the gun tucked
Because they've had enough of
A world that is f***ed up
In the past a lot of shrubs and brush cut
Once in awhile the job required a lug nut
Fathom, that some people are still living in a mud hut
Having nearly nothing, except for just one cup
You thought his woman weren’t half-bad,
cared not that he was a good dad,
stole his wife, made his children sad,
now hell’s coming with him.
You thought he didn’t need that land,
and looked at it with visions grand,
had no fear of the farmer man,
yet hell’s coming with him.
You won’t work to bring money in,
much easier to take and grin,
you rob the man and think, “I win,”
but hell’s coming with him.
You believed you were big and tough,
found his sister, and roughed her up,
he won’t stand for that kind of ‘love,’
so hell’s coming with him.
You think you can just take and take
his rights away, and he won’t break,
but power’s not immune from hate,
real hell’s coming with him.
So now you’ve dragged him from his home,
his rage worse than you’ve even known,
wise men leave quiet ones alone,
’cause hell’s coming with him.
Hell’s coming with him.
When Napoleon declared the French parliament defunct,
representatives beat him up. A couple hundred miles away,
Beethoven scribbled over his own dedication to Napoleon,
whom he had supposed to be a champion of liberty.
As climbing the greasy pole goes,
this wasn't exactly polished.
He was roughed-up - by politicos!
Can't blame them: no-one likes being abolished
(for sure, not these ego-bloated shysters!)
What else? Oh, in a paroxysm of rage,
an eccentric Kapellmeister
gouged a hole in a music page.
For all his smiling talk of ease and glee
(tomorrow), his eloquent implorings,
this moment always comes.
The pipes get drowned by drums.
The sleek ship of self-regard, so sleazily,
drifts free of its decent moorings.
If you believe you are a crushed flower,
know that many still see the beauty in you.
After all, crushed flowers are still visited by the bees
and still hold importance in nature.
Someone will take you in their hands
hold you dear.
A flower is more than just its beauty.
It can be reformed into plenty
medicine
tea
even poison.
A crushed flower is more memorable than one that is intact.
Perfection and innocence is palatable
but nothing to gawk at.
A crushed flower lets you see the beauty within.
And what is within
what is released when you break
can be the most beautiful thing of all.
If you believe you are a crushed flower,
then know that if no one wants you
or you want no one
that the dirt will always take you back.
That you may rot,
but you will give life
and purpose to others.
That your brethren surround you in the meadow where you fall.
Even if you are left on concrete,
the wind will take you back home
or wherever else you wish to be.
If you believe you are a crushed flower,
know that people can often misinterpret the true identity of things.
Take the sea-roughed sailors
who saw manatees as sirens.
Take the elephant skulls
that were made out to be cyclops.
Misunderstandings become folklore.
Misheard lessons become self-loathe.
You are not a crushed flower,
no matter your actions
or the paths you choose to take.
The teachers and guardians of your youth gave lessons passed down through generations
held together by critiques
and shame.
And while lessons passed down are historical,
the passage of time both twists words against us
and compels them to be irrelevant to the days of the future.
You are not a crushed flower.
You are what you believe you are.
You are not one factor that decides your moral stance.
You are a million factors that craft and perfect you.
You are a piece of history that no one will ever fully know
not even yourself.
You are not a crushed flower.
You are what you decide to be.
Emotion stemming from unmet expectations often leads to disappointment and regret. Someone else may have heightened your emotions elsewhere were you thought all things were falling in line. This is indifferent to the core relationship between lovers. Disappointment in your partner is often temporary: while indifference implicates a lack of feelings, interest or concern.
A melodrama,is what I answered when asked to compare: it's hard to understand when you are the stars of the show: when did the indifference start and what key moment bought on the change.
In tenses he spoke, as hearing him speak of what we were or what we've experienced as done. I stood statued and reliced. Only a rhetorical mention in a complexed event. I thought he didn't want me, not knowing he didn't like me with those I preferred to associate with.I allowed them to sculpture us into an unfashionable design, there to be rejected by those who wished it to be. There while he stood before he unsatisfied and rejected who I had become.I stood there to hear him began to speak us in tense as had, and were it to have been, yet to understand this man was through with me. The soothing those roughed edge ended and started saying that why instead of understanding I only wanted to see if he stil cared for me. I thought maybe his rasceling had caught up with him, or maybe the indifference had been discover analyzed and put on display to be treasured by museum loving folk. No: he made me the relic. To me he was so vividly careless speaking like that, I just gave him space enough to be seen and backed away to find refuge with some one else.The mood iis frequently set by what we are saying he just stopped speaking of he and I to where I thought he had someone else. A bluesy solo expression: Sweetie I don't do lonilness well.
A funny thing happened on the way to my hanging
Couldn't sleep the night before my head was banging
I was innocent of a crime that I did not commit
But they roughed me up and got me to admit.
The face on the wanted posters said it was me
Anyone seeing those posters would be inclined to agree
I was in a horse drawn prison wagon with bars down the side
Thinking to myself, it will be my last ever ride.
Heading for the gallows then onto Boot hill
To pay for shooting a bank teller that I didn't kill
Two miles from the town all hell did break loose
Unbeknownst to me I'd be dodging the noose.
For ten desperados' brought the wagon to stop
Then ordered the guards, their weapons they drop
Some gang members got me out and they set me free
The gang leader approached and he looked just like me.
He said " in this life you look out for your own "
Then he told me something that I hadn't known
" We were Separated at birth and we had the same mother "
And that this mean desperado was in fact my twin brother .
" We heard that you'd been framed for our crime spree
But you are my brother and that's why we've set you free.
The teller had died because he went for his gun
We grabbed all the money and went on the run ".
He gave me some money and said " start a new life "
Told me head south, settle down and find a good wife
There was so much I wanted to ask him and so much to say
My brother said " some other time, best be on your way " .
Written on 4th July 2018.
For a funny thing happened on the way to...poetry contest, sponsored by Robert Haigh.
It's not easy becoming a Legendary
Major League Baseball pitcher.
It never was and will never be.
You get put through the wringer
and hung out to dry.
From time to time you'll get little or no
run support.
You may have to face Legendary Icons
of the game 2 and 3 times in a game.
Come face to face with undisguised
Batting Champions.
Silver Slugger Award Winners.
Members and potential Members of the
500 Home Run Club.
Members and potential Members
of the 3000 Hits Club
A few Future Members of
Baseballs Hall of Fame
as well as Iconic MLB ALL STARS.
You will face monumental challenges.
You'll get worn down and roughed up
being on the road 82 games a season.
As a Major League Baseball Starting Pitcher
you suck it up, go out on the mound
and challenge history.
You bring your "A" game
You bring your best fastball
your best curve ball
and your best change up.
When you average 33 starts a season.
Average 10 complete games per season.
Average 3 shut outs per season.
Throw a No Hitter every 3.857 seasons.
Face an average 972 batters per season.
Average 232 innings per season
Through hot , cold , humid and sticky weather.
Give up an average 169 hits per season.
Average 232 innings per season.
Average 82 earned runs per season.
Give up an average 14 home runs in 33 games
over 232 innings per season.
When you average 120 walks per season
Strike out an average 246 batters per season
for a career total of 5714.
It kinda looks like this.
6.6 hits per 9 innings
4.7 walks per 9 innings
9.5 strike outs per 9 innings
Over 27 seasons.
When you do that for a total of 27 seasons
The critics will call you the next
Nolan Ryan.
The Legendary Strike Out King
Member of Major League Baseballs
Hall of Fame.
Michael E. Harris
02202022
She brought her fish with her
To remind her of home
And because she trusted no one to feed them like she did
She was persnickety like that
They were not nice to her today,
roughed her up a bit while they strip-searched her.
Told her after all she had gone through
She could see her husband tomorrow. He was in punishment.
What could be more punishment than where he was?
She stared across the courtyard at the prison
Wondering which window belonged to him
Did he even have a prison?
The bed was lumpy, uncomfortable
And she found someone else’s hair in the sheets
Not the cleanest room she had ever rented
But she wanted to stay where she was, so she kept this quiet.
Praying that tomorrow she might actually get to see her man
After they roughed her up and strip searched her.
She told the fish “You don’t know how lucky you are”
having no idea her husband had hanged himself three days prior.