Long Rudely Poems
Long Rudely Poems. Below are the most popular long Rudely by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rudely poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m tired of influencers faking nervousness.
my generation wants to care less
these days.
it’s a counter-current hack.
we want to be less defined.
we can search and reflect for ourselves.
we’re sick of the emotion
that’s all over everyone’s faces,
the unsightly splotches of opinion.
the entire election machine,
the process of getting there, is smudged.
It’s a curated mess, an advising spin,
an incomprehensible hex:
“Oh profit pondering,
contradictory means to an end
- bless weave, and conceal,
bloodless dollar debt options,
painful penny pincher paradoxes,
and deadly debt bliss dilemmas..”
“Is this a witch or an arbitrager?” Lisa asked, after rudely leaning over and reading up to this point.
“I was shooting for a numinous type of beat,” I revealed.
“We’re supposed to be working on our thesis definitions,” she said accusingly.
“Are you not challenged, here, hour by hour?” I asked sarcastically.
“I need ideas - well - I have too many ideas, I need some focus, I wanted to see what you had.”
I deadpan looked at her, “Well, you broke the spell - I lost my train.” I complained dryly.
“Don’t put me in a situation.” she said, waving my gripe off as insignificant.
.
.
Songs for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
drive ME crazy! by Lil Yachty
Melt by Nilüfer Yany
No "FAKE" Fire Drill
Residents at high
land manor apartments
(aside from myself)
got rudely awakened -
by what sounded
like a screaming,
seething, and shrieking airplane
early morning hour
'ere september eleventh
two thousand eighteen
with deafening decibel (at
maximum threshold)
ear piercing shrill alarm
rousing atavistic primal
Neanderthal tapping primal brain
if NOT a atheist secular humanist,
I would aver my linkedin match
(com mon lee) attributed
to Abel and/or Cain,
but whether broad
minded or parochial,
that deafening fire alarm
this bloke doth disdain
but to ears of
volunteer fire fighters,
that unbearable audio
warning tone beloved,
aye need not explain
how appreciative, and
reassure ring knowing
rough and ready persons fain
to selflessly risk
life and/or limb,
when trucking
extinguishing arsenal
with genuine gratitude to gain
demonstrating without
pomp and circumstance
the art of being humane
automatic reflexive
instincts second nature
where breathe, eat,
and live for others
a credo, dictum,
ethos deep ingrain
within every cell
of their sturdy bodies,
sans indefatigable as
Tarzan and Jane
on par with prestidigitation skill
visa vis tricks of the trade
discovered via legerdemain,
yet aside from
power house strength,
another salient trait
needed asper physically,
emotionally, and spiritually exhausting,
grueling, and taxing job,
would necessitate one to maintain
composure in the
midst of pandemonium
gamely, gingerly, and
gloriously fighting infernos
(WITHOUT any mon
key business)
while training, learning,
and exacting diligence
non harried styled
tailored swiftness!
Dedicated to My Timothy Lee
I love you and it has been said, 'love is blind.'
My beautimous man is my favorite visual treat.
Times staring at him are times I often repeat.
His blond tendrils hang down, outside his do-rag,
and are curls my fingers just have to twirl and grab.
Fierce, piercing blue eyes allow his gaze to melt me,
happens all the time and never do I ever mind.
The rich pay surgeons for cheekbones my man has.
My knuckles sometimes trace each bones span.
He has such a good-looking nose, not big or small,
it’s a nose I frequently kiss on my tip toes.
Perfect lips motivate my own to seek his kiss.
They aren't thick or thin, but ideal sized bliss.
I’m mesmerized by his labor rustled arm muscles
that grow a need for my cheeks to muscle nuzzle.
My beautimous man said my vision needs to be checked
because no features of his do my eyes accurately detect.
He said his curls do hang down, but no hair is on his crown.
He took me to a mirror to see lines under his eyes clearer,
said his cheekbones are no longer sensual but skeletal,
his nose now nostril hair grows and rudely hair shows,
plus, his muscles have aged and are now sad sag designed.
I asked what word bits would he now hurl about his lips -
he pulled me close and said, ‘only kisses are on my lip script.’
my eyelids
are pyramid
stones too heavy
to lift so i read
the hieroglyphs
behind my lids
like a black
and white
silent movie
my mind provides
the music though
i dream in color
but must shush
the others
that rudely
keep talking
during the main
feature
(meanwhile trying
to digest my movies'
plot while eating hot
air blown pop corn
with slightly unsalted
butter a dash of soy
sauce and parmesan
cheese topping
obviously a
subliminal
message
placed be
tween every
eighth REM)
it seems the film
is about a ka
that can't
find its
way
so
is spirited away
by memories
that are supposed
to be clues
to help one
find one's self
so different
scenes show
different things
that are meant to
mean one thing when
the pieces are put together
the house lights
come up as my
eyes open but to
find i am in
darkness
perhaps
a tomb
Form:
Whee was a girl of sixteen, on the run.
Life as she knew it was truly no fun.
Dad had died when she was a toddler, not three.
Mom was usually passed out in room for one.
The checks had stopped coming some time ago.
The neighbors called her mother a crack house ‘ho.
Whee had reached out once at school – a big mistake!
When the coppers left, she got lots of woe.
Her feet were tired. Her muscles did ache.
She stayed off main highways where big trucks quake.
Lost girl in a world that did not care.
Resolved to not steal or rudely take.
Met a crazy lady with frizzy hair.
Who brought her home to a weird hoarder’s lair.
Paths through the boxes were not very wide.
Loving though; ready to happily share.
When the police came looking, she let Whee hide.
They both had the same troubles down inside.
This was the best home Whee could remember.
She had not felt such love since daddy died.
With Ma Blebomb from June to September.
Sang and laughed her way through to November.
Took care of the lady when she got sick,
Inherited the house in December.
Promised she would keep her eyes looking out
To help any runaway girls who needed to shout.
Kept her promise, and let two runaways in.
Keeping Ma’s legacy which is what the house was about.
My friend, we come from different families
With one Father –
Families whose rhythm,
And whose music,
Differs as widely
As the way
We open Christmas presents
Or
Dye our Easter eggs.
My friend, I love you
Magnetically drawn into
That love by a singular
Voice
Raised upon a blood stained hill
In a tiny land of promise –
Challenged
To see past the doors
Of your family home,
And your treasured melodies,
To look into
Your heart,
To hear the singular voice
Calling you
As it calls me
To live beneath the eyes
Of Heaven.
My friend, this love calls us
To ignore
The suspicion of too many decades passed
To count
When we peeked through colored windows,
Peering into other family
Celebrations
Wondering of the brightly colored
Banners –
The sometimes strange and somber
Robes –
To laugh or rudely point
At what we failed
To understand.
My friend, I love you
And your family
Even more than when I began
These simple lines
And ask forgiveness
For hurting words
Hurled
Across the centuries,
For actions demonstrated,
Even yesterday,
That gave you pain
Causing your family
To draw a tighter circle
Around themselves
While crying out from the darkness
“Don’t you see?
We are like you
In so many ways.”
My friend, I ask love
Born after rejection
And pain –
Love to go beyond
Existing as nieces,
Nephews,
Cousins
To embrace the eternal prayer
Of Our Father,
Who longs for us,
Who begs us live
By Heaven’s standards
For our beleaguered families,
Knowing our words may still not agree
But draws us into life
Through Calvary.
As there is a huge list of expectations that women have from their husband but the most basic and common needs are listed down which every husband should keep in mind in order to lead a happy and successful married life. Behind every successful man there is a woman, so in order to be successful keep her happy by following these tips.
To Be Loved (Physical and Emotional support):
Every woman looks for emotional and moral support from their husband. As sometimes she feels low due to the household responsibilities and is unable to strike a work-life balance. So in such a scenario, it is the duty of a husband to give her shoulder to lean on and to make her feel important in his life.
For Example, Husband should spend quality time compared to a quantity such as spending 30 minutes daily with his wife. Where you can connect with her emotionally by providing undivided attention (Without T.V and Telephone). A husband should also hug and cuddle his wife to lend her physical support.
To have Cared:
A husband should take care of his wife in order to make her feel special and important in his life. A husband should take care of her small needs such as texting her and asking her about how she is doing, ensuring that she had lunch, asking her well being when she is unwell. Many times the husband can bring some gift or surprise in order to make her happy and feel special. The husband should also try and remember not only his own anniversary and birthday but also of his wife’s family and friends.
For Example: Whenever the husband is buying something special for his wife he should keep in mind the preferences of his wife. Like buying her favourite chocolate or flowers.
To be Respected:
Many times the husband tends to take his wife for granted and doesn’t accept her difference of opinions. It is important for the husband to value his wife for the efforts that she puts in taking care of the family and about his needs. A husband should not talk rudely or mock his wife in front of their family and friends. The husband should appreciate her in order to boost her self-esteem and also inculcate confidence if she lacks in certain areas.
For Example, Husband can motivate his wife by appreciating about the good things she does like organizing house well, dressing well and for cooking.
I felt alone, though there were multiple crowds around me.
I felt, I should go to a lonely place and cry aloud.
Why, though the environs are full of flowers, there's no glee?
Death snatches the joys of the humble as well as the proud.
You were young. You, often, dreamed of a new heaven and earth.
Your thoughts, words, actions, and aspirations shone with newness.
You said you would define the fate that defined each one's birth.
Amidst your shrewdness, there was in you coolness and smoothness.
You were a friend to all. Your heart was full of love for all.
You were as uncommon as a blue moon or a shooting star.
Why should Destiny rudely send you an untimely call?
Why should you, as though the life here is not enough, go far?
Will those blissful days of fun and frolic ever come back?
Will my wistful moments, towards optimism find their track?
In the vortex of a maelstrom, I was rudely thrown
drowning in turbulent waters for an error I bemoan,
a blunder of loving someone who chose to whittle
away at my heart until it became fragile and brittle
Bereft beyond the point of caring if I lived or died
My eyes were scarlet, burning from tears I'd cried
But they became transfixed, immutable on a fire stoked
for my normally tenuous demeanor had been provoked
I was a genteel lady, who demurely acquiesced to love
but it was time for me to throw down the gauntlet glove
I was chaffed by what had been just an interlude for him,
an escapade, a mere dalliance, a rascally romantic whim
I drew a rough sketch; in likeness of my vagabond swain
an abstract portrait, in Picasso's style, the face of my bane
Black eyes were hollow, blind orbs that would never see
that his trifling peccadillo tryst was a brutal betrayal to me
The painting was delivered as twelve bells pealed midnight
I watched as he unwrapped it, but carefully kept out of sight
A formidable opponent I had become to his knavish ways
In the moonlight his face turned pale; his eyes were glazed
"Turning"
Turning
towards the beginning
at the tip of the tail end,
we push forward through
the tunnel screaming
through the pain bathed
in water and blood,
annnointed and slapped
rudely awake by the details,
in the hand we are shuffled,
chords are cut like ties that bind,
we are separated from the chaff,
we are called by name, numbered
and tagged for the game, then
the measure of us, weighed
and registered, certified
in deeds like paper weights,
the double majors abruptly
change to bugger alls,
it’s all about the
words spoken
and heard
another story
borne
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)