Long Scolded Poems
Long Scolded Poems. Below are the most popular long Scolded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scolded poems by poem length and keyword.
High up here,
amid this cold and alone,
my tools might best be
forgiven if they've
long-since forgot
that they deserve better.
But the only lips my teacup
have known are my blurburing two.
The only ink my brush has known
has been that scolded into some
sorrowful form on this not-mulberry rock.
The only skin this robe has known
was that of this persistent perpetrator.
It's yet to feel a worthy monk; the only sage its known
is the sage I've crumbled into my pestle
in pitiably inchoate mockery of an apothecary
when my knee went turned and grew as big
as my dreams.
The only ears or heart my poems have reached
up here, in this thin air,
have been,
has been my own -
Source and resting place of my
ignoble offerings.
I forgive my cup.
I forgive my robe.
I forgive my brush.
I forgive my flesh.
It never knew better.
It always deserved better.
It never knew better.
I went for a walk through the woods, like I do each Fall;
for it's a sensual treat at this time of year.
And I came across a grove of ancient oak trees,
shedding amber, yellow, and golden leaves;
gilding the ground, like scattered nuggets of gold.
The air smelt of Autumn, an earthy-sweet musk;
cool, crisp, and invigorating.
A chattering chipmunk scolded me incessantly:
as I neared a knurled stump, it was guarding;
loudly chastising me for invading its space.
The ground crunched and crackled under my feet,
as I walked on a bedding of filigreed leaves;
resembling a golden fleece.
As brisk breezes rippled through swaying treetops:
their bare branches rattled like skeleton bones.
Indulging my inner child, I fashioned an Autumn Angel;
spreading and swiping my arms and legs,
I sculpted an Angel out of leaves instead of snow.
And I lay there awhile smiling, soaking in Nature's magnificence;
immersed in the grandeur and beauty of Fall.
We are all immigrants
We all have temporary residence here
This land is ours and theirs, yours and mine
We are humanity, stronger joined than apart
Never turn your back on a hungry child
You may be in the right
Lacking compassion
Makes you wrong
The disciples were scolded
Let the children come unto me he said
Life is filled with hardships, yes we all have suffered
So let your suffering hold some merit
Lay down your guns and loud voices
If only for the children
If you dance and celebrate for them
They shall lead you on to peace on earth
Note: A famous person once said "When they love their children, more than they hate us, we shall have peace"
My first love was a blind date
A little nerves and I couldn’t wait
Put on my makeup and poked
my eye and I cried and choked
I soaked and was very Irate
I rushed to open the door
Caught my toe on the carpet on the floor
Did he think this was unwise?
With the thump, crash, and cries
Surprise, I didn’t break the decor
He took me to a gorgeous restaurant
Flowers on the table with sweet fragrant
I start sneezing,
and hacking
I’m scolded for my etiquette and ailment
Takes me home with apologies, he
With a kind word he tries to kiss me
I sneeze in his face
While he tries to embrace
I guess you're allergic to me
© Eve Roper 4/25/2015
7 9 7 7 8 -- 7 10 7 6 9 -- 10 10 4 3 10 -- 9 9 5 6 8 A A B B A
Limerick Contest
Sponsor: Jan Allison
so suffocated in this state i call hate
you could look at me and not notice a single tense muscle
because underneath this frown, this fool-proof smile there’s anxiety, depression and it’s keeping
me down
i can’t acknowledge the fact i’m losing you
i can’t acknowledge the fact i’m being ignored
every single word i say comes out my mouth and retracts back after i am scolded.
nothing i say can ever come out right
if i could i’d stay up all night, to prove my truth
all i need is an ear to hear me out
but you’re far too busy tuning out the truth behind the lies, the frown beneath that fool proof
smile
and all i ever wanted was for you to listen. listen twice
then, then you can tune me out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Granny’s recipe card is splattered with butter,
the ink blurred where her thumb pressed too soon~
butter, sugar, flour—all accounted for.
What’s missing is the way she hummed
off-key hymns between sifted clouds,
how the kitchen held its breath
when she cracked an egg one-handed.
The cinnamon? Yes.
But not the weight of her sigh
when the dough resisted,
nor the way her wedding band
left a faint silver streak in the batter.
The streusel is just crumbs and brown sugar,
unless you count the dust of her laughter
as she scolded me for sneaking bites
of raw dough between my teeth.
Bake at 375º, the card says,
but not how long to wait
after the oven light goes dark,
after the scent stops being hers
and becomes just a memory.
*If you'd like to read the accompanying memoir vignette, you may do so at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/intangible_ingredients_13578
The mustard seed
a wild mustard seed took flight
carried aloft in gathering light
over thistle'd sage and poppies
in countless colorful copies
as brash rain showers subside
the retreat of angry clouds abide
scolded by the Northern wind
in search of infinity's final end
once barren hills, now painted gold
snow geese forage with fledgling fold
amid the flutter of swallowtail's wings
from soil sprouted seedling life brings
'til once more mustard's children are blown
from heaven's heights the earth is sown
~~~Dedicated to my Uncle Joe~~~
Fifteen minutes before the mass, a six year-old girl is playing and moving around inside the church. She saw different people coming in so silent. She was delighted for seeing so many people, young and old. And she was scolded by her aunt for walking everywhere inside the church.
A few minutes later, the priest entered the church -- walking on the main aisle. The little girl saw the priest, grabbed his hand and put the priest's hand on her forehead to be blessed.
The priest was surprised and praised the girl for her courteous gesture. He said, "You are so young. What do you want to be when you grow up?"
The girl replied, "I want to be a nun."
"Why?" asked the priest.
The little girl said, "My parents don't have a religion. I want to teach them how to pray."
The sun shines again for he smiles dreaming.
The indeterminable day no longer flees or hides
for its end is sought, as is its beginning
as I lay beside him in love seeming.
Though at peace, confusion’s thoughts abide
waiting there as laggard servants shying
scolded by the Mistress Aphrodite
his form akin to Lord Ares lying.
Now, Want must find a different dwelling
and Need must now within my heart reside
for oh love, sweet love, has come a calling
on the wings of Eros it did arrive.
For he smiles and joy of sweetest joy, I cry.
to stay forever in his arms, I’ll try.
Poet: D. Guzzi
6/14/11
lazy lips in tangle with A I
breathing secrets
I wonder why
why not
organize your thoughts, o scatterbrain
don’t be
a brain full of hay
eventual outcome -
the crows will pick your brain
s$it for brains
forgive my insane outburst
but the storm’s a-coming
a storm of flying monkeys
a witch to boot
the only way to beat the rap
is to hammer home
don’t
you ain’t fool’n no one
you’re a fool yourself
the witch has turned over
the hourglass
none of Dorothy’s friends
are clamouring to save you
they are not in pieces
but at rest
they’re courage
came when doing the right thing
jumping through glass, falling asleep
the witch had fear and poison on her side
but Dorothy was good and kind
she scolded the wrong, bucketed the witch
exposed the lie behind the curtain
then the runaway went back home
home sweet home
where the poet’s heart
brains and courage
reside